By Pete Williams

The best part about writing books is when the first copy arrives on your doorstep. No matter how many times that happens, and I’ve been fortunate to have it occur on a dozen occasions, it never gets old – especially when it comes earlier than expected.

This morning, I received CORE PERFORMANCE WOMEN, the fitness book I had the pleasure of writing with prominent trainer and performance coach Mark Verstegen. It’s the fifth in the Core Performance series and I dare say the best. It’s definitely the heaviest. With 304 pages and a heartier paper stock than our previous books, it’s twice as thick as the others.

That means if women don’t have weights handy to follow the exercises, they can just lift the book!

The previous books were not meant solely for men and based on the feedback we’ve received women have embraced the books more than men. But this book is geared for the ladies. If you or a woman in your life is looking for a simple, integrated lifestyle program that includes Mindset, Movement, Nutrition, and Recovery, this is it.

Mark is best known for his work with professional athletes, especially Major League Baseball players, national soccer teams, and athletes preparing for the NFL combine. But he also works with top business executives, youth athletes, and other busy people looking to improve performance in all aspects of their lives.

When I went out to Arizona in October of 2002 to work on the first Core Performance book, Mark had me spend three days training alongside a young, pleasant Baltimore Orioles prospect to get a better feel for the program. The guy seemed a little small for the Majors, but seven years later Brian Roberts is a perennial All-Star and a very wealthy man.

Meanwhile, I’ve become an avid triathlete. When a 40-year-old sportswriter is in better condition than most of the athletes he covers, well, I don’t know if there’s a better endorsement for Core Performance than that.

(And, of course, Core Performance Women makes a great Christmas gift.)

By Pete Williams

We spent the weekend in Miami for the NASCAR season finale in Homestead, staying at the Ocean Palm hotel in North Miami Beach, the last of the kitschy two-story oceanfront hotels remaining.

If you want to know why the economy collapsed, spend some time in North Miami Beach. To the north of our hotel were three Trump Towers, each soaring 40 stories. Trump Tower III, located next door, appeared to have literally no occupants. At night, there was not one light on in the building. There appeared to be no balcony furniture. Hundreds of crows flew around the upper floors and perched on the balconies. We didn’t see one car enter or leave the garage, not one person enter or leave the building. There wasn’t anyone on the beach in front of the tower.

There must be at least 300 units in the building. Donald Trump isn’t necessarily affected by this; he just lends his name to such projects and takes a licensing fee.

On the other side of our hotel was a projected that had been halted after four stories. A street-level fence around the project displayed a mural of the “future” project, with units starting in the $900s. Good space still available.

Six or eight years ago, there was nothing but two-story dives like the Ocean Palm along this stretch of Collins Ave. Who knew that was all the market could bear?

By Pete Williams

Say this about Vince Naimoli: He finally figured if he couldn’t beat the media, he’d join it. The former Devil Rays owner has a new autobiography out and, according to today’s St. Petersburg Times, he challenges what he says are “misperceptions about him” and “tells his version of several controversial events in team history.”

Knee-jerk response? Sigh.

I haven’t seen the book, though it’s not easy to get a copy. Naimoli self-published the coffee table memoir and had it printed in Korea. According to his Web site (www.vincenaimoli.com), it’s available only in a handful of college bookstores.

Naimoli apparently spends a lot of ink rehashing his familiar argument that his image has been distorted by the media based on a few isolated incidents.

Naimoli remains oblivious to the fact that you could line up plenty of ex-Rays employees and investors, Tropicana Field workers, fans, reporters, scouts, and civic and business leaders who can speak first-hand to Naimoli’s confrontational style, explosive temper and petty behavior. By the time he was bought out at the end of 2005, he had managed to offend seemingly every aspect of the Tampa Bay business community.

It started before the Devil Rays’ first game in 1998. A year before the first pitch, companies complained that Naimoli would not do business with them unless they bought season tickets. When the St. Petersburg/Clearwater Convention and Visitors Bureau asked to use the team logo and photos on the cover of its visitors guide, Naimoli demanded $750,000.

In 2000, the team shunned a fundraiser for the medically needy because it was held at the St. Petersburg Coliseum, not Tropicana Field. The St. Petersburg High School band canceled an appearance to perform the national anthem after band members were told they would have to pay admission. During a 2001 speech, Naimoli blasted members of the Greater Tampa Chamber of Commerce for not supporting the Rays, even citing the host hotel for canceling its season tickets.

Naimoli lost his temper in the press box a number of times. Even though The St. Petersburg Times treated him with kid gloves, providing an extraordinary level of coverage for a then-hapless squad, Naimoli once ordered copies of the team-sponsor newspaper removed from the stadium. This after Naimoli overreacted to an analogy beat writer Marc Topkin made between Naimoli and actor James Gandolfini.

Major League Baseball did its best to corral Naimoli, once staging a sham news conference where Naimoli donned a Hawaiian shirt and announced he was stepping down from day-to-day operations. That quasi-retirement lasted about 20 minutes. John McHale, installed by MLB as Chief Operating Officer, was one of many team executives to realize no change could be implemented under the micromanaging Naimoli.

It’s all a shame, really. Naimoli played an important role in landing the team for Tampa Bay. Unlike Stuart Sternberg, who attends about 10 games a year at Tropicana Field and comes across as someone who can’t wait to get back to New York, Naimoli attended nearly every Devil Rays game from 1998 through 2005, living and dying with every pitch.

I enjoyed my association with Naimoli. My work tends to focus on the sports business side, and he and I had long conversations about that part of the game. It’s a shame he didn’t have the people skills to accompany his sharp business mind. It’s too bad he couldn’t control his temper since there are countless stories of his charitable giving, kind letters, and other behind-the-scenes gestures.

Baseball has a tendency to hire team executives for the central office in New York and Naimoli, now 72, could be a big help. My guess is he still contributes a lot; people forget he’s still the chairman of the Rays, even if he’s no longer managing general partner.

Since Sternberg took over four years ago, Naimoli has stepped out of the spotlight, turning down almost all interview requests. Time does heal all wounds. Even the few remaining Rays players and front office employees from the Naimoli era just chuckle when they talk about him, as if reminiscing about some goofy uncle. When he was part of the pre-game festivities before a World Series game last year, the response was warm and genuine. The image rehabilitation was complete.

That’s why it’s too bad Naimoli feels the need to open old wounds. Maybe he figured it’s working for Andre Agassi. Maybe he’s just in a bad mood; these days, it’s not easy being a huge fan of Notre Dame football.

It’s probably a good thing the book is hard to come by. This way, it will fade from view quickly and Rays fans can remember the positive aspects of the Naimoli regime.

By Pete Williams

If you think you might have the flu, there are modern treatments available. Or you can self-medicate. This from a drugstore in Dunedin, Fla.

By Pete Williams

I love the Great American Teach-In. Once a year, parents and other working adults speak to grade school kids for about a half an hour about their careers.

This morning I spoke to my son’s first grade class, along with a third grade class. They seemed only mildly interested in my spiel about working in the media. And why not? Nobody knows what shape the media will take two years from now, let alone by the time these kids are working adults.

The students were very polite and asked good questions. (How do you get a book published? Why don’t you write a book on Ironman? Why does it take so long for a book to come out if it doesn’t take you that long to write it?)

There were plenty of more interesting people appearing, mostly in uniform performing more valuable work: soldiers, firemen, cops. I spoke to my son’s class between a Coast Guard pilot and a minor league baseball player. It’s tough to compete with that.

Sometimes when I talk to school groups, kids are most interested in the fact that I regularly interview big-league baseball players. That’s no big deal to the kids at my son’s school, which is literally next to the spring training complex of the Toronto Blue Jays. In March, Vernon Wells patrols the outfield 50 feet from some classrooms and home run balls land in the schoolyard.

Speaking to kids is valuable market research. One thing sports leagues and TV executives should be scared about is how kids care little about pro sports. I’ve spoken to student groups of all ages for years – and taught a few classes – and I sense less and less interest in sports all the time. College kids seem to have the least interest, which for someone of my generation is shocking.

This is in stark contrast to last week, when I attended SportsBusiness Journal’s “Sports Media & Technology” conference in New York. It was a terrific event with a dozen panels of top sports and media experts talking about the rapidly changing intersection of sports and technology. All agreed that interest in sports has never been higher.

Hmmmm. These were well-respected, accomplished guys – and they were all male – but all were between the ages of 35 and 62. (NBC’s youthful looking Dick Ebersol was the senior speaker.)

Nobody at that seminar could predict the future of sports and technology with certainty, though all were bullish and perhaps they’re right. If sports can survive this recession with only a mild shakeout, it can survive anything.

One thing is for certain: There will be soldiers, cops, and firemen speaking at the Great American Teach-In in 2020.

I’m not sure there will be any sports journalist equivalents on hand. If there are, they will be covering an industry that looks much different than it does today.

By Pete Williams

Ever since I wrote a column in September breaking down Al Groh’s job performance, I’ve been trying to best quantify how Groh’s nine-year tenure has diminished the state-wide and national profile of the University of Virginia, especially when compared to Virginia Tech.

I found the answer on Sunday morning while eating at a Cracker Barrel near Virginia Beach.

On the front porch, Cracker Barrel sells its familiar white rocking chairs, along with red ones emblazoned with “Virginia Tech.” The store does not sell University of Virginia rockers.

Inside, there was plenty of Virginia Tech merchandise for sale, but nothing for U.Va.

Shaking my head, I sat down to breakfast and opened The Virginia Pilot, one of the commonwealth’s larger newspapers. The front page of the sports section included a lengthy story on the Virginia Tech/Maryland game, written by a staff writer from College Park.

Buried in the back of the section was a story on the Virginia game in Charlottesville against Boston College. Apparently The Pilot no longer staffs U.Va. games, instead picking up coverage from Doug Doughty of The Roanoke Times. Granted, Doughty is the absolute best when it comes to covering U.Va., but it speaks volumes that U.Va. football no longer is worthy of The Pilot’s sports budget.

Charlottesville is 150 miles closer to the Hampton Roads area than Blacksburg, home of Virginia Tech.

Now you could argue that Tech and Cracker Barrel share a certain rural demographic. But 10 years ago, there would have been U.Va. rocking chairs and other merchandise available at Cracker Barrel. There definitely would have been U.Va. football coverage in The Virginia Pilot.

But with Groh compiling four losing seasons out of nine – compared to just two in 19 seasons by his predecessor George Welsh – he has allowed Virginia Tech to overtake U.Va. and extend its dominance to every corner of the commonwealth and beyond.

Why should The Pilot cover U.Va. when Virginia Tech has landed almost every prominent player to come out of Hampton Roads since 2001? And why should Cracker Barrel sell merchandise of a losing program rather than that of one that is a consistent winner, even if that winning team has one of the ugliest color schemes, forgettable logos, and lamest mascots in college sports?

That, more than anything, is Al Groh’s legacy. He took a brand with a nearly two-decade history of winning and squandered it.

These days, it’s easy to quantify the cost of the Groh regime. There’s his outrageous $2 million-plus annual salary, which according to USA Today still ranks 21st nationally. (Remarkably, Urban Meyer only recently began earning more than Groh.) There’s the $4 million-plus U.Va. will eat for the last two seasons of his contract. There’s the $500,000-plus U.Va. has lost each game this season when the stadium is 20,000 fans shy of capacity.

But the big blow is in perception and prestige. It’s when out-of-state alumni like me tell people they went to Virginia and they reply, “Oh, Virginia Tech.”

It’s when a school with a storied history of nearly two centuries seems to fall off the radar screen unless its most prominent alumni are beating up Sarah Palin. (With Palin’s new book out, we’ll no doubt soon hear more from Tina Fey and Katie Couric.)

Sports shouldn’t matter to a school’s overall national perception. But without basketball, Duke is Davidson College. Without football, Miami is the University of Tampa. The success of the football and basketball programs at the University of Florida, along with the Bright Futures scholarship program that keeps top in-state students home, is helping make UF as prestigious nationally and academically as Michigan, North Carolina, and Virginia.

Universities pay so much for sports not because their leaders are hopeless jock sniffers (well, most of the time) but because it raises a school’s profile, thus attracting better faculty and students and greater alumni donations. It shouldn’t work that way, but it does.

I didn’t think sports mattered at U.Va. Then again, I was a member of the first graduating class in school history never to see a losing football season.

The basketball team had three winning seasons in my four years, once reaching the Final Eight. After watching hapless USF blow out Tony Bennett’s squad last night here in Tampa, I wouldn’t bet on a return to that form anytime soon.

It’s not easy to accomplish so much destruction in nine years, but Groh managed to do so. Groh is fond of business motivational books like Good to Great by Jim Collins. Unfortunately, he took a very good program and went the other direction.

That’s what I concluded as I finished my oatmeal at Cracker Barrel. As for those Virginia Tech rocking chairs, Hokie fans might want to pick one up as a retirement present for Groh, the man who took their program to a new level.

By Pete Williams

Sesame Street turns 40 today. Is there a more underrated program in television history?

The Simpsons has lasted two decades. Bonanza, M*A*S*H, and Seinfeld enjoyed long runs at the top. Various soap operates have gone on forever.

But nothing has endured like Sesame Street, which debuted a month after I was born. I was among the first kids to grow up with Big Bird, Oscar, Grover, and Cookie Monster. Even now, I find Bert & Ernie hilarious. Our sons, now 6 and 4, also have learned from Sesame Street.

The simple brilliance of Sesame Street is that it’s timeless. Heck, some of the original human cast members are still working and the Muppet-monster shtick still works. Ernie still annoys Bert. Grover is still naïve, Big Bird clueless, and Oscar a grouch.

Sure, the show added the annoying Elmo, the Jar Jar Binks of Sesame Street, whose addition was sort of like when Cheers brought in Kirstie Alley. But even Elmo has his moments.

Nothing rivals Sesame Street in terms of quality children’s programming. Not Barney, Dora – certainly not anything produced by Disney. I love that Sesame Street’s non-profit ownership organization has rebuffed Disney overtures through the years. I hate to think how Disney would have ruined the show.

Not long after our oldest son was born, we picked up a 26-volume set of Sesame Street books at a library sale. Greatest educational tools ever.

The boys are getting too old for Sesame Street and that makes me sad. Mainly because I still enjoy watching it – well, other than Elmo’s World – but also because I do pretty good impersonations of Ernie and Grover.

Is there a more underrated comedy duo than Bert & Ernie? They still kill me.

Who knows what the media will be like 25 years ago? I wouldn’t bet the house on any current programming still being around in 2026, not even the Super Bowl.

But I look forward to watching Sesame Street with my grandchildren.

By Pete Williams

Here in the Tampa Bay area, we have a lot of personal injury lawyers.

A lot of personal injury lawyers.

They’re on billboards, TV, radio, online – impossible to avoid. During any football broadcast, there will be six or eight advertising, all there to help you!

Injured in a car accident? Call (insert lawyer).

This morning I was stopped at a light in the shadow of yet another one of these billboards when – BOOM! – I was rear ended.

It seemed like much more than a run-of-the-mill love tap. I stepped out of the car, fully expecting to find the back of our minvan crumpled only to find…nothing.

No damage at all.

The driver, a middle-age woman wearing doctor’s office gear and driving an old Honda, apologized profusely and asked if I was okay. Like me, she couldn’t believe there was no damage.

I took a quick look around and under the van. All of the automatic doors worked. Not a scratch on the vehicle. Then I did something that would make the legions of personal injury lawyers in the Tampa Bay area alone cringe.

“I’m good,” I said and walked away.

I hate the fact that we’ve become conditioned by lawyers to rattle sabers for even the most innocent of fender benders. Will I wake up tomorrow with pain in my neck? Maybe. Will I hear a strange rattle in the van next week? Perhaps.

I could have lawyered up and forced the woman and her insurance company into a settlement. Even if there was nothing wrong – which there isn’t – they would have been forced to settle.

Ten years ago, the thought of calling an attorney would not even cross my mind. Now it’s become the American way to sue for spilled coffee, tobacco use, tripping on sidewalks, or minor auto accidents.

That’s why I hate – absolutely hate – lawyers. Yeah, I know. You only hate lawyers until you need one.

But you know what? That’s when you really come to despise lawyers, when you’ve absorbed a few $225-an-hour bills for legal briefs and letters so overwritten you’d think these struggling wordsmiths were billing by the word, which of course they are.

Our health system is on the verge of collapse because of lawyers and insurance companies (and their lawyers). Sure, it’s also because many Americans refuse to exercise, eat properly or quit smoking. But it’s mostly lawyers.

Here in the Tampa Bay area, our most visible personal injury lawyer is a guy who played six seasons for the Tampa Bay Buccaneers in the ‘90s. Great guy, solid player. Worked his butt off to earn a law degree during his offseasons. Set for life financially at age 31, he left the NFL and became….a personal injury lawyer.

Now he leads Tampa Bay lawyers in advertising come-ons, which is no small accomplishment. His advertising has kept more than a few Tampa Bay media outlets afloat during these trying economic times.

So as I drove away from the accident scene, I saw the ex-Buc’s imposing mug staring down at me from the billboard. Maybe I’m an idiot for walking away. If the roles were reversed and I had rear-ended someone, maybe they’d be springing a lawyer on me.

Instead, I like to think that most people, even now, believe in honest mistakes and forgiveness. No harm, no foul.

No matter what the personal injury people think.

By Pete Williams

The Toronto Blue Jays staged a “garage sale” on Saturday. This had nothing to do with the turmoil in the big-league organization, just a way for the spring training operation in Dunedin, Fla., to raise money for charity.

It was an impressive display of flotsam and jetsam from the last 20 years laid out on tables in the team’s spring training dining room. There were media guides, yearbooks, and photos dating back to 1991, thick 25th anniversary books from 2001, and plenty of T-shirts, trading cards, and even uniforms.

The Jays re-branded in 2005, parting ways with the logo, color scheme, and maple leaf that had gone virtually unchanged since the team’s inception in 1977. The well-worn jerseys for sale for $20 apiece had gone through multiple owners. Most had no nameplates – a few had no numbers – but some sported familiar vintage Jays’ names such as Iorg, Mulliniks, and Upshaw.

It speaks volumes about the crash of the sports memorabilia industry, to say nothing of the economy, that there was only modest traffic at the garage sale. Fans seemed most interested in jerseys of the minor league Dunedin Blue Jays that simply read “Dunedin” across the chest.

A few memorabilia dealers, hoping to piggy-back on the sale, set up in the parking lot. One dealer was hawking 3,500-count boxes of trading cards for $50 a box. The boxes promised loads of rookie cards from the last 20 years.

Though the cards were priced at less than 2 cents a card, there were no takers. Nor was anyone interested in bobble-heads, an autographed Alex Rodriguez helmet and assorted other memorabilia. It seems the Great Recession has wiped out whatever lingering interest there is in the so-called hobby.

The Jays were selling unopened, shrink-wrapped 20-pack vending boxes of 1998 Fleer Ultra baseball cards for just $2. The suggested retail price of the cards was $2.69 a pack back in ’98 – or about $54 a box. I picked up four boxes at a 97 percent discount. (Merry Christmas, kids!)

I had ignored the massive Blue Jays signs leaning against a chain link fence in the parking lot, but my ears perked up when a guy offered $5 for one. When his bid was accepted, I bought the last one (above), a hulking, plastic-and-plywood creation that weighs about 50 pounds.

These apparently last hung in the Blue Jays clubhouse in 2004 before the rebranding. (Interesting trivia question: When the Diamondbacks and Rockies move their spring operations from Tucson to Phoenix, which MLB team will be the only one left in its original spring training home? Yep, the Blue Jays.) That means these signs were there during the era of Robbie Alomar and Joe Carter, if not earlier.

I’ll probably hang the sign in one of the boy’s bedrooms, a colorful reminder of a time when the Blue Jays and the sports collecting hobby were relevant.

By Pete Williams

Lost amid the hoopla of the New York Yankees winning the World Series last night was the Tampa Bay Rays trade of Akinori Iwamura to the Pittsburgh Pirates.

Like most Rays moves, this one was financially motivated. Like most Rays moves, it’s difficult to argue against since the Rays have adequate, cheaper options available.

“Aki” was too expensive to retain for 2010, even if he agreed to take a paycut. Ben Zobrist and/or Sean Rodriguez will provide more offense at second base for a fraction of the cost.

Still, Iwamura’s departure is the latest blow to the magical chemistry the Rays had in 2008, when they won 97 games and the A.L. pennant. After last season, it was time to part with Cliff Floyd, Rocco Baldelli, and Eric Hinske. None were worth the money they obtained elsewhere, with Floyd and Baldelli again injured in ‘09. Nobody argued with cutting ties with Trever Miller and Jonny Gomes, though in hindsight both would have been more productive, far cheaper options than Pat Burrell and any number of Andrew Friedman misfires in the bullpen.

All five of those players – Floyd, Baldelli, Hinske, Miller, and Gomes – along with Iwamura and, of course, Scott Kazmir, were terrific clubhouse guys. With the exception of Kazmir (at times), none was ever among the five most important Rays at any point over the last two seasons.

But the 2009 Rays were sorely lacking when it came to leadership (Floyd), selflessness (Iwamura), inspiration (Baldelli), fire (Gomes), and veteran presence (Miller, Hinske). Friedman’s errors prior to 2009 were less about evaluating baseball talent than they were about underestimating clubhouse chemistry.

Burrell’s toxic presence hurt the Rays almost as much as his limp bat. Friedman brought in other veterans, stand-up guys in fact, but none with the fire and leadership to replace a Floyd or Gomes. Soon the Rays will part with Gabe Gross. He’s scheduled to make more in arbitration than the Rays want to pay for a part-time outfielder. But he’s another consummate professional whose presence will be missed.

Watching the Yankees and Joe Girardi celebrate last night, I thought back to those two spring games between the Yankees and Rays in 2008. Elliot Johnson bowled over Yankee catcher Francisco Cervelli, breaking his arm. Several days later, Gomes charged in from right field to defend Iwamura, instigating a brawl that the Rays won. That set the tone for 2008. Girardi whined about the Rays taking things too seriously in March. The Rays stomped on the Yankees those two days and rolled over them all season.

This year? The Rays went down without a fight.

Aki arrived in this country as a second-tier star in Japan but conducted himself like a rookie looking to earn respect. A Gold-Glove third baseman in Japan who could have received one here in 2007, he moved over to second base without a peep to make room for Evan Longoria, working his butt off all winter to become Gold Glove caliber at second base.

Do you think Yankee captain Derek Jeter would have changed positions for Alex Rodriguez, a superior shortstop? Think Jeter will be moving at any point without a fight?

Aki, like many of the 2008 Rays, was happy to help the Rays with promotions. It’s impossible to imagine stars in other markets bagging groceries at a supermarket like James Shields did one Saturday morning. Or signing autographs in a tent outside a drive-in hamburger joint like Aki did on April 12, 2008. Heck, it’s tough to imagine Burrell doing that when he arrived as a free agent, let alone now.

My sons, then 5 and 2, became Iwamura fans that day. They’re not huge baseball fans – the World Series starts past their bedtimes – but they’re big Aki fans.

The trade makes sense for the Rays, but not the Pirates. Like the Rays, the Pirates are a cost-conscious team. But they continue to pay big money – Aki has a $4.5 million option for next season they’ll presumably pick up – for second-tier free agents when they’re unwilling to pay to retain their core stars. Maybe Aki will end up like Hinske, who signed with the Pirates and ended up in the World Series with the Yankees.

Yesterday I tried to explain why the Rays traded Aki. My guys don’t get baseball’s financial subplots. All they understand is that the Rays played in the World Series with Aki last season. This year, Aki was hurt and they did not reach the playoffs. Given how well Zobrist played this year, it’s hard to say there’s any connection between the two.

Then again, there might be. The Rays will upgrade at second base, just as they did at several other positions last winter. But unless they address some of the intangibles, they might take another step backward in 2010.