About a month-and-a-half ago, we filled a Public Information Act (usually called the Freedom of Information Act in other areas, check your local listings) request with the University of Maryland for its contract with Boston University for a basketball game. You might remember that game, it was played on December 21st at the Comcast Center. The Terriers won.
It’s a fairly standard to file these types of requests–Maryland is a public university and its records are open to the public for inspection. It still took a little while to get a response, but on Wednesday afternoon we received all eight of the school’s non-conference contracts.
They’re all posted in full for you to read below, but first the highlights. Maryland paid a total of $640,000 for its eight non-conference home games in 2013-14 season, including $90,000 to BU. Overall, they’re pretty straightforward contracts. They’re all a page long and built from an Atlantic Coast Conference template. They outline the eligibility of players, the size of the payout, number of tickets provided and the size of the visiting party and bench. They dictate the officials and the terms of radio broadcasting, and state that television rights are determined through separate contracts. None of the contracts are for more than one game.
The payment to BU falls right in the middle of Maryland’s range. The highest the Terrapins paid was $100,000 to Tulsa, the least $85,000 to both Morgan State and Florida Atlantic (Maryland also paid $5,000 to nearby Division-III Catholic University of America for an exhibition, which is included in the total but didn’t really seem fair to count as the lowest). Every school except for BU received an allotment of 75 free tickets. For whatever reason, the Terriers were granted 100.
The real anomalies come in the details, and they are quite minor. BU’s contract lists the location of the game as the “University of MD Campus” and gives it a scheduled time of 3 p.m., subject to television. The game would get to pushed to 1 p.m. and land on ESPN3. But, for what it’s worth, every other contract lists the Comcast Center as it’s location and simply says TBA for a time. Again, actually quite minor stuff. The only school to actually get something different out of Maryland was North Carolina Central, who wound up with 12 hotel rooms paid for by the Terps. Meals and incidentals were not included.
None of this is particularly exceptional, but it shines a light into how these deals work. Schedule contracts offer a little insight into how schools make money. $90,000 might not make a major dent in a $28 million athletic and $2 million basketball budget, but it’s worth something. Or maybe not. After all, N.C. Central was the only school to get any sort of accommodations out of Maryland. When you add up hotel rooms, meals and travel for a group of about 20-25 people, that $90,000 only goes so far.
We went a whole two or three (Was it three? It might have been three) weeks without someone leaving the Boston University men’s basketball team. Great work, awesome job, everyone! But that changed on Tuesday, when Jon Rothstein of CBS Sports reported assistant coach Carmen Maciariello is headed to George Washington.
This actually isn’t all that shocking. Maciariello, a member of Joe Jones’ staff for all three years at BU, is a skilled recruiter. Take this Jones quote from Maciariello’s bio on GoTerriers, “Carmen is a rising star who in a short amount of time has been able to build up his resume working with some great coaches.”
He’s worked under Fran McCaffery at Siena and Ed Cooley at Fairfield and Providence. It was expected that, at some point, he would move up in the world. Former Vermont coach Mike Lonergan has offered him a decent Atlantic-10 job, and you can’t blame him for taking it.
But man, can the Terriers not catch a break right now?
Embattled Boston University women’s basketball coach Kelly Greenberg has left the university, according to a report from ESPN’s Kate Fagan.
Fagan reports Greenberg was fired. WEEI’s Scott McLaughlin says Greenberg technically resigned.
Greenberg, who spent the past decade as the coach of the Terriers, came under fire at the end of the season when articles in the Boston Globe and ESPNW detailed alleged emotional abuse of players. Four players left BU during the 2013-14 season, and the Terriers won only 13 games, losing in the Patriot League quarterfinals at Army.
It wasn’t the first time bullying accusations were levied against Greenberg. According to the Globe, two players left the team in 2008. The Globe said the school conducted an internal review at the time.
After the latest allegations broke, some current and former players rallied to their coach’s defense, though two more players came forward to detail claims of mistreatment. The university launched a panel to review Greenberg’s status.
In her time at BU, Greenberg won at least 15 games in nine different seasons and reached the conference championship game five times, though she was never able to guide the Terriers to the NCAA Tournament. Instead, they made four Women’s NIT appearances, earning the program’s first postseason wins.
Prior to coming to BU, Greenberg was the coach at Penn, where she spent four seasons and made two NCAA Tournaments. She spent time as an assistant at Holy Cross, Rhode Island, George Washington and Northeastern. She played at La Salle, making the NCAA Tournament three times and earning induction into the Philadelphia Big 5 Hall of Fame in 2012.
ESPN reported Greenberg’s contract ran through 2017.
I’m young and an idiot and watching runners duck out of line to piss in the woods. I was here first behind the firehouse pretending this crappy pond in front of me was zen, but evidently others are looking to redefine zen. One woman doesn’t even make it to the trees before her light blue shorts drop and I decide it’s time to find a better place to stare at the sky.
The still half-full box of Honey Nut Cheerios bought at half-price goes in the trash.
An old black man yells at me for being in line too early, next to real runners, a feat he will repeat for the next two years.
Seven miles, I tell myself. I made it seven here which means the commuter rail stop is only seven away. I can always just head back to Boston if I’m in too much pain.
Seven miles scenically edges into 12, then the Wellesley Scream tunnel powers me to Heartbreak Hill — which is bullshit, it breaks legs too — and then Christ, it’s all downhill from there. Boston College lines the streets at 21, my RA spots me and goes nuts with a few miles to go, and then all of a sudden it’s the longest two tenths of a mile that I’ve ever run. Four hours in the blink of an eye and I’m sitting against the freezing tiles on Boylston eating Hawaiian sweet bread and trying not to vomit a protein Gatorade.
It’s the day beforehand and it’s supposed to be 95 degrees tomorrow.
I’m doing my best to convince my dad I’m being responsible and have trained this year. Both are lies. The BAA has issued a warning, information on heat strokes, and allowed registered runners to postpone until the following year. Shep glances over at me after I hang up the phone.
“My dad hopes I’m taking it seriously this year.” Shep and I snicker.
“Look, I actually am taking it seriously,” as I present the jug of water I’ve been sipping on. To my credit, I’m prepping myself in the mid-afternoon which is about double the notice I had the previous year.
What matters this time, more than anything this year, is one sign. Water can fight dehydration but you need mental capacity and thoughts to fight the sight of your bloody urine in a portapotty on Heartbreak Hill. The sign is back in Wellesley, a bit before the half-way marker. I remembered it from last year, said something non-committal to the bearer. It has a picture of Yoda. There’s no trying. There’s only doing.
The doing. I do marathons. Only do. I’ve never trained for one and though I run, I don’t run marathons. Running a marathon isn’t just the 26.2 — that’s simply a blip. It’s only the sprint at the end of a months-long — sometimes years-long — marathon of training. The day-in day-out commitment and drive. Especially for the Boston Marathon. The years of brutal training for a race in order to run a sub-3:10 (7:15/mile) followed by registration and then another brutal six months before the race. A three-hour race is nothing compared to the days of running invested.
I somehow stagger to the line. A hundred something people went to the hospital, I’ll later read. But there’s my dumbass idiotic self, sitting on those same Boylston tiles disappointed there’s no Hawaiian sweet bread this time ‘round.
I’m running through Kenmore Square with a friend. He’s been drumming up crowd support for me but is slightly out of breath and has taken to simply shouting out the number 26 over and over. Given my state of mind, it’s pretty much the funniest thing ever. Some guy on the side says “yeah right, no way he ran it” in reference to my friend. He’s dressed in a basketball jersey and jeans, and smells a bit like booze. The observation is such an obvious one that I also find it hilarious, start to laugh, realize I don’t have ab muscles anymore and then almost trip and faceplant.
I stop under the Charlesgate Bridge this year. Maybe a kilometer to go. Out of nowhere, my legs find a sub-6:00 minute mile back home. Parents, family, etc.
Then my roommate has to stop me before I head back out to help. In truth, it’s not him that stops me but my legs, as they collapse under me on a flight of stairs.
This was the year… This was the year I was going to do it. This was the year I did it. To run Heartbreak Hill without stopping. To have friends watch me through Kenmore Square. To help me to the line…
It’s 5:30am and I’m staring at bottles of absinthe and wine, my brain arguing over if it’s too early to be drinking 138 proof. I roll over and look out the window, realizing it’s not the alcohol that’s not right, but something else.
I love when it’s cold out and can see my breath and I’m on autopilot — my feet know the route all too well. But I cross Kenmore Square and the 25 mile marker there is more soul-crushingly difficult after one mile than after 25.
There’s a truck backing up under the Charlesgate Bridge and I pause there to stop. Again. But this time, the man directing the truck directs me. “No come on buddy. Run! Run!”
True to the idiot I am, my feet take me under Mass. Ave. A cop spots a glistening speck of selfishness and self-pity running down my cheek and stops traffic without a word. Roughly a million times more than anything I deserve.
Left onto Boylston. Those words are heart-breaking. Pedestrians, and a block slowly disappears. Then another. Then ano–fuck! I always forget how long that stretch is.
I’m surprised at how quiet things are and, hell, I don’t know. Maybe I’ve been pessimistic. Maybe things haven’t changed that much. Maybe things won’t be that much different this year. I barely glimpse the finish line as I run by it, and it’s it. No grand feelings. No catharsis. My feet, no longer with directions, naturally find their way to the Esplanade and things are suddenly warm, as the sun wakes the city.
I can see it coming up over the Boston skyline, a firey yellow ball turning the buildings black; it’s spectacular and looks the same as it did all those drunk summer mornings I spent on roofs of Bay State brownstones.
It’s the small things, the details of the painting which create the picture. “Finish strong” my dad always ended his emails with. Not “Try your best”, or “love,” or anything like that. Finish strong. He’s always known I’d finish but it’s the how that matters. The striving for it. That’s where character is found. That’s where strength is found.
It’s time to finish my run.
Good morning Boston. Finish strong.
BU’s HR website now has a listing for an assistant men’s ice hockey coach, spotted by BSRS. The postion requires a candidate to, “conduct a recruitment program, organize, conduct and supervise practices and coach players at games.” It’s salary Grade 73, which pays a minimum of $39,880, a maximum of $63,500 and a midpoint of $51,670 per year. It also adds one more small piece of confirmation to what we already knew: Buddy Powers is on his way out.
First reported by the BC Hockey Blog, expanded upon by USHR, and all but from the horse’s mouth in a press release announcing the new hockey coach at St. Mark’s, Albie O’Connell and Scott Young will join David Quinn’s staff for the 2014-15 season, effectively replacing Powers and current director of hockey operations Pertti Hasanen. Though the story has been floating around for weeks, it still hasn’t been officially confirmed, which I’m guessing is a combination of the hiring process, the lack of a real need to do this quickly and the idea that maybe BU wants to give the two outgoing coaches a proper good-bye.
After this past season, some sort of coaching change was probably inevitable. There had been arguments in certain commenteriats that Powers should have left a long time ago, or never really been hired in the first place. He replaced Mike Bavis after Bavis was promoted to associate head coach when Quinn left after the 2009 National Championship. I don’t really know how to comment on that; I’m not on the coaching staff. But next year’s BU hockey bench will look drastically different than this year’s and certainly the season before’s. This will be a new look regime, formed and developed by Jack Parker, but no longer under his control. And with a roster that will be more than half-filled with players who will have spent their entire college careers under Quinn, this is now his team and his world.
On a different note, I’m sort of going to miss Powers. He had developed as this running joke in my head, taking some of those comments to the extreme. But I’m sure he’ll be in a better place.
The NCAA Legislative Council approved five rule changes on Tuesday all related to “student-athlete well being.” The big one: ALL-YOU-CAN EAT. Schools can now supply athletes with as many meals and snacks as they desire, in theory (the specifics will probably be messier). FOOD FOOD FOOD.
Division I student-athletes can receive unlimited meals and snacks in conjunction with their athletics participation,
Require strength and conditioning coaches to be certified from a nationally accredited certification body,
Require someone certified in CPR, first aid and arterial external defibrillation to be present at all countable athletic activities,
Reduce the penalty for a first positive test for street drugs during championships, and
Require football players to rest for at least three hours between practices during the preseason. Film review and team meetings will be allowed during the recovery period.
Overall, they’re all reasonable revisions that actually seem to provide a benefit for students. Which is practically shocking when it comes to the NCAA.
Subject to final approval of the Division I Board of Directors on April 24th, the proposals will become official rules on August 1st.
After about a week and a half, we have a winner in the Maurice Watson Jr. Sweepstakes. Creighton, come on down!
The former Boston University point guard, who announced his decision to transfer last Wednesday, confirmed via his Twitter account that he has committed to Creighton Sunday afternoon. He was reportedly on a visit to the university’s Omaha campus this weekend. The commitment was first reported by a variety of outlets, and I don’t really have the energy to figure out who was first, good #journalism be dammed.
He joins a team that will likely look a lot different when he’s eligible in 2015-16. Only one player on this year’s squad who played more than 12 percent of possessions was a freshman, according to KenPom. The majority were juniors and seniors, including Wooden Award-winner Doug McDermott. According to NBC Sports, the Blue Jays have two small forwards matriculating this fall, so it’s not like he’ll be alone, although that could be one way to prove yourself.
Watson’s father talked with Adam Zagoria of SNY about the decision. “It’s the Big East, so he gets to come home and play in front of his family as well as against some of the best talent in NCAA basketball on the big stage,” Watson Sr. said, also noting that Illinois and Wichita State were considered.
Both Watsons spoke with Josh Verlin of City of Basketball Love. Watson Sr. said “It just came down to who loves him?” He called Creighton assistant Patrick Sellers was the “x-factor,” as someone Watson Jr. has known since high school and has been recruiting him for a while.