“Country Comes to Town” – Sonny Dykes Arrives in Berkeley to Lead the Golden Bears

(Photo by Brant Ward, The Chronicle)

By Connor Buestad | connorbuestad@gmail.com

Deep in the heart of Texas, days after Sonny Dykes was introduced as Cal’s newest football coach, his father, Spike Dykes, is talking pigskin with a couple of football junkies on the “Cook’s Pest Control Hotline.”

At 75 years old, and with a glorious football career in his rearview mirror, Spike has no politically correct filter, no recruiting agenda, no schtick, just some stories about the good ol’ days of amateur football in the Lone Star State. And when the topic comes up of his boy moving out west to coach the Golden Bears, Spike shoots straight as an arrow.

“You talk about country come to town,” says Spike with a chuckle. “I think we probably dance to different drummers, you know what I’m saying? I don’t think I’d fit too good out there (in California). But I hope he does, I hope he can do it.”

And by “I hope he can do it,” we all know what Spike really means. Can his boy Sonny do what has proved impossible for the past 55 years in Berkeley? Can he bring a Rose Bowl berth to the faithful of Strawberry Canyon? Can he restore order in program that finished 3-9 last year while sporting the lowest graduation rate of all Pac-12 schools (48%)? One thing we’ve learned already, if Sonny succeeds, he’ll do so by keeping things simple, just like his old man did.

Born in the fall of 1969, Sonny Dykes grew up in Big Spring, Texas, as the son of a football coach. In a state certifiably obsessed with football, where a good seat at a high school game can require a Season Ticket Personal Seat License, Sonny was fed football for as long as he could remember. Naturally, he wanted to be the next Roger Staubach. The only catch was that he wasn’t very good. At least, not good enough to play for his dad, who was the coach of Texas Tech at the time. Fortunately, he knew how to handle a baseball bat.

“I was just kind of an average high school football player and if wanted to play I was gonna end up going to some school I’ve never heard of to play football,” Sonny told KNBR. “I just happened to be a little better at baseball. I could at least go to a school I’ve heard of. I was just kind of a guy on the baseball team.”

But following his graduation, there was no shaking the football lifestyle that had been ingrained in him at a young age. Even if he wasn’t good enough to cut it as a player, he couldn’t help but go back to it as a coach.

Sonny’s first legitimate coaching job took him 55 miles south of downtown Dallas to a small football town called Corsicana, Texas. The city’s motto is “Live, Work, Play.” It was Sonny’s kind of town. Sonny coached the quarterbacks at Navarro College. In his second year they made it to the Texas Junior College Championship. Soon thereafter, Sonny wound up at the University of Kentucky, where he served as an assistant to Hal Mumme, the Godfather of the “Air-Raid” offense. The Air-Raid concept led him back to Texas Tech, where he coached under fellow Air-Raid master Mike Leach. This was followed by a stint in the Pac-10 as an offensive coordinator at Arizona, and finally three years as the head man of Louisiana Tech in the WAC. Today, Sonny finds himself behind the wheel of a team and program ripe with potential, but fraught with flaws as he heads into the 2013 season facing perhaps the toughest schedule in college football.

This will be the first year Cal has had a new football coach since Jeff Tedford was hired back in 2002. Much like Dykes, Tedford was brought in based on his acumen as an offensive coordinator. Dubbed a “quarterback guru,” Tedford came to Berkeley with an offensive mindset, determined to jumpstart a god-awful program. In his freshman campaign, Tedford gave Bears fans a winning season, just one year removed from a 1-10 debacle under Tom Holmoe. By his third season, Tedford had the Bears ranked in the top 10 nationally, knocking on the Rose Bowl door.

During the middle of Tedford’s time in Berkeley, good times were rolling, and there seemed to be no end in sight. Tie-dyed “TedHead” shirts were printed, Marshawn and DeSean routinely ran wild, multi-million dollar stadium renovations were drawn up, and the Bears even flirted with a number 1 ranking. Somewhere along the line, however, Tedford seemed to lose his mojo, quality quarterbacks slowly stopped walking through his office door, and he was eventually forced to give up the once-promising program he cultivated.

In his shoes now stands a swashbuckler named Sonny Dykes who has been entrusted with the tall task of bringing the Bears back to Pac-12 prominence. It appears he plans to do so with the mantra of “KISS… Keep It Simple, Stupid.”

While Tedford was known for implementing a thick, complex playbook each fall, Dykes plans to take the exact opposite approach with the Air-Raid, or “Bear-Raid,” as it is now appropriately called in Berkeley. No doubt, Tedford’s offense worked wonderfully when it was run by a quarterback up to the task (see Rodgers, Aaron), but the complexities of the Tedford attack seemed to fall apart under his less adept signal callers in the past few years. Dykes, on the other hand, values the power of simplicity to make his offense move.

The Air-Raid style that Dykes will use traces itself back through a web of successful coaches. It is said the initial framework of the offense was spawned at BYU during the exciting passing years of Jim McMahon, Steve Young and Ty Detmer. LaVell Edwards was the coach during that era, and it was his mission to give his quarterbacks a simple, free and easy system to work in. Huddle only when you have to, use four wide receivers, let the QB go from the shotgun, and have him audible whenever he sees fit. This system worked, year after year, and it spawned a coaching tree that eventually named the system the “Air-Raid.” Hal Mumme took to it first, followed by Mike Leach, and now Sonny Dykes. 

In his three-year stay at Louisiana Tech, Dykes more than proved the value of the Air-Raid. Last season, Dykes’ offense churned out 577 yards and 51 points on average per game—all with an offensive playbook that consists of roughly 20 core plays. Huddles were mainly an afterthought last season, as Dykes’ offense reeled off the second-most offensive plays from scrimmage in all of Division I. Get to the line, survey the defense, snap it and let your athletes make plays. Rinse and repeat.

“Athletes who make plays” certainly have not been in short supply in Berkeley over the past decade. One would be hard pressed to flip on the tube on a fall Sunday and not see a Cal alum starring for an NFL team. Pro talent has been steadily flowing through the Cal recruiting pipeline, but for whatever reason, it hasn’t fully blossomed in Berkeley, especially at the quarterback position. Sandy Barbour and company are banking on the hope that a little simplicity will be just what the doctor ordered.

While Tedford leaves behind all the positives that come with a renovated Memorial Stadium and a new high-performance training facility, he also leaves his successor with an incredibly competitive schedule to navigate. Dykes inherits the least experienced team in all of the Pac-12 (five returners on defense, four on offense to be exact), and must face Big-10 power in Northwestern right out of the gate. Two weeks later, the team expected to claim the national championship and the Heisman Trophy, Ohio State, will show up in Berkeley. Sprinkle in a late September road test at Oregon and you have yourself a murderous first month of the season to contend with.

Dykes can only hope his simple, straightforward offense will jibe with what will likely be redshirt freshman Zach Kline at quarterback. If Kline can channel his inner Jim McMahon and Steve Young, the Bear-Raid will provide all the freedom he needs to make plays. What the offense won’t provide is a complex, intricate system designed to deceive the defense and hide offensive flaws.

Sonny Dykes, born in America’s football heartland to the son of a famed Texas coach, knows the drill all too well. Success isn’t measured by progress, or talent, or potential, but rather the cold hard facts of wins and losses and BCS Bowl appearances. It’s “win now,” and after that, it’s “what have you done for me lately.” It’s coaches at SC and Oregon bending the rules and breaking for the NFL as soon as it gets too hot. It’s Mike Leach at Washington State, it’s Jim Mora Jr. at UCLA, David Shaw at Stanford. It’s non-conference games vs. Big-10 powers. It’s the Wild West of college football, and good ol’ Sonny now finds himself right in the thick of it all. The Bear-Raid era is upon us and Cal fans can only pray it delivers the Rose Bowl they have long deserved.

(Photo by Lenny Ignelzi/AP)

“Get StOAKed” – An Oakland Clothing Line is Determined to Challenge Perceptions

By Connor Buestad | connorbuestad@gmail.com

A group of five 15 year olds isn’t supposed to be able to captivate a room like this.

Tears of joy and pride, prolonged moments of intense contemplation, and rousing standing ovations were supposed to be reserved for “Graduation Saturday” at UC Berkeley. And although more than a few remnants from the Cal graduation yet remained, it was Sunday now. By this time, the diplomas had all been given out, the pictures had all been snapped, the celebratory bottles of wine had been emptied, and the grandparents were well on their way back to Florida.

A newer, younger generation of students now had the stage in the Haas School of Business main auditorium all to themselves. An impressive collection of East Bay ninth graders had descended upon the Berkeley campus to compete in a business competition and pitch their start-up ideas to a group of distinguished panelists. The event, put on by BUILD.org, promised the winner a thousand dollars of seed funding.

In front of a standing room only crowd, it was a clothing company called “Stoaked” that stole the show.

Ryan Frigo, Jovon Jenkins Jr., Desmond Cliett Jr., Christian Johnson, and Kai Crosby, all Oakland Tech Freshman, took the stage near the end of the competition and left no doubt who was the most deserving winner. In a compelling presentation, the five-man team went far beyond simply explaining their brand, but instead dove headlong into social issues plaguing the city of Oakland. A city that the team is currently growing up (and taking pride) in.

The Stoaked contingent used a microphone instead of a bullhorn in order to be heard on this day. And their focus was on their hoodies rather than the 1%. But their speech held undertones of the since past Occupy Oakland movement, and the crowd surely was struck by the gravity of the moment.

“Stoaked is an apparel company that represents Oakland’s life, beauty, and soul,” explained company leader Kai Crosby. “The brand represents a lifestyle and a vision that Oakland’s potential will continue to be brought out, and will bring positive outside perceptions to Oakland. We are trying to slowly change the image of the city we grew up in by selling clothes.”

Ryan Frigo continued to captivate the audience with more background on how Stoaked came to be, and where he plans to take it in the future. It is a company that sells a fashionable, well designed, original product, but the founders make sure their goods also come with a positive and meaningful message.

From L to R: Frigo, Jenkins Jr., Cliett Jr., Johnson, and Crosby (photo by Gene Dominique)

Frigo, who appears to be the brains behind the technical side of the product, has chosen a logo for Stoaked that epitomizes the change in Oakland that he is after. The spreading roots of the “City of Oakland Tree”, centered inside a triangle is the logo representing this up-and-coming brand. And if even incidental, consumers can’t help but see the triangle as representing a delta sign, as in change.

“We looked into the Oaklandish logo (also depicting the ‘City of Oakland Tree’) and we realized they don’t have any special rights to the city tree, so we went ahead and made our own design out of Oakland’s city logo.”

The company Frigo makes reference to here, Oaklandish, is an established clothing brand who is dedicated to supporting and representing the city of Oakland in the most positive light possible. With shirts including the one depicting the word “stAy” in support of the one-foot-out-the-door Oakland Athletics, Oaklandish has made every attempt to support the city through a local, artistically driven clothing store.

And as much as stores like Oaklandish have done to change and improve the perception of the city of Oakland, there is no substitute for the perspective that the members of Stoaked posses. Even despite close ties with Oakland and her sociology degree from the University of Chicago, Oaklandish’s CEO Anglea Tsay can’t quite compete with how local Stoaked really is. In the case of Ryan, Kai and the rest of the Stoaked staff, they embody the image and purpose of the clothes themselves. Their models are their classmates, their design consultants are their buddies who skate the rails behind Oakland Tech.

It wasn’t until Frigo finally laid his paws on a heat press that Stoaked went from just a lofty idea to something of substance. Now that same heat press is working overtime in his family’s basement, churning out shirts, tanks and hoodies for customers all over the Bay Area.

“Me and my friends take pictures all throughout the city of Oakland,” explains Frigo. “Sometimes it’s in an urban setting, other times it’s up in a secret spot in the hills. Using photoshop and different design programs, we create what the images will look like, then we use transfers and a heat press to get them on our clothes.” 

It is a process that can be time consuming and labor intensive, especially for a 15 year old. But as Frigo explains, “It doesn’t really feel like work, we enjoy doing it. We love making these clothes.”

As Spring gives way to Summer, the young men of Stoaked have graciously moved on from their business comp triumph. The seed money has already been re-invested, the Summer Line has been released and the all important Fall roll-out of apparel is in the pipeline. But as anyone already knows from hearing this group of entrepreneurs speak about their city and their mission, their goals go far beyond just the next quarter of sales.

Stoaked has decided to not just agree to change or sign up for a movement, but they decided to start one themselves. With each picture taken, each shirt pressed, and each item sold, they plan to come closer to changing the perception of the city they are growing up in.

 If they aren’t careful, they just might do it.

“Good Kid, Mad City” – Steph Curry Captivates The Bay, One Jumper at a Time

The love is mutual.

By Connor Buestad | connorbuestad@gmail.com

I received the text out of the blue, around 6:15pm, on a dreary late December Tuesday night.

“Dubs vs t-wolves tonite at oracle. Can you roll?”

Normally, the answer would be no. I was all the way out in the Sunset District of San Francisco, the game started in less than an hour, the Warriors were playing pretty awful, Monta Ellis had just been traded to the Bucks for a bloke named Bogut, the list of excuses went on.

But anytime you can watch Luke Ridnour run the point for the T-Wolves alongside Ricky Rubio, Kevin Love, and Michael Beasley, you have to go, right? So I did. I dragged my ass through the city, over the bridge and down to The Oracle.

By the time I got to my buddy Mike’s “lower-bowl-between-the-baskets” seats, it was already early in the second quarter. Beside some fundamentally sound pick-and-roll two-man game between Ridnour and Love, the game was sloppy at best. It had a “too many games in too few nights” NBA feel to it.

It wasn’t until just before halftime that I finally received the memo that it was “Chris Mullin Night” at the Arena. This meant that Mully would have his #17 jersey lifted to the rafters during a halftime ceremony. The ‘T’ and ‘M’ from RunTMC were going to be on hand, not to mention Tom Tolbert, Al Attles, Rick Barry, and Greg Papa. A who’s who of Warrior greats. Even Sharunas Marchulenis’ face was on my ticket stub. Suddenly, this night was shaping up to be much more interesting.

We all know what happened next. A dumpster fire broke out at center court. A textbook PR nightmare. An ugly lesson of sociology. An awful night in Warrior history.

It should have just been Mully out at center court with his wife and kids, and Mitch Richmond and Timmy Hardaway, and maybe Tom Tolbert. But god forbid if Warriors’ owner Joe Lacob decided to skip out to center court with a shit eating grin on his face and take the mic “to say a few words”.

When you are the owner of a franchise, there isn’t exactly someone above you to tell you when a bad idea is actually a terrible idea. So Joe Lacob went with his gut and took the mic, just days after trading away fan favorite, Monta Ellis.

A litany of angry boos rained down from the upper deck when Lacob tried to congratulate Mullin for being one of the best Warriors of all time. Mully attempted to take the mic back and put out the fire. It didn’t work. More boos rained down.

The lower bowl decided not to boo. Maybe because they were just stoked to be sitting in the lower bowl and were in a good mood, maybe because they were close enough to Lacob’s seats to feel some sympathy for the 5’2” owner. The upper deck, meanwhile, was unmerciful.

Rick Barry stole the mic (wearing a tan corduroy blazer, no less), and basically yelled at the fans to shut up and respect Mully’s night, but to no avail.

At that moment, the “We Believe Era” of Warrior basketball seemed like a lifetime ago. The Dubs were getting their ass-kicked by the T-Wolves, Monta was gone for good, and Mullin Night was getting drowned out by drunk/angry boo birds.

What a difference a year makes.

As it stands today, Lacob’s decision to get rid of Ellis not only seems defensible, but maybe even advisable. Curry and Ellis were allegedly not getting along, and there wasn’t enough room in the Warrior backcourt for two small guards who needed to constantly be shooting. Warrior brass decided to roll the dice on Curry’s ankle and not look back. If the 2013 playoffs are any indication, this has been the smartest decision Lacob has ever made in his life.

The phase “that player was born to _____” gets thrown around quite a bit. But in Stephen Curry’s case, it is safe to say he was indeed born to shoot. His dad, Dell, wasn’t much of a jumper, or a passer, or a defender, but if you left him open he didn’t seem to ever miss. A journeyman in the truest sense of the word, Dell played for five different NBA teams during his career. The formula went something like this: give Dell a uniform, give him a point guard that can find him open (ie. Muggsy Bogues), and he will nail jump shots for you. Rinse and repeat.

Now, what do you get when a shooter of that caliber marries a standout ACC volleyball star? Well, you get a more athletic version of Dell. And for this, Warrior fans are grateful.

Even though Steph was born with the perfect shooter’s DNA, it was always tough to believe the younger Curry would turn himself into a top tier scorer in the NBA. Talented, yes, but not LeBron, Carmelo, or Durant talented. Having the name Curry written on his back wasn’t enough to get big college basketball programs to give him a look. Instead, he had to settle on tiny Davidson College as a proving ground for his NBA worth. Three years later, after dominating the mid-major circuit, the NBA finally came calling.

Curry’s rap for his first three years in the league was “great shooter, bad ankle”. It seemed anytime Steph found himself getting in a groove and putting up big offensive numbers, his fragile ankle would give way. He’d spend a few weeks on the injured list while he tried to find a new ankle brace that would work out better. All the while Bay Area sports talk would argue whether or not Steph “would ever get right”.

The “Stephen Curry National Coming Out Party” took place where coming out parties are supposed to take place, at Madison Square Garden. On sport’s biggest stage, in a nationally televised game, Mr. Curry went unconscious for four quarters. When he awoke, the 25 year old had poured in 54 points and 11 three pointers. Even though the Knicks ended up winning the game versus the shorthanded Warriors (D Lee got suspended for fighting the Pacers the night before), the New York fans were sheepishly cheering on the three-point artist by games end. The performance was a spectacle in a very Steph Curry kind of way. It wasn’t LeBron manhandling lesser opponents; it was Steph simply mastering the art of the three point shot. Just casting up a ton of shots… and not missing.

More of the same Steph Curry heroics were put on display when the underdog Warriors took on the Denver Nuggets in round one of the playoffs. Steph single handedly turned the series into appointment television for basketball fans across the nation. The 6’3” guard whipped The Oracle faithful into a frenzy, basically shooting whenever he touched the ball, draining three after three. In game four, Curry scored 22 points, in the third quarter alone.

Now in the Western Conference semi finals, the Warriors are flying back to Oakland tied 1-1 with the experience laden San Antonio Spurs. Game 1 turned out to be one of the more gut-wrenching losses in franchise history, with the Dubs blowing a 16 point lead with four minutes left in the game. Steph Curry’s second 22 point third quarter outburst of the playoffs had gone to waste and the Charles Barkley’s of the world seriously wondered if the Warriors could overcome such an inexcusable loss.

Game 2? Well game 2 turned out to be the Klay Thompson show. The second year player out of Washington State pulled his best Steph Curry impression and made 8 of his 9 three point shots on his way to a career high 34 points. The last time the Warriors had won a game in San Antonio, Thompson was a six year old.

Now dubbed the “Splash Brothers”, the Steph-Clay combo has no shortage of confidence from their coach, Mark Jackson. Says Jackson about his youthful backcourt, “I have the greatest shooting backcourt that has ever played the game… call my bluff.”

Calling Steph Curry and Klay Thompson the greatest shooting backcourt that has ever played the game is more than a little ridiculous when you stop and think about it. But at this point, no one in Dub Nation is thinking twice about anything, not even Joe Lacob. The hopes of a Warriors trip to the Western Conference Finals rests in the hands of Steph Curry. A good pair of hands indeed.

The Big Fundamental may have got the best of St. Mary’s Brad Millard in ’97, but this is 2013.

“A Team From Berkeley Bound by Tragedy” – The Cal Bears Reach The Women’s Final Four

Three of Cal’s players have had family members slain by gunfire (McClureImages.com)

By Connor Buestad | Connor@Section925.com

For as long as Barack Obama has been the President of the United States, he has stayed true to an annual tradition come every March. He takes the time to fill out a bracket.

Not only does Barack spend hours navigating through the Men’s field of 68, but he also makes sure to pencil in his predictions for the women as well. And of course, as with anything the president decides to do, he catches some flack from an opposing side.

Shouldn’t Mr. Obama be spending his afternoon on foreign policy rather than bracketology? Isn’t this just a publicity stunt to win over the 18-34 ESPN demographic? If it weren’t for Title IX, would Obama ever fill out a women’s bracket?

Regardless of where you find yourself in the petty debate, there is no argument when it comes to Obama’s passion and knowledge for the game of basketball. The man knows his hoops. So when he sat down with ESPN to walk America through his Women’s Final Four predictions, it meant something when he chose the California Golden Bears to be one of the last four standing. In retrospect, when one understands the story behind the 2013 Bears, Obama’s upset pick begins to start making sense.

We’ve all heard the rhetoric a million times. Turn on any press conference after an important athletic event and the word “adversity” will start to bounce around like a ping-pong ball. Every team has adversity and every good team ends up overcoming it. But what the Cal Women’s basketball team has experienced goes far beyond adversity. The Cal women have overcome tragedy.

If there was a cover girl for the Bears’ excruciating hardship, that girl would be Tierra Rogers. Now in her Senior year as a scholarship athlete at Cal, Rogers has never stepped foot on the Haas Pavillion floor.

Growing up in the Hunter’s Point district of San Francisco, Rogers was a basketball prodigy from the moment she was old enough to dribble a ball. On the playgrounds near Candlestick Park, Rogers was known affectionately as “The Lady Iverson”. There was nothing Tierra couldn’t do on a basketball court. She was so good, her father, Terray “Tat” Rogers, used to take her to the park and bet other grown men that her daughter could make more than 7 out of 10 shots from the free throw line. It wasn’t that Terray had to do it, but the money was too easy. Tierra was virtually automatic.

By high school, Tierra found herself as the best player on the best team in the nation, the Sacred Heart Cathedral Prep Irish of San Francisco. In 2006, 2007, and 2008, the Lady Irish won the State championship. For two straight seasons in ‘07-’08, Tierra’s team never lost a game. She was a can’t miss star in every sense of the word, but on Jan 12, 2008, things would never be the same for Tierra. This is when two men in hooded sweatshirts rushed at Terray Rogers in the parking lot of a basketball gym. As the gunshots sounded outside, Tierra was in the gym getting ready to play the second half of a regular season game. Terray was pronounced dead at the scene.

In many ways, Tierra was the reason her dad was doing well at the time of the shooting. If it wasn’t for her inspiring potential on the basketball court, her dad might have already been gone well before she reached high school.

Adam Rogers, Tierra’s grandpa and Terray’s dad, was murdered in San Francisco back in 1977. He had been in and out of jail and heavily involved with drugs and gangs. In his later years, Adam had rehabilitated himself to the point where he became a community activist. “Adam Rogers Playground” still stands in Hunter’s Point today for the good things he did, but he ultimately fell short of outrunning his demons.

The same story could be told of Tierra’s dad Terray. Shortly after Tierra was born, her dad was locked up in jail for his involvement with drugs and gangs. When he got out, he followed his father’s footsteps of reinventing himself as someone with a job and a positive presence in the community. Perhaps what truly kept him on track was his daughter and the athletics gifts she had that made everyone in the Rogers family so optimistic about the future.

Just months after her father was murdered outside the gym of one of her games, Tierra found herself inside Arco Arena in Sacramento. Another State Championship would be won for SHC Prep. Another undefeated season in the books. Of course, this time it didn’t feel right. Tierra wanted to quit basketball entirely. The basketball court didn’t serve as a sanctuary for her to remove herself from Tat’s death, it only made the memories more vivid.

A year later, now as a McDonald’s All American, Rogers choose to stay close to home and take her game across the Bay to play for the Bears. Tierra forged a fast bond with the Cal coach that recruited her, Joanne Boyle. Boyle promised her a fresh start. A new school, a new campus, a new home gym to play in.

In late September of 2009, just weeks before Rogers would put on a Cal uniform for the first time, she collapsed during a routine workout and nearly died. Rushed to the hospital, doctors were able to keep the freshman guard alive, but her college basketball career would be over. At the hospital, Rogers would be diagnosed with a rare heart condition, Arrhythmogenic Right Ventricular Dysplasia. A defibrillator was implanted and rigorous exercise was deemed out of the question. Overnight, Rogers went from a world class athlete, to someone who wasn’t allowed to run a mile in under nine minutes.

Fast forward four years and Tierra can still be found on the Cal bench, supporting her teammates. Joanne Boyle, the coach that brought Tierra to Berkeley, has since left Cal to coach at Virginia. Somehow, Tierra has stuck it out. Showing up at practices and games week after week, year after year. The University has honored her scholarship all the way through and rightfully so, as Rogers has found a way to make an indelible mark on the Cal program, even without a uniform on.

Rogers starred in high school for the Irish of Sacred Heart Cathedral in San Francisco (photo by Glenn Nelson/ESPN)

—

As the Cal Bears sit in their hotel rooms in New Orleans on the eve of the Final Four, there is no doubt some reflection being paid to the greatest season in Cal basketball history. Cal has never appeared in the Women’s Final Four and outside of Stanford, it has been 25 years since a Pac 10 team has made it this deep into the tournament. And while Tierra Rogers wasn’t able to contribute in the box score to help this team accomplish so much, her intangible contribution as an unofficial trauma counselor can’t be measured. Two of Tierra’s current Cal teammates have also lost family members to gunfire.

Gennifer Brandon, Cal’s Junior interior scorer and rebounder, was a young girl living near LA when her dad was shot and killed after being mistaken for an armed robbery suspect. Greg Brandon had recently retired from the NBA, where he played for the Seattle Supersonics. The shooting sent shockwaves through the family and Gennifer’s mother began fighting a battle with alcoholism. Sooner than later Gennifer wound up in foster care. Fortunately, Brandon found her way to Berkeley where she has slowly blossomed into one of the most dynamic players in the nation. If the Bears expect to be the last team standing in New Orleans, much will be due to Brandon’s ability to change the game with her athleticism.

Perhaps the Bears’ fiercest defender also happens to be the team’s shortest player. Senior Eliza Pierre, who with feisty energy, cornrows and a pair of her signature glasses, comes off the bench for Cal and seems to wreak havoc on opposing teams’ point guards.

Sadly, Pierre has been the latest Bear to lose a loved one to murder. In the summer of 2011, Eliza received a call only to learn that her older brother Wilson had been killed in a gang-related shooting at a party in North Hollywood.

Fortunately for Brandon and Pierre, they have not needed to look far for advice on how to get through a basketball season with the unfathomable weight of murder on one’s mind. Tierra Rogers has done it. She has done it as a starting guard for one of the best  Bay Area high school basketball teams ever, and she has done it from the sidelines for one of the most inspiring college basketball teams ever. She has done it and lived to tell about it.

When the Lady Bears take the floor in New Orleans on Sunday evening, it will be a far cry from a half full Haas Pavillion. Instead, it will be under the bright lights of New Orleans arena where the NBA’s Hornets call home. It wouldn’t be that much of a stretch to believe President Obama will be tuning in via Air Force One to check in on his underdog pick that proved him right. As they pronounce in a recent viral youtube video, a team that has been to the darkest of bottoms, is now here. “The whole Cal team is here”, at least for 40 more minutes.

Cal will battle Louisville on Sunday at 3:30 on ESPN for a trip to the National Championship (McClureImages.com)

San Francisco’s Bruce-Mahoney Game – “A Tradition Unlike Any Other”

A left handed Timmy Hardaway, Trevor Dunbar, displays his handle on The Hilltop (Photo by Doug Ko, SanFranPreps.com)

By Connor Buestad | Connor@Section925.com

San Francisco isn’t supposed to still have this much tradition left in it.

It was supposed to be lost somewhere during the Dot Com boom and bust. Or at a martini bar in a gentrified yuppie hideout, or at a Mark Zuckerberg keynote address on internet privacy, or at an Orange Friday at AT&T Park. The seven by seven stretch of real estate bordered by the Bay and Ocean Beach is thought to have become too blue for it’s own good. Too liberal, too progressive, too obsessed with 3G, 4G and 5G. Too far from its roots.

In a city of transplants and tech mercenaries, the notion of being from San Francisco, has developed an increasingly foggy definition. Ask a post grad on polk street who’s “from San Francisco” where they went to high school, and the zip code usually won’t start with 941.

To be certain, not all of the tradition has gone by the wayside. Not even close. It is still there, still burning as hot as ever, it just requires one to look a few layers below the surface, like inside a 55 year old gymnasium near the corner of Fulton and Masonic.

The first time Sacred Heart Cathedral and Saint Ignatius (both private Catholic high schools in San Francisco) played against each other, the year was 1893, or maybe it was 1891, but no one seems to be exactly sure. Fittingly, the game was held on Saint Patricks Day, on the corner of 8th and Market. The Irish of SH beat the Wildcats of SI by a final score of 14-4. Leather helmets may or may not have been worn and the forward pass may or may not have been invented at this point. The game was believed to be a cross between football and rugby. Admission to the game was five cents even.

World War I came and went, Babe Ruth did his thing for the Yankees, and eventually history gave way for the arrival of The Greatest Generation.

For the six years between 1939 and 1945, America was at war. Up and down the hallways of SI and SH, conversation didn’t consist of SAT scores and safety schools, but rather when and where you and your buddies were headed off to fight for your country. The era was ripe with pride and love for country and the football, basketball and baseball fields held less relevance in the grand scheme of things as they do today. To call the era tumultuous would be an understatement. America’s history was hanging in the balance.

As heated as the rivalry between Sacred Heart Cathedral and Saint Ignatius was in the 1940’s it obviously paled in comparison to the realities of war overseas. Many products of the two proud schools lost their lives serving their country, but two stood out as special young men.

The Bruce-Mahoney Trophy was established in 1947 to memorialize the death of Bill Bruce of Saint Ignatius and Jerry Mahoney of Sacred Heart. Bruce served as the student body president for SI, graduating in 1935. During his tenure as Wildcat, he was also a standout football player. Mahoney was an All-City football and basketball player at SH and also went on to be an accomplished boxer during his time in the service. Both men died while members of the Navy during WWII, Bruce in an airplane crash, Mahoney in a sinking submarine.

Since 1947, these two San Francisco cross-city rivals have duked it out for the right to hold the fabled Bruce-Mahoney Trophy. Each year, the two schools play a football game in the fall at Kezar Stadium. Once the home of the San Francisco Forty Niners, Kezar is an historic venue that sits on the southeast corner of Golden Gate Park. The winner goes up 1-0 in the three game Bruce-Mahoney Series that also includes basketball and baseball.

Come winter, the first time the two schools meet in basketball counts toward the Bruce-Mahoney Series. If the series moves to 1-1, the first baseball contest of the Spring, held at Pac Bell Park, ultimately decides who takes home the trophy for the Summer.

While the football and baseball games between these two schools are wondrous events in their own right, it is on the basketball court where the Bruce-Mahoney rivalry reaches it’s most fevered pitch.

Fittingly, the Bruce-Mahoney basketball game takes place in the heart of San Francisco, inside War Memorial Gymnasium on the campus of USF. Built in 1958, the 5,300 seat facility seeps with history and nostalgia. Some call it “The House That Bill Russell Built” as it opened it’s doors two years after Russell left the Hilltop for a hall of fame career for the Boston Celtics. For the Bruce-Mahoney game, literally every seat is accounted for. Students from both schools pack the upper levels, the last rows ducking to avoid the low ceiling.

At this point, of course, the football game has already been decided months ago. Now, the trophy is on the line in earnest. For the crop of seniors down 1-0 in the best of three Bruce-Mahoney series, every possession takes on a do or die significance. The 10 players on the court carrying the bragging rights and expectations of a sea of fellow students and proud alumni. A palpable tension fills the air, every basket cheered passionately, every foul call argued vehemently.

Much like the Axe in the Cal-Stanford Big Game, the fabled Bruce-Mahoney trophy serves as a constant reminder of what’s at stake. In the 65 years the trophy has been in existence, St. Ignatius has won the series 45 times, compared to just 20 wins for Sacred Heart Cathedral. Sacred Heart Cathedral won the trophy last year, however, and were looking to build momentum and close the gap with a repeat series win in 2013. If they wanted to retain the trophy in 2013, they would need to not only beat SI in hoops, but they would also have to win on the diamond.

On this night, St. Ignatius would prevail over Sacred Heart Cathedral by a score of 56-46. Trevor Dunbar ran the show for the Wildcats all night from the point guard position. A wizard with the ball in his hands, Dunbar repeatedly drew oohs and ahhs with his uncanny dribbling skills. Led by Khalil James, Sacred Heart never seemed to back down and proved fun to watch. Undersized, the Irish did yeoman’s work on the glass all evening to keep the game in question deep into the fourth quarter.

After the final buzzer sounded at War Memorial and the Wildcats of St. Ignatius climbed into the stands to greet their fellow students, yet another small chapter of the Bruce-Mahoney series was etched in history. More important than who won and who lost on Tuesday night, was that the history and tradition between these schools grew one game stronger, and for that, San Francisco should be proud.

Many would argue Gonzaga at USF doesn’t get this full… (Photo by @ConnorBuestad via Instagram)

“Let the Words do the Talking” – Andrew Blair Unveils His New Band, “We Became Owls”

(Photo by CarrieRichards.com)

By Connor Buestad | connorbuestad@gmail.com

At one of Andrew Blair’s recent shows, I made the mistake of inquiring how he goes about marketing his passion project. I should have know better, I suppose, but I went ahead and asked anyway. The look I received in return was one of honest apathy. One of those “Are you kidding me man? I just want to make my music and hopefully enough people will listen to it so I can make more” kind of looks.

Now, more than ever perhaps, artists like Andrew cringe when the subject of marketing is breached in relation to their work. The proverbial mountain of musical prominence has never been taller, and the trail toward the top has never been steeper or more crowded. Getting people to sit down and listen to your album above the din of Pandora, Spotify and the rest has never been tougher, and the idea of a consumer paying for their music is almost considered obsolete.

Yet despite all the obstacles laid down in front of creative types these days, the beat continues to go on, no matter how hard record deals are to come by.

On March 3rd, 2011, I found myself seeking shelter from the Polk Street Drunken Storm, when I poked my head inside the Red Devil Lounge. Andrew Blair was on stage with his childhood buddy Ross Warner, Blue Ribbon Beer was steadily flowing, and the crowd was hearty by folk-indie-bluegrass standards.

I’m no professional music critic, but judging by the undivided attention paid by the smartphone carrying crowd, it was clear Blair and Warner were onto something. The sound had feeling, depth, complexity, and the lyrics were clear, compelling, thought provoking. It wasn’t Bob Dylan in the Greenwich Village in 1962, but it was most definitely Andrew Blair at the Red Devil Lounge in 2011.

Fast forward to 2012 and I (shamefully) still haven’t paid a dime for Andrew Blair’s music. I probably should have by now, especially when one considers how much time I’ve spent soaking in the lyrics of “Live at Red Devil Lounge”. The 12 song album is chock full of ballads that challenge the listener to follow along with the poignant lyrics while letting one’s mind wander among an array of folksy sounds. If my iPhone’s ever-dying battery could be traced back to a particular culprit, streaming “Live at Red Devil Lounge” would most definitely be it.

I may never be able to fully recreate that spring San Franciscan night, but this live album certainly gives justice to the live version. Between-song banter by Blair including comments such as, “It’s like a giant living room in here.” “Good enough for government work.” And a sarcastic “Oh yeah, we have all kinds of merch in the back,” seem to add a degree of realism to an already real collection of songs.

In “Anchor”, the second song on “Live at Red Devil Lounge”, Blair carries out an acoustically riveting 70 second instrumental before the first lyric is uttered. Then the lyrics take hold and the acoustics mesh beautifully with Warner in the background and Blair’s vocals at the forefront.

“Pack the glances in the mirror in a suitcase tight
blowing smoke rings under water as the heat sits still
look hard at the ones who left, and the ones who will
grab an anchor and leap overboard, but do it right
this empty ship is sinking, hold on tight,
a long hard night…”

“The Lost and I” is my favorite track on the album, even if Blair forgets the words in the middle of the song. He hums the forgotten verse more than adequately, wrapping it up with, “The words. Have lost. Me.” The song is upbeat throughout, arguably the most jovial on the album. This doesn’t stop Blair from lamenting toward the end of the track.

“For the last two weeks I’ve had strangers say to me, ‘Hey you look tired.’
I stare down at my feet, fold my tongue and barely squeak, ‘Well maybe so.’”

“Mask” again highlights Blair’s talent as a singer-songwriter. A favorite of the Red Devil crowd, the song opens with the harmonica, a harmonica that stays relevant throughout the heartfelt song. Blair extends his vocal range toward the end of the song, drawing a well deserved uproar in applause from the Polk Street Faithful.

“She sat back down, and brought her eyes, to the bar
Condensation drips down the glass
Oh dear god I felt like I’d come so far
Conversations happen so fast”
“And then I stumbled, and brought my hand down in the sun
My stomach grumbled, and a fire began to burn
It burned along the wall, I’d built up so tall
Douse that fire with black cats and kerosene
You laugh, but you all know exactly what I mean.”

Other songs on “Live at Red Devil Lounge” that leave a lasting impression include “Animal”, “Tampa to Tulsa”, and “Cry a Lake”. All three bring original sounds and memorable lyrics. Says Blair in “Cry a Lake”, a song written by friend Adam Yas,

“You’re never gonna believe, my self-fulfilling prophecy
I dream that it happens and it does
I’m on my last four legs, not breathin’ but I’m your friend”

Blair’s songwriting prowess revealed on “Live at Red Devil Lounge” successfully laid the groundwork for his new musical venture, a band called “We Became Owls”. Still accompanied by Ross Warner ( a multi-instrumentalist extraordinaire who plays the mandolin, accordion, harmonica, lap steel guitar, electric guitar), the pair have added a collection of musical talent to create a more dynamic sound. Robin Ward (cello), Scott Manke (banjo, dobro, percussion), Sigal Sahar (stand up bass), and Katie Schlesinger (piano, banjo, vocals) have all hopped on board and will be rotating their talents onto the stage for “We Became Owls”.

Their first EP features old favorites “The Lost and I” and “Please Surrender” coupled with new songs:“Suitcase” and “I’m Done”. Illustrated perfectly by the ending of “I’m Done”, the added instrumentations and musical talent on stage give Blair his fullest sound yet.

An Oakland resident and avid A’s fan, Blair hopes 2012 still has some magic left to propel his latest project, and what will hopefully be an indefinite musical journey. He may not be capable of strategically marketing you to death, but he’ll be making the rounds of trusted Bay Area music venues, offering up his sounds and stories for less than an arm and a leg. Do yourself a favor and get out to see the poetry in motion. The Revolution will not be televised.

(Click here to see upcoming show dates and venues)

London Calling: Cal Alum Alysia Montano Heads to the Olympics in Search of a Medal

Montano’s first Olympic race will be the morning of August 8. The final is held on August 11. (Andy Lyons/Getty Images)

By Connor Buestad | connorbuestad@gmail.com

Traditionally speaking, rummaging through a collection of YouTube videos featuring a middle distance runner is not exactly an enthralling experience. Unless, of course, you are talking about the video library of newly minted US Olympian, Alysia Montano. A runner who makes watching a pack of girls run two laps around a track not just tolerable, but downright captivating.

At last month’s Olympic Trials, Montano cruised to an impressive victory in the Women’s 800m with a time of  1:59:08. It was the fourth time Montano had won the US Title in the 800, and it was her first time punching her ticket to the ever-elusive Olympic Games. In the case of Montano, elusive would be the operative word, considering the long road Montano was forced to take to arrive in London.

The first thing anyone notices about Montano (formerly Johnson before marrying in 2011) when she sets foot on a track is the flower she wears in her hair for every race. But then comes the infectious smile, the hell-bent running style and the happy-go-lucky post race interviews. And then there’s the way Alysia Montano likes to finish her biggest races, with a tumbling dive across the finish line. It is this signature dive that might find the UC Berkeley graduate in NBC’s London studios alongside Bob Costas, discussing the triumph of winning an Olympic Medal.

Alysia Montano’s first notable dive on a national stage came in 2007 when she was a just a junior at Cal. The overwhelming favorite going into the race was the eventual three-time Olympian Hazel Clark, a seasoned racer with a long frame and smooth running style. It wasn’t an Olympic year, but it was Montano’s first chance to lay claim to the title of “Fastest 800 Meter Runner in America.”

On a rainy, wet track, Montano shot out in front of Clark and dared the seasoned Olympian to try to catch her from behind. Well versed in the strategies of middle distance running, Clark hung back behind Montano, letting the youngster set the pace and complete the stressful task of leading from the front. On the second of the two-lap race, Clark gradually closed in on Montano until the two runners were neck and neck as they crossed the finish. Clark and Montano both dove for the tape, with Montano winning by an inch. As her body bounced to an eventual halt, Montano was left with her tongue hanging out, clutching the blue finish line tape in her arms.

“Me and my coach were talking before the race and he told me that the last 50 meters was going be where I needed to find something and dig deep and go after it, and that’s what I did,” explained Montano, almost matter-of-factly.

With 2007 complete and an 800m NCAA and National Championship in hand, Montano set her sights on Beijing and the 2008 Olympics. She was the fastest woman in America now, with seemingly nothing that could stop her.

The 2008 Olympic trials were held in Eugene at the University of Oregon. Known as “Tracktown USA”, Hayward Field in Eugene is considered the Mecca of US track & field. With boisterous, knowledgeable crowds, the stadium is the last of a dying breed when it comes to track outposts that consistently draw big crowds and create memorable moments. What Madison Square Garden is to basketball, Hayward Field is to track and field.

2008 was expected to be the year that Montano would fulfill her dream of making the US Olympic team, but she instead suffered a runner’s worst nightmare. A nagging foot injury gave way completely during Montano’s quarterfinal race, leaving her writhing on the track in agony. Montano’s attempt at running through her injury resulted in a broken foot and subsequently, broken dreams. As track officials carried Montano off the track, she was left with the sobering realization that her next chance at the Olympics was four long years away. Hazel Clark would wind up winning that year’s Olympic Trials, sending her to her third Olympic Games. Montano could do nothing but sit home in Berkeley and ponder what might have been.

“I showed up at the Olympic trials and ran the first round, and my foot literally felt like it was crumbling,” Alysia told ESPN. “I remember kind of a black-out phase. I don’t really remember the last 50 meters. I remember looking up in the sky and felt like my dream had passed me by.”

Agony in Eugene (Photo by Eric Gay, AP)

Done with college, Montano was faced with the lonely prospect of training on her own for the next four years, in hopes of getting another shot at her Olympic dream. After a year dedicated to rehab under the guidance of her trusted coach, Tony Sandoval, Montano put together a magnificent year in 2010, highlighted by her personal best 800m time of 1:57:34. No other female runner in the world ran a faster time during that calendar year. At the 2010 World Indoor Championships, Montano went on to win a bronze medal, not to mention her second US Outdoor Championship. After a year marred by injury, Montano was back winning championships and competing at an elite international level. A true testament to the impenetrable will and perseverance she’s known for.

2011 brought with it the exciting challenge of competing in the IAAF Outdoor World Championships in Daegu, South Korea. The event had the look and feel of a true Olympic competition and gave Alysia the opportunity to battle the best runners the world had to offer. In a race that Montano had no business winning, she maintained pace with the leaders throughout, only to fall short of her first international outdoor medal as she was bypassed down the home stretch. Once again, Montano found herself diving across the finish line in dramatic fashion, only this time, it was more like a full-blown barrel roll. The fact that the dive only landed her in fourth place was almost beside the point. Alysia had laid it all out on the line in a way which was inspiring to watch. If she was going to get beat on an international stage, she was going to make sure she went down swinging.

Mariya Savinova of Russia wound up winning the race, followed by Caster Semenya of South Africa and Janeth Jeposkosegi-Busienei of Kenya. Savinova and Semenya both hold sub-1:56 personal bests, while Montano has never run below a 1:57. People often say of track that runners are running against the clock, and in this case Alysia couldn’t quite beat it. “I got stuck twice during the last 150m, its just about positioning,” explained Montano after the race. “The 800 is an unforgiving event.”

This past month brought Montano full circle, as she arrived back in Eugene for the Olympic Trials with a second chance to realize her Olympic dream. This time, things went much smoother, as Montano exorcised her demons at Hayward Field and ran away from the pack to become the US Olympic Trials champion. During the race that secured her Olympic berth, Montano wore a Hibiscus flower in her hair to honor her grandma’s Jamaican heritage. Not just any grandma, mind you, her 100 year old grandma, a centenarian who still carries an unflagging vitalitiy and passion into her triple digits. A grandma who’s energy has undoubtedly rubbed off on her champion granddaughter.

The 800m is often debated as being the toughest event in track & field, as it requires the all-out effort of a sprinter coupled with the long term stamina of a long distance runner. Try sprinting a lap around a track at full speed, and when you’re done, do it again without stopping. “The 8 is just a fearless event,” Montano has said. “You have to go into it really believing in what you have been doing in your training, and believing in your coach and in yourself.”

Only two American women have ever medaled in the 800 at the Olympics. Madeline Manning won gold in 1968, while Kim Gallagher won silver in 1984 and bronze in 1988. The last Olympics in 2008 saw Pamela Jelimo of Kenya take the gold with a daunting time of 1:54:87. Needless to say, Alysia will have her work cut out for her when she arrives in London. “My whole mentality is to be brave and have heart and I have no control over what goes on when my heart is out there on the line. I’m prepared to run a really, really fast time. Those girls on the Olympic stage are not running slow,” says Montano.

Of course, there is a reason why Jelimo isn’t already wearing a London-issued gold medal around her neck; she still needs to show up to the track and cross the finish line first. An unexpected fall, inclement weather, an unusual pace, nothing is a foregone conclusion when runners take their marks for the gold medal race of the 800 meters.

In years past, the likes of Florence Griffith-Joyner and Jackie Joyner-Kersee have captured the hearts and minds of the average American sports fan. Unlike some of her most celebrated predecessors, Alysia Montano will only be running one event in London and she certainly won’t be the favorite. But, with her penchant for beating long odds in dramatic fashion, don’t be surprised if one way or another she winds up tumbling across the finish line in a fit of glory.

Where it all started… Alysia’s photo finish to knock off Hazel Clark back in 2007 (Matthew Stockman/Getty Images)

"Giving New Meaning to the Phrase 'Locked in at the Plate'" - Baseball inside San Quentin Prison

The sun creeps up over the walls of San Quentin Prison

By Connor Buestad | connorbuestad@gmail.com 

Sure I had my fears. Who wouldn’t? At San Quentin California State Penitentiary, you name it and they’ve done it. Murder, rape, armed robbery, the list goes on, and it isn’t pretty. Some are on death row, others are simply there for life, a few are expecting to get back out on the “outside” as they call it, sooner than later.

I arrived at the prison’s visitor’s parking lot early on a Saturday morning. Look left, and I can see the north end of the San Francisco Bay in all its glory, morning light glistening off sailboats and the Tiburon ferry. Look right, and I’m confronted with a cluster of barbed wire, bars and high walls. Two worlds, so close yet so far away.

As it came time to enter, discussion ensued among teammates about what was to be allowed into the prison. I had never been, but I assumed prison security would be tight. I couldn’t have been more wrong. Aside from peering into my bag and lazily sweeping a metal detector in front of me, the guards let me in scot free. Compare this process to that of boarding a pedestrian flight to Seattle on SWA and it’s almost laughable. Put it this way, if I wanted to bring in a Costco sized tube of Crest, no one was stopping me.

A brief trek though the Maximum Security wing of the prison, home to the infamous Scott Peterson, led us to the “yard”. Down a ramp, around a corner, and there I was in the heart of the “Q”. My first impression was, yes, this really does seem like the movies. Eliminate the new hospital that was recently built, and I could of sworn I was in Shawshank. (Red and Andy Dufrense had to be around here somewhere, I thought.) One of the first things I noticed was a large clock overlooking the yard. Ironically, it was broken. Perhaps time really did stand still in this place.

As we set down our gear and trotted out to warm up, I was amazed by how active and engaged everyone was. Sure, a few prisoners chose to spend their Saturday morning lounging with fellow prison buddies, but they were the minority. Instead, it seemed as if most prisoners were wrapped up in their own world, doing their best to get the most out of their free time outdoors. Prisoners were participating in running, boxing, horeshoes, pingpong, chess, guitar, pushups, basketball, and tennis, just to name a few. There was even a religious ceremony of sorts going on in deep right-center field, complete with a mini-bonfire and a small hut. What should have been time spent loosening up for the game, ended up being a field study for Sociology 101.

Mount Tamalpais serves as a constant reminder of life on the outside

As with any baseball game, there is copious amounts of banter that takes place between the two competing teams. Playing shortstop, I was afforded a brief two-minute conversation with any San Quentin Giant who reached 2nd base. Topics breached included Pablo Sandoval’s recent slump, favorite Bay Area radio stations, and how much a Snickers costs on the street as compared to in the slammer. What struck me most, however, was the sincere “thank you’s” I received for coming inside their world to play. On three different occasions, a prisoner looked me dead in the eye and said, “thank you very much for coming, I appreciate it.” You can say what you want about the prison system in this country, but this type of compassion told me something is working.

During the course of the game we had our share of brief interruptions. One of which was called “yard down”. This occurs when there is some sort of disturbance or security issue somewhere within the prison walls. Midway through the 6th inning, I took a knee with the other 200 some-odd convicts, hoping the delay would be short lived so we could get back to the game. Two minutes later we were back at it.

I was interrupted for a second time by the prison basketball game that was taking place adjacent to our baseball game. This too was a game between a team from the outside versus the San Quentin Warriors. The interruption I speak of? Well, just an emphatic fastbreak dunk which set off a rowdy scene among the crowd of prisoners, presumably gambling on this, the “game of the week.”

The longer I spent inside these prison walls, the more I was impressed by the demeanor of its inhabitants. I went in expecting a rowdy bunch of criminals, but I instead found a calm, subdued group of individuals immersed in their activity of choice. Call me crazy, but it seemed like the prisoners were living a life of simplicity and routine that some readily enjoyed. Surely, there are horror stories that even the most loquacious prison guard would never confide in me, but the mood inside San Quentin on this Saturday could best be described as pleasant.

The San Quentin Giants ended up losing on this day. Surrendering a 4 run lead to fall by the score of 14-12. Shoddy pitching and errors on defense lead to the Giants demise, but it certainly wasn’t for lack of hustle. Following the game, the players manicured the field with water and rakes as if it was their brand new Corvette, a microcosm of the pride each player took in playing for their prison. Finally, both teams congregated on the pitcher’s mound for a brief prayer, lead by a veteran San Quentin outfielder. The topic of the prayer was religion, but the theme was undoubtedly hope. To quote Andy’s letter to Red in The Shawshank Redemption, “Hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things, and no good thing ever dies.” Amen.

Maybe the Field of Dreams isn't in Iowa after all?

Tinseltown converges on Oak-Town: Behind the scenes of Brad Pitt’s movie, “Moneyball”

TURNS OUT MOVIE PEOPLE ACTUALLY DO SIT IN FUNKY CHAIRS LIKE THESE

By Connor Buestad | connorbuestad@gmail.com

Andy Warhol once said that in the future, everyone will be world famous for 15 minutes. To me, this idea sounds plausible enough. The kicker is figuring out when, where and how this 15 minutes of famousness is going to come to fruition. Fortunately, the dream machine that is Hollywood movies has recently arrived in Oakland, ready to hand out “15 Minutes” by the truckload.

“Moneyball: The art of winning an unfair game” was a book written my Michael Lewis back in 2003. The book is about baseball, but appeals to a fairly broad audience. It chronicles the General Manager of the Oakland Athletics, Billy Beane, and his quest to turn the 2002 version of the A’s into a contender, despite being strapped with a tiny payroll and limited resources. Today, this book is being adapted into a big league Hollywood film, with the infamous Brad Pitt portraying Beane, Phillip Seymour Hoffman playing A’s manager Art Howe, and Jonah Hill acting as Beane’s front office assistant, Paul DePodesta. For one night in August, I was there myself, chronicling Oakland’s attempt at housing the big wigs of the movie industry and also doing a bit of acting myself (spoiler alert).

For those of you that have spent any more than five minutes with me knows one thing right off the bat (pun intended), my acting chops are nothing to write home about. I wish I was being self deprecating when I told you my skills as an actor were worse than poor, but in reality I’m just telling you the truth. After recently working in a New York City restaurant for 8 months, it became painfully clear that I shouldn’t bother heading off on any auditions with my co-workers. A hundred bucks for a headshot? Out of the question. Nonetheless, working with so many aspiring actors and actresses had a way of heightening my interest and sensitivity of what it takes to make it in the entertainment business. After spending a night on the set of “Moneyball” my suspicions proved correct: nothing comes easy, and there is certainly no rest for the weary.

When I showed up to “work” at the Oakland Coliseum, it was a little after 4pm on Wednesday, August 4th. Per my instructions, I strolled happily down into the A’s players’ parking lot, just as the real team was driving off following their victory over the Kansas City Royals that day. Sorting through a sea of Range Rovers and Beamers, I made my way into the Oakland Raiders locker room, where I was to meet the rest of the pseudo 2002 Minnesota Twins. Arriving a bit late, my locker was one of the few in the room not yet occupied. Minutes later, I was dressed in my full Twins uniform, ready to spend the night in character as former major leaguer Corey Koskie, cheesy goatee and all.

Our first order of business as actors for the night was to go retrieve some food from beyond the center field wall. There were rumors that a long night lay ahead of us, so eating was highly encouraged. At this point though, I was too jazzed to sit still and eat in a lonely room in the bowels of the stadium, I had to see what this movie business was all about.

Slowly but surely, the movie production crew began to come out of the woodwork and start setting up camera equipment out on the filed. If this group had one thing in common, it was that they all looked as though they had just woken up, restless from the night before, a cup of Joe never far from one’s lips. To me, the look of the behind-the-scenes production crew could best be described as “anti-Hollywood”. Long hair, tattoos, no-name clothing, the whole nine. It was almost as if the crew’s collective style was a non verbal f-you to theUS Weekly, celebrity crazed world of movies.

THE HEART AND SOUL OF THE MOVIE BUSINESS

After a little while I noticed some of the actors themselves begin to trickle onto the set. The first one I noticed was Royce Clayton, the handsome shortstop formerly of the San Francisco Giants who cut out a nice baseball career for himself, spanning almost 20 years. Clayton was here to portray Miguel Tejada in the film, and judging by his designer jeans and accompanying strut, Clayton certainly had that Hollywood swagger to him. As I sat and observed, I thought to myself, “tonight has the potential to be pretty darn interesting.” Of course, I had been on the field for about an hour by now, with no sign of Brangelina. As discouraged as I may have been at this point, I needed to forge on; I had some acting to do after all.

The first scene we shot was of then Twins player Doug Mientkiewicz (pronounced /mɪntˈkeɪvɪtʃ/ mint-KAY-vich[1]  getting picked-off first base. Then A’s player Scott Hatteberg was the first baseman applying the tag in this scene and his character was being played by actor Chris Pratt. Pratt, who played “Che” on the hit show “the O.C.” is a spitting image of Hatteberg. Unfortunately, he lacks any sort of rudimentary baseball skills. Thus, this relatively straight forward scene took about an hour longer than expected, as Pratt tried to grasp the whole idea of catching the ball and tagging out the runner in one fluid motion.

By this time in the evening, the “fans” had migrated into the stadium and taken their seats in line with the view of the camera. One such fan was my buddy Mark Bennett (@markadambennett) who took the liberty to get the extras in the crowd loosened up by heckling me and the rest of the Twins. This heckling, lubricated by some smuggled adult beverages, kept the mood light and as realistic as this “playoff game” could get. As Mark later mentioned through his twitter feed, the whole situation was a bit ironic; fake fans, heckling fake players, at a fake game. So it goes in show business I guess.

Soon enough, this pick-off scene was wrapped up and us Twins were herded like sheep back into the Raiders’ not-so-fancy locker room where we were instructed to hurry up and wait, indefinitely. Being the dedicated Bay Area Surf n’ Sport journalist that I am, I decided it would be best for me to stay behind and continue chronicling the business out on the field. Luckily I was rewarded for this…

“Wait. Is that him? No, it can’t be. No, hold on here. Holy shit, that dude who just walked into the dugout is definitely BRAD effing PITT!”

Naturally, I went straight to my iPhone. Photos, texts, tweets… I had to let the world know I was hanging on the set with Brad. This was a bad idea, I soon discovered, as a security guard almost silently ripped my head off as he whispered, “put that away or you’re gone.” Even current A’s center fielder Coco Crisp, who happened to be hanging around after his game that day, was ushered out of his own dugout to make room for Mr. Pitt. Hollywood really does wait for no man.

Over the next hour, I sat a safe distance away from security as Pitt acted out a scene where he portrays a frustrated Billy Beane venting in the A’s dugout. I noticed one overzealous teenage girl in the second deck squeal a shout of approval; she was promptly sent packing and asked not to return. Apparently Brad Pitt doesn’t like to be distracted at work. Fair enough, I suppose.

It wasn’t long before the novelty of seeing Pitt in the flesh was wearing off, and by this time, he was gone altogether. In an industry where everyone seems to work 13 hour days, Pitt was the exception as he disappeared from the set after about 2 hours of labor. (He must be really good at remembering his lines).

I wish I had a cool story to tell about chatting it up with Angelina. You know, just shooting the breeze about her kids’ summer camp plans, or what happened between her and Billy Bob Thornton, but this never came to be. Nor did Jonah Hill come by and tell dirty jokes and eat lots of candy bars. But hey, beggars can’t be choosers.

By around 9pm, it was time for my Twins team and the opposing A’s to retake the field and shoot a scene from the 2002 American League Division Playoff Series. Mind you, I had been here since 4pm and had done virtually nothing but stand around, so my expectations of what was to come weren’t very high at this point. That was until one of the directors came over to me and said, “Change of plans, we’re gonna have the third baseman catch the final out now. You’re Corey Koskie, right?” “God damn right I’m Corey Koskie,” I responded, bewildered by what was going on and what was to come.

In reality, Twins second basemen Denny Hocking caught the final out in 2002 that ended the A’s season. This is of note because Hocking broke his middle finger in the postgame dogpile and was forced to miss the rest of the playoffs that year. Despite all this, I guess the lighting was better at third base. And in movies, I’ve learned it’s all about lighting. And on this fateful Wednesday night in Oakland, I must say the lighting looked pretty darn good over at third.

So, here I was, out on this sacred piece of real estate made most famous byCarney Lansford, doing my best to nail one of the final scenes in a Brad Pitt movie. As I trotted out my position, I half expected the pseudo public address announcer to start bumping the Talking Heads “Once in a Lifetime.”

“You may ask yourself, well, how did I get here?”

Truth is, I had no idea how I got here, but there was no time to ponder this question. The sun was scheduled to rise at 6:14am and this deadline was not flexible.

My job for the next 6 hours was as follows: mime a catch of a pop fly, then celebrate like mad with my 24 other teammates who were running at me full speed from the dugout and the other 8 positions on the field. How hard could it be?

Turns out this can be pretty time consuming. The movie crew had to build a makeshift track for the camera to roll along, cameras had to be brought in from all angles, the director had to take a break to eat his mac n’ cheesse, etcetera, etcetera. The number of takes it took to film this one scene seemed endless. The fake 2002 Minnesota Twins must of celebrated our victory over the fake 2002 Oakland A’s upwards of 20 times through the course of the night. Sure, there was complementary Peet’s coffee available at my beck and call (I made friends with one of the Grips), but doing just about anything after 3 o’ clock in the morning can get pretty tedious.

I may have been tired, but as the hours wore on, and the takes added up, I began to realize how interesting it was to see filmmakers do their thing. Going into it, I fully assumed things would be run on a rigid script, exactly as planned. From what I saw, though, this did not seem to be the case at all. Granted no one asked me of my opinion, but after every two or three takes, the director and his confidants would huddle up and bounce ideas off each other and figure out what would look the best on screen. Should we move this camera here? Should we turn the north light tower off? Should he catch it standing still, or on the run? What can our special effects guys pull off and what is too much?

These brainstorming sessions really left an impression on me and shed light on why standing on a cold baseball field at 4am could be so much fun. It may have taken 12 hours to get to this stage, but there came a point where these filmmakers were truly in their element, and it was awesome to see their creative juices flowing at full speed.

Now, I wish I could end this story with some unexpected twist, but you can’t change history and the Twins will forever beat the A’s 5-4 on October 6th, 2002. By 5am, the directors had seen enough. The catch and the celebration were securely on film and the sun was set to come up in just over an hour. It was finally time to go home. The director was headed to his hotel, the production crew was packing up, and my acting career was ending just as quick as it had begun. As I climbed into my cold dark car in parking lot “A” of the Coliseum, I could only help but think, “I wish there were some cornfields around, because if there were, I’d walk right through.”

“Is this heaven?” I thought, looking back at The Coliseum. “No, it’s Oakland.”

"KOSKIE, YOU ARE A BRUTAL ACTOR, BRO."

St. Mary’s Matthew Dellavedova: In the Midst of a Basketball Odyssey

Driving on Robert Sacre in the WCC title tilt in Vegas (photo: Ethan Miller/Getty Images)

By Connor Buestad | Connor@Section925.com

In order to trace the steps of St. Mary’s College point guard Matthew Dellavedova, one must fly all the way to the southeast edge of Australia to Melbourne, then trek a hundred miles northwest to a city called Maryborough. There, you’ll find an unassuming town that prides itself on having an historic train station and a competitive Aussie Rules football team. This, as it turns out, is the corner of the globe where “Delly” first fell in love with the game of basketball. A game that is now taking him on a trip to places he could have only dreamed of as a youngster growing up down under.

It goes without saying that Dellavedova grew up far removed from the competitive playgrounds of US cities where the NBA’s future stars typically cultivate their games. He was just as far removed from the brightly-lit gymnasiums where suburban ballplayers attend summer hoop camps and AAU tournaments. Matthew Dellavedova grew up off the grid of competitive basketball. Fortunately for Matt, basketball turns out to be a game that requires very little infrastructure, so long as one has a penchant for putting the ball through a hoop. If we learned anything from Larry Bird a.ka. “The Hick From French Lick”, a dirt driveway with a shoddy hoop in the front yard can supply all the tools one needs to make it as a basketball player.

It was at the tender age of 16 when the lure of fierce competition, state of the art facilities and worldwide exposure led Dellavedova to the Australian Institute of Sport. Built in 1981 in an effort to improve Australia’s Olympic team, AIS has slowly evolved into a place where the best young sports stars of Australia go to hone their skills and market themselves as great athletes to a multi-national audience. During his time at AIS, Dellavedova began to set his sights on coming to America and following in the footsteps of the likes of Adam Caporn, Daniel Kickert and Patty Mills.

As Dellavedova began to wind down his youth career, his relatively modest tool-kit of height and athleticism left Matt with a limited number of Division 1 scholarship offers. “I only went on two visits,” explained Dellavedova. “I went to the University of the Pacific and then to Saint Mary’s. I ended up really liking the people and the atmosphere here at SMC, so I decided to come.” And with that, the 18 year old from rural Australia showed up in Moraga, California, equipped with an unorthodox jump-shot and “deceptive” athleticism. He was in theory joining Saint Mary’s to replace perhaps the best point guard the college had ever seen in Patty Mills, but no one would have blamed him if he didn’t come close to achieving such a tall task.

Instead, Dellavedova burst onto the scene as a freshman during the 2009-2010 season to help lead St. Mary’s to their greatest basketball season of all time. Dellavedova made the WCC All-Freshman team, scoring in double figures and leading the league in minutes played per game. On a team led by guard Mickey McConnell and forward Omar “Broadway O” Samhan, Dellavedova surprised everyone by how quickly he assimilated himself to major D1 college basketball. Using a formula of two parts grit and one part talent, Dellavedova hounded opposing point guards on the defensive end, looking more like a weathered boxer in the twelfth round than a basketball player in the fourth quarter.

When asked about SMC’s run into the sweet 16 during his freshman year, Dellavedova tends to play it down, as he does with most things he talks about. There is no question Dellavedova prefers to simplify things and keep his basketball career in perspective. In other words, Matthew Dellavedova refuses to believe the hype.

To be sure, there was no shortage of hype when St. Mary’s took the court versus second seeded Villanova for a chance to advance to the sweet 16. While Samhan stole the headlines, it was Matthew Dellavedova who quietly added 14 points while keeping Villanova’s dynamic guard duo in check for all 40 minutes. If ever there was a game that put St. Mary’s on the map, it was their Cinderella victory over Villanova. “I remember it all going by very fast,” said Dellavedova. “I was just focused on the games and really had no idea how big the tournament was to all the fans throughout America. When it was all over, I finally had time to appreciate how big of a win that was for the St. Mary’s community.”

Following a sophomore year in which the Gaels narrowly missed the field of 64, Dellavedova took over the reins as the undisputed team leader for his junior season. With the graduation of point guard Mickey McConnell, it was finally Dellavedova’s team, and he certainly knew what to do with it. After Gonzaga’s decade reign over the WCC, Delly and company were finally able to dethrone the Zags and win both the WCC regular season and tournament championships in the same season.

In what was a thrilling conference tournament final in Las Vegas, Dellavedova found himself locked in a pick-and-roll chess match with 7-foot Gonzaga forward Robert Sacre. “Sacre kept guarding me at the top of the key, because when we screened, they would switch defenders on us,” explained Dellavedova. Fortunately, Delly’s love for the art of the running floater proved to be a pivotal asset down the stretch. Delly repeatedly grinded his way into the lane, somehow always finding a way past Gonzaga’s athletic defenders. St. Mary’s looked to have the contest secured, when the Zags’ Elias Harris’ last second prayer from the top of the key was answered, sending the game into overtime where the Gaels narrowly eked out a historic victory.

Guarding Tony Parker in international play (photo: Shaun Botterill/Getty Images Europe)

—

Perhaps it was fitting that when I got a chance to chat with Matthew Dellavedova, he arrived at the interview wearing his St. Mary’s practice gear, still sweating, fresh off a Tuesday morning workout. It was mid-April and the sun was shining bright on SMC’s sprawling countryside campus. Needless to say, it was a perfect time for Dellavedova to be out enjoying himself. If ever there was an “offseason” for Matthew Dellavedova, this would be it. Instead, St. Mary’s feisty point guard showed virtually no signs of sun exposure, a gym rat in the truest sense of the word. Beside getting out to Bianca’s Deli at the intersection of Moraga Road and Moraga Way for his regular Grilled Chicken and Jack (add Avocado), Dellavedova is most comfortable staying dedicated to the gym, and it shows.

Dellavedova’s commitment to constant improvement now has him set to cross paths with basketball’s greatest collection of current talent, the 2012 edition of the USA Dream Team. Dellavedova recently earned a spot on Australia’s national team, known as the Boomers. He will get to play alongside SMC alumnus and current NBA guard Patty Mills, as well as the Golden State Warriors’ new aquisition, Andrew Bogut. With the London Olympics starting in late July, Dellavedova is now preparing to square off against the likes of Lebron James, Kobe Bryant, Kevin Durant and Chris Paul. When asked about his thoughts on playing against such extraordinary talent, Dellavedova responds in his signature low-key manner, “It will be good to test my skills against the best.”

There is no question that Dellavedova has leveraged his international basketball opportunities as a means to improve his play as a Gael. Last summer he got to play against France’s Tony Parker, and at the 2011 FIBA Oceania Championships Dellavedova was able to go up against the Spanish national team, in Spain. Facing a raucous home court advantage for the Spaniards, Dellavedova ran up and down the floor with Spanish legends in the making: Pau Gasol, Serge Ibaka, and Ricky Rubio. Games like these go a long way in explaining why Delly plays with such a high level of poise in the WCC. A road game at Gonzaga versus Kevin Pangos doesn’t exactly intimidate a player who is used to matching up with Ricky Rubio in front of his home country crowd.

Go to any St. Mary’s game at McKeon Pavilion in Moraga and it doesn’t take long to notice how important Australian basketball is to the Gaels, and vice-versa. Year after year, SMC opens up their campus to basketball stars in the making, looking for a place to call home and a platform to pursue their dreams. Aussie flags and chants are common at McKeon, and St. Mary’s games are closely covered back in Australia.

Come late July, St. Mary’s students and alums will undoubtedly tune in to follow their adopted native son, Matthew Dellavedova. Who knows how he will perform under the bright lights of the Olympics, stuck with the task of guarding Chris Paul, Kobe, or even LeBron. However, one thing Dellavedova has proven thus far in his distinguished career, he won’t be overwhelmed by the situation.

For 30 minutes I talked to Matthew Dellavedova, and for 30 minutes I tried to uncover some insight on what it’s like to take St. Mary’s to the sweet 16 as a freshman, or win the West Coast Conference title in overtime, or guard Ricky Rubio on his home soil of Spain. But, no matter how far I dug, the more I became content with the fact that Dellavedova really doesn’t believe the hype. The intrinsic satisfaction of seeking out and playing against the best basketball players in the world is what seems to drive Dellavedova to continue to strive and improve. Luckily for Moraga, they get one more year to call him their own.