BleedGopher
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This may be a first edition column, so I am going to copy and paste it in case it is:
How about a little compassion for Tubby and his team?
On the way into Williams Arena on Thursday night, I passed a ticket scalper. He was not selling tickets. He may never sell tickets again.
He stood facing away from the arena, toward the football stadium. He clenched tickets, but he did not speak to passersby. Instead, he stood still, eyes clenched shut, liquid frozen on his face. He seemed to be praying. His prayers did not seem successful.
And then I knew. Then I knew the hardships that befall the Gophers basketball program every day.
That was when I decided it was time for me to take the Tubby Tundra Test.
After watching Ohio State dismantle his team on Sunday, Gophers coach Tubby Smith lamented his team's lack of strength, noting that Ralph Sampson III had a rebound yanked out of his hands by a stronger opponent.
Then Smith linked his team's performance against Ohio State to the lack of a basketball practice facility at the University of Minnesota.
Smith said: "We really don't like going across the street in the cold to lift [weights]. We just don't like that."
This was only the latest example of the hardships suffered by Gophers basketball players.
Trevor Mbakwe had his First Amendment rights violated when he was disciplined for communicating with a woman who had obtained a restraining order. Is this no longer America?
And now this: Young men, some not even eligible to drink in the land of the free, were being asked to defy death, by walking from Williams Arena, all the way across Oak Street, to the weightlifting facility.
Never mind that Smith now coaches in a state where Bud Grant became a legend for wearing shirtsleeves -- and banning heaters -- from the Vikings' sideline at Met Stadium.
Never mind that Smith now coaches in a state where freezing your back yard, erecting lights and skating through the night is considered an act of ingenuity and citizenship.
Never mind our state's cozy relationship with frostbite and black ice.
No Minnesota athletes have ever tempted fate by taunting the weather gods as have our Gophers basketball players.
Every day (or at least a few days a week) they are forced to swaddle themselves in the warmest available rags and imitate Will Steger, or at least the guy in the wood chipper scene from "Fargo," and make like Lindsey Vonn -- if only Vonn had to ski uphill.
I had to take the Tubby Tundra Test.
I walked to Williams Arena, then turned to make the journey back across Oak Street. Within seconds, my face burned. My feet felt like blocks of cement. I leaned forward, hunched inside my parka, and reminded myself to keep moving, lest winter steal my soul.
Left, right. Left, right. I lurched toward salvation, intent only on taking my next slushy breath.
You've heard of participatory journalism? This was survival journalism.
Before departing on my journey, I signed my last will and testament, leaving my children the fruits of a life as a sportswriter: $8.95 in my checking account, a 10-year-old laptop and a collection of pens guaranteed to leak all over your dressiest blue jeans.
I knew I might not return.
Now, though, I know how the Gophers were able to muster the toughness to compete on Thursday night.
They knocked the frost from their eyebrows and played an ugly game against Illinois, one of the other most disappointing teams in the Big Ten.
At times, it looked like hockey, with both teams dumping the puck in and hoping to slam home a rebound.
But what do you expect from frostbitten fingers?
http://www.startribune.com/sports/gophers/115816784.html
Go Gophers!!
How about a little compassion for Tubby and his team?
On the way into Williams Arena on Thursday night, I passed a ticket scalper. He was not selling tickets. He may never sell tickets again.
He stood facing away from the arena, toward the football stadium. He clenched tickets, but he did not speak to passersby. Instead, he stood still, eyes clenched shut, liquid frozen on his face. He seemed to be praying. His prayers did not seem successful.
And then I knew. Then I knew the hardships that befall the Gophers basketball program every day.
That was when I decided it was time for me to take the Tubby Tundra Test.
After watching Ohio State dismantle his team on Sunday, Gophers coach Tubby Smith lamented his team's lack of strength, noting that Ralph Sampson III had a rebound yanked out of his hands by a stronger opponent.
Then Smith linked his team's performance against Ohio State to the lack of a basketball practice facility at the University of Minnesota.
Smith said: "We really don't like going across the street in the cold to lift [weights]. We just don't like that."
This was only the latest example of the hardships suffered by Gophers basketball players.
Trevor Mbakwe had his First Amendment rights violated when he was disciplined for communicating with a woman who had obtained a restraining order. Is this no longer America?
And now this: Young men, some not even eligible to drink in the land of the free, were being asked to defy death, by walking from Williams Arena, all the way across Oak Street, to the weightlifting facility.
Never mind that Smith now coaches in a state where Bud Grant became a legend for wearing shirtsleeves -- and banning heaters -- from the Vikings' sideline at Met Stadium.
Never mind that Smith now coaches in a state where freezing your back yard, erecting lights and skating through the night is considered an act of ingenuity and citizenship.
Never mind our state's cozy relationship with frostbite and black ice.
No Minnesota athletes have ever tempted fate by taunting the weather gods as have our Gophers basketball players.
Every day (or at least a few days a week) they are forced to swaddle themselves in the warmest available rags and imitate Will Steger, or at least the guy in the wood chipper scene from "Fargo," and make like Lindsey Vonn -- if only Vonn had to ski uphill.
I had to take the Tubby Tundra Test.
I walked to Williams Arena, then turned to make the journey back across Oak Street. Within seconds, my face burned. My feet felt like blocks of cement. I leaned forward, hunched inside my parka, and reminded myself to keep moving, lest winter steal my soul.
Left, right. Left, right. I lurched toward salvation, intent only on taking my next slushy breath.
You've heard of participatory journalism? This was survival journalism.
Before departing on my journey, I signed my last will and testament, leaving my children the fruits of a life as a sportswriter: $8.95 in my checking account, a 10-year-old laptop and a collection of pens guaranteed to leak all over your dressiest blue jeans.
I knew I might not return.
Now, though, I know how the Gophers were able to muster the toughness to compete on Thursday night.
They knocked the frost from their eyebrows and played an ugly game against Illinois, one of the other most disappointing teams in the Big Ten.
At times, it looked like hockey, with both teams dumping the puck in and hoping to slam home a rebound.
But what do you expect from frostbitten fingers?
http://www.startribune.com/sports/gophers/115816784.html
Go Gophers!!
