Category Archives: Jason Klein

Like A-Rod, Sanchez About To Take On The World. Alone.

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By Jason Klein

Just four years ago, I compared Mark Sanchez, to Derek Jeter.

Now, he more closely resembles Alex Rodriguez.

It’s a shame, really.

Like a young Jeter, Sanchez once exhibited confidence, poise and passion.  He also found ways to win big games.

Big playoff games.

Now, like A-Rod, he’s all alone.

He has the majority of his own fan base, and people within his own organization seemly rooting against him.   He’s saddled his team with an immovable contract, been involved in controversial plays on the field, and controversial situations off it.

Yet, Sanchez takes the field tonight in Detroit looking to prove all doubters and dissenters wrong.

Sanchez against the World.

A-Rod begins a similar fight tonight in the Bronx, but for much different reasons, obviously.

A-Rod cheated his organization.  Sanchez was simply cheated by his.

A-Rod made his own poor decisions.  Sanchez was a victim of those made by others.

A-Rod deserves the ridicule.  Sanchez deserves a fair shot to prove he can win again with proper support.

Tonight, two well-paid, and well-famed New York athletes will take center stage.  Both are polarizing figures.  Both will be booed by their home crowd.  At 38 years-old, A-Rod is simply playing out the string.  At 26 years-old, Sanchez potentially has his best years ahead of him.

If he’s going to spend them playing in New York, the kid from SoCal needs to be confident, poised, and passionate again.  He’s got to find ways to win big games again.

He’s got to be more like the face of the Yankees.

Less like the face of Biogenesis.

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Steroids? How About The Guy Wearing Contact Lenses!

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By Jason Klein

Steroids are bad.  I get it.

They’re bad for people and they’re bad for baseball.

Even if I felt otherwise, I’m bombarded by anti-PED messages almost every day.  I’m told that players who use steroids have an unfair advantage and have cheated the game, the fans, and themselves.  They are branded as frauds, vilified by the public, and relegated to pariah status.

The wrath felt is justified.

Let there be no confusion.  Steroids are drugs.  They can cause harm.  They can kill.  They are banned within Major League Baseball and are illegal, for recreational use, in our country…as they should be.

For a minute though, put the legal implications aside.  At face value, a steroid is a foreign substance, entered into the body, intended to give an athlete an advantage or improve their physical capabilities.  Strictly from a performance standpoint, I’ve often wondered: how is this any different than wearing contact lenses to improve vision?  There are plenty of other examples – using an inhaler to improve breathing or drinking coffee to stay alert – but just focus on contacts for a moment.

Like taking steroids, contact lenses allow an athlete to overcome their body’s natural limitations – in this case vision – in order to compete at a high level.

This week, in the wake of Ryan Braun’s 65 game steroid suspension, former MLB pitcher, and current ESPN analyst Curt Schilling said: “Steroids help average players become good, good players become great, and great players become Hall of Famers.”

There are plenty of “great” players who wear contact lenses.  Without them, would they just be “good” players?  Would they even be capable of seeing?

Without steroids, some guys would probably have to call it quits when their abilities deteriorate at an early age.  Without contact lenses, some players would probably have to do the same.

I would never condone the use of performance enhancing drugs in sports, or in life.  Steroids are bad.  I get it.  Those who violate MLB’s steroid policy deserve all the ridicule and backlash they receive.  Conceptually speaking, though, I just wonder how different they are from some other benign “performance enhancers.”

See my point?  Without your lenses in, you might not.

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The Clorox Bleach Pen Saved My Wedding. Period.

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By Jason Klein

Yesterday, the nation celebrated Independence Day.

My wife and I celebrated our five-year anniversary.

Married on July 4, 2008, our perfect day was almost marred by an untimely blemish – a bride’s worst nightmare realized.

Twenty minutes stood between my beautiful wife walking down the aisle in her immaculate white wedding dress.  The moment she’d waited for, twenty-eight years in the making, was upon her.  She was beaming with pride, and anticipation, when the bustle of her pristine attire clipped a goblet placed dangerously close to the edge of the table.

My wife holding her most important wedding day accessory.

My wife holding her most important wedding day accessory.

Its contents: red wine.  The aftermath: pure chaos.

My wife flopped into her bridal throne – surrounded by panicked bridesmaids – a blood-red wine stain tattooed the dress from just beneath her bust, all the way down to her knees.

Fifteen minutes until the ceremony.

As tears poured out of her frantic eyes, club soda rained from all directions.  Anxious bridesmaids scrubbed to no avail.  Dish soap, hand soap, seltzer, detergent…nothing.  The stain seemed to be getting darker by the minute.

Ten minutes to go.

Facing the prospect of tarnished wedding pictures, a Clorox Bleach Pen miraculously appeared in the bridal suite.  Fearing its contents might turn the dress yellow, my wife decided to cautiously test it on a small section of the stain…success!

Five minutes to go.

In a relieved state of euphoria, the pen was punctured in several spots and its cleansing juice was squeezed out, covering the stain.  Within minutes, the dress was whiter than when she had purchased it.

Thanks to the Clorox Bleach Pen, my wife was able to confidently answer the bell, and walk down the aisle on time.  When an untimely red wine stain put this into question, the Clorox Bleach Pen was the answer.

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Drafting, Developing New Talent a Waste of Time For Jets

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By Jason Klein

It won’t matter who the Jets select in tonight’s NFL Draft.

You can take that to the bank.

You’ll probably bump into Woody Johnson while you’re there.  He’ll be the one shamefully depositing your hard earned PSL money.

I wish I were wrong.  However, based on everything we know about this team and their owner, I’m not.

How can I be so sure?  It’s simple.  Woody wouldn’t open up his checkbook for Darrelle Revis.

Darrelle Revis!

He refused to pay a homegrown, game-changing, once-in-a-lifetime talent who single-handedly eliminates the opposition’s best offensive weapon every single week.  Revis doesn’t just dominate in some games, or even most games.  It’s literally every game!  He makes it a ten-on-ten contest every week! There is no other player in the league who can dominate their position like Revis can.

Injury aside, he’s a 27 years-old future Hall of Famer who was a leader in a clubhouse that desperately needs one.  Teams could spend decades searching for a player like Revis.  Woody had him and didn’t make any effort to keep him.  No phone call, no text message, no e-mail or tweet.  Woody was more isolating than a trip to Revis Island.

Why?  Because, he couldn’t justify giving $16M a year to a Cornerback.  OK, fair enough.  Revis isn’t a Franchise Quarterback.  Understood.  But this sets a very dangerous precedent for the two young players the Jets will select in the first round tonight.

Despite the Jets’ dubious draft history, what happens if one of tonight’s selections develops into a Pro Bowl-caliber talent and wants to get paid some day, just like Revis did?  Assuming they don’t take a quarterback, will Woody and the Jets sack them too?

How can any young player, who’s not a Franchise Quarterback, feel confident about a long future with the Jets?  Why should fans root for and support developing players who will be jettisoned, in their prime, before a big payday?

If you won’t pay Revis, who will you pay?

Jadeveon Clowney?  A victory-challenged Jets team will be in the running for the South Carolina stud next April, but he’ll want Revis-like money, or more, when his time comes too.

The bottom line is, with the acquired pick from Tampa Bay, the Jets hope to draft a player who can one day, possibly, be the type of star Revis already is today.

New GM, John Idzik, deserves a chance to try and find that elite player.  At the end of the day, will it matter though?

If the past week is any indication, it won’t.

Draft choice tonight.  Financial castaway tomorrow.

Take that to the bank.

You know Woody will.

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A Brave New World For Bobcats

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By Jason Klein

There was no one watching.

There was no buzz surrounding the Quinnipiac Men’s Hockey Team.  There was no one posting Bobcat-related updates on Facebook.  There were no celebratory Tweets or Instagram pictures either.  Most of all, there was no one watching.

It was the spring of 2002 and I was inside the Northford Ice Pavilion covering QU Men’s Hockey for The Chronicle, the student-run campus newspaper.  Back then, my senior year at the Q, there was no TD Bank Sports Center.  Heck, there were no Bobcats either!  They were the Quinnipiac Braves, they played in the MAAC Conference, and the Division I ice had barely frozen beneath their skates – the school jumped up from D-II in 1998, my freshman year.

QU Is just 1 win away from a National Title!

QU Is just 1 win away from a National Title!

I sat among a sparse crowd with my pad, pen, and tape recorder.  Yes, an actual tape recorder…there were no apps then either.  I was stationed inside the cold, unimpressive facility that reeked of high school athletics.

Small crowds, small stage.

At times, among students, it seemed like the fifteen-minute drive to watch a game in North Branford was more of a chore than an event.

Grabbing Head Coach, Rand Pecknold for a postgame interview was simple. Then, in only his 7th season leading Quinnipiac Hockey, there wasn’t much demand for his time.  Sure, they were winning games back then, there just wasn’t much interest.  At times, I questioned if anyone were even reading my stories.  They were a fledgling team within the Division I ranks, expectations were low.

Eleven years later, everything’s changed.

In 2012-2013, the Bobcats posted a 17-2-3 ECAC Conference record, tallied a 21-game unbeaten streak from November to February, and finished the season ranked #1 in the nation.  Now, Quinnipiac sits just one victory shy of claiming an NCAA Division I National Championship.  The little known school from Hamden, CT, my alma mater, steamrolled through the Frozen Four Tournament to land a spot in the final game, to be played tonight in Pittsburgh against rival Yale (QU has already beaten Yale 3 times this season).  It’s the sort of high-level game I could only dream about as a freshman.

I’ve always craved the big-time collegiate sports scene.  It’s the one thing I really missed out on during my time in Hamden.  I’ve been envious of friends and family members who attended schools like Penn State, Michigan and Syracuse.

Like every sports fan at Quinnipiac, I own the t-shirt that reads: “Quinnipiac Football – Undefeated Since 1929.”  Many may not realize though, the team hasn’t won a game since 1929 either.  The made up football team is a campus-wide joke.

The hockey team is no joke, though.

There is no bigger hockey program in the country than Quinnipiac’s.  They are drawing national recognition and making current students, and alumni like myself, proud to be Bobcats and no longer envious of other big-time sports programs.

The Big-Time Bobcats are only one win away from a National Championship.

It’s a Brave new world for these Bobcats.

No more small crowds.

Everyone’s watching now.

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Dear Mr. Woody Johnson

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By Jason Klein

Dear Mr. Woody Johnson,

I needed an escape.

I’m a life-long fan, and season ticket holder, and typically, the New York Jets are my escape.  While I can’t escape the inclement weather inside your inexplicably roofless stadium, I do rely on your team to help me seek refuge from life’s everyday stresses, drama and nonsense.  Unfortunately, this season, your team stressed me out with a lot of its own excess drama and nonsense.

So, I needed an escape from my escape.

I wanted to personally thank you for providing me that retreat.  By going into hiding for nine days, you’ve given me the much-needed opportunity to cleanse my mind of the filth that was the 2012 New York Jets.  When you resurface, Tuesday morning, I hope you begin to show some accountability.  On the field, your team was bad.  Off the field, they were worse.

Just two short years after reaching back-to-back AFC Championship Games, your club has become an attention-seeking, controversy-creating, butt-fumbling disaster of a franchise.  Following some questionable offseason decisions, this season was dead on arrival.  With every day that passed, the stench of a decaying Jets carcass seemed to intensify.

Your roster was filled with no-name players and your staff was filled with unnamed sources.  When Peyton Manning passed, you couldn’t pass on a quarterback that can’t pass.  Hey, “you can never have too much Tebow,” right?

Your staff single-handedly sabotaged the season by bringing in, and then misusing, Tim Tebow.  It was a distraction that divided your locker room, and your fan base.  Things got so ugly in the stands, iconic super fan, “Fireman” Ed Anzalone, hung up his fireman’s hat and “retired” as the symbolic head of Jets nation.

I know Coach Rex Ryan’s stomach is stapled, but it was clearly in knots all season long as he uncomfortably answered Tebow questions each week.  He looked tired and beaten during his weekly pressers and did everything he could to avoid answering questions directly.  Tebow certainly has all the character in the world, but he was obviously the wrong character to play the role of “back up” quarterback for your club.

Constantly looking over his shoulder at a cult figure, Mark Sanchez regressed and seemingly lost all the confidence he had shown early on in his career.  I guess that was to be expected, considering he was provided the necessary tools to fail.

Your offense was “grounded” during the pre-season and “pounded” during the regular season.  You lost your best defensive and offensive players to injury, and Coach Ryan became defensive when offensive players anonymously ripped your “back up” quarterback.

I left a table full of warm turkey and stuffing on Thanksgiving to sit in your cold stadium, and watch your Turkeys get stuffed by the Patriots.  Then, amid an uncomfortable and mismanaged quarterback carousel, I watched your team lose their last three games in embarrassing fashion, finishing up at 6-10.

You disrespectfully relieved your General Manager of 16-years by releasing a lame memo to the media and then let your Offensive Coordinator twist in the blustery Meadowlands wind.  Then, you allowed Coach Ryan to flee to the Bahamas, to reveal his ridiculous Sanchez tattoo, and leave an irate, confused and abused fan base left in his wake.

To top it all, it was apparent to every devoted Jets fan that you would have rather seen Mitt Romney elected President of the United States than see your football team hoist a Lombardi Trophy.  How do we know this?  Well, you told us, live, on Bloomberg TV in October.

Please, don’t mistake my harsh words for those of a Jets-hater.  I am a glutton for Jets punishment each and every Sunday.  I’ve been doing it since birth.  I’ve just reached a point of uncharted frustration, the depths of which Rich Kotite didn’t even navigate towards.

Over the next few months, as Jets fans, like myself, look to escape the carnival-like atmosphere surrounding your team, I hope you re-dedicate yourself, and your resources, towards building a winning product.  Go chase Super Bowls, not headlines!  The best way to sell through your precious PSL’s and win the back page is to win football games.  Win a lot of them!

Please, no more controversies, no more half-truths, and no more circus attractions to grab eyeballs and credit cards.

No more stress, no more drama, and no more nonsense.

Just give me a football team I can be proud of, not embarrassed by.

Give me an escape.

Sincerely,

Jason Klein

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Ali An Artist Both In & Out of the Ring

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By Jason Klein

As Seen in In New York Magazine  – 1/17/12

He could no longer float like a butterfly, but his stinger was still just as sharp.

Muhammad Ali was at the Steiner Sports Corporate Offices in New Rochelle, New York to tattoo his coveted signature on a slew of rare collectables.  His body had already endured two decades of physical decay at the hands of Parkinson’s Disease, but his creative mind was still focused.

“The Champ” inked his name on photos and red Everlast gloves with devastating consistency, one after the next, like throwing jabs in the ring.  Once an outspoken showman, he then sat quietly in the Steiner signing room, head down, hard at work to finish the task at hand.

His autograph instantly transformed each item into a sought-after keepsake, destined to sell for a couple thousand dollars each.  However, what Ali did next was priceless.

During a lull in the action, while others in the room conversed on a break, Ali got his legendary hands on an ordinary piece of cardboard.  It was part of a brown shipping box some of the photos had come in.  He then picked up a sharpie off the table.  “The Greatest of All-Time” had something cooking.

Always innovative with his words, at that moment, Ali let his imagination run wild with each pen stroke.  He drew a square in the center of his makeshift canvas, and then began to make hundreds of tiny dots.  He surrounded his square with these dots, pelting the pen to cardboard like rain drops landing on a windshield.

When he was done, he carefully drew two tiny figures inside of his box.  He took a moment to reflect upon his masterpiece before putting pen to cardboard one last time to sign his name at the bottom.  Ali peered up and saw looks of amazement from Steiner employees there to conduct the signing.

The greatest fighter in the history of boxing had just personally illustrated one of the greatest collectibles in the history of memorabilia.  He had drawn his own interpretation of a championship boxing match – the square was his ring, the dots were his cheering crowd, and the figures in the box were his fighters.  It was brilliant.

Not realizing the magnitude of what he had done, “The Champ” left the unique piece of artwork behind after his signing was completed.  A one-of-a-kind, it was hologramed with a Steiner Sports seal and sold to a private collector.

Like the artist himself, the sketch was without peer.  It was an intimate peek into one of the most unique minds the sports world has ever known, that of a man that turns 70 years-old today.

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