The Michael Jordan gene: The Blackhawks have it

One of the coolest things about sports is how most of us can relate to what it feels like to be out there on that baseball diamond, hockey rink, basketball court or football field.

We've been there, in many of those same situations we watch our favorite pro athletes in. Maybe not in say, Madison Square Garden, or the Staples Center, but in general we can usually relate to a degree.

We know what it's like to sink that basket. To throw that game-winning touchdown. To hit that walk-off homer, whether at the Little League, high school, or college level.

But rare is the athlete who has what I call "The Michael Jordan gene."

Scientists, they always talk of genetic mutations, and it's almost always in a negative connotation.

But what if genetics in athletes mutate in good ways too?

Much like we get our looks from mom or dad, we also inherit some of their traits. Of course, we could go on all day debating things like how someone's environment also affects the way people turn out as athletes, or people, but then we'd be here all day.

So for the sake of argument, when I refer to this MJ gene, I will keep it in the context of sports only.

With me so far? Because this is a two-parter.

This hypothetical Michal Jordan gene, as I call it, isn't in everyone. Maybe it's a mutation that allows him or other athletes to focus more when it matters most. Throughout sports history, you will find example after example of people who seem to elevate their games when it matters.

With the 2014 Stanley Cup Playoffs underway, I submit to you that our very own Chicago Blackhawks have not just one, but a slew of players who posses the Michael Jordan gene. (And before anyone skewers me here, know this concept is all in good fun).

When you're as young as these Hawks still are, and already have two Stanley Cup rings gleaming the same way Patrick Kane, Jonathan Toews, Brent Seabrook, Duncan Keith and crew do, history tells us they're the type of team that's not usually done winning titles.



I've seen the dynasties of the 1980s Edmonton Oilers, with Wayne Gretzky, Mark Messier and crew. And the New York Islanders, with Billy Smith and Mike Trottier.

I've watched the nearly indestructible Pittburgh teams of the 1990s with Mario Lemieux and Jaromir Jagr.

Experience, it seems, matters. And these baby Hawks have been thrown in situation, after situation, after situation that has tested their poise to the core, much like those teams of the past once did. I'm not suggesting the Hawks are the Oilers, Islanders or Penguins of hockey lore, but I am saying they aren't far behind.

Remember the two goals in 17 seconds to win their second Cup in four seasons?

No pressure there.

How about that overtime winner by Seabs against the hated Red Wings in OT? No pressure there either. What, you say? Kaner had a hattrick to send the Hawks to the Cup Final, also in OT last season?

Nah, that ain't pressure.

By the way, that was the second time Kane has done that. He did the same thing to Vancouver in 2010.

And I suppose there was no pressure when Hossa pumped home a huge goal against Nashville in 2010, the same game he watched his teammates kill off a four-minute penalty before the Hawks won in OT there, too?

Or when Kaner scored that...you know....Cup winner in Philly?

Drowning sarcasm aside, I think you get the picture.

Just why do these Hawks, when their feet are put to the fire, seem to come out unscathed so often? Is it skill? Experience? Luck? A combination of all three?

Or is it something deeper? An ability to focus? The same way MJ hit jumper after jumper. Clutch shot after clutch shot. In the biggest of moments.

Some things, you can't teach.

So just a word of warning, a word to the wise to the rest of the NHL, as these 2014 Stanley Cup Playoffs begin.

The Chicago Blackhawks may not win the Cup, but I'll tell you one thing.

You'd have to be a fool to bet against them. A huge one.

Michael Jordan gene or not.

Let the fun begin.

Dear Team USA Women's Hockey: Some motivation

"Great moments, they say, are born from great opportunity." --- Herb Brooks, 1980 Team USA Men's Olympic hockey coach


Sure, that's borrowing from the legendary 1980 team --- and Kurt Russell --- who played Brooks so brilliantly in the dramatized movie "Miracle," which depicts the United States pulling off the greatest upset, literally, of all-time over the Soviets.

"That's what you have here today," the legendary quote from Brooks and Russell continues.

Amateur kids beating professionals.



It inspires something human in all of us, simply because such things don't happen often. The guy no one has ever heard of doesn't just walk into a gym with Michael Jordan in his prime and beat him, now, does he?

This is why we are compelled to root for the underdog. The moment where we all believe something is possible, no matter how high the mountaintop, or how insurmountable the odds seem.

Life is full of such stories. In every sport.

And so here we find the U.S. women's hockey team, 34 years later, on the other side of the world, a generation-plus away from that time and place in Lake Placid, trying to make history of their own.

With the clock ticking down to Thursday's puck drop in the gold medal game against heated, bitter rival Canada, this is one of those moments, too, where anything is possible.

Some of these ladies have been dreaming of playing hockey in a men's sports-dominated world for their entire young lives, hoping beyond hope to do what once seemed impossible. To do what they watched their heroes do.

Just a day ago, in the gold medal qualifying game, Team USA's ladies outshot Sweeden 70-9 (that's not a misprint) to advance, in a 6-1 victory so dominant, it almost defied logic. They've outshot their opponents by a 200-65 margin in these Olympics.

Unlike their male counterparts, these women will not return home to careers in hockey, because there is not a woman's NHL. These are college kids, most who will never again see an opportunity to do such a thing in their lives.

Some may never play again competitively.

The moment, what's at stake, is very, very real.

Looking Team USA right in the eyes in the gold medal game are those pesky Canadians, who handed the Americans their only loss of these Sochi Olympic games.

Win or lose, players like Kendall Coyne, goalie Jessie Vetter and Buffalo Grove's own Megan Bozek and the entire U.S. roster have the talent to win it all. There is no denying that. To take this moment and mold it into their own masterpiece.

When the puck drops, every shift, every bit of smarts, hustle, poise and energy will matter. In prior contests, it has been chippy and downright nasty between the two clubs at times. And though that's likely to stay the same to a degree, Team USA must realize now is not the time for flexing its muscle or ego.

This is the time for them to "play their game," much like Brooks shouted to his club late against the Soviets when they held an unlikely lead.

This is the time to block all the past nonsense out, and do what you all have done best from the moment you laced up those skates for the first time.

Let Canada play their own psychological games ... it's all a distraction.

And besides, how sweet would it be to fly back home with your faces all smiling and gleaming on the Wheaties box.

Know what else gleams?

A gold medal.

Your move, ladies. This is YOUR time. Their time?

Is done.

Best of luck.

Jack Morris belongs in MLB's Hall of Fame, and here's why

Look, let's get this out of the way.

I'm fond of the 1980s. Maybe it was the great childhood. Maybe it was my love of baseball growing up.

Whatever the reason, some things need to change.

Perspective, folks. It's a beautiful thing.

Before I travel this path ... this not-so-yellow-brick-road that takes us to Oz, err the Baseball Hall of Fame, allow me to paint a picture.

A decade is a long time, would we agree? How about 17 years? Heck, that's an entire childhood.

Which is the beginning of this treacherous road filled with Lions and Tigers and Bears (well, maybe not them, oh my!). There will be those who try to prevent me from taking Mr. Morris with me on my mythical journey to "Oz," AKA that stubborn ole' Hall of Fame.

The one which says 75 percent of the baseball writers allowed (there are barely over 550 of them with a vote, folks) to chime in have to agree one is Hall-worthy. That's a tall order in place for a reason.

Nonetheless, meet Jack Morris. Let me add, that's a sweet moustache, dude. Quenville-worthy.



Jack, my friends, won more games than any pitcher in the 1980s. He also won more games than any pitcher in a 17-year span in Major League Baseball from 1977-1994.

Morris finished with 254 career wins, 186 losses --- and get this --- 175 complete games.

That should speak for itself, should it not?

But no, that darned Wicked Witch (is it the East or the West, I forget?), also known as "The Baseball Writers," have turned their noses at Mr. Morris, as if he's just not worthy of the same air people like Frank Thomas and Greg Maddux will soon breathe, cleanly (pardon the pun).

This is the last year Morris is eligible to be on the ballot.

With the steroid era now front page news in baseball on a near weekly basis in MLB, I submit to you it's time we start respecting and valuing the accomplishments of some of the best pitchers who've ever lived.

Morris was one of them. The stats say so. Like it or not, his numbers in nearly every key category, whether 50th place ever, or 200th, all put him in elite company, the top one-tenth of one percent of pitchers who've ever lived.

That's special, folks. But some feel it's not special enough.

The detractors' one main argument against him? His 3.90 career ERA would make Morris the pitcher with the highest career ERA in the Hall, if elected. He played for teams that had great offenses behind him, they cry.

I'm sorry, I couldn't see that side of your argument, Morris-haters. I was blinded by those shiny things. What's that you say? Those are your three (technically four) World Series rings, Jack?

Nope. I wouldn't want that guy on my team if I could go back in time. I mean, who wants a guy who's a legit #1 or #2 starter his whole career, and does nothing but compete and win for almost two decades, better than nearly anyone?

His defining moment may have come in Game 7 of the 1991 World Series against the Atlanta Braves: http://wapc.mlb.com/play/?content_id=3977851

"Whatever it takes, you're gonna outlast him," Morris told himself, facing legendary John Smoltz in his prime, who matched him pitch-for-pitch.

The result? A Picasso. A 10-inning, 1-0 shutout, World Series win that you couldn't dream up. His forkball was dancing, diving. The man was a bulldog, on the biggest stage. Painting corners in his very own masterpiece.

His team that year? The Minnesota Twins. Ask a Twins fan what that moment meant to them. Their families. Their kids. Their grandkids.

Morris won 15 or more games 12 times. With four different teams. And threw 3,824 innings, 50th all-time.

Folks, those things all don't happen simply by having good offenses over a 17-year span, with that many outs, that many innings.

I mention it because that moment in 1991 ... that was what Jack was all about. The bigger the game, the bigger he performed, as if saving what energy he needed for the big stage, to a degree. Like it or not, smart athletes know how to do this. To not burn themselves out too fast. To remain paced, and focused.

Unless you've played a 162-game season, which most of us have not, you haven't a clue how it affects someone, especially a pitcher.

Now that we are finding more and more people cheated the game of baseball to skew the very stats Morris needs to be elected, I think it's damn time we start loosening the tie a bit, so to speak. Especially when it comes to pitchers.

Or better yet, pour a giant bucket of water on that Wicked Witch, AKA "The Baseball Writers."

Watch their argument go up in smoke, then melt and disappear.

Don't be afraid of the man behind the curtain folks. He, too, had a huge moustache just like Jack did.

They can pull all the strings they want.

Morris was an ace. One with the 134th most shutouts. Ever. He's also 36th all-time in games started. He's 43rd all-time in wins. And don't tell me wins don't matter. It's WHY we play the games we do.

And if he doesn't make the Hall of Fame on this, his last try...

Don't be cowardly, Lion. Vote him in. You too, Scarecrow. Have a brain. Morris belongs. And you ... you Tin Man?

Have a heart.

The facts --- the best thing of all --- speak for themselves.

The man dominated a decade. And nearly a generation. You play to win. He did just that, personified. Better than almost anyone who ever played the game.

"I'm melllll-tinnnnng."

That's right, that's the Wicked Witch. She needs to go away so more incredible baseball players like Jack Morris can find their way to Oz, AKA the Baseball Hall of Fame.

Best of luck, sir. You belong. I hated you as a White Sox fan. This is an honor you deserve.