The Sports Truth

It’s gone from an insider event to mass-marketed hysteria. The skill and endurance involved, along with the cast of characters, are unrivaled. But, the Sports Truth asks in its newest Face-Off:

Is Poker a Sport?

YES

sport noun 1: A source of diversion 2: A physical activity engaged in for pleasure syn play, frolic, fun, recreation.

After consulting with my boy Noah Webster (the pride of West Hartford, Conn.), it appears poker makes the grade on all counts. I am clearly not the only one who thinks so, either. Further down on the same page, the dictionary describes a sportscast as a “broadcast dealing with sporting events.”

If elite-level poker is not a sport, then why is the nation’s premiere sports network, ESPN, pouring resources into televising it each year? If Greg “Fossil Man” Raymer, the 2004 champion (right), doesn’t embody everything great about sports, I’m really not sure what does.

Poker’s critics simply don’t understand the endurance, skill and mental toughness involved. It’s ludicrous to suggest that the high-stakes card game is any different than the Great Outdoor Games, the NBA or Women’s Nine Ball.

Watching hands, remembering every detail.

Playing the opponent as well as the cards.

Deciding when to bluff. Exercising caution one minute and letting it rip the next. Anyone who has played knows the feeling. You have pocket queens and picked up a third on the flop, but are trying not to give away too much. Raise. Check. Pause. The pot is growing and you have your arch-nemesis right where you want him… until he somehow lands a straight on the river.

It hurts. You want to strangle him, and yourself for good measure. The agony, glory and finality are unmatched. No matter how events transpire, you will leave emotionally drained.

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He’s one of the only players to ever win three Grand Slams in one year, and he’s done it twice. He moves around the court and disassembles foes with breathtaking ease. Elite players raise their games and still can’t touch him. That said, the Sports Truth asks in its latest Face-Off:

Is Roger Federer Human?

YES

Ah yes, another cliché that’s used and abused in the world of sports media to the point where we’re now actually discussing whether Roger Federer is actually a human being or not. Certainly Mr. Federer, who dispatched Andy Roddick Sunday to win his third straight U.S. Open, has put together a run of tennis greatness that seems, well, inhuman.

However, simply because something has not been accomplished by a human before, does not mean that the feat itself is inhuman. By the definition, guys like Lance Armstrong, Tiger Woods, Michael Jordan, or anyone who attains what was perceived to be unattainable should no longer be human.

Maybe it is Roger’s ability to play the game with absolutely no emotion — as if winning, losing, making an incredible shot or withstanding a crippling blow simply does not matter to him — that gives him the appearance of not being human.

Certainly even the most stoic human would eventually succumb to the pressure or emotion of the moment and reveal a soft, sensitive human beneath the concrete exterior, right?

Somehow Roger is able to remove himself from seemingly normal, inescapable stimuli and focus on his game, giving him an almost alien-like appearance.

Is this a sign of someone who is not of this world? Or rather is it the beginning of a revolution of athletes who remove all emotion from their play and focus on execution. Rather than argue that it is this quality that makes him not human, why not point out that it is his ability to contain his emotions that makes him so good?

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Lance Armstrong won the Tour de France seven times … in a row! That’s a lot. But can he even win the New York City Marathon once?

That’s the question two of our panelists cover this week, as they consider just how much stamina remains in Lance’s tank. Ask yourself, sports fans:

Can Lance Armstrong actually win the NYC Marathon?

Is running really that different than cycling? A world class marathoner is presumably in superior physical shape, with tremendous lower-body strength and endurance. Hmm. These seem like reachable hurdles for the best athlete on Earth.
As incredible as the accomplishments of world-class runners are, let’s face it - there’s no skill involved. Marathoners practice hard and run really fast for hours. The best conditioned entrant wins. End of story.

I’m not insinuating that running marathons isn’t challenging. Far from it. The only running I do is to the nearest Dunkin Donuts (which isn’t far in any direction here in New England). I’m just saying that if focal points of an event are drive and endurance, only a fool would question Lance. He is not trying to hit curveballs or sink three-pointers.

We’re talking about racing toward a finish line far, far away, something Armstrong is pretty familiar with. Not to mention good at. Studies have shown that his inordinately high anaerobic threshold allows him to sustain muscle performance for longer periods of time.

And come on. Do you really think anyone can beat Armstrong when he puts his mind and body toward conquering a new challenge? You think he can’t decide to run circles around a bunch of amateurs after dispatching elite cyclists and advanced cancer over the course of a decade? Think defending champ Paul Tergat likes his chances to repeat?

Did anyone outside of East Africa know who Paul was before I dropped his name 10 seconds ago? Of course not. He’s a mortal. Armstrong is Roger Federer, Pedro Martinez (circa 1999), Michael Jordan and Tiger Woods rolled into one.

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As fantasy football has taken over every office cubicle in the country - and as the NFL sits atop the American sporting landscape - a pressing debate has emerged:

Would You Prefer a Fantasy Football Championship Over a Super Bowl Victory for Your Favorite Team?

I speak from experience. While I agonized along with every yard of the 49ers’ game-winning march down the field years ago, and while butterflies dart around my stomach during tense moments of professional contests every season, I’ve played in fantasy football title games. I’ve cursed, I’ve broken into sweats, into hives, cheered, booed and stood slack-jawed at the results on screen as my team - MY team! - rallied from deficits to bring home the championship.

This has occurred in each of the past two seasons and I can safely hold my head up high to state: you can have your Lombardi Trophy. I’ll take the gratification of superior drafting prowess and in-season decision making. My friends can eat it!

As Jerry Seinfeld once opined, cheering for a specific team is like rooting for laundry. Sure, I’m a 49ers fan. I grew up idolizing Montana. So now I should live and die with each pass by … Alex Smith? I should have rooted for Terrell Owens earlier in his career, but now it’s ok to bash him for the selfish cretin that he is because he’s no longer wearing red and gold? They’re only jerseys, there’s no more personal attachment to clubs. Especially in this era of free agency, you’re following a concept more than a franchise.

The opposite holds true with fantasy football. These are my guys, my squad. My decisions will drive the outcome of each game, as waiver wire pickups such as Joe Jurevicius and Samkon Gado helped catapult the team into championship contention last season. In the world of fantasy football, I’m personally invested in the results and players involved. In the world of professional football, other so-called general managers control who I’m rooting for. Where’s the fun in that?

Face it, when your favorite team wins it all, you never touch the Lombardi Trophy. You’re riding the wave of other people’s accomplishments, complete strangers, often times very spoiled ones at that. Pretty soon, I’ll forget the feeling of my father’s arms clutching his celebratory young son. Our smiles will fade from memory like the career of my boyhood idol. But I’ll always brag to my friends about the years I demolished their dreams of a fantasy football championship. No one can ever take that away from me.

– Levi Matthews

But here’s the thing. While this experience is one that I will not soon forget (or stop talking about, much to the chagrin of my friends), I would trade it for a New York Giants championship in a heartbeat. I might even do the same for a mere playoff appearance. While significant, the excitement generated by crunching numbers, managing a non-existent franchise and talking enormous amounts of trash to your friends pales in comparison to a team you have supported since birth making a run at the Super Bowl.

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