Tebow to Denver: Mile High Mistake

So, the mystery is solved and the NFL draftniks can take a breath: Tim Tebow is a first-round selection of the Denver Broncos. While I'm not surprised he went 25th overall, I am shocked that he was picked by Denver. The Broncos' biggest weakness last season was stopping the run, an issue they "solved" by acquiring 34 year-old Jamal Williams. While they clearly needed to try to replace Brandon Marshall's huge productivity at wide receiver (and I commend their selection of Demaryius Thomas), they had traded their way into an opportunity to take either Dan Williams or Jason Odrick, defensive tackles that would have shored up their porous run defense, with the 25th pick. Instead, they Tebowed themselves in the foot.

Denver coach Josh McDaniels has traded for two quarterbacks in his short tenure there: first, Kyle Orton in the Jay Cutler trade last year and then Brady Quinn this year. I don't happen to believe that either quarterback is going to help Denver win a Super Bowl, but McDaniels must believe that, otherwise he wouldn't have bothered acquiring them. Yes, Tebow gives the quarterback position in Denver a different dynamic, but it's not necessarily one they need. Running back Knowshon Moreno was a successful ground gainer in his rookie year, including in short yardage situations. He converted on 64.7% of third-and-short plays, and was third in the league in touchdown percentage near the goal-line, busting into the end zone 5 out of the 7 opportunities he had from inside the 3 yard line. Tebow's ability to succeed on short-yardage run plays gives the Broncos another option, but it's not worth a first round pick, especially with the payroll department taking on another first round salary with Thomas.

The Tebow Dilemma: How He Should be Used in the NFL

Tim Tebow is a bust. Or he’s an ace. Or he’s a pair of eights, destined to make an NFL GM or coach’s stomach churn as they double their bet: infinite possibilities looming, some bad, some decent, but none of them a blackjack. No one seems to know which, but all of them have bellied up to the high-rollers table, watching as the cards get passed around. And they should. Tim Tebow is a top-53 player on any roster. Some teams, however, are trying to decide if he is a franchise quarterback, the kind that gets paid a lot of money, the kind that gets drafted in the first round. The answer to that dilemma lies in how each prospective team envisions Tebow’s ceiling. And while the NFL draft gets underway on April 22nd, NFL front office personnel would be wise to wait to call the name of The Great Tim Tebow until the next day, when the second and third rounds take place. And he should be drafted not as The Franchise and not as The Project, but as a hybrid alternative: third down quarterback.

Conventional wisdom and draftniks say Tebow is not a first-rounder, and we all know why: his throwing motion is suspect and he’s not used to playing in a pro-style offense. Still, it’s certainly possible that a team with an anemic and hopeless offense like Cleveland, Buffalo or St. Louis might try to rebuild their offensive scheme to fit Tebow’s strengths and put him at the helm, but it’s likely that at least one of the Big Two of Sam Bradford and Jimmy Clausen would be available to one of those teams. Even if a team were to prefer Tebow over the more traditionally-styled Colt McCoy as the third best QB, there are too many other surer bets out there in the first round, where the risk and the reward tend to be as tight as Tony Romo’s collar in a playoff game.

And yet there is scuttlebutt that a team toward the end of the first round might be able to afford to roll the dice on the two-time BCS champ. Successful, well-run organizations like the Patriots and Steelers bristle at having to take the time to teach young players how to be a winner. Tebow comes pre-programmed in that department, but really, what team can pass on plugging a hole to take on an extra quarterback? And if you’re drafting toward the end of the first round, that means that you’re a contender, and no coach or GM of a contending team in their right mind would waste a first round pick on a position that is obviously not an issue (with the exception of Arizona, who is likely loath to go all in on another first round QB while Matt Leinart is still on the roster). Then there’s the Savior Theory, hitherto only applied to the Jaguars, who may, in a desperate attempt to fill seats, pluck the local boy hero to appeal to their Bible Belt fan base. More on the Jags later.

Predicting where Tebow will land is nothing more than a semi-educated guess, because it depends on the whim/expertise of the shot-callers in the NFL, some of whom are shrewd evaluators of talent and some of whom are hardheaded ex-jocks who go with their beer gut. There will be those who believe Tebow can one day (possibly soon) be a successful, starting quarterback in the NFL. There are others who value his leadership qualities and work ethic and believe that he can be someone they can trust if their first stringer goes down for a short period of time. And there are those who want to mold Tebow into their ideal player, no matter how little experience he may have at whatever position they think he can play. Yes, he’s built like a fullback, but does anyone really think that he can be an effective blocker? Child, please.

Let’s assume for a moment that Tebow is human, and whatever mechanical changes he’s made as a quarterback in the last six weeks would disappear in the 0.7 seconds it takes for Dwight Freeney to descend upon him in the pocket like an avalanche. And despite his 2,947 career rushing yards as a Gator, his 4.72 time in the 40 isn’t going to save him from an end like Freeney or any middle linebacker chasing him to the outside. However, the one thing I would want Tebow to do is take the snap on third or fourth and short.

From the moment Tebow stepped on the field as a true freshman man-child until his jarring, concussion-inducing hit against Kentucky as a senior, Tebow successfully rushed on third and short (here defined as one or two yards) 76.1% of the time- and didn’t turn the ball over once. The Miami Dolphins were second in the league last year in third and short conversion rate at 56.9%. From 2008 until the hit in 2009 (17 games), with the target of a Heisman Trophy on his back, he maintained an even-keel, to the tune of 76.2%. As a freshman in 2006, when he was used largely as a third down quarterback, replacing the unimposing Chris Leak at key moments, he went 8-for-10 on third and short runs, plus another 3-for-3 while running on fourth-and-short. And inside the three-yard line with the defense stuffing the box like Election Day in Iran? Five rushing touchdowns in five attempts. The Buffalo Bills had zero rushing touchdowns inside the 3 last year.

Here’s where we find out if the Jaguars have truly fallen under the spell of the Glory of the Coming of the Tebow: Jacksonville led the league in the third and short conversion last season. Maurice Jones-Drew busted through at a 76.0% clip (on 25 attempts- the most in the league), but more than that, the Jags don’t have to look very far to realize that they already have Tim Tebow: David Garrard was 10-for-10 on third and short last season. No other QB cracked the top 20 in third and short conversion rate. Granted, Garrard is 32 and hasn’t delighted Jacksonville fans since high school the way Tebow has, but Garrard was not the Jaguars’ problem last year. Their receiving corps wasn’t exactly drawing double teams and their defense was awful. At best, Tebow maintains the status quo in Jacksonville, and that’s not worth a first or second round pick, unless they plan to shore up their secondary through a trade or free agency. What they really need on offense is Brandon Marshall, not Tim Tebow.

So, where does it make sense for Tebow to go? I’ve broken it down into two categories: Hail Mary and Touchdown Jesus.

Hail Mary: Our Offense Is a Disgrace, Our Team Hasn’t Won in Years (If Ever) and We Need Divine Intervention (Chance of Success=Heaving a Ball 50 Yards Through a Defense That Knows It’s Coming)

Cleveland- Right now, it seems that Holmgren is betting that the wind off Lake Erie will push Jake Delhomme’s passes away from the seemingly magnetic forces of the opposing team. If it lands in an eligible Browns receiver’s hands, Holmgren does a dance of joy. If it’s caught by the intended receiver, Holmgren pulls a Pat Riley and installs himself as head coach immediately. Either way, Tebow doesn’t have the arm Holmgren uses for his system, so I don’t see the Browns building their offense around him. And they have so many other problems, it would be foolish to take a backup/third down QB in the first two rounds. Wait a minute, did I say foolish? Count the Browns in! Chance of Browns selecting Tebow: 20%

Oakland- How much longer can the Raiders cling to JaMarcus Russell? How much longer can JaMarcus Russell cling to the title of king of the burgers? Raider Nation would love the hard-nosed Tebow, but he’s not solving their problems, which run deeper than Lake Tahoe. However, anytime Al Davis is calling the shots, anything can happen. I actually make sure my cell phone is on during the draft every year just in case he calls me to tell me I’m the newest Raider. Chance of the Raiders selecting Tebow: 25%. Chance of the Raiders selecting Weiner: 2%

Buffalo- This scenario scares me the most, because they have the most glaring need at QB and the thought of Tebow facing Rex Ryan and Bill Belichick defenses four times during his rookie season makes me feel sorry for Tebow’s parents, who (as we know from the famous Super Bowl ad) overcame much adversity just to bring little Timmy into the world, only to watch him get crushed so young. Still, word is that Jim Kelly is hot for Tebow. Chance of the Bills selecting Tebow: 40%

St. Louis- What if the Rams take the best player in the draft instead of the best quarterback? They pass on Sam Bradford, take Ndamukong Suh or Gerald McCoy to anchor their pathetic defense and then loop around to take Tebow at the top of the second round. Or trade down a few spots to shore up their secondary with Eric Berry or Joe Haden and collect extra picks along the way. Turn on the Steven Jackson show while Tebow warms into his role as game-manager and team leader. Nah, too logical. Good luck, sweet St. Lou. If Bradford doesn’t work out, you’ll still have the best roast beef sandwich in the country. Chance of the Rams selecting Tebow: 5%


Touchdown Jesus: We’re a Pretty Good, Contending Team, but it Sure Would Be Nice to Have Some Bruiser With Half an Arm Pick Up a Few Short Yardage Plays For Us to Get Us Over The Hump (And Save Money on Those Silly Punters & Kickers)

New England- The Patriots were a surprising 11th in the league last year on third-and-short conversions, given that Tom Brady couldn’t run past a pregnant Gisele any more than a line of scrimmage. Laurence Maroney was 9-for-12, but his inability to hold onto the football makes him a dead man walking on Belichick’s roster. I don’t think Belichick’s quite reached the point where he’s crazy enough to turn Tebow into a tight end, but I do think he’d love to extend Brady’s career by substituting Tebow on short yardage plays. Chance of the Patriots selecting Tebow: 30%

San Diego- Philip Rivers is the starter, no question, so there should be no ego issue bringing in a young buck like Tebow to beef up their 30th ranked third-and-short rate (and 26th ranked touchdown rate inside the three yard line). With the lackluster LT gone, those carries will fall to the even smaller Sproles, and the Chargers could certainly use a bigger option, who can also find Antonio Gates should Tebow’s rushing antics become too predictable (TT was 6-for-10 passing inside the three yard line in his career, with no interceptions). Chance of the Chargers taking Tebow- 20%

These are the only teams that make sense in terms of taking Tebow in the first two rounds. In the unlikely event that he slips to the third round (the hype-meter on Tebow is rising by the day), there are plenty of other teams that could use him. Teams like the Texans, Bengals, Dolphins and Packers would be better served filling bigger needs than spending on a luxury item such as Tebow, but all it takes is one riverboat gambler to make him a top-10 pick. And that is too much to bet on a third-down QB with a recent concussion.

Rhymes with Horses' Tails

After my experience at the ’97 Belmont Stakes, I kept a passing interest in horse racing.  I would make a point to watch the Triple Crown races on TV, but not much more.  Sure, there was the occasional Preakness party hosted by a Baltimore friend, coupled with brief trips to an OTB, but no real investment in the sport until I met Jim. 

Jim is a fellow writer who started graduate school in Pittsburgh a year after I did, so we did not meet until the fall of 2004.  Over many beers these past 5+ years, Jim would regale me with tales of his father, which 85% of the time involved a horse.  More specifically, the shenanigans Jim, Sr. and his buddies would get into on the way to, at and on the way home from various horse races.  These stories are not mine to tell, and if I wrote them they would lack the style, charm and romance of the storyteller.  Also, you would not believe a word of it.  The “Horseshit Tales of Jim and Jim, Sr.” are so outrageous, so hilarious and so tragic, they put the Bible to shame.  And not unlike the Bible, the parishioner is not asked to test the limits of physical possibility, but rather to believe in something Greater.  It does not matter if our eyes have never seen a 100 year-old woman give birth, a sea split in two, or a man walk on water.  These things simply happened and there were witnesses to tell the tale afterwards.  It does no good to debate the truth, for doubt only ruins the story.  Instead, choose to believe and thy will be enlightened.  And so it is with the “Horseshit Tales.”  I love them and I believe them because they fulfill a missing part of my soul.  And because I am already damned to Hell for having listened to them.

After graduate school, I moved to New York.  After a year in the city, I met Andrea, the woman who would be my wife.  It would be three weeks between that meeting and our first date.  First, there would be Saratoga.  The day after meeting Andrea, I left to go on a family vacation to visit my sister in Portland and celebrate my father’s 60th birthday (and make a side road trip with my brother to Vancouver and Seattle).  A few days after my return, I was scheduled to pick up an award at a film festival on Cape Cod.  Sensing the geographical possibilities, I accepted an invitation from Jim to attend a couple of days of racing at Saratoga with his friend Perry before heading to Massachusetts.

Jim was driving from Pittsburgh to Perry’s house upstate and the two of them were to meet me at the train station in Albany, and then head over to our hotel to prepare to attend my First Communion at the Saratoga Cathedral.  Perry is a professional Native American storyteller and between the two of them, my ears were burning with the heat rising from the horseshit.  Or was it the actual 95-degree heat wave that flooded the Saratoga racetrack like a plague, thereby cancelling the day’s races for the first time in 130 years?  Stunned, Perry and Jim decided that the only plausible way to salvage the day was to spend it in the most depressing place on earth: the Albany OTB.

Having never previously been to Saratoga, I could not fully appreciate the stark contrast this dank pit of a bettor’s palace held.  Saratoga Race Course, for those who have not been, is the Garden of Eden.  Surrounded by lush green grass and tall oak trees shading communal picnic tables, the track itself is in marvelous shape, with an inviting apron from which to watch the action thundering mere yards away.  It was worthy of a stop on a road trip to Montreal with Andrea the following year.  The Albany OTB is where the next overzealous religious cult should hold its mass suicide.  Now, it could be that everyone in there that day was depressed that the Saratoga races had been cancelled, and were therefore forced to bet on harness racing at such luminous tracks as those in West Virginia, Delaware and New Jersey, but I’d be surprised if the mood changed much from day to day.  It’s actually quite a large venue, almost like a converted strip club, with dozens of 13-inch screens trained on various races, some of them not even live.  After a few miserable hours, we decided we’d be better off stripping naked and scraping our privates across the hot gravel of the parking lot, and then going back to our hotel room to drink, play cards and pray for cooler horses to prevail the next day. 

And it was evening and it was morning, a second day.  The weather cooled a bit and Saratoga rejoiced.  We arrived at the track just before the first races, lugging in a cooler filled with sausages, cheeses and, of course, beer.  Perry and Jim patiently refreshed my memory on how to read a Racing Form, while somewhat cheerfully bickering back and forth about which horses were going to win, a delightful ritual that continued throughout the day.  Meanwhile, I took in the gorgeousness of the track and the picnic area and the festivities that surrounded me, drinking beer, making several uneducated guesses as to which horse might win and which horse might win me a lot of money, nervously placing bets at the betting window and then wandering onto the apron to watch the race unfold exactly the opposite of how I predicted, and then repeated the entire procedure eight or nine more times until the last horse limped across the finish line and the crowds headed to the parking lot to continue their partying in the town of Saratoga Springs.  I have since returned twice to Saratoga, once with Jim and Perry and once with Andrea.  There are few summer days so glorious as one spent on the shaded grass of Saratoga.  From the tales I have been told, Louisville is a whole other animal.  I look forward to forging my own tales, with Perry, Jim and (if I am lucky) Jim, Sr. himself as witnesses.

Running For the Roses on Valentine's Day

My wife continues to amaze me.  In the past year, she has given birth, moved twice (once while pregnant and once with a 5 month-old), started a new job, and come through it all relatively intact.  Then, this past Valentine's Day, she went beyond the beyonds.  A gift no married man (let alone father) dare dream of, for fear of psychological institutionalization.  Yes, my wife gave me her unsolicited blessing and a plane ticket to attend the 2010 Kentucky Derby.  With two friends whose reputations for the perpetuation of general nonsense precede them.  On the weekend before our daughter's first birthday.  I don't know if I could have reacted more enthusiastically if she had told me that Gisele was going to use our apartment for a week-long lingerie fashion shoot.  I leaped up from the table at the restaurant and nearly knocked her over with my embrace.  This called for celebration.  This called for bourbon.

As the romantic dinner at our favorite intimate restaurant in Brooklyn Heights continued, and the glow showed no signs of wearing off, I began to wonder to myself: "Why am I so damn happy?"  I wouldn't call myself a hardcore horse racing fan by any means.  Yes, I have been to the track a handful of times in my life, and I know how to read a Racing Form, but it isn't something that I keep up with daily, like I do baseball and football, or even casually, like basketball and soccer.  I have never especially wanted to attend a Super Bowl, unless the Patriots were involved, and even then, I've had four chances in the past decade and I never once bothered to cruise eBay for tickets.  Sure, they would have been out of my price range, but I was a dumb 26 year-old when they won Super Bowl 36 in 2002 in New Orleans, where my parents live and am generally allowed to stay free of charge.  Surely, if there is any time to toss away $500-$1000 on a Super Bowl ticket, it's then.  "Eh," I reasoned, "The seats will probably suck.  Better to watch on TV."  A World Series game?  Sure, if the Red Sox are involved.  Did I bother in 2004 or 2007?  No.  So, what is it about watching 20 or so horses I've never heard of race for two minutes that has me so pumped?  For one thing, Touch Gold.

In 1997, I took a summer job in New York before my senior year of college at Washington University.  I was crashing on the futon in my brother Adam's one-bedroom walk-up apartment in the East Village and ready for my first 21 summer in the city.  My brother's friend is a bit of horse aficianado and they invited me to attend the Belmont Stakes.  I had never been to a horse race before and now I was going to a Triple Crown race.  Not only that, the city was abuzz about Silver Charm, who had won the Derby and the Preakness and was the favorite to take the first Triple Crown since Affirmed in 1978.  We took a train to Belmont Park, which I had no idea was near the city, let alone virtually in Queens.  Until this point, I had refrained from raising one of my main concerns for fear of seeming uncool: "How much am I going to have to pay to get into the Belmont Stakes?"  Surely, Adam's friend had gotten us tickets in advance and I would have to come up with the cash eventually, somehow, but how much?  I mean, it's a Triple Crown race!  With an actual Triple Crown at stake.  Could it be $100?  $200?  $500?  We get to the ticket booth and the moment of truth arrives.  The ticket man says "Two dollars."  Excuse me?  Two bucks to get into the biggest sporting event the entire world is talking about?  God bless horse racing!  God bless America!

We get in and I am stunned to learn that the Belmont Stakes will not take place for another 6 hours.  What am I to do in the meantime?  Learn to bet the ponies, of course.  Adam and his friend try to teach me the racing form, but like any natural gambler, I am only interested in the big payoff.  Who cares if a particular horse is favored to win me $3 if I bet $2?  I want the horse that will set me for life if it wins!  50-1 odds?  Come on down!

By the time the showcase race rolled around, I had wised up a bit, but I still wasn't onboard with betting Silver Charm and his paltry payout.  I was conflicted because wouldn't it be more fun to bet on the horse that could make history, the one everyone was here to see?  Instead, I bet Touch Gold, who was among the favorites, but promised a bigger payday than Silver Charm.  Little did I know that I had made the best choice of all.  Not just because Touch Gold won, spoiling the Triple Crown bid, but because "Touch Gold" is so much more fun to say roughly 156 times in succession as he's turning into the homestretch with a two dollar ticket in your hand.  Caught up in the excitement of the moment, surrounded by thousands of people, the only natural thing to do is repeat the name of the horse over and over again throughout the race.  It was then that I was hooked.  But, that is only a small part of why this year's Kentucky Derby race excites me so much.  The other part belongs to my friend Jim, who I will be going with, along with another friend, Perry.  The story of Jim deserves its own blog post, coming soon.

Fantasy Results

Although my owners Lumbergh and Tweedle Dee quit on me the last two months (in addition to the one month sabbatical they took in midseason), our boys were able to muster a 10th place finish in a field of 17. Could've been a lot worse.
In another 20-team league I was in, I won my 10-team division and then made it to the championship game before falling to the #1 seed.
In my own league, I blew a healthy lead in the last month and finished an unconscionable 5th out of 12 teams. I led the most laps, but ran out of gas at the end. First time I have not finished in the top 2 in 7 years.
Of course, there's always next year.

And Now Back To Fantasy Baseball

Okay, a lot has happened in the fantasy baseball season since I last wrote. The Cobble Hill Gang of my Yahoo! league is once again near the top of the standings. I've been in first place for most the season, and am momentarily in second place. This won't last long.

The league of Lumbergh and Tweedledee, however, is another matter altogether. It became clear in the first month that my strategy was doomed to fail. Most of the other teams in the league have essentially punted the saves category that I coveted so dearly during the draft and are instead racking up wins and strikeouts at an alarming rate. To compensate, I ended up trading Matt Lindstrom for Barry Zito and the injured Franklin Morales, who should come off the DL shortly and force me to make a difficult roster move. At the same time (about a month ago), I also traded for Dontrelle Willis, who might become a roster casualty when Morales comes off the DL. I need strikeouts badly, and Willis has been very inconsistent. I may have to trade him or possibly drop him soon.

I have also been burned by season-long disappearance of Big Papi. Certainly, I was not expecting a mere 3 home runs through the first two months of the season. I am hurting in virtually every category, except for Saves, ERA and RBI. No one is stealing bases for me, either. When Nate McLouth became eligible for the league by being traded the Braves, he was picked up off waivers for 93 units! We only have 100 to use for the whole year, give or take, since units can be traded. David Price went for 92 units. Comparatively, I bid 9 units. So, there is very little hope of me making a big move to rise in the rankings, where I currently sit 14th out of 17. Soon, I will have to trade Brad Ziegler, who has very little value anyway since he's on a team with few wins to save. I need starting pitching, but there aren't very good options out there. Hopefully, my hitting will turn around and I will have a chance.

A Brand New World

Greetings again for those still out there. Pardon my delinquency in my posts. On May 6th, I became the alleged father of Emily Juliet Weiner. She's happy and healthy and so are her parents.