If you were interested enough to search for and find this site, you already know about the failure of Darko Milicic as an NBA player. However, you may be less familiar with the media hype that transformed the unproved Serbian player into the 2nd overall pick of the 2003 NBA Draft. With respect to all of the participants involved in creating or perpetuating the hype, perhaps the most egregious was ESPN Draft Analyst Chad Ford. As an aside, it was recently reported that someone revised Ford’s historical mock draft rankings on ESPN’s website. Unlike the North Korean hackers who effectively caused the resignation of Sony Pictures Co-Chair Amy Pascal, this hacker was kind to Ford and only made him seem better at his job. ESPN seems to believe Ford, who denied being personally involved, so I will too because what incentive does the network have to cover up such a scandal? Whether or not he should be believed, Ford has earned an Honorable Mention in my countdown of Top 10 Busts simply for his role in the Milicic debacle.
While most memories tend to be vague and fade over time, certain moments become cemented in our minds forever. Most of us can vividly recount our first kiss, our 21st birthday, and the birth of a child. Unlike those personal memories, others have a broader reach. In particular, we each can say, “I remember exactly where I was when I heard about ______.” Depending on your age, you can fill in the blank with President Kennedy’s assassination, the Challenger explosion, or the 9/11 terrorist attacks. With respect to the world of sports, the sentiment applies to the USA Hockey Team’s victory over the USSR in the 1980 Olympics. This post explores why the death of Len Bias also seems to be one of those unforgettable moments.
It was a dark and stormy night, perhaps somewhere in the world; however, in my environs the unblocked sunlight radiated from our nearest star and penetrated through the depleted ozone layer of the Earth’s atmospheric shell (for it is on this planet that our scene lies) before gently reflecting off the ecru walls surrounding my cubicle and onto a computer screen which hadn’t been cleaned for several months. In honor of one of the the best known examples of superbly horrendous writing from the 19th century, I may have found its rival for the 21st century. In particular, I have found a writing sample so bad that it can only be called a masterpiece. Fashioned as a countdown of the most terrible New York Yankees trades, the piece reads like the most terrible countdown of NYY trades instead.