Dion Waiters Rumors

It's been about 10 days since Boeheim hinted that Dion Waiters might transfer, but I was just bumbling around the Internet and came upon the story again. I thought I'd comment on it briefly. Here's a report on cbssports.com, as well as brief commentary from espn.com.

Unfortunately, we've seen many players leave the Syracuse program early for reasons other than graduation or the NBA. (Eric "Underrated" Devendorf and Paul Harris are the most recent examples.) Remember: the 2003 title run came on the heels of (and certainly benefited from) the completely insane Deshaun Williams being chased out of the program, as well as the minutes vacated by James Thues. Still, it is by far the one aspect of the Boeheim regime that I dislike the most. If you are demanding loyalty and teamwork from the players you recruit, you should show the same loyalty to them until they leave the program.

Of course, there are many good reasons to transfer. Sometimes a player turns out to be not good enough to play for a team. (Mark Konecny much?) In other cases a player's style might be a bad match for the program. (Paul Harris, a fantastic man-to-man defender, probably never should have come to Syracuse.) Like relationships, maybe a PURELY mutual breakup isn't possible, but I do believe some healthy breakups/transfers can feel very right to both parties in the not-too-distant future.

Then there are guys like Dion Waiters. Up-and-down on the court, rocky relationship with the coaching staff off the court. Think Paul Harris. Think Louie McCroskey (transferred for his senior season). (Of course, I can never miss mentioning the guy who groined Hilton Armstrong in the face back in '06. Here are my comments about it from my cousin's old blog, Random Thoughts. I never loved a train wreck more than I loved Louie McCroskey.) Think Josh Wright (quit midway into his senior season). Think national champion Billy Edelin (left team halfway through junior season).

I guess if Dion does get the boot - and I firmly believe IF he leaves, it will be because Boeheim forced him out the door - it's better that it's happening now and not when he is an upperclassman. Still, it would leave a bad taste in my mouth. Maybe he and Boeheim HATE he each other, but it sure looked like they had put their differences aside down the stretch of the season. Maybe Dion sucks, but he sure looked dynamic in the Big East tournament.

And I don't buy the "Rick Pitino-Edgar Sosa" explanation. I'm not even sure I buy it in the case of Rick Pitino and Edgar Sosa, but I haven't followed Rick Pitino as closely as I've followed Boeheim. I love Boeheim. But Boeheim is no great player-psychologist. He is NOT Phil Jackson. He is an elite strategist and a great in-game manager. He cares about his players, but on some level in his strategic mind, his players will always be chess pieces to him. Chess pieces that can be improved through practice and discipline, but not through mind-games.

Would it be better if Dion's minutes could be freed up for Michael Carter-Williams (MCW from here on out)? It's possible...but couldn't a similar argument have been made about Scoop's or Triche's minutes for stud recruit Dion Waiters coming into the 2010-11 season? And even if you told me it was a stone cold lock that Michael Carter-Williams was going to be better than Dion Waiters in every way, I still wouldn't want Dion to transfer. He has talent. He can contribute to the team. And most of all, he's an Orange.

If Dion transfers, I will be unhappy about it. Well...unless/until we win a conference or national title in 2012.

Augustaland

There is a place where the grass is greener and softer than any in the world, where the azaleas seem always to be in full bloom. The ponds and creeks cut cleanly through the landscape as though embedded in the earth by a surgeon. The trees touch the clouds and none of their branches fall to the ground, at least none that are seen. Only their pine needles collect at their base, softer, even, than the grass.

You've probably heard of this place. It is Augustaland.

For three-quarters of a century men have come to Augustaland from all over the world play against each other in an epic 4-day game. They are the best in the world at this game. In fact, it isn't even a game for them. It is their life. They are the Masters, and thus this game is called "The Masters."

You can play in The Masters only if you are deemed a Master by the Men in Green Jackets - the rulers of Augustaland. This is almost impossible for you or me to even dream of accomplishing. There is no sweepstakes. There is no qualifying tournament. You cannot be born a Master. Even the son of the greatest Master of all, the Golden Bear, is not a Master.

So how does one get to Augustaland? When the Masters come, thousands of people (no one knows the exact number) descend on this place. In fact, no one knows how the Men in the Green Jackets decide who can come to Augustaland (although legend has it if you ask nicely, you may be considered). Generally, passage to Augustaland has been handed down from father to son, or from businessman to associate. The rest of us can only see Augustaland on television.

I know it's crazy, but on Thursday I was in Augustaland! I know it's crazy. This is how it came to pass. My brother Dan works in the Land of Honey and Do. His associate, Garrett of Carolina, offered him four magical badges to use on the first day of The Masters. Garrett of Carolina's only request was that they be returned to him that very evening. Dan accepted the terms, and so it was that Dan, my father, my cousin, and I found ourselves in Augustaland at 7:30 am on Thursday.

Below is what I saw. I swear by God that everything I report is the truth. If you do not believe my testimony, ask my brother, my cousin, or my father. They can attest to it. We were all there in Augustaland.

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... The Golden Bear and The King, another great Master, were called upon to signal the start of The Masters. After being announced, they each in turn teed up a ball and struck it, straight and true, off into the grass of Augustaland.

...While it was still early and cool, and as most of The Masters had yet to begin the game, we walked along what is known as "The Back." There it was, the Augustaland I had seen on television my whole life - the flowers, the bridges, the trees, the water, the grass, and the yellow flags. It felt as though I was in a famous painting, one I had known for a long time but never dreamed I could actually enter.

...Amidst the trees alongside the first we came upon a group of people, patrons as they are called in Augustaland, clustered around Badds. We were told his tee-shot had bounced off a tree and landed in a patron's lap. She had waited until he arrived before she stood up, letting the ball slide off her lap into the ground. Badds muttered something that made the patrons who could hear him laugh; perhaps buoyed by his win in another, lesser game, the Australian-American seemed in good humor. He took out his club, lined up his shot from behind his ball, then, as he did for all of his shots, closed his eyes for a few moments. Ready, he walked up to his ball and struck it. The ball drew a narrow curve and landed 12-feet from the pin - a brilliant shot - and he would make the putt.

...Behind the sixth green we watched players bomb at the difficult flag, and then scrambled the few paces over to the seventh tee where we were so close to the Masters that if we dared (we didn't) we could touch them as they hit their drives. Most were spectacular, although Big Dustin fired his ball low, left, and short. It was rare that we felt we could do better than a Master, but it sometimes we did.

...We lingered behind the sixth for a while. Eventually, three of the youngest Masters appeared on the hilltop tee: Rickie The Puma, dressed in green from his shoes to his large flat-billed hat; JD, at 22 1/2 the oldest and quietest of the group; and Rory Mac, the talented Irish kid. All played brilliant golf that day, but it was Rory Mac would who prove to be the top Master after day one. We saw him make three of his seven birdies, each set up with bold shots into the treacherous greens of Augustaland.

...When we first arrived we placed two chairs in spots along the ninth green. We purchased two more and set those behind the picturesque twelfth tee. By Augustaland tradition, our spots were claimed. The Men in Green Jackets would not tolerate any movement of the patrons' chairs, even if they were left vacant for most of the day. Now two of us took our seats next to the ninth while two others stood just outside the seating area. From our angle we watched as wave upon wave of threesomes found their tee-shots in the fairway and launched them up toward the elevated green. Most sent their balls safely past the flag in the front-right into the back-right of the green. So deceptive are the Augustaland greens that none of these golfers could make their putts from this location. All thought the ball would turn right. All were wrong.

...Then came The Tiger, the only one who could someday match the exploits of The Golden Bear. His shot landed even with the flag over on the left-side. When it was his turn to putt, the massive crowd around him became dead quiet. There is no sound quite like the silence before The Tiger putts for a birdie. This time though his ball rolled past.

...Throughout the day we bought food and drink cheaply at the Augustaland concessions. And we used the well-placed, spacious, clean Augustaland restrooms. Everywhere we went we were graciously attended to by the army of workers the Men in Green Jackets employ. The people who work at Augustaland are so polite, it was a bit unnerving.

...We saw the old Walrus, struggling on the very hilly grounds. As my cousin noted, these days the Walrus only plays golf twice a year - Thursday and Friday at the Masters.

...Our seats directly behind the twelfth were in one of the most picturesque spots. However, it was not the best spot for following the action. The eleventh green was visible to our left and interesting to keep an eye on, but while it was easy to follow the flight of the ball off the tee, it was hard to see exactly where it landed.

...The twelfth, like so much of the course, gives the Masters plenty of space to move around far away from the patrons. Long ago, the Men in Green Jackets came up with the idea of erecting rope barriers in between the patrons and the players.

...We saw a Lion who is actually a Wolverine!

...My cousin and I found wonderful seats in one of the relatively few grandstands at Augustaland. This one was behind the fifteenth green, and we sat so we could watch the tee-shots into, and the action on, the sixteenth. In about an hour and a half of viewing we saw ten birdies on the two holes. The Tiger came through while we were there, as did the Hunter, the Big Easy, Kooch, and Paddy.

...We got back to our seats on nine with plenty of time before the defending champion, Phil, arrived. As we sat down, we saw a ball roll farther down the fairway than any drive had that day. It was Bubba. But it didn't help him on the hole; he made par.

...Phil hit his drive into the trees on the left. From our perspective it was a difficult, if not impossible angle. But not for Phil. He smashed a low cut from right to left that almost got over the false front...but not quite. A few minutes later he placed a beautiful chip a couple feet from the hole to get his par.

...After Phil went through we picked up our chairs at nine and moved them a few yards behind us to the eighteenth green to a vacated spot in the seating area. My cousin and I spent most of the rest of the day in those seats. The eighteenth green, where so much drama has unfolded over the years, looks much smaller in person than it does on television. To our left, we could hear the Voice Unlike Any Other talking to Sir Nick up in the commentator booth.

...Old Man Watson came to the eighteenth while we were sitting there. I joined my fellow patrons in giving him a standing ovation, an Augustaland tradition for all of the great old Masters.

...Poulter-geist also came through, hanging on to an even-par round. His approach shot landed just over the green and he chipped it to three feet. As he stood over his putt, we suddenly heard Sir Nick blathering loudly up in the booth, perhaps narrating a highlight for ESPN. Poulter-geist stood up and glared at the booth. His playing partner, The Duck, waved at the booth jovially. We could see the Voice Unlike Any Other waving his own hands at his commentator partner. Poulter-geist went through his putting routine again, then missed the putt and the come-backer too! A reasonable even-par 72 turned into an out-of-contention 74.