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NFL  |  Giants land athletic wonder, not workhorse in draft

4/29/2018

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SAQUON BARKLEY  |  PENN STATE RB  |  6-0, 233  |  NO. 2 PICK OVERALL
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Saquon Barkley (26), labeled by many as the best prospect available in this past weekend's NFL draft before and after being selected by the Giants, shows off his leaping ability while running for Penn State during the Nittany Lions' victory at the University of Iowa last fall.
This is not a wear-down-the-defense kinda guy here, people. Yeah, he looked fantastic in shorts and tank top, strutting that 6-foot, 233-pound frame around the combine. Hell, he looked great in a Penn State uniform, too. But he never was a start-to-finish player for the Nittany Lions. He's a timebomb with no timer - bound to go off for a play, maybe two, in a game and that's it.
by Jack Kerwin  |  ydkjack1@gmail.com

Don’t mind the high praise for the kid.

Don’t mind declarations of impending NFL greatness for him. Or the favorable comparisons to others, past and present.

Saquon Barkley is a special talent, an elite athlete and, the trigger that pushes all buttons, a tireless workout warrior hellbent on proving doubts, including his own, wrong.

He deserves the attention, the accolades and the faith from his followers.

It’s just you won’t catch me genuflecting at the “best player in the 2018 draft and surefire Hall of Famer” altar anytime soon.

Sorry, just have seen the can’t-miss, chiseled out of granite/faster than a speeding bullet, well, miss before. Quite a lot, actually.

Plus, Barkley – or at least expectation of what he will be – comes with a legit red flag for me, and we’re talking performance between the lines wise, not off-the-field silliness stuff.

What, pray tell, could that possibly be?

Pretty simple. He’s been rubber-stamped as the ultimate, every-down back that any professional team would covet … without showing he is capable of being that.

Oh, he can run, run with power, with speed, with shiftiness. He can catch. He can block. He has shown all that.

In spurts, though. Just spurts.

This is not a wear-down-the-defense kinda guy here, people. Yeah, he looked fantastic in shorts and tank top, strutting that 6-foot, 233-pound frame around the combine. Hell, he looked great in a Penn State uniform, too.

But he never was a start-to-finish player for the Nittany Lions.

He’s a timebomb with no timer – bound to go off for a play, maybe two, in a game and that’s it. There is no consistent production history within the context of most games he has played since departing Whitehall High in the Lehigh Valley.

Now, frankly, that may be enough to satisfy, if not thrill, the New York Giants, their fan base and Barkley worshippers the globe over.

Yo, no doubt home-run hitters are great to have and Barkley certainly is one. It’s just when it comes to projecting a legit future for him, most would be wise to think of him in the Albert Pujols as an Angel mold rather than in the Pujols as a Cardinal vein.

In 38 games in college, including 36 as a starter, Barkley posted 15 games of 100 yards rushing or better. Umm, that’s not a lot for a feature back at that level, regardless of the type of offense.

But it goes beyond that. It even goes beyond him being the second-best player in Penn State’s backfield the last two seasons.

In his final game for the Lions, Barkley went for 137 yards on 18 carries against Washington. Great game, right? Not really. The kid ripped off one great run, a 92-yard touchdown jaunt, and went 17-for-45 the rest of the way.

Against Michigan this past fall, in the “game that sealed the Heisman” that he never won, Barkley busted loose for a 69-yard score on his first carry, then could only muster 39 more yards on his next 14.

Against Ohio State, a 36-yard TD run. The rest: 20 carries for 8 yards.

Against Michigan State, a 36-yard run. The rest: 13 carries, 27 yards.

Against Northwestern, a 53-yard TD run. The rest: 15 for 22.

Against Indiana, he went 20-for-56.

Against Rutgers, 14-for-35.

Yeah, he’s dangerous. He will rip off a long one, either by taking a handoff, hauling in a pass, or, if the Giants dare to allow, by returning a kick.

But he’s not a workhorse. Not in terms of being consistently productive at least.

He will disappear. For long periods of time. In fact, if he doesn’t rip off a long one in a game, his productivity in that game, as history shows, will be nil or not far removed from it.

That is the nature of his game.

So praise him all you want. It’s just you might want to be aware of what, or who, you’re actually praising.
​
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NBA  |  Redick has been right on the money for Sixers

4/25/2018

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J.J. Redick reacts after draining a 3-pointer. The veteran pickup scored a game-high 27 points in the Sixers' closeout win.
by Jack Kerwin  |  ydkjack1@gmail.com

Hated the dude.

Could. Not. Stand. Him.

Playing for Duke, the ultimate in college basketball elitism, from its coach to its fan base to its success, J.J. Redick fit the mold all too well:

Everything in life had fallen his way. Plus, he was good on the court to boot – special dispensation from officials (a staple for all Blue Devils) or not.

So good that he was named a McDonald’s All-American in high school and later national player of the year while serving at Coach K’s altar.

Ugh. A Dookie. An ultimate one at that.

Then he was drafted No. 11 in the 2006 draft … and settled into a decent, non-annoying pro career that seemed to clean the prim-and-proper, pampered and overrated Duke stench off of him.

So, wasn’t exactly disappointed when the 76ers targeted him, and then signed him as a free agent this past offseason. In fact, if anything, was a big proponent of the move. The team, even with the promise of Joel Embiid and Ben Simmons, needed a shooter. A big-time one.

It got one in Redick.

That being said, had no idea he would impact The Process as much as he has – sometimes subtly and sometimes neon-bright obviously.

Count the just-completed five-game, first-round run of the Miami Heat among the latter. After averaging a career-best 17.1 points per game in the regular season, he's upped that to 20 ppg in the postseason, including an uber-clutch, game-high 27 in Tuesday night's closeout victory at the Wells Fargo Center.

Yo, the dude, the freakin’ Dookie, was money in three of the victories – Games 1, 4 and 5 – and even when he was off with his shooting, honestly, got no complaints with what he gave the team.

Heady, smart, intense play backed by all-out effort.

He arrived in Philly with “experts” picking at his defensive deficiencies. They needn’t bother anymore. The guy is a professional on both ends of the floor. He’s not just a shooter. He can play. All day.

Put it this way: He’s gonna give the Sixers everything he has every time he steps out. This return to the East Coast was no mere money grab.

Thing is, even when he’s not hitting shots from distance, Redick has shown not only a desire to get to the rack, but a desire to do so. He’s also setting screens for teammates like a madman, and going all-out, balls-out on defense. Is he a first-team All-NBA defender? No. Is he a bad defender, as his rep stated he was?  Hell, no. He’s actually pretty damn good.
​

Of course, his importance to the Sixers is most realized by that sweet, right-handed stroke.

Here is what yours truly has learned with that:
  • If he’s on, the Sixers are probably going to win.
  • If he’s on, and, say, Marco Belinelli, is on as well, they’re probably going to win big.
  • If he’s on, Belinelli is, too, and either Dario Saric or Robert Covington is as well, just forget it, game over.
Not even the Warriors or Rockets stand a chance then.

Seriously.

Amazing the impact a formerly hated Dookie can have.

On a team, and a person’s take on him.
​
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NBA  |  Panic about Embiid ... yo, Philly fans, toughen up already

4/19/2018

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by Jack Kerwin  |  ydkjack1@gmail.com

City of Champions now, huh?

Maybe it is time the fan base started to act like it then.

Enough with the whining, the pouting, the crying, the bitching and the moaning all centered – at its most primal, baseline level – on how everyone is out to get us, including the medical staff of the 76ers.

Yeah, OK, no one outside of us shows us any respect.

Why would they? It’s gotta be next to impossible to feel anything other than contempt for a group that forever promotes itself as the best there is and never fails to fall into narcissistic rage should anyone question that, or, heaven forbid, disagree, before fading into a depressive funk.

Yo, Philly, toughen up.

Can’t be crawling into a hole and hatching all kinds of diabolical rationales about how the sports universe is conspiring to cause you – not the teams or the coaches or the players, but you – some undo harm every time the stars don’t align … or require surgery that may cause them to miss time. Perhaps even playoff time.

Enough with the nonsensical, “the Sixers can’t win without Joel Embiid” rants. They’re as inane and uninformed as the same ones screamed in regard to Carson Wentz a few months ago.

All the Eagles did with Wentz out was go 5-1, grab the organization’s first Super Bowl victory and have his replacement, Nick Foles, earn MVP in the NFL’s signature event.

Since Embiid banged heads with Markelle Fultz back on March 28, suffering an orbital-bone fracture to his one eye and undergoing surgery, the Sixers have gone 9-1 and become the most entertaining, free-flowing outfit this side of Golden State.

The one loss came in the last game, so, naturally, everyone is in a panic entering tonight’s Round 3 of this best-of-seven series against Miami.

Frankly, Philly sports fans have been pitching apocalyptic outcomes for the Sixers ever since that collision. Just as they did once Wentz blew out his knee.

Regardless of how much evidence was provided them that, you know what, there really isn’t anything to worry about.

Get it. A great player being lost for something beyond the next timeout can cause some concern among the masses.

But, hey, championship teams find a way – regardless of the obstacle – and when they’re showing everyone, repeatedly, that they’re doing just that, well, then, it seems only right that the, uh, support system would show something more than chicken-hearted faith.

Especially when it is “the best” there is.

Embiid or no Embiid, the Sixers can win this series. Heck, they can win the whole damn shebang.
So save the doomsday talk for something else.

You know, like a potential quarterback controversy brewing now that Foles and Wentz have both confirmed that they are, indeed, human, possessing individual wants and desires and not being cult-like linked to some phony, fan-appeasing “team first, team only” philosophies.​

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Lifestyle  |  Sunday driving in the city ... it's a trip, man

4/9/2018

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Philly often is a welcome sight when crossing the Ben Franklin Bridge. But traveling there and anywhere around it can be an adventure.
by Jack Kerwin  |  ydkjack1@gmail.com

Sunday driving in the city and surrounding area …

Never fails. Make the “Escape from Alcatraz” journey outta South “Prisoner of Its Own Non-Roadway System” Jersey to my true home of Philadelphia, head north on 95, run into an absolute cluster-eff of cars and “fantasy” drivers, turn a brilliant double-back, hop on Delaware Avenue, zig and zag through the pokers, gawkers and uncertain GPS followers in order to reconnect with the interstate a few miles up … only to run into the real snag.

There it is. Four lanes of wall-to-wall traffic. Moving, yes. But only in that ever-comfy, herky-jerky style that is sparked by the, uh, leader of the pack – all the way to the left, up front. Causer of all the crap.

Out of state plate, of course. New York, New Jersey, Connecticut, Ontario, whatever. Don’t even have to check. Already know. Anything nearby or north. Just not Massachusetts. Those mofos don’t mess around. Bless them.

A control freak to the max, with fetus complex fully engaged – gotta be in front and in charge, but absolutely paralyzed to pull away into the open. So they ride shotgun to someone on the right, ever aware to not surge ahead. Too scary for them to not be surrounded.

Lanes 2-4 fall right in sync. Of course, they’re already going slower than the main passing lane anyway, so …
​

The nightmare continues until, finally, a break or a few – cars start taking exits. Holes open. Holy smokes. The abyss of exhaust fumes is fading.

Just in time for me to turn off, and get a read on the plate – Jersey – as the pickup now pulls over into another lane, since his tied-at-the-bumper buddies had pulled off.

The fun doesn’t end there, though.

Evening offers a brilliant one-two punch a few minutes apart of, first, some genius riding right up the butt of my Mustang in the right lane of the Vine Street Expressway, the bearded man-baby unaware that there isn’t another car within sight around us and the next exit still a good half-mile away – and one which he didn’t take.

The follow-up was no less entertaining as a car in front of me, failing to show any signal, opts for the same exit as me to go 76 South … only upon entering it, the driver slams on the brakes and comes to a complete stop, apparently so self-absorbed and ill-informed that they didn’t realize anyone was behind, the headlights giving no clue, and that, as a general rule, you make a directional mistake, you don’t compound it by putting yourself and other drivers on the road in danger with such a, hmmm, unique stop in an odd location. Brain sensors took about 10-15 seconds to recharge before they found the gas pedal again.

After such incidents, returning to my suburban Philly abode in South Jersey didn’t seem such a bad idea.
Except more was in store.

Home stretch, just off the highway. Car illegally passes me on the left, cuts me off to make a right turn, same as me, the proceeds to cruise to the first intersection and park right in the middle of it once the light turns red. Sat there through the whole time before the change. Once green, poof.

With me left to do my final head shaking of the night.

So ended another edition of Sunday driving in the city and surrounding area.
​
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It's a lot more peaceful when you can get out of your vehicle and just check out the Ben Franklin Bridge.
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MLB  |  Galvis exit, not Kapler entrance, worst deal for Phillies

4/4/2018

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by Jack Kerwin  |  ydkjack1@gmail.com

Yeah, they got some problems.

Now, two series into the 2018 Major League Baseball season, the Phillies are 1-4 and look every bit the part of that record.

They’re disjointed, disappointing and many among them are well on their way to being disgruntled if they’re not already.

They have no offense, so-so defense, a mediocre rotation and a brutal bullpen.

No doubt the new manager has not shown a midas touch with any of this. He, in fact, has proven to be a big part of the team’s problems, appearing overmatched, if not incompetent, in his first week writing out the lineups at this level.

Reality is, with so many in Philly frothing at the mouth at the idea Gabe Kapler gets soundly booed at Thursday’s home opener against Miami, the guilty culprits for both bringing Capt. Cocoa Butter to town and supplying him with an oddly conceived roster go largely unnoticed.

Matt Klentak, Andy MacPhail and their ilk deserve most of the, uh, "credit" here for …

3) Hiring Kapler

It’s early in the season, sure, but for thus of us who questioned the decision to bring in what appeared to be an all-show, no-substance talking head to run the club, it’s already too late. The presentation isn’t even all that slick. Kapler often can bumble along with his words, seeking whichever prepared response he has practiced fits, but he has a certain charm, an almost endearing quality, to him, not to mention a physique that would put most active pro athletes to shame, that helps his cause.


Ultimately, he may get torn to shreds – especially with his uber-reliance on analytics that won’t play well with the old-school crowd, or even his players. But he leaves you wanting to give him a chance, hoping he will change, even as he tells you he won’t.

The dude is who he is: a walking, talking statement to a trend whose own thoughts and beliefs likely have gotten lost in pursuit of the cause. He is an advertising campaign based around a character that he didn’t even necessarily create.

That overachieving slant most pitch about his bio? To a point, he was that guy. Low draft pick. But then he was one of the hottest major-league prospects around before becoming an all-show, no-substance player in the bigs.

Expect nothing more, or less, of him as a manager at the same level as he trots out one hollow statement of ownership in the Andy Reid vein after another.

2) Signing Carlos Santana

If ever a tribute to analytics and the movie “Moneyball” were made by an MLB front office, this was it. Sorry, the guy is a solid-field, middling-production first baseman – at best. Giving him the type of money worthy of front-line free agent and pushing prodigy Rhys Hoskins into the outfield for the foreseeable future to make room was nothing short of stupid.


Santana doesn’t make the team stronger. He weakens it at two spots – the one he plays, which would be far more valuable with Hoskins there, and left field, which has the makings of being an absolute disaster as Kapler plays musical chairs on who handles it. Not just in his starting lineup, but from inning to inning.

Ridiculous. It was a waste – AN ABSOLUTE WASTE – of money, and will, without question, play havoc to some degree with Hoskins’ development, not to mention that belonging to others in the outfield mix.

1) Trading Freddie Galvis

Hands down the dumbest decision of the organization in years. The Phillies are so hellbent to prove that they didn’t make a mistake with J.P. Crawford that they were willing to sacrifice sanity and the obvious for years to come. Regardless of what any of the purists think, Galvis was an other-worldly defensive shortstop who, frankly, was better than the brilliant Jimmy Rollins at the same position in the field.


He also produced runs. In the clutch. We’re not talking a guy who would have a high batting average or on-base percentage, but he came through so often the last few seasons when it mattered, and overall his offensive numbers, particularly in getting feet to touch the plate, weren’t far off from what Rollins did before him.

Crawford? The kid may be five years younger than Galvis, but he’s a serviceable defensive player at shortstop and we’ve seen enough at this point to realize that he’s never never going to hit at an acceptable level in the big. He just isn’t.

It was a disastrous move to get Galvis outta town, and the Phillies are going to pay for it each and every time Crawford steps to the plate with a chance to make a difference.

So, boo Kapler all you want. My ire is saved for those in higher places.

They screwed up. Bad.
 ​

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