MY NAME IS DAN -- By Dan Freshman
My name’s Dan.
I’m new here.
So I’ve got a lot of questions.
For example, what savant felt it necessary to give an 18-year-old, whose biggest life issues consist of picking a prom date and doing his Spanish homework, his own column for a professional sporting league? Do they understand I am just past the age to view R-rated movies? Or were my inability to grow a moustache, attire from the Old Navy and lack of a car giving them mixed signals?
Or maybe my voice cracking during the interview should signaled them well enough.
Don’t they have better alternatives? Then again, I don’t measure up quite poorly to a steroid-laden little person, chum who comes on air wearing turquoise blazers with purple collared shirts, a play-by-play guru who gained notoriety covering an unpopular hockey team and individual affectionately nicknamed “the Babyface Assassin.”
Ergo, maybe I’m the best thing they’ve got.
But what about the rest of the league? Is this a sign of a resurgence of youth? On the heels last year’s abominable draft class, teams should be craving for the succulent yields of this year’s pick of the litter, sweetened ever-so-delightfully by a crop of seventh-year seniors from the old Ivy of the South.
Matt Danowski and Zack Greer have become this league’s Olsen twins circa 2004, with a bunch of mangy old men sitting behind the fence as the duo prances happily along the kiddie pool, evoking drool and talk of gaudy numbers. The entire world could not wait another second for the two to become “eligible.”
Let’s just hope all pans out better for these Duke attackmen.
It’s pure torture to have these two still roaming the amateur circuit while a Haagen-Dazs owning “specialist” whose claim to fame includes the ability to use a “plunger” reigns as the league’s best youth. Remember: a skilled plumber also has quite the mastery of a plunger as well, but he doesn’t get to win awards in a professional sporting league.
Actually, I apologize: sole plumbers make far more than any of these professional athletes—at least in this league.
But there also lies that Matt Damon look-alike up in Chicago. Gee, a superb 40-yard-dash time, ECAC first-team accolades and bone structure that would kill in Hollywood. My colleague tells me Pat’s a standup pal, but I wonder if that squad would have rather wanted Mary-Kate and his dozen or so scoring records.
Luckily, they get to pick him again. For real, this time. No more magic beans that grant him his eighth year of eligibility. And I’ll be there, on the lavish shores of Hoboken, NJ to cover this spectacle.
One more question, front office: why Hoboken, NJ? Why anything in the land so ironically called the Garden State? Was the Radio City Music Hall rented out that week? And Madison Square Garden? And the Disney Wide World of Sports Complex? And whatever abandoned stadium the NHL uses for its entry draft?
Memo to the league offices: it’s not considered copycatting if one decides to saddle up with the rest of its peers and lease out an ultra-lush venue. Or even a venue the rest of the country has heard of. I’d settle for that. Then again, I don’t possess much leverage here.
In fact, I’ve likely killed all pull I have in the past 500 or so words. Now I won’t even get one of those complimentary catered sandwiches in the press box. The pinked roast beef, cheddar cheese and tomato wedge on a dried onion roll with a squirt of mayo was absolutely to die for. But those fiends at Harvard Stadium don’t even offer them anymore—one of the countless reasons why I prefer the old Nickerson Stadium over those snobby Harvard curmudgeons. That and the lack of lumbar support on the coliseum seats leaves much to be desired.
But I have my own gripes on actual issues in the league, as well. Not about the lack of a long-stick-midfielder—I hated playing against them. Nor about the existence of a shot clock—I hate the Princeton/Hopkins/any-successful-college-team-of-the-past-20-years offense. Nor about the orange grippy game balls—they’re just cool.
My problem lies with the stat-keeping in this league. Games played, goals, two-point goals, assists, points penalty minutes, man-up goals, man-up assists, shorthanded goals, shorthanded assists, game-wining goals, shots, shooting percentage, and face-offs are fine statistics to keep. But what about what fans are really keeping score of: F-L-O-W?
For those uneducated and/or lacking a Facebook, some wise researchers at Gettysburg College have determined that 90 percent of the lacrosse game lies in the essence of “flow.” Therefore, he who scores more goals than his opponent is not mathematically the winner. Moreover, according to midfield specialist guru, Cannons hopeful and greatest high school assistant coach in New England Nolan Godfrey, face-offs are also an integral portion of the game—so goals, therefore, become an even smaller percentage of the game.
My conclusion: flow is all that matters.
Flow, or “FLO” as it will be called in the stat books, consists of the possession of the Baltimore lacrosse haircut and so much more: does the player possess “sick” helmet tilt? Is he wearing crew socks? Does his stick adorn any neon green or pink? Does he “dangle” when he plays? Does he know what the word “dangle” means? And most importantly, does everything match—the gloves, the shorts, the jersey, the arm pads, the shoulder pads, the stick and the helmet?
Without unofficial scoring last year, determining the league leader in flow was quite difficult. On several different scorecards, the winner, by split decision, was one front flipping Mike Powell, though he was closely trailed by a bevy of others, right at his heels. The black crew socks, freshly dyed stick, extreme helmet tilt and occasional dive-shot-wrapping-around-the-back-of-the-net-yet-somehow-falling-into-the-front-of-the-net won him league honors. As an award, Powell should receive a lock off MLL founder Jake Steinfeld’s head, because we know those curls correlate with awesome flow.
Now, all Powell needs to finally enter the league’s top five in goals or assists—which should prove to be far from difficult this season with newly hired gun Matt Alrich serving as a much-needed finisher on the crease, the maturation of a roster that holds just two players born before the year 1980 and the possession of 10 custom-dyed heads for Lacrosse Unlimited, all bearing “sick” flow, certainly. Be on the lookout for a two-toned Mikey Powell signature Voyce head with a checkered pattern on the inside sidewall. Ridiculous flow, indubitably.
The rest of the league, however, remains in flow pandemonium. How will Ryan Powell find home in a flow-robust system in Denver, ranking second in the league in scoring last season?
Will they challenge Cinderella-flowed Los Angeles, a team filled with vintage flow and naval flow? Most particularly, how will one Spencer Ford, master of feeder-flow, continue to rock said flow at age 32? Can Chazz Woodson challenge MP for the league’s most aerodynamic flow? Can both Woodson and Kyle Harrison prove that flow can be bald?
How will San Francisco improve on its lackluster flow last summer, ranking just sixth in goals, now without the dangle of one Ryan Powell? Can a ragtag attack crew of Liam Banks (26 goals, nice flow), Pat Walsh (0 goals, but Irish flow) and David Mitchell (11 goals and Saskatchewan flow) compensate for the poster boy’s departure? Or will they become a squad of defensive stingy flow?
And can Chicago find any flow at all? Just a morsel? Aside from Matt Damon and Mary-Kate flow.
Or will the East continue to reign as the originator of flow? Can New Jersey rebuild with youth flow? Do Scott Urick and Jesse Hubbard have enough old-school flow to keep up with the youthful exuberance of two top draft picks’ flow?
And can the Barrage feasibly maintain flow on the road? Without a single draft pick? Luckily, Matt Striebel embodies flow. So does Ryan Boyle. But they won’t have any additional flow coming through the ranks.
Furthermore, will Washington or Long Island get their flow back? Washington, signs point to yes. Long Island no. And can Rochester continue to rock flow with no major personnel moves? In a box-style offense, the flow is endless.
Finally, have I exhausted the word “flow” yet?
Let’s hope so. If I haven’t upset enough people yet.
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