Angelo Cataldi – Rants

Now comes the tough part for the Sixers and their impressive new owners. After the ouster of their spirited but leaderless team last weekend in Boston, the new guys have to decide whether what we just watched was the birth of an NBA contender or a one-year, lightning-in-a-bottle phenomenon.
If you can’t stand the suspense, here’s the answer: The Sixers were one-hit wonders this season. As presently constructed, they are no more likely to win a championship than they were last year, or the year before that. What we just witnessed was nothing more than a beautiful mirage.
The final game was a cry from the mountaintops to blow up a team that earned the respect of a surprised city. I know, I know. How can a bunch of New York investors come into Philadelphia, revive basketball in eight amazing months and then purge the roster that brought them their early success?
Well, they must. Andre Iguodala may have become a temporary hero in the Chicago playoffs series – and occasionally against Boston, too – but he remains an enigma. One or two highlight-film dunks per game don’t make up for the dumb shots and idiotic turnovers that were a death knell for the Sixers in Game 7.
After all these years, Iguodala still can’t figure out how to make a big free throw (with one notable exception against Chicago) or make a smart play. He has a million-dollar body perched on a ten-cent head. And yet, after his emergence in the national spotlight over the past month, he and his absurdly lucrative contract are tradable.
If the Sixers make that one move and unload Iguodala, they will be taking the next big step forward. They will be choosing the long-term success of the team over an ill-fated attempt to prolong the mirage of 2012.
The Sixers were handed a valuable lesson in Game 7 last weekend. They saw what a team with talent and leadership does when confronted with failure. Paul Pierce fouled out with four minutes left and Boston holding a three-point lead, and Rajon Rondo calmly stepped forward and won the game.
Is there anyone on the current Sixers roster who could emulate Rondo’s heroics? Yes, Iguodala did it one time in Chicago, but he has failed on countless other occasions. Can Jrue Holiday do it, or Lou Williams, Elton Brand, Thaddeus Young? No. And that’s why the new owners need to put up a sign outside the Wells Fargo Center: Fire Sale. No Reasonable Offer Refused.
The Sixers proved this season that they could do more than any of us thought possible, but nowhere near enough on which to build a real future. For that, they will need a star – someone who can deliver more than just a beautiful mirage.

When Roy Halladay left the game with a sore shoulder Sunday, two thoughts converged in the minds of every Phillies fan. First, we’re dead. And second, sign Cole Hamels. Please.
The injury that has the entire Delaware Valley bracing for the worst really puts into perspective this silly debate over whether Hamels is worth the seven-year contract he is seeking. Yes, he’s worth it. More than ever now, the Phils cannot afford to lose the one young, pressure-tested, home-grown stud pitcher in their rotation.
No one wanted to read it when I wrote two months ago that the Phillies were not a playoff team this season because no one wanted to face the truth. But losing Halladay will have no bearing on the current pennant race. That sad fate was sealed when Ryan Howard and Chase Utley missed opening day. The current team is not good enough, with or without Halladay. Check the standings.
Allowing Hamels to leave as a free agent in a few months is not about 2012, it is about 2013, 2014, 2015, 2016, 2017, 2018 and 2019. Whether the Phils can rebound from this lost year is a matter of debate, but the conversation ends the moment Hamels departs. The day Hamels leaves – if he does – the Phillies truly are dead.
Phils GM Ruben Amaro Jr. said last week that he’s still trying to decide the team’s priorities beyond this season. Well, it’s time for him to stop pondering the imponderable and make a bold and aggressive move. Sign Cole Hamels, at any price. The future depends on it.

Tears were forming in Allen Iverson’s eyes as he took one final bow last week before Game 6 at the Wells Fargo Center. The fallen superstar was brought back to inspire the Sixers, and he succeeded spectacularly in that assignment. Unfortunately, he also provided a poignant reminder of the fleeting nature of sports fame.
A decade ago, he was the floor leader of the Sixers, a nightly thrill show unlike any we have ever experienced. And yes, that includes Wilt Chamberlain and Julius Erving, two brilliant players who could never fill seats the way Iverson could. Unfortunately, those eras are over now, replaced only by the memories.
Iverson fought back tears not because of what he had, but of what he lost. He is reportedly near bankruptcy now, immersed in an ugly divorce, searching for one more chance. He has failed at several comebacks – including one here two years ago – but there is nowhere left to turn. All he knows is basketball, and his body simply won’t permit the magic anymore.
In the same week Iverson was enjoying his encore here, Jeff Garcia resurfaced at 42 and openly campaigned for another shot on the Eagles. The fiery quarterback can’t shake the urge, or face the truth. Garcia has a Playboy Playmate wife and more money than he can ever spend, and all he wants is one more chance to play football
Most of us are sports fans because we once dreamed of playing in the big leagues. Well, maybe we’re better off right where we are, sitting in the stands. Because in sports, even the best dreams usually end with tears.

Idle thoughts . . . .
• Cliff Lee and Shane Victorino engaged in a spirited exchange after Victorino allowed a fly ball to drop for a triple last week in St. Louis. Everybody was mum after the dugout dispute, but my money is definitely on Lee in that battle of wits.
• The weird part about our most recent sports feuds that is that we would welcome these villains to our teams warmly and enthusiastically. Is anybody out there who would not love to have Kevin Garnett, Bryce Harper or Sidney Crosby playing here? I didn’t think so.
• Here’s one loud vote of support for New Jersey governor Chris Christie’s bold move to allow sports betting this fall. Yes, the initiative will be blocked in the courts, but at least he’s taking a stand against the archaic notion that sports fans cannot place a wager legally unless they’re in Nevada. Bravo.
• Michael Vick vowed last week that coach Andy Reid will not be fired while the quarterback is an Eagle. OK, fine. But how much help is Vick going to be if he’s watching the game from a hospital bed? The best way for Vick to save Reid is to save himself first. Slide, Michael, slide.
• Adding even more charm to his retirement weekend was the revelation last week that Pat Burrell agreed to take a photo with an attractive female fan only if he could grab her breast while doing so. Ah, remember the good old days, when Pat the Bat didn’t have to negotiate for that kind of thing?

Brian Dawkins came home last weekend to teach one final lesson in his extraordinary 16-year career. He stood at the podium on the day his dirt-stained No. 20 was retired and showed every athlete who has ever played here – and ever will – how to create a lifelong bond with the toughest sports city in America.
Tears running down his face, Dawkins said goodbye with the same soul-baring emotion that punctuated his brilliant tenure as an Eagle. Let the record show that the same man who became the fire-breathing Wolverine before and during games walked away in the same intense and winning style.
Every wavering word he delivered rang true. Every tear was genuine. Dawkins said his coaches – especially beloved defensive coordinator Jim Johnson – knew he would “sacrifice a body part” in the service of the Eagles and their endless quest for a championship. His greatest regret, he added, is that he couldn’t deliver the ultimate prize for Johnson and the fans.
In a sports world populated by frauds, Dawkins is the real thing. He is the embodiment of every Philadelphia sports fan – ferocious in his desire to win and sickened by the notion of failure. No one has ever played in Philadelphia who was more open or honest than Brian Dawkins.
And that’s why, during his extraordinary farewell, the hardest thing was to watch was Jeff Lurie gush over a hero the owner had coldly and stupidly banished to Denver three years ago. For a couple of million dollars, Dawkins could have spent his entire career here. Instead, the Eagles treated him like every other over-30 employee and challenged him to leave.
Dawkins, who just a few days earlier had admitted he wasn’t sure he wanted to retire an Eagle, must have gagged inside when Lurie called him his all-time favorite Eagle. Can you imagine how Dawkins would have been treated three years ago if Lurie didn’t love him so much? True to form, however, Dawkins silently took the hit.
Like so many moments in his glorious career, he did it for the fans. Dawkins took his place among the immortals on the Eagles – Chuck Bednarik, Steve Van Buren, Tom Brookshier, Pete Retzlaff, Al Wistert, Jerome Brown and Reggie White – knowing that the fans wanted him to rise above the phoniness of an organization that didn’t fully appreciate him until he was gone. So, one last time, he did what was best for the people he cared the most about, the fans.
Brian Dawkins wasn’t the only one crying on Saturday. So were the rest of us – crying that one of the true greats is gone now, crying that we may never see another player who represented us so well, and crying that so few people in sports will grasp the priceless lesson he taught about honest emotion.

The impossible has happened. At least for now, hockey has surged past football and even baseball and has become the No. 1 sport in Philadelphia. With their talented youth and their crazy goalie, the Flyers have captured the imagination of a city that has almost always preferred the pigskin or the horsehide.
As a sports talk-show host here for 23 years, I can say with absolutely certainty that the most popular player in our city right now is Claude Giroux, the most admired coach is Peter Laviolette and the most anticipated games are the playoff extravaganzas against the Penguins and now the Devils.
It’s not hard to understand, really. The Eagles – kings of the city most of the time – are not playing right now, and were a dull and disappointing 8-8 when they were. The Sixers, hardly a blip on the fan radar screen since Allen Iverson left town, are not even registering much during their current – and probably very brief – appearance in the NBA playoffs.
And then there are the Phillies. Most recently the object of the most attention and affection, they are one of our most boring sports teams in recent memory. Switching from the Phillies-Cubs game to Flyers-Devils on Sunday was jarring – like accelerating from 0 to 60 in three seconds.
For as long as it lasts, this is an amazing time in Philadelphia sports, a rare moment when the Flyers are not just beating the Penguins and Devils, but the Eagles and Phillies as well.

At a time when the Phillies needed him most, Jimmy Rollins failed spectacularly. Called upon to earn the $33-million contract he signed last winter, he was a total disaster as the No. 3 hitter in a lineup desperate for production. Will his fans look the other way again?
During his 19-game audition as a middle-of-the-order guy – before manager Charlie Manuel admitted defeat and moved him back to the leadoff spot on Saturday – Rollins managed no home runs and three RBIs, with an embarrassing .216 average. In other words, for three weeks he was a No. 8 hitter batting five slots too high in the order.
Of course, his many loyalists – especially his cheerleading squad in the media – will find excuses for this latest failure. They will say he has been a leadoff hitter his entire career, though Rollins has never really embraced the patience required of that role, either. They will cite the lack of hitters around him. They will write it off as just a slow start.
Well, here’s the brutal truth about Rollins. He is one of the most selfish players in Philadelphia history. He plays not for the team, but for himself. Remember when manager Charlie Manuel sat him down during spring training and stressed the need to work counts more, to draw more walks? Rollins has walked five times in 88 at bats so far, a career-low percentage.
When the Phillies shelled out all that money last winter, they were buying more than a fading 33-year-old .268 hitter already well past his prime. They were bringing back a leader, a winner, someone who transcended his declining numbers. What they got instead is just one more reminder that the good old days are gone.

Idle thoughts . . . .
• Fans thinking the injury to Derrick Rose somehow gives the Sixers a chance against Chicago in the playoffs obviously didn’t watch the first game. The Bulls are deeper, more talented and better coached. Chicago won this series the minute Evan Turner said he was happy his team was facing the Bulls.
• The Eagles finally got it right when they traded up for defensive tackle Fletcher Cox last week. I’m basing this conclusion on the one draft guru I trust, Ray Didinger. When discussing Cox even before the draft, the columnist and broadcaster lit up like a neon sign. Good enough for me.
• Here’s an extreme idea to wake up the Phillies offense: How about bringing back free-agent Bobby Abreu at least for a cameo before the return of Ryan Howard and Chase Utley? Yes, he’s 38, but Abreu still gets on base at a .350 clip and would probably still bat third in the depleted Phillies lineup.
• Who’s going to inform Jim Thome that his Hall of Fame career is over? He injured his back sliding into second base Saturday night. He is a liability at first base. He is batting .111 with 10 strikeouts in 18 at bats. He can’t run, can’t field, can’t hit. So, I ask again: Who’s going to break the news to him?
• On behalf of the entire city of Philadelphia, I’d like to wish Pittsburgh coach Dan Bylsma good luck. Yes, I know. He refused to wish the Flyers well after they had eliminated his Penguins, but it’s time to let bygones be bygones. Good luck, Dan. May you experience many fine rounds of golf during your long hiatus from hockey.