We're Number Seventy

Today’s Sports Illustrated contained power rankings for all 119 football teams in Division 1-A, and remarkably, Cuse was ranked 70 out of 119. I say remarkably because, for the season, we were 110th in total offense, and 107th in total defense. In fact, the highest statistical ranking we had in eight team categories: scoring, rushing, passing and total offense and defense, was 77th out of 119. Of the eight categories, we scored in the triple figures five times. And just so we’re clear about this, it’s not like the LSATs where the higher the number the better. This is a statistical measure where the lower the score the better.

And it’s also not a case where our numbers were real bad because we played most of our games against ranked teams. Yes, the Big East did have three ranked teams this year, all of whom beat us soundly (although we did keep up with Louisville for the first half), but we also lost to powerhouses like Cincinnati and South Florida. Back in the day, those teams would have been dispatched by half-time, with the second and third teams playing the last thirty minutes, and still we would have won by 40 points. Now it takes double overtime to beat Wyoming, who incidentally rolled up over 500 yards against us.

On the bright side, we had four times as many wins this year as last, and we won our first conference game in two years. So four wins, and a top seventy ranking: who could ask for more?

G-Man in the House

It’s official. Reliable sources have confirmed that G-Man will be in the house, in the loudhouse, on February 3 for DePaul. The same sources indicate that, in all likelihood, G-Man will make an appearance at Kitty Hoyne’s, before or after the game, maybe both. Plans have not yet been finalized, so the full extent of this appearance cannot yet be disclosed. Keep reading this informative blog for further details.

Now speaking of being in the house, we had both boys in the house for the entire holiday weekend. That meant lots of good eating, including Bolognese, steamed clams and Chorizo sausage, and Mara zinfandel, at Max’s, followed naturally by some whisky and of all things karaoke (who would have imagined that?). Lots of kids showed up, friends of the boys, and a plot to steal our car was foiled at the last moment. The car keys disappeared for the night, only to appear anonymously the next morning on Max’s doorstep. While all this was going on, John and I drank Highland Park and Glenmorangie. The next night, the holiday night, we went to Danny’s loft in the city where we cooked duck breast, tenderloin, and the traditional turkey dinner. Everything was washed down with more red wine, and more malts (John broke into the Talisker 175). On Friday, it was so mild that we had a night in the pit, with a couple of Mike’s boyz, big fat 2-inch strips, more red wine, and more malts, of course. Mike and his boys prefer bourbon, so after finishing the Van Winkle 12, we switched to Red Breast. It may be a malt, but the taste is on the sweet, bourbon end of the spectrum, and it was a big hit. Lastly, Saturday night, we went to Matt and Peggy’s for the Canisius game, where Matt cooked sausage and opened red wine, what else? Afterward, we ended up at the Chophouse, where the Macallan 15 can be found behind the bar, and the Mara zinfandel on the wine list. I couldn’t believe it, but the boys would not go for the 44-ounce porterhouse, preferring instead Max’s strip and filet. I tried to explain that a strip and a filet could both be found in the porterhouse, but I think the 44-ounce size intimidated them. It would have been a great disappointment, had I not already eaten so much food over the previous 72 hours, that I could hardly move as it was. We didn’t get out of the Chophouse until midnight, so the old folks called it a night, while the kids headed into the city for what we used to call a nightcap.

That’s how we roll around here. We’ll do more of it at year’s end when the boys come home after school ends, and more yet when G-Man makes his much awaited appearance for Groundhog’s day.

Wycliffe Rocks the House

Last night Jeff Tyzik brought some guest artists to perform with the Pops, one of whom was the incomparable Wycliffe Gordon. It was advertised as an evening of blues music, “Nothin but the Blues”, but not being a big fan of the Pops, I expected things to be on the cheesy side – sort of Nelson Riddle plays Leadbelly. I got tickets only for the opportunity to see Wycliffe, but had low expectations. Happy to say I was wrong, way wrong.

All four visiting artists were great: Dee Daniels, a blues vocalist with a four-octave range; Byron Stripling, an Eastman graduate, (a former student of Tyzik’s, in fact) on trumpet and vocals (smooth baritone voice, shades of Joe Williams); and Bobby Floyd on piano in the rhythm section, also taking the spotlight on a soulful Hammond organ. But once again, Wycliffe was totally astounding. His virtuoso work on the trombone is jaw-dropping. He solos like he’s playing the saxophone; but beyond that, he makes the trombone sing, and speak, and laugh. It’s unreal. And his scat-singing is like the second coming of Louis Armstrong. Lots of traditional blues numbers, but some newer jazz standards as well (Shorter’s Footprints, and Miles’ Walkin) and a couple original compositions too. Instead of a cheesy evening, it was a genuinely creative and entertaining concert.

We’ve seen a number of great older artists this year, but Wycliffe, along with Kenny Garrett, whom we saw in Toronto, suggest that the great jazz traditions are being handed down to a younger generation, and that’s a good thing.

Talisker Stole the Show

Danny and I went to a tasting the other night, sponsored by White House, our neighborhood purveyor, who incidentally has a terrific selection of whiskies -- malts, bourbons, Irish whiskies -- and run by the folks from Diageo. That’s a name I would not have known until G-man astutely pointed it out to me, after he had been given the M. Jackson Guide to Single Malts. We then spent time examining labels more closely, and discovered that many of our favorite malts were all Diageo products. The tasting was run by a guy named Spike McClure, a Scottish guy who grew up in Brooklyn, got into the business, learned his whisky, and apparently has spent a fair amount of time in his old country, polishing his Gaelic and visiting the distilleries. We had seen Spike at the first tasting we ever attended, and he is a very entertaining guy – wears the kilt, tells some good tales, and really loves his whisky.

The focus this night was double matured malts, whiskies finished in wine casks. First we tasted a Glenkinchie, finished in amontillado casks. Glenkinchie is a lowland scotch, one of only a couple distilleries still found in the lowlands. But perhaps the lowland distilleries have gone out of business because their whisky is not nearly as flavorful as Speyside or Island malts. Plus it had a weird flavor that I could not quite identify, given that we only had a small tasting before moving on. The amontillado finish gave it a slightly sweet taste, amontillado being a dry sherry, but this whisky was too thin for me, aside from the odd flavor I found lurking in the background.

Our next malt was Dalwhinnie, finished in Oloroso casks. I’m not usually a fan of Dalwhinnie, and Spike told us something unusual about the whisky that may explain my reaction. He says that when this whisky comes out of the still, before it goes in the casks (it’s called a newmake at this point), it’s completely undrinkable. It’s only after maturation that the whisky becomes potable. And that’s also why the basic Dalwhinnie is a 15; it needs that long in the casks to lose the disagreeable characteristics of the newmake. Spike claimed that the defining characteristic of Dalwhinnie is honey, and that this double matured went past honey into caramel and toffee. I liked this whisky, and it did have sweet overtones, but even with the sherry flavor, it was still too thin, and for my money not nearly as flavorful as other malts finished in sherry – think of Aberlour 15 or Macallan 12. Not even close.

Next we drank Cragganmore finished in port casks. I’ve had this whisky before, and have used it for introducing malts to novices at some of our big barbeques. Spike claimed that it was one of the smoothest whiskies one could buy, but that’s a bit deceptive, because it’s bottled at only 80 proof, so in part it’s softer because it lacks the alcohol, and the kick. My difficulty with this whisky is that it doesn’t match up with the basic Cragganmore 12, which is a terrific, and flavorful Speyside malt. Sometimes the second cask adds a different flavor, or a sweet finish to a malt, but in this instance, I think the process actually subtracts from the whisky.

The last double matured malt we tasted is probably my very favorite of this genre – Talisker double matured. This is a unique whisky, something really special. I am a big Talisker fan to begin with – especially in the winter months. Talisker has a big flavor, with a peaty characteristic (it’s not from Islay, but from a different island – the Isle of Skye). But beyond the flavor, Talisker has this spicy, peppery character that causes the whisky to explode on your tongue. And it’s such a big whisky that when the distiller adds additional flavors from maturing in the Amoroso sherry casks, the sherry flavor can’t subtract anything, it just adds on top. Think of a sweet and spicy barbeque sauce, where two different flavors don’t fight with each other, but instead compliment each other. That’s the effect with Talisker double matured. This unique whisky is really a treat.

But the star of the show was another Talisker, one that I’ve never tasted before—the 175th anniversary edition. I can’t remember what or who was celebrating its 175th anniversary, probably the distillery, but I sure am glad they seized on that occasion to bottle this whisky. And I learned something new – this whisky is a ‘vatting’ of Taliskers. It has no age statement on the bottle, because it’s a vatting, or mixture of several different Taliskers, all aged between 10 and 20 years. A blend is a mixture of different malt or grain whiskies, but a vatting is a mixture of different ages of the same whisky. Got it? The Talisker 175th is remarkable. Think of the big Talisker flavor with a silky smooth texture. A special occasion whisky, although I should point out that it’s not exorbitantly priced. I’m not sure of the shelf price, but at the tasting, it was offered at $70 a bottle. For a whisky this good, that’s a steal.

To finish the evening we tasted Johnny gold, and Johnny blue. Johnny gold was smoother than I recall (I had tasted it at Spike’s other tasting), but is too pricey for a blend. Smooth yes, but the flavor doesn’t compare to good malts. In fact, the flavor isn’t even as good as Johnny green. I was amazed they gave us Johnny blue at this tasting, considering that it goes for over $200 on the shelf, but I am no longer amazed by this whisky. Danny loves it, and claims it’s butter, the smoothest drinking whisky anywhere. I’ll concede the buttery texture, and I like the spicy hints in the background, probably from the 50 and 60 year old malts in the blend, but I don’t think it has even a fraction of the flavor of the great malts – think Highland Park 25, or Macallan 18, or even Lagavulin. And on this night, I thought the Talisker anniversary was every bit as smooth, and much more interesting, at one-third the price. And I recall that when the boys and I were on the cruise, and drinking at Maltings every night, we tasted Blue one evening at only $12 a glass, but after Rosebank, and HP 25, and Jim Beam Masterpiece, we thought, “What’s the big deal?” Still wondering the same thing.

Now just for the record, I also tasted a couple other malts the past week or so. In Armory Square one night we ate at Lemon Grass, a white tablecloth Thai restaurant with a very nice bar, and a big selection of malts – but mostly very old and very pricey stuff. It was fun reading the scotch menu, and the barmaid suggested a nice Macallan 25. But was I ready to spend $30 for a measured pour? I don’t think so. Instead, I had a Deanston 12, an undistinguished Highland whisky. Easy to drink, but hardly memorable. Then at Max the other night, I had a glass of something new on the bar, Pebble Beach 12. This is apparently a bottling by a company named Lombard, that seeks to trade on the golf and scotch connection. The malt is a 12 year old Speyside, which is really quite nice. Smooth, and flavorful. By coincidence, the salesman who sold Max this whisky (along with Macallan and Highland Park) was also at the bar, so I asked him who the distiller was. No idea. In fact, he seemed startled by the question. Can you imagine? Sells the whisky, but has no idea about the whisky other than what he reads on the label. Pebble Beach is a cheesy marketing concept, but really not a bad whisky- something you might find in a hotel bar, and might drink instead of Glenlivet or a blend. But not something you’d ever order if you saw Talisker back behind the bar.

The New PH

Saturday night we went back to the dome with the old PH, the original PH, lately of Canajoharie, or Johnston Falls, or Sprakers or Woodchuckville. Somewhere out there, thirty or forty miles from East Bumblefuck. Before the game, we went to Kitty Hoyne’s to drink Irish whisky and bourbon, and to eat shepherd’s pie. At least that’s what PH ate; he claimed it was first made by his grandmother in the old country, but I think he’s got it mixed up with Tzimmis. Schnapps and Tzimmis; or shepherd’s pie and Red Breast. I can’t remember what we ate in the old country; it was so long ago.

Afterward, we headed back to the dome, to see game two of the current season, which ended in win number 728 for the coach. The Cuse looked good again. After a tight start, D-Nic hit a few shots from the outside; Matt Gorman came off the bench to contribute putbacks and a couple threes; and the defense played well again, this night mostly in the 2-3. By half-time we were up double figures; we let Penn make a little run early in the second half; and then it was twenty points when we left with a couple minutes to go.

On this night, Paul Harris, the new PH, only scored six, but he still managed to fill up the box score. Rebounds, assists, a couple steals. He’s not the new Melo; that’s unfair. What he is, aside from being the new PH, is the new Josh Pace. He does everything. And he does everything well. He’s already the best defender in the man. Penn had this guard who got hot in the first half, and the coach brought PH off the bench to shut him down. He’s also got great court sense, recognizing where rebounds will be before the shot ever hits the glass. And when he gets where he’s going, where the ball is also going, he goes after it big time. And hangs onto it. If he played even thirty minutes a night, he’d be our leading rebounder, easy. Another thing is that he's a great passer; he had the best pass of the entire weekend, a no-look bounce pass to Roberts underneath for a dunk. Plus, he’s smoother and more athletic than Josh Pace, even than Josh was as a senior. And PH, after all, is only in his first week of college hoops, so that’s saying a lot.

I missed the weekend’s final game against UTEP, where PH hit double figures off the bench, for the second time in three games. It was a good start to the season, and after this barren fall, I’m really looking forward to this season. Eight or nine deep; four seniors; four, five, six guys scoring in double figures. And the new PH, coming off then bench.

Good Hoops and Beverages in the Cuse

Another weekend in the Cuse, this one devoted to hoops and, as always, beverages. Let’s talk hoops first. We saw the Orange open this year’s season against St. Francis last night, winning easily after an uneven start. The team was tight for the first eight minutes or so, with no one able to hit a shot from the outside. But while we were unable to find a way to score, we were even more effective in keeping St. Francis off the scoreboard. A couple encouraging notes even from this slow start were a better job on the boards (in part resulting from the fact that St. Francis was small), and a hustling man defense. After a while, the defense led to some fast breaks, and Cuse opened up a double digit lead. In the second half, shots began to drop; Nichols hit a couple in a row; Gorman and Josh Wright hit threes; everyone loosened up, and the game became a blowout.

Several positive signs from the opener. First, the bench is deep. Nine guys played more than ten minutes. Five guys were in double figures. Second, two of the freshmen look ready to contribute immediately. Paul Harris (the new PH) is going to be great. He lacks a consistent outside shot, and it’s unfair to compare him to Melo, but he is a tenacious defender, a great rebounder (unbelievable really for a guy only 6’5”), and on a couple occasions looked unstoppable when slashing to the hoop. He’s too quick for big men to guard, and too strong for guards. So when he gets into the lane, he’s either going to get to the rim, or else one of our big guys will be open. Mike Jones looked tight, but contributed during the second half. At one point during the second half, and well before garbage time, we had three freshmen and two sophomores on the court. Third, we’re much quicker than we have been for the past few years. Lots of fast break buckets from turnovers, and even off the defensive boards. And enough quickness to be effective in the man D.

Potential problem areas include the lack of a consistent outside shooter; no go-to-guy in the half court offense; and Eric Devendorf, who has taken his punk-ass trash-talking image to a new level. It’s OK for him to have an off night shooting, which he did, but not OK to ignore the coach on the sidelines, nor to pout on the court after a turnover or a foul. Still, if Josh Wright plays well, and doesn’t turn the ball over needlessly, this team should be in good shape come March.

After the game, we walked downtown, and found ourselves at the Blue Tusk, where there are 69 beers on tap. Susan had a Middle Ages (local microbrew) wheat, and I had a Red Breast. The bar has a small but quality selection of Scotch and Irish whisky. And it was packed. (We went back for lunch, where I had a Middle Ages porter; I like to support the local breweries, wherever we are.) Armory Square is something else. Before the game, we ate at Lemon Grass, an upscale Thai restaurant (think Thai with white tablecloths), and this place had a great selection of malts. Unfortunately, most of the selection was tilted toward the very high end of the spectrum. I was standing at the bar, admiring the inventory, and the barmaid tried to sell me Macallan 25. Only $30 for a measured shot. Um, no thanks. Fun to read the menu, with over 40 selections, but for the most part, too much dough even for a whisky lover like me. Still, it was just another reflection on the diverse and interesting collection of people and spirits that we have found in downtown Syracuse. Who knew?

White Wine is for Bitches

OK, so G-man and PH have schooled me, and I won’t be defensive about having introduced everyone to the many pleasures of strong spirits. In fact, as I told PH earlier today, I see myself as a kind of Johnny Appleseed, traveling the land, and spreading the word about good whisky. Once upon a time, that meant bourbon, and John a/k/a Animal still blames me for his weakness for bourbon. More recently, of course, it means single malts, Scotch whisky, Irish whisky (You have to try this Red Breast; I’m going to see that PH gets a taste this weekend.), and on a rare occasion whisky from an even more exotic location – think of Suntori.

Having accepted the role of whisky procurer and prophet, I still have no idea what Andy is talking about with peach schnapps. My only thought is that when we got to the liquor store, and combined our resources, that was the only bottle we could afford for the collective $1.87 we had raised. I mean, who drinks peach schnapps?

When I was in Pittsburgh the other night, sitting in my hotel bar, watching the Colts and the Pats, and enjoying a glass of Lagavulin, a guy came in with a good looking woman and they sat down at the bar. Probably the best looking gal in the whole place. So the guy deserves some props for bringing a cute gal out, especially as he was nothing much to look at himself. But then he goes and orders a glass of white wine. What the fuck is that? I wanted to tell the guy he was ruining the whole image. I wanted to explain that white wine is for bitches. But, I was in a strange town, and he just might take offense to my suggestion, as well intended as it was. So I let it go. I let the guy sit there looking like a horse’s ass sipping his glass of chardonnay.

Just don’t let me catch any of you guys ordering any white wine.

Paul and Nancy

Monday night in Pittsburgh, I had dinner with the elusive, and reclusive Dr. Resnick, and his lovely wife Nancy. This might have been the first meal we shared since June of 1971, when they attended our wedding in the backyard. Or it’s also possible that we met at Columbus Ave., at one of those incoherent evenings that purported to be parties, but which always turned out to be sleepovers, everyone passed out, not a soul able to carry on a conversation, leaving Susan and me to climb over recumbent bodies on our way out the door. However long it had been, it was wonderful seeing them. They acted like it had only been a few weeks since we last visited. Unfortunately, they resisted all my efforts to induce them to come to the Berkshires in the summer. Not even glowing descriptions of the cookies from Miami could weaken Paul’s resolve not to relive his youth with a bunch of inebriated geezers. Well, maybe he’ll send Nancy as the family representative.

And since we’re on the topic of the Berkshires, or partying at Columbus Ave., what’s all this hypocritical talk about blaming me for having introduced folks to good whisky? OK, so we brought some single malts to Andy’s house, but I don’t remember anyone complaining at the time they were drinking Macallan. Would everyone have preferred to drink some cheap-ass scotch that burned a hole in their gut? And PH, really, after tasting Van Winkle, will you be going back to Jim Beam or Old Grandad? How about next year we skip the Mojitos, and the malts, and we just drink ripple and Wild Irish Rose? Will that make everyone happier? Because if it will stop the kvetching, I’d be happy to bring the Wild Irish Rose. All you bitches can have you own paper bags, while me and G sip single malts on the porch.

And speaking of single malts, when in Pittsburgh, I found that even the steel city bars have a nice selection. Had some Cragganmore, and some Lagavulin, and a glass of Oban when I was out with Paul and Nancy. It was a subdued night for partying, because the Steelers committed six turnovers, and gave the game away to the Broncos. Three Rivers Stadium, or whatever it’s now called, was right across the river from my hotel, and the bar filled up quickly when the game ended. But the fans left early after only one or two, and didn’t spend the night celebrating. More like a beer to take the sting away, and then let’s call it a night. I guess that’s the kind of year they’re having in Pittsburgh.