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Mark Shields is a nationally known columnist and commentator. |
Avoiding cliches like the plague
WASHINGTON (Creators Syndicate) -- The nation's largest and longest-running illegal gambling enterprise, a three-week-long and, by FBI estimates, approximately $2.5 billion series of office pools --a.k.a. the NCAA Men's College Basketball Championship -- will culminate with the championship game on April 4 in St. Louis.
It has been a wonderful tournament brimming with the excitement of overtime games, dramatic comebacks and even a few haughty Goliaths falling to a handful of feisty Davids.
But even I, a semi-serious college basketball fan and 22-season ticket-holder, am being driven fast around the bend by the relentless repetition and banality of basketball cliches from coaches, players, announcers, commentators and fans.
Here is a language guide that may save you time and could save you a headache.
You probably know by now that "there is no 'I' in team" (only a cynic would point out that there is a 'me'), but you can be sure that commentators will salute the selfless teamwork of the winners: "They play for the name on the front of their jerseys (the school), not the name on the back of the jersey (their own names)."
And that may well be the most imaginative postgame prose you will hear. It's a sure bet a winning coach will confess that his players "showed a lot of character and/or heart and/or pride and/or resiliency," "overcame a lot of adversity," "came together as a team" and have "the greatest fans in the world." And what about their defeated opponents? "They are great competitors" who "deserve a lot of credit."
But the coaches are poetic compared to the basketball commentariat, all with microphone privileges. You will be told repeatedly that "defense wins championships," that a winning team "doesn't beat themselves," that it "takes care of the ball" and "always gives 110 percent."
The group "at the end of the day" with all those attributes usually "has great team chemistry" and "can flat out play" and is then capable of "taking it to the next level," which is a coveted place to be.
When a substitute player of finite skill but boundless hustle performs well, we will be told that this reserve "gives you good minutes off the bench" and that "he's got a great work ethic."
A field goal counts for two points, unless it is shot from a distance of more than 19 feet, 9 inches from the basket, in which case it counts three points. The player who can regularly shoot the three-point shot "can nail the trifecta," "can really shoot the trey ball" and is capable of "making a living behind the 3-point arc." The shooter who is on a hot streak can "fill it up," he may be " unconscious" or "in a zone." And if the player sustains that performance throughout the tournament, "He is money," which is a truly valuable, clutch performer.
The losing side will explain that "turnovers killed us" and "we beat ourselves." The candor award goes to the coach who confesses: "We were out-coached."
But there is some consolation: "I'm really proud of our guys," who "have nothing to be ashamed of" and "we can still hold our heads high." Of course, "our hats are off" to the victors" and we should "give them all the credit."
There you have one viewer's guide to basketball cliches. But if the Longshot Underdog somehow does upset the Heavy Favorite along with all the Smart Money, then somebody (maybe even you or I) will undoubtedly succumb to some variation of, "Tonight in St. Louis, we learned again to believe in miracles, and Cinderella learned that the slipper still fits ..."
