The Miami Dolphins Are Terrible at This

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Amid the media- and fan-driven frenzy about ‘tanking’ I wonder if anyone has stopped to ponder the following question:

What if the Miami Dolphins are as bad at earning the 1st pick as they were trying to earn the 32nd pick?

They’re not off to a great start.

Right away, the Dolphins botched it by dismissing a wild-eyed, dysfunctional head coach who refused to modify his system to fit the personnel, had begun to blatantly point fingers, and explicitly sheltered under the sort of derelict excuses that would see a player excised from winning franchises.

And for an added twist of the knife, Miami made the mistake of allowing that sort of valuable agent of chaos escape to a division rival, where he is already doing work for the New York Jets.

The Dolphins only made things worse by screwing up their search for a replacement.

They could have taken the advice of several players who took to Twitter to argue on behalf of Darren Rizzi, a special teams coach who learned how to lose under a solid set of proven’s like Greg Schiano, Joe Philbin, and Adam Gase. Coach Rizzi had once been forced to step down as head coach of Rhode Island after achieving a 3-9 record in his first and only year coaching the Rams. He would have been a promising choice.

Miami even pulled some strings to score an interview with a ‘ringer’ like Dennis Allen, who sported an 8-28 record in his previous NFL head coaching stint! The Dolphins walked out of that meeting without getting Allen under contract.

Instead, they hired a coach who spent 15 years working at every level of the most impressive dynasty in NFL history. And they did it fresh off his calling, perhaps, the most impressive defensive performance in Super Bowl history. Awful.

Miami were forced to watch with dismay as Brian Flores did what previous New England spin-offs had failed: he brought a significant portion of New England’s staff with him, assembling a cabal of assistants that sport more hardware than Home Depot.

Dolphins fans, no strangers to the exercise of hope-trafficking, have largely taken solace in two ideas.

The first is the perception that even a successful set of coaches requires a period of creative destruction; taking a step backward in order to leap forward. Unfortunately, there is a consistent history of new head coach hires improving their team’s win total in their first year. Yuck.

Over the last 30 years of NFL history, there have been 194 head coach hires, with 142 of them taking over losing teams. On average, the new head coaches achieved +1.5 more wins than their predecessors. For the teams that started out with losing records, the head coach change was worth an average improvement +2.4 wins.

In fact, of the 45 teams with a new coach taking over a 6- or 7-win roster, only 10 achieved records of 4-12 or worse the next year. Their records averaged somewhere between 7-9 and 8-8.

But there’s always the second source of hope for Miami fans: the near-universal perception of a talent-less roster. So bad is this Dolphins roster that, according to Odds Shark, oddsmakers have given Miami sole possession of the lowest win total prediction in the NFL landscape (5.0 wins).

Of course, the bad news is that, according to data compiled from Sports Odds History, over the last 30 seasons of NFL history, the teams with the lowest sportsbook win total in any given year have only ended up with the 1st pick in the NFL Draft three times.

Cross-reference the two and you have 20 teams over the last 30 years who hired a new coach to take over a roster projected by Las Vegas to be the worst (or tied for the worst) in the NFL. Their average record the following year? About 6-10.

Granted, the perception of Miami’s roster as talent-less is a bit curious. You don’t typically see teams that won six or more games projected to have the worst record in the NFL the following year. It’s only happened twice before.

The 1996 Carolina Panthers responded to odds makers’ doubts by going 12-4 and playing in the NFC Championship Game. The 2018 Buffalo Bills went 6-10 and will pick 9th in the upcoming draft, despite having started a particularly raw rookie quarterback all year.

This is not particularly comforting, for fans of Alabama quarterback Tua Tagovailoa.

The Dolphins continue to bungle the roster effort. They haven’t emptied the roster, traded their best players, or insured themselves against the progression of promising young players. They don’t have a depth chart stacked with older, high-risk assets.

Most people seem to think roster talent goes up and down every year because of the players coming in or going out during the off season. That’s not really true. The balance between the progression of young players, the attrition of old players, and the regression of inconsistent players plays a much larger role in year-to-year changes to the roster’s talent level.

It’s not all about the incremental loss of veterans like Cameron Wake or Ja’Wuan James. In 2016, the Dolphins lost Olivier Vernon, Lamar Miller, and Charles Clay via free agency. Fans and media declared the roster talent-less, only to see improvement from 6-10 to 10-6.

For the first time in years, the roster is infested at nearly every position with young and promising players that threaten to take the next step. Laremy Tunsil, Jesse Davis, Mike Gesicki, Jakeem Grant, Albert Wilson, Kenyan Drake, Kalen Ballage, Davon Godchaux, Vincent Taylor, Jonathan Woodard, Raekwon McMillan, Jerome Baker, Xavien Howard, and Minkah Fitzpatrick have all made positive impressions. Yes, even Mike Gesicki.

Frankly, there are not enough players like Charles Harris in that group, sporting a problematic mix of high expectations and bad tape.

Also for the first time in years, the team doesn’t have a significant amount of expectations tied up in a handful of veterans who pose significant age or injury risk. Unstable assets like Reshad Jones (age, injury), Ryan Fitzpatrick (age), and Albert Wilson (injury) are less common on this roster, and their 2018 comps are easier. Jones already played unevenly last year during the 7-win season, it wouldn’t be terribly difficult for Fitzpatrick to out-perform what Tannehill and Osweiler provided a year ago, and Albert Wilson played less than half a season in 2018.

The team doesn’t have much time left this off season to get back on course. They still have an entire NFL Draft full of talented players to navigate. The way this front office and coaching staff have been operating, they shouldn’t be trusted to make it through the weekend without getting at least a little bit better.

What a bunch of bad losers.

 

Chris Kouffman (@CKParrot) is a host of Three Yards of Carry, on which he doesn’t lose an argument, unless he’s trying to. Dolphins fans, also check out the latest COLUMN from Josh Houtz on whether Miami should target Russell Wilson.

Something needs to be done about Wei-Yin Chen

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The very fact that the Atlanta Braves recently signed All-Star second baseman Ozzie Albies to a seven-year extension and it’s for less money than what the Miami Marlins are paying Wei-Yin Chen over the next two years is absolutely absurd.

The Marlins entered Spring Training with the presumption that Jose Urena, Dan Straily and Chen would take the top three spots of the starting rotation. By the end, they made the wise decision to hand the rotation to their young rising stars. Urena opened the season and Straily was released but the same could not yet be done to Chen.

In 2016, the Marlins, under previous ownership, signed Chen to a five-year, $80 million contract to pair him with the late Jose Fernandez for a possible playoff run. The team still owes him $20 million this season and $22 next season. The money is guaranteed so there is an understandable urgency to get some value out of him.

They moved Chen in the bullpen but he has yet to have so much as a single positive outing. He has an ERA of 24.75 in four innings over three appearances. His first appearance ended without a single recorded out. He gave up a walk and a hit on the only two batters he faced and was given the hook in favor of Sergio Romo coming in to save Miami’s 3-0 win over Colorado on March 31. His best outing was when he gave up a run in two innings at home against the Mets on April 2. His worst was his most recent outing where he gave up 10 runs in two innings against the last place Cincinnati Reds on Tuesday.  

Marlins manager Don Mattingly has exercised patience towards Chen and defended him at every turn this season. Before the 1-5 road trip, he said,  “There’s going to be a lot of important outs he is going to have to get.”

“We have to be able to use him,” Mattingly said on March 31. “If not, it’s going to put stress and wear and tear on everyone else. He’s going to be fine.”

In Cincinnati, after Chen turned into a batting practice pitcher, he basically said that it’s been a hard position for him to adjust to after spending the last seven years as a starting pitcher.

“I expect him to be better than that, but sometimes it’s not quite fair for him the way we’ve used him,” Mattingly said on April 9. “He’s sitting a lot, doesn’t know exactly when he’s going to pitch and it’s just not the role I think he’s accustomed to, but I do think eventually he’s going to get better.”

One solution to that problem would be to schedule his appearances. That way there would be no surprises and he would likely be more prepared going into them, especially when they’re at home, where he had a 1.62 ERA in 13 starts last year. But as Mattingly said before Friday’s 9-1 loss to the Philadelphia Phillies, that’s not part of the plan.

“No, can’t do that,” Mattingly said. “I’d like to say we could but we can’t schedule.”

One other available option would be to make Chen the opener. The Tampa Bay Rays invented that strategy with Romo last season and the Okland Athletics adopted it during the Wild Card game against the New York Yankees. Chen could start the first two inning, and pass it off to a starter for the next five, leaving the final two innings to the bullpen.

That plan was originally brought up as early as the beginning of Spring Training but has not yet been taken in consideration since. Main reason why is because unlike the Rays and A’s, there doesn’t seem to be a spot for that.

“We’ve talked about it being in consideration but I don’t know who we would do that for, as far as our starters, ” Mattingly said. “They’ve all actually thrown the ball pretty well.”

The opener would indeed stunt the growth of any of the four young starters the Marlins are trying to groom into aces. However if it would happen on this team, it would either occur after an injury to one of the starting pitchers or be done during a Jose Urena start, should his struggles continue.

For now the role for Chen going forward looks to be that of a long reliever in low leverage situations. Regardless, it can’t be worst than what has already transpired.

Tony Capobianco is the lead photographer for FiveReasonsSports.com

Peter O’Brien: Swing and a Mish, but it’s not his fault

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By: Craig Mish

One week before Opening Day, Peter O’Brien’s face covered the parking garages of Marlins Park. Less than a month into the season, O’Brien is driving out of those garages looking for a new team.

I’m sure when the Marlins originally called up O’Brien in September 2018, the Hialeah-native had to be pinching himself. If you don’t know the background, he spent 7 seasons shuffling between a half a dozen organizations. O’Brien’s impressive list of farm systems includes: Yankees, Diamondbacks, Rangers, Royals, Reds, and Dodgers. All of the organizations had the same problem with him, he didn’t hit.

-0.2 War 10 career Home Runs 58 G 54 K

So, when the Marlins acquired him from the Dodgers in a 2018 trade (for Cash), and called him up in September, it was a great story. O’Brien is of Cuban-American descent and played college baseball at the University of Miami. He had a decent cup of cafecito with the big league club hitting 4 September home runs, in 66 plate appearances. Most baseball executives will tell you that the hardest month to judge a player is September. So, take those stats with a grain of salt.  Most baseball fans knows this. In fact, after several organizations dismissed O’Brien’s skills, one would have to think some caution would be used with his Major League ability. There was a 7-year sample size.

7 years wasn’t enough for the Marlins. They used the Ryan Tannehill ‘what about year 8’ plan.

The off-season proved to be impressive for the Marlins off the field. They seemed to hit on virtually everything. The Home Run eyesore, excuse me, sculpture, was eliminated.  The team re-branded the logo and created significant improvements both inside Marlins Park and with their community work. On that front, most lauded the team’s efforts and faith is slowly but surely being renewed. On the baseball side, however, the team built up O’Brien like he was the next Paul Bunyan.  

In fact, while so many veteran Free Agents were struggling for work, the Marlins were busy anointing O’Brien their starting Right Fielder. Once the decision was made to move Brian Anderson to Third Base full time, O’Brien was THE guy. He was part of the franchise’s #OurColores campaign, did several appearances for the team including a Golf event, and was even the player chosen to appear on WPLG-TV’s Sports Sunday. You see, O’Brien has power, and what the Marlins missed in Justin Bour, they would have in O’Brien, if not more — or so they thought.

The fantasy continued into Spring Training. O’Brien struggled to make contact, and basically spent the first two weeks doing what he has done throughout his career. After 2 weeks, he looked just like the guy 6 other organizations had given up on. The Marlins, however, maintained that his approach was sound. I, personally, was told that he was doing things people don’t see on the backfields. The Marlins were happy with him.

Fair enough.

As Spring camp came to its close, all of a sudden, it became very apparent that at the very least O’Brien was being pushed by Garrett Cooper, who made good contact all spring and boasted a .400 batting average. Cooper made more progress than the team had expected coming off a wrist injury, and had made a solid impression.

On Saturday March 23rd, O’Brien was in the Marlins starting lineup in their spring game.  Then, suddenly, he wasn’t. A meeting of the Marlins’ minds determined O’Brien would be sent to Triple-A and it would be Cooper in Right for Opening Day. O’Brien packed his stuff, walked over to the Minor League Clubhouse and prepared to don a Baby Cakes jersey.

How did this happen?  Better yet, why did this happen?  How could the organization, and in this case, the new regime, miscalculate a player so poorly?  

Fortunately, Cooper proved to be a solid backup plan, masking the mistake made with O’Brien.

Then, Cooper got hurt.

Since O’Brien’s recall, he’s been completely over-matched. He stuck out in about 50-percent of his at-bats. This is the same player the Marlins were counting on as their power source. He hits it a long way (in batting practice). The problem is, most of the time, he simply doesn’t hit the ball.  This off-season, the Marlins put O’Brien in a position that a player who had failed 6 times before, should not have been put in. He was told to represent the team with class AND have a solid back of the baseball card. He got the first part right.

The Marlins clearly did not have a sound backup plan here, and that’s alarming. They were fortunate that Cooper played as well as he did, until he couldn’t. Upon O’Brien’s return, it has taken less than 10 games for the Marlins to realize what everyone else did. O’Brien can’t consistently hit major league pitching.

This isn’t all on O’Brien. From all accounts, he’s a fine young man and had a pinch-me moment being one of the faces of his hometown team. Perhaps O’Brien being a South Florida resident factored into their decision to use him in several of their plans, but it doesn’t excuse the mistake. Find someone else. Maybe the Marlins wanted to buy into the story. Or, perhaps they were fooled here. If so, that’s a problem.

This indeed is the first significant red check mark for the new regime’s on-field baseball resume.  The result is in on this one, and it’s at best a poor baseball decision. The Marlins offense was never going to be great, but O’Brien was going to be one of the reasons it wouldn’t be as bad as some thought. He’s not, it is. The Marlins can’t afford to make mistakes like these. It makes everyone look bad, especially Peter O’Brien.

Austin Dean, batter-up.  Garrett Cooper, get well soon.

 

Craig Mish (@CraigMish) is the host of Swings and Mishes with Jeremy Tache, which posts weekly on this website and major podcast platforms including Apple Podcasts and Google Podcasts.

Nipsey Hussle: Death of a Dope Boy’s Dream

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Every dope boy I’ve ever known said they had a plan. “I’ma get these packs off and then buy a barbershop.” You could replace barbershop with rib shack, carwash, or takeout spot depending on the day and the people in the conversation. Nipsey Hussle’s life was taken little more than a week ago now, and the impact of his death has resonated far greater than his jamming ass music.

I believe his death has resonated because his Dope Boy Dream came true. The dream came true and people felt that on a visceral level. However, the happily ever after was cut short. The streets still wouldn’t let him be great, and if Naybahood Nip can get clipped in his own hood in front of a business built with his own hands, then is the Dope Boy Dream really just pie in the sky? Hov said, “I know how this movie ends, but still I play, starring role in Hovito’s (Carlito’s) way.” We rooted for Nip and now it feels like, yet again just when one of us breaks out, the crabs in the barrel pull us back in..

It’s easy to downplay Dope Boy Dreams. They sound crazy outlandish sometimes. Oh so you gonna survive rivals and industrious police to sell enough dope to fund an enterprise? (Insert Martin Lawrence smirk). But like any fable told around weed cyphers or blunt rolling tables, there is truth in the legend. Master P did it; except his start up money was bequeathed to him by his grandfather. No shade. Jay, Dame, and Biggs did it. J Prince did it. So the Dope Boy Dream isn’t all just corner boy El Dorado fantasy..

Still, Nip’s dream was different. His version of the Dream wasn’t just about building a company to fund his and his family’s lives and escaping the maelstrom of street crime and gang violence. He was trying to build economic engines that would provide for entire communities, and judging by the name of his final album, I think he thought he was hella close to pulling it off. The Victory Lap album was Nip’s last offering to the world, and it is probably his best work. Listening to the album after his death and voraciously devouring interviews and articles about the man provided some insight into how Nip’s Dope Boy Dream manifested and persists.

Nipsey Hussle’s Album “Victory Lap” was released in 2018.

Victory Lap Track 11 – Grinding All My Life

Dope Boy Dreams have their genesis in the minds of young people often living in poverty and calculating the long odds of social ascension. Venture capitalists aren’t showing up to pitch meetings in churches, Boys and Girls Clubs, or traphouses. So the Dope Boy Dream is essentially a plan to raise capital. Nipsey‘s version was a family affair with the up and coming Hussle following in the entrepreneurial footsteps of his older brother “Black” Sam.

It was Black Sam who after a series of incarcerations, decided to lease a retail space in the same strip mall that the brothers had spent years hustling in front of. Crenshaw Boulevard and Slauson Ave, where the strip mall is located is in the heart of Nip’s neighborhood. They called their first attempt at business ownership Slauson Tees and it quickly became a neighborhood hotspot. The store attracted visitors and customers and Nip and company began to see the Dream grow legs and stand on its own. They began to see a way out of the constant grind of hustling and dodging county

Then Black Sam got booked, again, and the family lost the Slauson Tees store. However, when he came home, the brothers made it a point to purchase a different space in the same plaza. They had laid claim to the plaza and began leasing more bays. It was beginning to come full circle. It had been just a hangout, but it was now becoming an economic oasis in the middle of a dessert of broken dreams and poverty. In a documentary about the birth of the business, Nip said, “I can’t count how many fights I got into in this parking lot. Can’t count how many times we got shot at in this parking lot. It became our hangout, and so now to be back here, not as a customer or a nigga loitering, but as an owner is a beautiful thing. We wasn’t out here grinding for nothing.”

 

Victory Lap Track 5 – Dedication

It’s a well-known fact that most small-businesses in communities of color are not owned by people of color. Nip and his brothers decided leasing in the community wasn’t enough. They decided to buy the entire complex and lease bays and storefronts out to small businesses. They purposed to hire felons who had come home from prison with few options. Whether it be sweeping up, taking trash out or running the cash register, the goal was to provide a way, no matter how small.

Wait, I just realized that we’ve been talking about the Dope Boy Dream but not how NIp was tied to the dope game. Black Sam was in and out of county jail during the early years of the Dope Boy Dream. The brothers were hustlers in the truest since. Need a shirt? They got you. Need some new music? They got you. Need a couple ounces of weed or powder cocaine? They got that too.

For most entrepreneurs, failure equates to lost money and maybe a tarnished reputation, maybe. The consequences of failure for the Dope Boy Dream include lost freedom and a giant pause on whatever potential future was hanging on the horizon. Nip watched Black Sam move in and out of LA County jail and did a stint himself. Every time they went in, they lost the momentum they had built up. Every time Sam got out, they had to restart. Finally, Nip said there has to be a better way.

“We got the game from the OGs, but they gave us the game of  a different era. They kind of accidently mislead us. The police and courts created a thing called the Gang Enhancement. Say you get into a fight and break a dude’s nose? That’s assault with bodily harm, maybe a couple months max, but with the Gang Enhancement, they add about ten years to your sheet. So typical gangbanging shit, start putting the homies away for major time. It got to a point where we had to look at the OGs like hold up. We gotta rethink this,” Nip said in an interview with Hot 97.

In response, he doubled down on the hustle. The goal was to go legit and break the cycle of crime and jail. If you’re acquainted with Dope Boy Dreams, then by this point of the story you’re probably rooting for the antihero. Rap videos and pop culture would have you believe that all the ill gotten proceeds from a life of crime go to fuel rampant debauchery and misogynistic fantasies. The truth however, is that that dirty money pays mortgages, car notes, healthcare bills, and most everything else in life that requires monetary remuneration.

To see a Dope Boy go legit is to see a clean revenue stream built. A Dope Boy gone legit has beaten the system, and what person of color isn’t rooting for someone to pull a Tron and beat the game?

Victory Lap Track 6 – Blue Laces 2 

There’s another element to consider when pondering why the culture reacted to Nip’s death the way it did. Nip was a CRIP, and a well respected CRIP at that. To survive the crucible of LA gang culture and build a sustainable business is a herculean task. Nip was the only member of his family to claim CRIP and his affiliation with the street gang put much respect on his name.

It’s hard to talk about LA gang culture from the outside looking in. I, like most people I think, see gangs through the lenses of after school specials and cautionary tales preached to middle school assemblies. Yet, to hear Nip and others talk about these violent fraternities, is to hear a community in pain.

“When you’re outside and doing things to get money, it’s almost inevitable (getting involved in gang life). You end up with two choices; get with it or get the fuck out the way,” He said. The CRIPS began as a community empowerment organization aiming to protect neighborhood residents from overly militarized police and oppression. However, time and circumstance has morphed the CRIPs and Bloods and others into violent criminal syndicates.

I believe Nipsey’s respect in LA stems not from a history of violence and flashy crime. Rather, Nip’s respect comes from a community understanding the usually inevitable pitfalls of the life and the supreme unlikelihood of what he accomplished in business and music. He was an exemplar of what is possible and a radical outlier at the same damn time.

On Blue Laces Nip rapped,“Third generation, South Central , Gang bangers, and lived long enough to see it changing .”

That last bar is the one that has so many people messed up. He lived just long enough to see it changing. Just long enough to have his business thriving. Just long enough to create a classic album. Just long enough to be an inspiration.

 

Every time I think about it, all I can do is steal Florida Evans’s classic exclamation of grief. “Damn, Damn, Damn James!”

 

Victory Lap Track 13 – Loaded Bases

 

They’re going to hold Nipsey’s memorial service in the Staples Center. Memes are circulating that implore people to seek out and find the Nipsey’s at work in their own neighborhoods. The entire hip hop industry and community (minus Kodak Black) have rallied to support Hussle and his hustles. His aim was to put people in positions to succeed. He got taken out of the game but he left the bases loaded.

It’s eerie that his first major album was titled Victory Lap. It wasn’t a debut. It was a declaration. Nigga I made it! Niga we made it! It also made the point that putting an album out wasn’t the race. The race was surviving LA. The race was thriving in his own community as it revitalized around him. The race was to become a reputable business owner and contributor to the culture. This jamming ass album was just a cherry on top.

People of color relate to Nip’s story, and his passing hurt total strangers because his story is one told a million times. Nipsey was Carlito if Benny Blanco ain’t catch him slipping on the subway platform.

 

Christopher Mattox (@ChampionLyfe) is the host of Light Skinned Opinions, and has lots of words of the day. Find his podcast here: https://www.fivereasonssports.com/south-florida-podcasts/light-skinned-opinions/

Dwyane Wade deja a Miami desamparada

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El retiro de Dwyane Wade llegó y Miami llora la partida del deportista profesional más importante que ha tenido la ciudad en su corta historia deportiva.

Desde el momento en que fue escogido en el draft en 2003 hasta este último juego en Brooklyn, Wade siempre pensó en Miami, en el equipo, en los demás.

Por fin, llegó el escenario en el que todos los reflectores estaban sobre él.

Esta temporada fue un regalo para los que seguimos al Miami Heat.

El objetivo principal del equipo no se cumplió. O quizás sí.

Vimos un año más de Dwyane Wade con el uniforme que lo llevó al estrellato.

No solo en Wade County, sino en todos los Estados Unidos.

Miami queda huérfana de héroes deportivos

Los fanáticos del deporte profesional en Miami no celebran un título desde 2013, precisamente la última vez que Dwyane Wade y el Miami Heat ganaron un título.

Ahora, tras la partida de Wade, Miami queda huérfana.

Los Dolphins y los Marlins están en plena reconstrucción y el Miami Heat parece estar estancado en ese grupo del medio, a menos que traigan a alguna superestrella de la agencia libre o vía cambio.

No son tan buenos para competir, ni tan malos para tener una alta escogencia en el draft, aunque el Heat aún puede escoger en un buen puesto, dependiendo del sorteo y los porcentajes.

Así llegó Bam Adebayo hace un par de campañas.

Todos nos preguntamos cuál de los jóvenes tratará de tomar el testigo de Wade, si es que algo así llega a pasar.

Justise Winslow creció mucho este año, y tiene mucho potencial para seguir creciendo.

Bam Adebayo se ganó su titularidad por encima de Hassan Whiteside y Derrick Jones Jr. deleitó a los fans con su airplane mode.

Josh Richardson fue quizás el más reservado de los cuatro, quizás porque al comienzo de la temporada no le fue bien cuando se le entregó el control del equipo y los tiros más importantes de los juegos.

Hay que ver como juega este grupo sin un líder como Wade junto a ellos.

Wade’s #L3gacy

Dwyane Wade y su legado, unas palabras que escucharemos por el resto de nuestras vidas.

Es mucho más que basquetbol, como le dice su madre al final del comercial de Budweiser.

Mucho más que cualquier superestrella en cualquier deporte.

La cara de esta franquicia, de esta ciudad, del sur de Florida.

Sus tres títulos pusieron al Miami Heat en el mapa de los campeones e la NBA, pero su carácter y liderazgo en la comunidad lo elevaron a otro nivel.

Fue una carrera con diferentes etapas, con diferentes protagonistas, y muchos momentos que quedarán para el recuerdo.

¿Y lo mejor de todo? Se va con el respeto de toda una liga, que se rindió a sus pies durante una temporada entera, como lo hizo con Kobe Bryant hace unos años.

El intercambio de camisetas se volvió un ícono de la despedida de Dwyane Wade, y aunque el equipo no logró su cometido, los fanáticos del Heat deben estar satisfechos con la temporada que les brindó su gran estrella.

El Heat se despide de la temporada con la segunda eliminación en los últimos tres años.

Una eliminación que duele por cómo se dio todo, con tantas derrotas que no debieron ser, tantas ventajas desperdiciadas al final de los juegos.

La postemporada sin el Heat y D-Wade

Hace una semana escribí que estaba disfrutando de este cierre de temporada, porque era como una postemporada adelantada para Wade y el Heat.

Lamentablemente se fue dando el escenario que todos temíamos. El Miami Heat terminó la temporada con 39-43, y fuera de la contienda un día antes de terminar la temporada.

Cuando LeBron James se mudó a la costa oeste, parecía claro el camino para equipos como el Heat para clasificar con mucha más facilidad.

Sin embargo, a este equipo le faltó pegada, manejo de juegos, sangre fría.

Eso vendrá el año que viene.

El núcleo joven de este equipo creció mucho, y a partir de la temporada que viene debemos ver mucho más de Adebayo, Winslow, Richardson, Jones Jr. y compañía ganando juntos sobre el tabloncillo.

Hay que ganar títulos para ser querido en esta ciudad, y eso debe estar ya bien claro en las mentes de los futuros líderes de este equipo.

De eso también es responsable Dwyane Wade.

De hacerle entender a los que quieran ser referentes de este equipo, que más allá de representar a la cultura del Miami Heat, esta franquicia tiene que competir por campeonatos.

Muchas gracias por todo, Wade Jones…

 

Alejandro Villegas es miembro de Cinco Razones Podcast, el único podcast en español del Five Reasons Sports Network, junto a Ricardo Montes de Oca y Leandro Soto, fanáticos del tanking y de Dion Waiters

Budweiser’s Dwyane Wade tribute was beautiful and also disgusting

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Now that the emotion has subsided and the tears have all mostly dried up, can we maybe take a second to give that Budweiser ad the side-eye it so rightfully deserved?

You’ve seen the video by now. Dwyane Wade swapping “jerseys” with people whose lives he’s touched. Victims of gun violence. Poverty. Addiction. It’s powerful. It’s emotional. And for the first three minutes and fifty-five seconds, Budweiser navigates these harrowing tales beautifully, artfully, and produces what can arguably be described as a perfect tribute. Maybe the best athlete tribute ever. As you stare at the screen, tears literally pour down your face.

And then some shithead, corporate shill, Darren Rovell clone in marketing decides that what this heartfelt video needs is a fucking slogan.

 

 

Look, I get that sometimes the message isn’t gonna come from the ideal place. (Over at Deadspin, Laura Wagner presents a much more cynical—and maybe even more accurate—look at it.) We’ve reached a point where brands and life are sort of intertwined and we’ve accepted that companies are trying to sell us something at every turn. It’s depressing, but it’s life. Hell, the president of the United States uses his platform as a world leader to peddle hats. But on the most basic of levels, on the ground floor of expectations, is it too much to ask that a company practice subtlety? That they not slap a branded hashtag across real life fucking tragedy?

Heres a victim of systemic racism. Here’s a woman whose house burned down in a fire. Here’s a teenager whose brother was murdered in a horrific act of violence. Cheers! Don’t forget to buy some beer!

And if you wanna be particularly grossed out, try and wrap your mind around Budweiser using Dwyane Wade’s mom, whose life was practically destroyed by substance abuse, to hawk an addictive substance notable for destroying lives.

Again, capitalism is going to give you problematic messengers. That part is what it is. But when the message is being delivered on real tragedy, on lives ruined, on the casket of a child… maybe don’t brand it like it’s a talking frog. Maybe just put “Thank You” with your little logo under it and trust that we know who you are and what you want us to buy. Maybe, just maybe, brand the story of a kid being murdered in a school shooting with even an ounce of fucking tact.

Or maybe I’m expecting too much of a beer company.

Dwyane Wade and the Culture of Miami Basketball

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I was taught to kick a soccer ball before I could even walk. It’s the way my dad was. He came to America from Cartagena, Colombia as a young man, and the way he made friends was playing soccer. The immigrant story all so common in Miami is about that, bringing with you a part of home as you transplant yourself for a better life. You are alone in a new world, not knowing the language, and in my dad’s case, the only thing he had was sports. So as a baby, and into being an adult, he raised me with that love and culture for fútbol. My mother born in Venezuela but of Italian descent also shared this love for il bel gioco (the beautiful game).

His story is like so many in Miami, where people bring anything that they can to this new place, food, tradition, and yes, sports. So when you have children and build a family, you want to instill these things that helped make up your identity, so that beyond your genetics, the things you loved can live on.

Basketball wasn’t one of those things, and for so many Latinx millennials in Miami, basketball was a found love not an adopted one.

The Miami Heat weren’t something that most Hispanic dads were keeping up with, El Mundial y El Classico was appointment watching in so many Dade-county households. For other families, la pelota (baseball) reigned king, and for the rest, the Dolphins and Hurricanes had built a massive fan base over decades of dominance, parades and undefeated seasons. Basketball wasn’t what it is now back then. The Heat were good, sure. Pat Riley, Timmy Hardaway and Alonzo Mourning had made strides in the city at the old-raggedy Miami Arena, but it wasn’t the event. It wasn’t flying death machine, 27-game win streak or “This is my house.” That was Dwyane, all Dwyane.

As a young Hispanic millennial, I, and so many like me found the game of basketball because of him. His electricity, elasticity and excellence was blinding. I had never seen someone move with that much force and authority while also displaying the patience and playmaking that I had only seen from El Pibe. This guy was unlike anything I had ever seen before, and I was forever entranced with his greatness.

In 2006, I had somehow convinced my family to watch the Finals, to share with me this cool new sport. My parents thought his name was Dwyane Wayne and didn’t know the rules. Suddenly I am passing something onto them, building a culture my own. How could you not fall in love after that run?

“My belief is stronger than your doubt.”

157 points total in Games 3-6 and Wade being showered in champagne, camera flashes and greatness was yelling at the championship trophy, “YOU BELONG TO ME!” The first ballot Hall of Famer Shaquille O’Neal was a distant afterthought. Wade had grabbed the sport by the jugular and would never let go.

El Pibe never did anything like that. Miami, a city not impressed by anything, was enraptured. Built atop of cocaine, medical fraud and fakes, a 26-year old, the same age I am now, was the most genuine thing about this city. He was ours. He was Miami’s.

What followed has been over a decade of shared love for a sport and specially a man. There is no basketball in so many Hispanic homes without Dwyane Wade. Our families are scattered across the world and very rarely do people come to this city from outside with a basketball culture embedded within them. We had to learn to love it, and Wade made it impossible not to.

The Heat, and Wade, talk a lot about culture building. Building a #HeatCulture of the hardest-working-best-conditioned-team-in-the-NBA, nurturing a #HeatLifer campaign that highlights the “forever men,” as Riley calls them. It’s about building something lasting that helps ground identity, and this is a culture and identity that Wade has built with young Hispanics in Miami since 2003. It’s exactly that: A culture, not unlike my dad holding me up from my armpits so I can stand to kick a miniature soccer ball. It’s something that is meant to be passed down. An entire generation of us, born in the wake of the confetti and good deeds Wade has done.

We have gotten to watch one of the 20 greatest basketball players who ever lived play night in and night out. Even now, in his age 37 season, he is still providing “moments,” as he’s dubbed them. A chest-thumping game winner against the greatest basketball team ever, complete with a literal victory lap, one last lob to his brother in his final All-Star game, and so many go-ahead scores and defensive plays just to keep Miami afloat this playoff hunt.

To call him the most important figure in Miami sports is not hyperbole. It’s probably actually underselling his impact on this city. He made basketball matter here to a group of people who didn’t have it growing up.

In 2006, so many of us Latinx millennials were starved for sports excellence. During his entire tenure with the Heat, the Dolphins have failed to win a single playoff game, the Marlins have made the postseason once and the Panthers have as many playoff wins as Wade has conference titles.

There won’t be a banner this season, there won’t be confetti, champagne showers and the gold plating of a trophy. Wade leaves us at 37, and as millennials, we have seen him grow alongside us. We have taken these steps with him, we have grown out of middle school and into our companies, day jobs and marriages. Wade has been there almost the entirety of our sports consciousness, and he is leaving as we enter the final frontier of adulthood. We have seen his all too public life play out parallel to ours. He came into the league a young man and leaves it a role model, community figure and an incredible father. As we grew, we had Dwyane Wade there, and that comes to an end Wednesday.

It’s been a journey so uniquely Miami: Someone not from here coming and building a culture that is lasting. That in a transient city that adopts so many immigrants, it adopted a sport and a son. This is a basketball town now. We have a culture and it’s thanks to him. I look forward to the day where I can take my first born to a Heat game and point into the rafters at a number 3 jersey and tell them all about him. How he built love for a sport in the city I adore so much. El Pibe was my dad’s hero, but Dwyane Wade is mine.

Thank you, Dwyane Wade. Forever and always my sports hero, and the greatest I have ever seen. See you tonight. For one last time.

 

Giancarlo Navas (@GNavas103) is the host of Miami Heat Beat, and a bit emotional — though tonight there’s good reason.

The Power of Sports: A Fatherhood Bond Grounded on Stories of Dwyane Wade

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Editor’s Note: This story was originally published on April 30, 2016 (via MiamiHeatBeat.com).

My son was born in 2003. I didn’t know him in 2003, and I didn’t meet him until 2010, but he is my son. He doesn’t share my last name. He doesn’t carry my blood. But I dare you or anybody else to tell me he isn’t my son.

If you didn’t know us or know our history, you probably would think he was my son. We share facial features. He is light-skinned, with a broad nose. His eyes are sleepy like mine. And I haven’t met a stranger yet that questioned our lineage.

His younger brother? It’s even easier. We both like superheroes and we both like Legos. I see him, with his behavioral opportunities and his anxiety issues, as a kindred spirit. I don’t think there is a human being on this Earth better equipped to lead him through a troublesome childhood into adulthood than me.

I’ve been there. The awkwardness, the relentless anxiety – these are the things that formed me.

But my older boy? His older brother? What am I to do with a sixth grader that already stands 5-foot-8 and wears a size 11 shoe?

A superb athlete with the speed and guile that has caught the attention of every coach and league coordinator that he’s played for. I don’t know that life. In sixth grade, I barely stood 5-foot tall. I was almost 200 pounds and my athleticism had escaped me.

What do I have in common with this young man that looks to me for guidance?

Basketball. This is what we have. This is what binds the two of us outside of our similar features. Not the ability to play, no, he is far better than I am already. He has the ball handling skills, coordination, and jump shot that I’ve never had. He’s never beat me one-on-one, though. I won’t let that happen.

But what I lack in skill, I make up for in old man strength. The day he beats me will be a hallmark for him as it should be. I don’t understand fathers who let their kids win. Especially, not at something they want to be great at – but that’s another conversation for another time.

This story is about Dwyane Wade.

My older son’s favorite basketball player is Dwyane Wade. While his friends adore LeBron James and Stephen Curry, my son is defiant in his love for that washed-up fossil.

Why? Because I’ve told him for six years that Wade is amazing. And he trusts me, because he loves me, so he loves Dwyane.

The entire time I’ve known my son, LeBron has loomed large over the Heat franchise. He doesn’t remember Wade leading the Heat in 2006 or Wade winning a scoring title.

He knows Wade as a sidekick; Lebron’s buddy. But despite that, Dwyane is his guy. This past Christmas, his only request was a Dwyane Wade jersey. I’ve heard him get teased by his contemporaries about it, but he ignores it. His dad’s favorite player wears number 3 for the Heat, and you can eff off about it.

So, on Friday night, as I called my son into the living room to watch the end of Game 6 between Charlotte and Miami, I watched as his unwavering loyalty was rewarded. He finally got to see Dwyane Wade, on the biggest stage, without the crutch of another Hall of Famer.

He finally had the chance to see Wade at the end of a tough possession, with three minutes to go, hit a long 3-point shot. The kind of shot Wade has made a career off of, but my son has seen precious little of.

I watched his eyes light up. Wade hit a “Steph Curry” shot. The kind of shot he could take to school as witness of his favorite player’s greatness.

As much as I was focused on a Heat win, it was even more fun to watch my son see Wade in all of his glory. There were no analytics experts in his ear telling him Wade’s shooting percentage from three. There were no Twitter coaches designing fantasy plays in his way.

There was just a young man and his idol. There was our bond. We were two fans – father and son – sharing a moment.

With fifty seconds left, Wade hits a step back 3-pointer to put the Heat up by 5. My son’s mouth is open, he can’t believe it. We share a high five and a chest bump. It’s lit.

In this moment, there are no advanced or clutch stats. There is only a young man, his father, and hero ball in the most flattering sense of the term.

Because we were all young once, no? Many of us were introduced to basketball and sports by our fathers. They told tales of the greats.

To this day, my favorite player of all time is Magic Johnson. Why? Because I saw him play at his peak? No, because my father told me tales of his greatness.

This is why we love sports. This is why my son and I love basketball. The uncommon feats of a mortal man that defy the odds and the numbers. An appreciation of a man’s greatness that can be passed down through generations.

But Friday night, we moved beyond stories. We moved beyond tales of 2006 and YouTube videos of 2009. My son saw firsthand what greatness was and what made this sport, and all of sports, so great.

He saw Charlotte pull within three points with 30 seconds left. He saw Wade take a fade-away, mid-range jumper that would make a mathematician sick. He saw Wade make the shot, fall to the floor, and get up as defiant as ever.

He saw Kemba Walker beat Udonis Haslem on a drive to the basket. He saw his hero chase Walker down and slap his layup off of the backboard with 15 seconds left, sealing a crucial Game 6 win.

He saw the clock go down to zero, and the Miami Heat survive to force a Game 7 on Sunday.

He turned around to me and said, “I can’t believe Dwyane Wade did that.”

He couldn’t believe the stories from his father were true.

Dwyane Wade’s Legacy Born During Game 3 of 2006 Finals

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“An artist must be free to choose what he does, certainly, but he must also never be afraid to do what he might choose” — Langston Hughes

Artist.

Champion.

Icon.

Dwyane Wade.

It all began in Game 3 of the 2006 NBA Finals. I remember. I was there. I am a witness.

Under the flame-hot lights of the American Airlines Arena, sweat stained prayers and seared nerves on edge. Moist palms and bloodshot eyes. Do or die. Down two games to none. Drowning in anxiety.

In the thicket of the pre-game introduction anticipation, he emerged. A heroic figure enveloped in an entire city’s hopes who would alter the Miami sports landscape forever.

Unflinching. Eyes set. Muscles tense.

“I ain’t going out that way,” he had told the team.

It was 2006 and the Miami Heat had never known what it was like to truly matter. Sure, there were the Mourning-Hardaway led teams of the 1990s, but we all knew those were futile cat-like swipes at Michael Jordan’s inevitable championship runs, the proverbial hurdle to his immortality. Those Heat teams were fun, but we weren’t getting to the Finals as long as 23 ruled the land. We were just happy to bruise up the eventual champs and maybe taste some New York Knick blood along the way.

But this was 2006. This was different. You could feel it. You could smell it. You could taste it. Down 0-2 to the Dallas Mavericks. Backs to the wall.

A franchise on the brink.

Dwyane Wade, draped in home playoff white, like an Arthurian warrior of old, or the Archangel Michael ready to lay waste the mighty dragon and hurl it into the abyss. Dwyane Wade, the young handsome hero, baby-faced with an iron will. Dwyane Wade, the human lightning bolt, hurdling himself through the Dallas defense at such break-neck speeds, Mavs fans still, to this day, think he was never fouled in that series. How can you foul a wraith? How do you grasp water? How can you contain fire?

Dwyane Wade, the ultimate paragon of badassery. Dwyane Wade, a no-frills franchise alterer with an entire city’s thirst for immortality on his shoulders.

Dwyane Motherfucking Wade.

Dallas, looking for the Darth Vader death-grip 3-0 lead in the series, led by as much as 13 with 6:50 remaining in Game 3. Dirk Nowitzki draining jumpers and creating for his teammates, the Mavs bench erupting with jubilation, waving towels. The home crowd sullen, restless, counting down the minutes ’til doom.

And then, it happened.

Dwyane Wade emerged.

He began to eviscerate the Dallas Mavericks.

Sitting in the crowd that night was surreal. A veritable blurred stew of emotions, fear, joy, trepidation, triumph. Everyone wearing White Hot Heat shirts. A blanket of pearl blending into a blinding white fury of sound and vision. Screaming faces becoming melted distorted living Edvard Munch paintings. The carousel swirl of music and cheering frenzy muffled into a low dull baritone clamor. This was important. You felt it in your chest. You knew it mattered. All at once, the memories of Heat games of days past flashed like old-timey press camera lightbulbs in your mind. The old Miami Arena. Ron Rothstein. Rory Sparrow. The franchise’s first win. A lovable sad-sack team. Two playoff appearances in the first eight years. Pat Riley’s introduction. The Knicks. Jeff Van Gundy swinging on Alonzo Mourning’s leg like a pasty balding monkey. Allan Houston…. Allan Houston… Allan Goddamn FML Houston… heartache. Heart break. Somebody save us.

Somebody did.

Throughout his career — as we have come to learn — Wade has always flourished when the games mattered most and there was something at stake. When adversity reared its repugnant head, when guys in purple shirts screamed obscenities at him from their court side seats with their drunken red-raged faces. This is when Wade arrived, jaw clenched, eyes set, ever the conqueror.

But it was against the Dallas Mavericks, in Game 3 of the 2006 NBA Finals, that this Wade that we have grown to know and love and cherish, was born.

Down 0-2, with a humiliating Finals loss to a ridiculous franchise and their cowboy-hat, rhinestone encrusted shirt-wearing imbecilic fanbase looming. Wade got that look in his eyes. The kind that said it was enough already with all of this “the Heat are being bested by a superior opponent and are just happy to be here” nonsense, and that it was time to club some serious ass and rip Maverick scrotums off their bodies and staple them to Mark Cuban’s forehead.

We had caught glimpses of it prior to this — The Shot against Charlotte in the 2004 playoffs, his ridiculous owning of the Detroit Pistons in the 2005 and 2006 playoffs.

But this was where the artist champion icon was born.

This is where the D-Wade we have fully come to know became D-Wade, Destroyer of Worlds. His career spans the vortex of NBA immortality, a career representing doom for the other team, compared to, say Paul Pierce, which represents a melted cheesy gordita.

So, with Dallas cruising along, and the Heat flailing to find their footing, Dwyane Wade emerged, the perfect amalgam of death and grace, and reached into Dallas’ collective chest and ripped out their heart and their championship aspirations.

Relentlessly attacking the basket in a blur of pure poetry, with an unrivaled prowess of being able to slash through towering bodies like a snaking river of ball-crushing swiftness, Dwyane Wade arrived.

Hitting jumpers, sending up alley-oops, breaking the Mavs’ wills, sapping them of their strength, devouring their souls, making us all believers. Not only would the Heat end up winning this game 98-96 on Wade’s back, but he made us believe — actually truly believe — that this series was over. Even down 1-2, you just knew. The coronation of a new King of Badass Motherfucker had begun.

Wade would go on to finish Game 3 with 42 points on 26 shots, and 13 rebounds. And, of course, we’d see this Wade again and again for the next three games as the Heat would go on to win their first NBA Finals title.

We would also go on to see this Wade time and time again. The “This Is My House” game. All those Detroit, and Chicago playoff series. The dunk that ripped Anderson Varajoe’s soul from his lifeless Sideshow Bob body. All of 2009. The 2010 All Star Game. The playoff battles against Boston. The Alley-Oop to LeBron. The future NBA Finals victories. Purple Shirt Guy. The shot against Golden State.

And we see it every night, even now as our once and future artist champion icon walks away from the game he loves.

Look up into the rafters. Behold the three NBA Finals Champions banners that hang down majestic and true.

Look at that first one.

2006 NBA Finals Champions.

And remember Game 3.

The game where Dwyane Wade, artist, champion, icon, was born. The moment he drew Excalibur from the stone and made us matter.

 

Chris Joseph’s legacy was born the day he gave LeBron James the nickname that the former Heat superstar would carry forever. It starts with Cobra. 

Open Letter to Dwyane, from a Fan

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Dwyane:

Before I start…. this is not a post for pity.

It’s out of deep appreciation, for the impact you made on my life, and in the lives of other kids like me.

Growing up, life hadn’t always been easy. Having been born with a heart condition that eventually led to two open heart surgeries, on separate occasions of course, played a role I guess.

Throughout childhood, my parents went through an ugly divorce that lasted more than a decade. It was in during this time when I needed a distraction, badly.

You were my distraction.

When I needed something to keep my mind otherwise occupied, I knew I could turn a Heat game on and, for 48 minutes, all my problems would disappear. Every time I watched, I knew you would do something I had never seen before. And when you did, I would go in to my closet, throw on my Wade jersey and try to do it myself in my driveway.

The awe and joy you brought me as a kid are remarkable in retrospect. I’ll never forget being in front of my TV with my parents; it was 2006, game 6. My first time being so close to peak sports fandom: watching your favorite team win the championship. I can close my eyes and relive that exact moment. Jason Terry taking a shot and missing, you getting the rebound and throwing the ball in the air. The Miami Heat were champions. Then you gave me that joy twice more in 2012 and 2013.

That joy occasionally came with consequences though.

March 9th, 2009, the night before the FCAT. I’m sure most of those who also went to school in Florida have some downright awful memories about the FCAT— for those who aren’t Florida natives, it was a standardized test we took in school to determine if we would move on to the next grade.

Anyways…my brother and I were up late that night watching the game. Deep into the second overtime, we knew we would regret doing so. Then, with time expiring, you got a steal and hit the game winner. You ran to the scorer’s table and introduced your iconic “This is my House” pose.

Come the next morning,  I was extremely exhausted and had to take the FCAT. Admittedly, I didn’t do as well as I hoped, which may or may not have to do with my choices…  I don’t think my mom knows about this story, so if you’re reading this mom, I’m sorry but I had to!

You were always an inspiration for me; in 5th grade during Black History month, we had to go to school dressed as our favorite African-American influencer and write a report on that person. Of course, I chose you. I arrived at school that day in black basketball shorts, my white # 3 jersey and some converse. I took pride in showing off to my classmates and their parents just how much you had influenced me.

Flashing forward to 2015, I was in Miami sleeping at my uncle’s house. The next day I was having my second heart surgery. My mind was racing the whole night. The Heat were in Los Angeles that same night and, despite my impending surgery early the next morning, I needed a distraction.  I stayed up late watching that game. And it was a comforting moment, something that made all my thoughts and fears go away; watching you play whenever I needed relief from something serious kind of became my routine at this point.

The next year on July 6th, 2016, I was in the Netherlands visiting my grandparents. Because of the time difference or jetlag, maybe both, I woke up at 3AM. I checked my phone and saw a “WOJ bomb” on my phone. It read that you were informing the Bulls your intentions to sign with them. After 13 great seasons, you were actually leaving. I felt upset, saddened too. I mean, I was happy you were finally being appreciated and moving on to greater things within the league. But it felt like my childhood was over.

Afterward, I just started to watch basketball differently; lost my connection to the players.

Then it happened, on February 18 of 2018. I was at a Chick-Fil-A with my girlfriend and a notification popped up on my phone— “The Cleveland Cavaliers are trading Dwyane Wade to the Miami Heat.” I was so hyped, nearly to the point of tears. I said to my girlfriend, “Wade is home!!!”

I think she got a little weirded out.

But that’s OK. You needed to have connection to understand. And so many of us did, not just me. College students, hundreds of miles away from Miami, started talking about it. We were young again. Or younger.

In a time when you didn’t need to, you came back to give us one more chance to show you our love and gratitude. So, thank you Dwyane, thank you for giving us this one last dance. Thank you for the memories, thank you for what you did to the community, thank you for getting me through some dark times and thank you for my childhood.

Wade County isn’t something that ends at the city limits, Wade County is a generation of kids who fell in love with their favorite sport because of their hero.

Thank you, Flash.

— Dutch

 

Michael “Dutch” Sonbeek, based in Pembroke Pines, contributes to Fantasy On 5, Swings and Mishes and a host of other things on the Five Reasons Sports Network.