Another sellout crowd

The post from Heather on her blog, Top Shelf, jumped out at me. I tend to pay attention when someone talks about The Buffalo News sports department, and this phrase caught my eye: "I want Sully and Bucky [Jerry Sullivan and Bucky Gleason] to write whatever they want about the Sabres but I want them to stop dragging fans into it."

Now I'm not here to defend Jerry and Bucky, as they can do it themselves, but I am here to point out something that happening in Buffalo sports that is pretty close to unprecedented and has received little attention -- and it connects to what Heather is saying.

The relationship between Buffalo's teams and their fans have changed. It's now a case of "root, root, root for the home team; if they don't win it's the same." I'd argue that's a huge alteration in the dynamic.

Let's take a little history lesson here. For years and years, most of the other NFL teams sold their building out before the players reported to training camp. In a strictly economic sense, they had little incentive to win games. Any extra income from championships was offset by increased expenses in payroll.

One of the exceptions was right here, as the Bills played in a relatively small market in a huge stadium. When the Bills were awful, as they were in the late 1970's and mid-1980's, the fans disappeared by midseason. So there was a strong incentive to put together a good enough team that would generate enthusiasm and fill the empty seats. The team did that in the Super Bowl run.

The Sabres rode the initial enthusiasm of their entry in the NHL for about 12 years, when the sellouts came to an end. After that, the crowds were usually good, and a hint of success was enough to sell the building out regularly.

In both cases, you probably could split the crowds into two parts. The first was the base, composed of season-ticket holders and rabid fans (sometimes the same people). These are the people that show up week in and week out, buy the uniforms, put the flags on their cars, etc. No matter how the score comes out, these people find pro sports entertaining, and they aren't going to deny themselves the pleasure of going if on-field activities aren't particularly good. (These are the people who wouldn't let a strike/lockout interfere with the love of the game, for example.) You need that sort of support just to prevent the peaks and valleys that come with a team's ups and downs over the years.

Then there are the "bandwagon fans," who are much more likely to buy tickets when the team is doing well. In other words, they "vote with their wallets."

If I'm reading Heather correctly, she's saying that sometimes the columnists wonder why those on the bandwagon are still going for the ride, still supporting the teams despite a run of mediocrity in the last few years -- and she doesn't want to be lumped in with those fans. Can't blame her for that.

But here's the change -- the base for Sabres and Bills game is now practically a sellout. Buffalo sells out most football games -- the cold weather contests at the end of the season usually have empty seats if the games mean little -- and most hockey games -- a Tuesday night against the Islanders might have a few fewer fans, for example. In other words, winning is less important to many in the fanbase than the entertainment value they get from games.

I think there are two big reasons for that -- marketing and fear of departure.

The Bills and Sabres were a bit late in coming to the marketing party, but they have learned that opening the doors just isn't enough any more. The Bills have tried to sell tickets more regionally, and they have reduced their season-ticket price by pushing games to Toronto. The team also has learned to work with the corporate community in a variety of ways. The Sabres have done things like variable pricing and a variety of community projects to reach out to the fans.

The fear of departure is the more interesting situation, though. Bills' fans know the team's lease is coming due in a few years, and that a team owner could earn at least a potential $250 million by moving the franchise to Los Angeles. And that doesn't include the current dance with Toronto interests. The NFL certainly is the biggest sports spectacle in the country, and Western New Yorkers want to do their part that it stays here. Sabres' fans were reminded just how fragile the team-fan relationship is when the team drew fewer than 10,000 per game at times during the whole Rigas bankruptcy scare of some years back. As the good folks in Phoenix will tell you, a team can try to depart for other pastures without a great deal of notice.

I'm not saying that there aren't limits to a fan's patience when it comes to winning, because there are. Put a team like the Detroit Lions of 2008 (0-16) in The Ralph, and you'd have empty seats bloom like flowers in the spring. But pretty clearly, the fan base has grown, and that has to be recognized.

Note from the front

So you want to be a sports columnist? Go to all the games for free? Sit back and make keen observations that make thousands nod their heads in agreement?

Fine. But remember the downside. Ask Mark Whicker about that.

Whicher is a columnist for the Orange County Register. He recently had the odd idea to try to write about what Jaycee Dugard had missed in her 18 years of confinement.

That's right. It was a fun, upbeat column pegged to a woman who had been held against her will for 18 years, and raped by her captor.

Here's the column, complete with links to apologies:

A baseball blog has some interesting comments after reviewing the story; it includes some attempts at defenses from Whicker. Scroll down to find them.

All right, Whicker goofed. And the editors did too. Someone should have raised a few thousand white flags and said, do we really want to print this column?

I think there's a larger point at work here, though. As the newspaper business moves into the on-line world, the pressure to produce material quickly grows and grows. There's less time for reflection as we try to emphasize speed. So columns like this will sneak through.

And here's the bad news: There will be more of them, and not less, in the future.

Positive I'm negative

I think I'm the guy that once said that preseason games are forgotten within five minutes of the start of the National Football League season.

OK, I'll stick to that.

I'll also say that there hasn't been this much pessimism about the start of a Buffalo Bills' season since, oh, 1971.

You might recall that season as the one where John Rauch was fired just before the start of the games that counted for criticizing some of his ex-players in a television interview. He was replaced by Harvey Johnson, who was involved in one terrible season as an interim coach in 1968 (going 1-10-1 after replacing Joel Collier). Those bad feelings were justified; Johnson actually lowered his career coaching percentage with the Bills with a 1-13 season.

Why the long faces, Bills fans? Let's count the ways.

The Bills haven't made the playoffs in almost a decade. Dick Jauron has coached the team for three years, and gone 7-9 each time. Last season the Bills collapsed after a good start, as young quarterback Trent Edwards took a step sideways at best.

In the preseason, the Bills' starting offense scored exactly zero touchdowns in five games. Then on the eve of the season, Jauron fired offensive coordinator Turk Schonert. Schonert went out the door saying that Jauron wanted to install a more simple, Pop Warner-like offense. Ouch.

Two days after cutdown day, the Bills released starting left tackle Langston Walker. That means Demetrius Bell, who has as many pro starts in the regular season as I do, will take over on the most important spot on the line. Oh, and if he's nervous, he can at least talk about it with a pair of rookie guards. That's four new faces on the line from last season. What's the over/under for the number of games Edwards stays healthy?

Oh, and today Terrell Owens, when asked by the New England media, said he didn't really like the Bills' no-huddle offense. Bills' fans have been watching Owens like a volcano, waiting for a sign that he's ready to explode. The joys of having a combustible wide receiver are many.

Need some good news? It looks like a great year to be looking for a coach in December. The list of available candidates, at least potentially, include Bill Cowher, Brian Billick, Tony Dungy, Mike Shanahan and Mike Holmgren -- Super Bowl winners all. And it might be a great year to get a quarterback out of college, what with such players as Sam Bradford, Colt McCoy and the intriguing Tim Tebow joining the rest of the Class of 2010.

On the other hand, Bills' owner Ralph Wilson has never been one to go out and sign a big name for big dollars as a coach, at least since Chuck Knox came aboard about 30 years ago. And yesterday's college quarterbacking standout always has the chance to turn into the next Rick Mirer or, heaven forbid, Ryan Leaf.

And who wants to write off an entire season before it starts? I'll bet the people who have bought season tickets don't.

You know how you feel like averting your eyes when you see an accident coming? I wonder how the ratings will be for opening night against the New England Patriots.

What to do?

It's not easy writing a blog these days.

We recently took a trip to Fallingwater, the famous house in Southwest Pennsylvania. Trip is the operative word, since it's about 90 minutes away from Pittsburgh. If you are going, get off the Pennsylvania Turnpike, keep going south through Normalville -- the town where everyone in school has a temperature of 98.6 and a C average -- and you'll hit it.

Fallingwater is quite a place. You should go. It was designed by Frank Lloyd Wright for department store magnate Edgar Kaufmann (I love to use the word magnate). At first Wright thought about building a house right next to the waterfalls formed by the creek, but then he opted to have the water go through the house in a sense. The house has plenty of patios to take advantage of the scenery.

Yes, it's a spectacular location. The house has been left more or less alone in terms of furnishings since the Kaufmanns left the house to the Western Pennsylvania Conservancy in 1963. So there are plenty of books from the 1950's around, for example. Most of the furniture was designed specifically for this house, which has the effect of making the place more like a museum than a home. In other words, Fallingwater might be a great place to host a dinner party, or to visit as a tourist, but you might not feel comfortable pulling up a chair to watch a big game.

The Conservancy does have a few quirks about how it runs the place. It sends tours of 12 or so through the area every few minutes or so. The tour we took felt rather rushed, as if the guide was ordered to maximize traffic and by extension revenue. The place is very costly to maintain because of all the moisture in the area, but that attitude didn't exactly enhance the visiting experience. At the end of the tour, guests are placed in a converted carport and shown a DVD about the value of contributing to the Conservancy. This makes the tour's conclusion feel like a sales pitch for a timeshare in Florida, a unique feeling when visiting such a unique facility.

Photography isn't allowed in many portions of the house, which is understandable. You can take pictures on the paths around the house and on a couple of the patios at the end of the tour. Fine. But placed on the literature for the facility is a warning that photographs are not allowed on Web sites without permission.

That raised the question, can I place a photo on my silly travel blog, Road Trips!? Being the responsible guy that I am, I wrote the Conservancy and asked for permission. The reply came right back: "Our photography policy does not allow any commercial uses of Fallingwater images. Hope that helps."

Well, no, not really. So what's a blogger to do?

I wouldn't call this a commercial site, so I posted a picture of the place that came out relatively well (it's a tough spot for photos because of the differences in light caused by the forest). But, if you see this blog entry yanked off line sometime in the near future, you'll be able to guess why.

The Demo Derby

The smoke?

The crushed metal?

The big crowds?

It must be another Demolition Derby.

Is there a better way to mark the end of a vacation that this?

Well, maybe. But the demo derbies are traditionally the highlight for the Clarence Center Labor Day fair. They are held Saturday and Sunday afternoons, and feature entries from local volunteer fire departments.

Seeing the demo derby makes me realize how much time I watched such programs as ABC's Wide World of Sports while growing up. Because I still remember a great deal about the "techniques" of the sport.

Wide World showed some important events, of course, mostly in the form of auto racing and track. But for diversity's sake, ABC threw in some other events. I would guess that barrel-jumping and the demolition derby were two of the most famous events that popped up once a year or so.

The derby was usually held in Islip, New York. Sometimes Islip hosted figure-8 races, in which the "highlight" came at the intersection of the double loop. Inevitably a few drivers would try to sneak through the crossing ... and get pounded by another driver coming the other way.

But while that was a race of sorts, the demo derby was sheer mayhem. A field of cars would crash into each other, with the last car running declared the winner. When you are 8 to 10, what's better entertainment than that?

I saw two demo derbies this weekend, and the difference was like the gap between Triple-A and major-league baseball. On Saturday, the drivers came out cautiously, cruising around the perimeter in many cases to avoid collisions. On Sunday, every driver came out ready for contact. In the first five minutes, there were several bumps that had the audience moaning, "Ohhhhhhh...." At one point, one car knocked another one clear out of the "field of play" and into the bushes and trees on the far side of the picture.

It's probably a sad commentary that I still remember the key strategic point of the demo derby for drivers. You want to throw your car into reverse and back into the engine of another car. If you go front-first, you end up damaging your own engine too much. Kids, remember that in your first derby.

After about 20 minutes of slam-bam action, the Rapids VFC outlasted Clarence Center to take home the trophy. I've seen Super Bowl winners who were less thrilled about a championship than the Rapids driver after his win. It looked like he would have done a Carl Edwards backflip if he knew how. And the fans filed out happy, starting the countdown to the next derby.

(For a better-written account of the Derby, check out the column by Rick Reilly from an old Sports Illustrated by clicking here.)

What if, baseball version

I just finished reading "The End of Baseball," an interesting baseball novel. There always have been stories about how Bill Veeck planned to integrate the 1944 Philadelphia Phillies in large numbers and take on the rest of the National League. The novel speculates how that move would have worked out.

I saw my friend Tim Wendel's name in the credits at the end of the book. He asked me what else might make for a good novel in baseball history along those lines. I came up with this plot line while running; all I need now is someone to help write the thing. It starts, naturally, with a true story.

Jackie Robinson was just finishing up a tryout in Fenway Park in front of some Red Sox scouts in 1945. Even though he had put on an impressive show, lining hits off every corner of the ball park, owner Tom Yawkey had told his employees in profane terms to get him off the field. And then Yawkey went to his office and had a drink or four. He knew Robinson represented the future of baseball in some way, and the South Carolina native didn't like it one bit.

It was opportune timing then, when one of Boston's most well-known figures paid a visit to the office that night. Yawkey started complaining about the state of baseball, and the visitor said, "Well, why don't you sell the team to me?" And an intoxicated Yawkey signed an agreement to do just that, which is how Joseph Kennedy came to buy the Red Sox that day in 1945. Kennedy thought it would go over well with wife Rose, whose father, John "Honey Fitz" Fitzgerald, was mayor of Boston during the Red Sox's big years in the 1910's. Besides, as Joe put it, "I got a son coming out of the Navy soon, and he needs something to do."

With John F. Kennedy installed as club president, the Red Sox signed Robinson as well as Sam Jethroe quickly and cleaned house. Anyone who didn't want to work for the integrated team was sent packing. It turned out that list included the player-manager, Joe Cronin. While managers were a dime a dozen, the Red Sox did have a great shortstop waiting in the wings. Pee Wee Reese was already in the organization, although Cronin had seen him as a threat and advocated dumping him to another team. Reese stayed and thrived. As for the manager, well, Casey Stengel had been a popular manager with the Boston Braves for six years. Maybe he could do better if he had just a little more talent.

The Red Sox, armed with Robinson and returning veterans from the war, won the pennant in 1946. And 1948, and 1949. Not only were they a good team, they were good copy as well. Robinson provided endless fodder for the toughest newspaper town in America. Ted Williams quickly adopted Robinson as a virtual brother, and the two of them attracted crowds wherever they went. What with Robinson, Williams, Reese, Dom DiMaggio, and Bobby Doerr, it was a thrilling team to watch. Kennedy was quickly dubbed the boy wonder of baseball, putting together a dynamic team at such a young age.

But while the Red Sox had enough pitching to win three pennants, they never could win the World Series. The Brooklyn Dodgers kept getting in the way, as Branch Rickey had followed the Red Sox lead and scooped up some of the best black talent in the business. Roger Kahn, the beat writer of the Boston Globe, called the Red Sox team "The Boys of Summer," and the description stuck.

In 1951, the Red Sox dominated the league from start to finish, leaving the Yankees and the rest of the league in their wake. Most of the attention was on the National League, as the Giants blew a 13 1/2 game lead to the Dodgers and lost the pennant in the third game of the best-of-three playoff on an unlikely homer by Johnny Pesky, who was traded by the Red Sox to make room for Robinson. Pesky's homer wrapped around the foul pole in Ebbets Field, which was forever known after that as the Pesky Pole. "The Dodgers win the pennant!!" Red Barber told his listeners in Brooklyn.

The Dodgers, though, were too exhausted to do much in the Series, though, and the Red Sox won in five games. Watching the clincher were a certain Mr. and Mrs. Dan Shaughnessy; the wife was pregnant with a young son who would become Dan Jr., who later became well-known for his lyrical, romantic books about that baseball era and kept that lack of cynicism throughout his literary career.

There was quite a party in Boston after that, as you could imagine. The Curse of the Bambino had been lifted after 33 long years. Williams went off to Korea to fight there. Robinson retired after a couple of more years, as did Stengel. DiMaggio made it to the Hall of Fame, right next to brother Joe.

As for the Red Sox team president, John Kennedy never really liked baseball all that much anyway. He retired right after winning the World Series in '51, and ran for Senator in 1952. He stressed civil rights in his platform. You know how the story goes from there.

Ma Chase

(What started out as a simple blog entry concerning the passing of Marjorie Chase turned into a eulogy a few minutes before the memorial service began. I was honored to be asked to speak. I thought you'd like to learn more about a remarkable woman.)

There's only one person I've ever called "Mom" over the years, not counting my real mother. That would be Marge Chase. Over the last couple of decades, when I'd call her up at home for one reason for another, I'd always say "Hi, Mom" when she answered, and she'd always reply, "How are you doing, Sonny boy?"

Ma Chase and I went way back. She remembered the start better than I did. Ma said to son Kevin at a Clarence basketball game one night in 1973, "Who is the guy walking around with a tape recorder?" That would be me, practicing for some sort of career in journalism. I believe Kevin was ordered to make an introduction that night.

I probably made my first visit to Clarence Center shortly after that. I always felt comfortable whenever I dropped by. Husband John, by acclimation the nicest guy on earth, and Marge always seemed to welcome the company. They were genuinely interested in what Kevin's friends were doing, as opposed to merely tolerating the kids like most of the other parents did.

Ma Chase worked on the schools' board of education for many years, rising to president at one point. While she didn't personally hand me my diploma, I remember the way she asked me a string of questions about my educational experience after I had graduated. I think I was the only graduate that year to receive an exit interview. It was nice to have my opinion taken so seriously at the age of 17.

Once Kevin went off to college, the number of visits to the Long St. address started to drop off. First they were limited to holidays and summer vacations. Then as Kevin settled down in Connecticut, I'd only see him on Long St. once or twice a year ... but I stopped by every so often anyway, just to get a friendly greeting from the Chases and perhaps consume one of Ma Chase's famous Mexican sundaes.

One visit in particular stands out. Two friends and I dropped by to say hello, and Mr. and Mrs. Chase were entertaining the Burkes. Mr. Burke had just been named the President of American Steamship, I believe. Some would have politely chased us away. Some would have had us stay a while. Only Ma Chase would order us into the den and have us write a musical tribute to Mr. Burke's promotion. I believe the first two lines were, "God bless our President, he's king of steam." We all were given a couple of beers for our efforts, which probably was more than the song and our singing deserved.

John passed away about 11 years ago, but there was no worry that Marge would be lonely from that point. She had a huge network of friends in Clarence. Indeed, she often told you what they were doing ... if you knew them or not. Ma certainly had a more active social life than almost anyone I knew. We'd exchange post cards from our trips, and I think she sent more than she received.

In the past eight years, my most important role in her life was that of providing free technical support for computer problems. Kevin gave her a desktop around 2001, and she took to it quite well. It was another way to keep up with everyone from friends around town to grandchildren. When something went wrong, I got a frantic call from her, saying she had been on the phone for an hour with someone from Dell and couldn't solve the problem. Usually the problem was a simple one, making me look smart when I fixed it in 10 minutes. Based on her experience, she thought that if this journalism gig didn't work out for me, there would always be a job waiting in the computer service business.

My favorite story about Ma Chase came fairly recently. I was working at the newspaper earlier this year when I heard about a plane crash in Clarence Center. I called her at about 11:30 at night and she answered the phone -- that old rotary phone in the kitchen was still working -- and said she was all right. I asked her if she had called Kevin in Connecticut to tell him she was fine. She said no, it was kind of late and he'd be sleeping. After I hung up, I asked myself, "How close does a plane have to crash before she would call Kevin to let him know she was O.K.?" When I asked Kevin that question the next morning, he said he wasn't sure where the line was -- whether it was Erie County, or Clarence, or Clarence Center -- but he was pretty sure Long Street was within that radius.

Ma had a massive stroke on Wednesday morning, and she was taken off life support and died on Wednesday night. It was a peaceful, quick ending; we all should be so lucky. I have no doubt that she would have been the most miserable physical therapy patient around. As another of Kevin's close friends, Glenn Locke, said, when you've lived independently until the age of 90, you don't go asking for a do-over. And when Kevin and I drove past the cemetery in Clarence Center where John is buried late Wednesday night, I said, "John, don't expect to do any talking until about, oh, May. Marge has a lot to tell you about."

It's difficult to sum up Ma Chase in a word or two. Energetic? Dynamo? Force of nature? The best way might be to do it this way: Most of your friends' parents over the years are merely your friends' parents. Ma Chase became a friend, period. We celebrate a life well spent.

Marjorie Chase's obituary can be read here.