Today I was invited to Ohio State’s homecoming game. What traditional Big Ten team is the opponent this year? That’s right — Rutgers. Wait, what?
Oh, yeah. Ugh. This is the year the Big Ten adds the Rutgers Scarlet Knights and the Maryland Terrapins to the conference. I don’t know whether Ohio State will be any good this year — I’ll write something about that later this week — but I know that Rutgers and Maryland aren’t likely to increase the Buckeyes’ strength of schedule any. Last year the Scarlet Knights were 6-7 in whatever conference they were in (was it the Big East?) and the Terrapins were a hardy 7-6 in the ACC. Will they be any better this year? Heck if I know, but I do know that a homecoming game against Rutgers doesn’t exactly get the blood pumping.
I get what the Big Ten is doing. College sports these days is all about money, and money flows from TV revenue. The Big Ten wants the Big Ten Network to be carried on the cable packages in the big media markets on the East Coast, and it also hopes to increase sales of jerseys, hats, and other paraphernalia. Does that mean lots of New Yorkers and inside-the-Beltway types will decide to watch Big Ten football this year and wear Big Ten gear? I doubt it — unless they’re alums and were going to be watching the games, anyway. I’m not sure that New Yorkers pay any attention whatsoever to college football, and the main sport in D.C. is politics. But there’s probably enough Big Ten alums in the two markets to make cable companies include the Big Ten Network, and that’s what matters.
I think adding Maryland and Rutgers to the Big Ten is lame, and when I see the devious looking Maryland Terrapin sporting the Big Ten logo, as in the illustration accompanying this post, I cringe. They may make a lot of money through this expansion, but they’ve really undercut the tradition in a conference that had a tradition second to none. No amount of money is worth that.
On this morning’s walk I came within a whisker of being struck by a bicycle.
It happened on one of the darkest parts of the leisure path, where there are no street lights. The cyclist didn’t have a headlight. I could see him because there was a dim red light on the back of his bike, but he apparently didn’t see me. I moved to the right edge of the path, but he kept veering inexorably over in my direction. I’m guessing he was fiddling with his gear or water bottle and wasn’t paying attention; I’m fairly confident no one has put out a bicycle hit on me. Finally, I trotted off the leisure path to get out of his way, and the sudden movement got his attention. He said “Sorry!” as he righted his bike and went whizzing past, and I emerged from the encounter unscathed, with only an adrenalin surge to remember him by.
There’s always been an uneasy truce between cyclists and walkers on leisure paths and sidewalks. Bicycles move much faster than pedestrians, of course, and it’s unnerving to hear cyclists shout “On your left!” from behind you before they go flying by. When I see cyclists weaving though the people on the path, I’m tempted to think that the path should be reserved for walkers and joggers. Then I remember that I ride my bicycle on the path, too, because it’s a great ride — a smooth path, unhindered by stop signs or cars that drive too close, with a cool tunnel, little hills to get the blood pumping, and long coasting runs. It’s perfect for cycling, just as it’s perfect for a brisk, head-clearing morning walk.
There’s no reason why cyclists, pedestrians, and joggers can’t share the leisure path, day or night or early morning. But the cyclists need to really pay attention, especially when it’s dark outside. Having a light on the front of the bicycle would help, too.