NF(whatthehel)L?

Who does Roger Goodell think he is? Just read an article on ESPN.com that informed me of league-imposed blackouts of home games in Detroit and Oakland this weekend.

Why?

Get this: Because both teams "failed to sell all their tickets for Sunday's games by an NFL-imposed deadline."

I'll bet they're not blacked out on the NFL Network.

The NFL cannot be serious.

I couldn't care less about the Oakland Raiders or the Detroit Lions. But I do care about the fact that, in general, these people can't afford tickets.

Of the 20 U.S. cities with the highest unemployment rate, eight are located in Michigan and six are in California. According to the latest report by the U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics, Michigan's unemployment rate, at 15.2 percent, is by far the highest in America. California isn't too far behind. Its rate, 12.2 percent, is fifth highest.

All this does is prove that the self-imposed pay cut that the commissioner game himself this off season was a bunch of malarkey. These teams don't even deserve the support they do get. They're terrible. But as a lifelong fan of the New York Mets and Washington Redskins, I am well-aware of the toll it takes on a person to continually give their heart and soul to a disappointing franchise.

And while I have no idea what each the Lions' and Raiders' ticket and concession prices look like, I am willing to bet that they're not worth it.

This policy is a slap in the face, not just to fans in these two cities, but to every fan of the NFL.

So Rog, I have an idea: Why don't you put down all that money these fans are handing you for just a second, and use that shield (and some damn common sense) to protect them?

Atlas Shrugged

Just before Michael Jordan took the stage to make his Hall of Fame induction speech, I changed my Facebook status to: "Brandon Staton has been waiting his whole life for this speech ... ." And I had been. As a kid, I, like everyone else, idolized this guy. He could do no wrong -- until he took the stage.

Friday's Yahoo! Sports article by Adrian Wojnarowski busted MJ's balls. And if you saw the speech, it's easy to ascertain why. Rather than fill his spot with some quotable mastery, Jordan leaned more toward forgettable misery.

Still, Wojnarowski was harsh in his criticism. Jordan's life, especially his professional life, has followed that of a Greek tragedy. A hero on top of the world; a man with endless earthly possessions and a renowned fame that mortals only daydream about.

But as rare as it is that a talent like his comes along, the mindset necessary to obtain such excellence is a mystery in itself. Very intelligent people spend their professional lives trying to figure out what's different about the mind of a serial killer, a genius, a manic despressive. The brain chemistry of a man like Michael Jordan is one in a billion, and no one can expect to understand with any certainty what makes greatness tick any more than what makes a killer kill, an equation click or the grip on reality slip away.

Very few of us know what it's like to be great. We so admire greatness that we don't want to associate reality with it. We hope that it's great, always.

I saw Michael Jordan play with the Bulls in 1998, when Chicago finished the year with an NBA single-season record of 72-10. It was the only chance I ever had. I was 13, and I remember being disappointed when I left the Georgia Dome because Jordan only scored 34 points. I wanted 50, 60 ... 80.

I wanted greatness.

After that speech, I sat and thought about it for awhile, and I wondered what it must be like to do something better than anyone ever has and it still not be good enough.

I invite you, and Mr. Wojnarowski, to think about that, too.

Michael Jordan earned the right to say whatever he wanted when he took the stand to take his rightful place among the greatest in the game. Still, as a fan, it's fair to say that Jordan's speech was a disappointment.

But don't let that dilute the fact that his career was anything but.

The Board is back

Class starts Tuesday. Not sure if I mentioned already or not, but I'm taking a blogging class. That could mean only one thing:

The return of this pointless blog!

Interestingly, I saw a friend a couple weeks ago for the first time in a while. "I love reading your blog," she said.

"You must really read it a lot," I replied. "Because I haven't updated it in a month."

But as you can see, the demand is overwhelming. And with the college sports season gearing up again, I figured I might as well dump my opinions into the Web for the world to see, so like Brett Favre, Jay-Z, MJ and all the other greats before me, today I am announcing my return for blog-retirement.

I'm trying something a little different this year. I've created a twitter account for the blog. @OffensiveBoard is where you'll find the latest updates and perhaps an occasional twitpic, whenever I figure out how to use that.

More exciting news; some good, some bad. I have a camera now! That's the good news. The bad? Well, the charger is already missing. So as soon as I round one up, we'll try to make this already outstanding Internet destination a little more exciting.

One last thing. The Offensive Board is kind of a crappy name, don't you think? I'm thinking about tweeting Chad Ocho Cinco and asking him for some ideas, but if one of you would like to chime in, feel free.

"Obviously you're not a golfer..."

Played golf today. Not sure why. Though I am a terrible and often frustrated golfer, I did find some satisfaction today in the form of a 52 on the front nine. And that was with two eight's on my scorecard. With darkness approaching, my friend (whom I will not name to protect the fact that he is twice as bad at golf as I am) made the turn to bludgeon our self-esteem for a few more holes before wising up and calling it quits...

First hole, par four: Six.

Second hole, par three: Six (I think).

Third hole, par four: Five.

Fourth hole, par four: One!

Yep, one -- on a par four! That's because I hit the tee shot about like you would expect Miguel Tejada to hit an outside fastball at Minute Maid Park (does Tejada hit left-handed? If not, then that analogy won't exactly make sense, but we'll roll with it anyway). My only goal was to crush it, and I did ... way left. Over the trees, with enough hang time for the following dialogue to take place:

Brandon: "Dude, that is all over a house."

The protected: "Is it?"

Brandon: "Listen..."

[Pause]

Golf ball [upon contact with roof]: "BAM!"

Brandon: "OK man, we're outta here."

The protected: "Come on, I'm sure their house gets hit all the time."

Brandon: "Not like that. And even if it does, that doesn't mean they like it."

The protected: "It's summer and they live at a country club. Relax, they're probably on vacation."

Brandon: "Very valid point. But we're leaving."

[End dialogue]

And that was that.

Don't worry, I'm still here

Well, it's been a couple of months. Sorry. I successfully have completed two sessions of summer school, and the strangest thing happened. My GPA improved. Weird. Anyhow, I plan to be getting back at it here at TOB. I'll be taking a class about blogging in the Fall, so let's hope that makes this blog more interesting. As far as anything interesting to put here, I have nothing.

My professor asked in class the other day if anyone in the class blogged. Not sure why I actually admitted to it, but I did. I was the only one. He was asking a question about adsense.

"How much do you make on adsense, about $100 a month?"

I laughed. I've had this blog since January 2008, and I had like $42 when Google determined that I could no longer keep my adsense account because of the clicking patterns associated with it. They repaid that handsome sum back to the advertisers. Thanks for nothing.

More to follow.

Bobby Frasor? Well, he's no Erin Andrews, but I guess he'll do.

Well, my life has been so boring lately that I haven't so much as heard of anything worth blogging about. So I'll share this video that was sent to me by a soon-to-be professor. Most of you have probably seen this by now, but for those who haven't, enjoy.

http://espn.go.com/video/clip?id=4170417&categoryid=3025809

It won't let me save the video, so you'll have to click the link, sorry.

Play ball

Not sure how many of you know this, but for the past few summers I have spent several nights a week pilfering through the happenings of the American Association and Can-Am League, two independent minor-league baseball leagues spread throughout the Midwest, Northeast and, you guessed it, Canada. If you have ever heard of the St. Paul Saints, and you probably haven't, then you know exactly what I'm talking about. It's generally the final resting place for former big leaguers like Dennis "Oil Can" Boyd, Darryl Strawberry and even, it appears, Eric Gagne, who has signed with the Quebec Capitales of the Can-Am League, and will fill a spot in their starting rotation of all places.

Sometimes the leagues can serve as a stop for players like Luke Hochevar, and their agents (Scott Boras, shocker), who feel that $2.98 million just isn't quite enough. Hochevar was drafted by the Los Angeles Dodgers in the first round (No. 40 overall) of the 2005 draft, but couldn't come to terms on a contract, hence opting for a stint with the Fort Worth Cats of the American Association before re-entering in 2006 where he was selected No. 1 overall by the Kansas City Royals. The move turned out to be a good one for Hochevar and friends. His signing bonus increased to $5.3 million and incentives made his deal worth as much as $7 million.But both examples aside, these leagues, and all independent leagues, are places where people find themselves if they just plain love baseball. The money is scarce, the glory is absent and the travel accommodations are a nightmare. But tucked away in random cities and towns are teams who play baseball, plain and simple, and fans who love to watch. Each year, a few teams come and a few teams go. So it wasn't until the Can-Am opened its season tonight that I heard about this interesting team in Nashua, New Hampshire, a small liberal town about 40 miles north of Boston. Though the team is largely unknown, it has a rich history. In the late 1940s, the Nashua Dodgers' lineup card featured the likes of Roy Campanella behind the plate, and Don Newcombe on the mound - a far cry from the likes of the aforementioned, if you ask me.

Yet, even that isn't what has impressed me the most; what has given me hope for baseball. No, it's just their name: The American Defenders of New Hampshire. Complete with camouflage uniforms, they look like a cross between the USA baseball team and the San Diego Padres during spring training. But don't be fooled. This isn't some military stunt to draw sympathy. There is history behind this team - and plenty of it. It's just nice to know that baseball still exists. Real baseball. And the whole military theme just gives one the impression, if playing for nothing didn't already, that these guys are just happy to have the chance - and appreciative of those who have enable them to have one.