Mike Moffett, Author/Writer

Thursday, May 7, 2015

COLLEGE SPORTS NICKNAMES

COLLEGE SPORTS NICKNAMES

An earlier column examined New Hampshire high school sports nicknames and identified Franklin’s Golden Tornadoes as the top nickname in the state.

Now we turn our attention to colleges.

New Hampshire colleges have unremarkable nicknames like Wildcats (UNH), Panthers, (Plymouth State), Owls (Keene State), and Hawks (St. Anselm). And worst of all, the lamentable and nebulous Big Green of Dartmouth College. “Indians” was much better.

I have nothing against Lions, Falcons, Bears, Cardinals, Cougars, Bobcats or Tigers—other than they are blasé and say nothing about the institution. For example, MIT’s teams are the Engineers. That makes sense. Ditto for Purdue University’s Boilermakers.

There are some interesting nicknames. Muhlenberg College has the Mules. Maine’s Colby College has the White Mules. But how about the “Golden Mules?”

Earlham College featutes the Hustlin' Quakers. I like that almost as much as I like Wilmington College’s Fighting Quakers, which is a bit oxymoronic, given that Quakers are ostensibly pacifists.

Campbell University has the Fighting Camels. Alliteration has its place, as with Canisius College’s Golden Griffins.

Coastal Carolina University has the Chanticleers. As I doubt that many readers know what a Chanticleer is, I’ll share that it’s a proud and fierce rooster who dominates the barnyard.

(I think I’d rather be a Chanticleer than a Mule.)

Eastern Arizona College players are Gila Monsters. Nice. But you have to love Evergreen State College’s Geoducks. These are not birds, but rather the world’s largest clams, weighing three pounds on average, and often unable to fit within their own shells.

Idaho has the Vandals, apparently honoring of the Germanic tribes that sacked Rome.

Larry Bird’s alma mater, Indiana State University has the Sycamores. But who wants to be a tree? (This is almost as bad as Big Green.)

Athletes at Indiana University-Purdue University Fort Wayne are Mastodons. (At the risk of being sexist, I wonder if the female athletes at IPFW want to be Mastodons.)

Lincoln Memorial University has the Railsplitters. Cool. As is Marshall University’s Thundering Herd. (But what do you call a single Marshall player?)

Duke’s Blue Devils may be NCAA men’s hoop champs, but North Carolina’s Tar Heels are cooler.

Ohio Northern University has the Polar Bears. Huh? Must be extremely northern Ohio. Ohio State University’s Buckeyes are named after a flowery shrub, that Ohioans claim is really a tree, which still makes the nickname almost as bad as Sycamores.

Sports squads at Rhode Island School of Design are known as the Nads. Go Nads! Saint Peter's College in New Jersey has the Peacocks and Peahens—obviously genderized. And if Notre Dame can have the Fighting Irish, then Yeshiva University can have the Maccabees, aka the Fighting Jews! And speaking of fighting, consider Ohio Valley University’s Fighting Scots or Ohio Wesleyan University Battlin' Bishops.

Oklahoma has the Sooners—named after cheats who claimed land in Oklahoma before they were supposed to. OU players may as well claim to be the Oklahoma Cheaters.

Apparently “Golden is Good,” as in Golden Bulls (Johnson C. Smith University), Golden Tornadoes (Geneva College), Golden Gusties (Gustavus Adolphus College), Golden Eagles (John Brown University), Golden Flashes (Kent State University),Golden Hurricane (Tulsa), or the Golden Tigers (Tuskegee University).

Finalists …

After extensive review and considerable thought, the finalists in the nickname competition included the Green Terror (McDaniel College), the Prairie Wolves (Nebraska Wesleyan University), the Pygmies (New Mexico Mining & Technology), the Hardrockers (South Dakota School of Mines and Technology), the Mad Hatters (Stetson University), the Hokies (Virginia Tech), and the Horned Frogs (Texas Christian University).

But ultimately, the clear winner had to be the Flaming Smelts of Shimer College. What could possibly top a Flaming Smelt?

College Sports Nicknames

COLLEGE SPORTS NICKNAMES

An earlier column examined New Hampshire high school sports nicknames and identified Franklin’s Golden Tornadoes as the top nickname in the state.

Now we turn our attention to colleges.

There are some interesting nicknames. Muhlenberg College has the Mules. Maine’s Colby College has the White Mules. But how about the “Golden Mules?”

Earlham College featutes the Hustlin' Quakers. I like that almost as much as I like Wilmington College’s Fighting Quakers, which is a bit oxymoronic, given that Quakers are ostensibly pacifists.

Campbell University has the Fighting Camels. Alliteration has its place, as with Canisius College’s Golden Griffins.

Coastal Carolina University has the Chanticleers. As I doubt that many readers know what a Chanticleer is, I’ll share that it’s a proud and fierce rooster who dominates the barnyard.

(I think I’d rather be a Chanticleer than a Mule.)

Idaho has the Vandals, apparently honoring of the Germanic tribes that sacked Rome.

Larry Bird’s alma mater, Indiana State University has the Sycamores. But who wants to be a tree? (This is almost as bad as Big Green.)

Athletes at Indiana University-Purdue University Fort Wayne are Mastodons. (At the risk of being sexist, I wonder if the female athletes at IPFW want to be Mastodons.)

Lincoln Memorial University has the Railsplitters. Cool. As is Marshall University’s Thundering Herd. (But what do you call a single Marshall player?)

Duke’s Blue Devils may be NCAA men’s hoop champs, but North Carolina’s Tar Heels are cooler.

Oklahoma has the Sooners—named after cheats who claimed land in Oklahoma before they were supposed to. OU players may as well claim to be the Oklahoma Cheaters.

Finalists …

But ultimately, the clear winner had to be the Flaming Smelts of Shimer College. What could possibly top a Flaming Smelt?

Monday, April 13, 2015

New NH Hoop Tourney?

CREATE NEW NH HOOP TOURNEY

March Madness was again magnificent. The NCAA Division I men’s hoop tournament really energized sports fandom for three weeks. I bonded with the Wisconsin Badgers early on and jumped on their bandwagon for a thrilling ride to the title game, where Duke finally prevailed.

I was one of the naysayers when the NCAA expanded the field to 64 over thirty years ago, but I was wrong. The current format generates so much interest and energy. I was just a hidebound traditionalist, overly resistant to change. Lesson learned.

The big field reminds me a bit of the old Indiana High School Tournament, where every school participated, with sectional and regional competition culminating in a single state champion. Naturally, the big schools dominated, but smaller schools had their moments, most notably in 1954 when tiny Milan High School won it all. The Milan experience inspired the classic sports movie HOOSIERS.

Indiana dropped its one tournament format in 1996 in favor of classes based on school size, the way we do it in New Hampshire. The change allowed for more state champions, but fans missed the old days. Tournament attendance declined drastically, from 1,064,764 in 1981 (that’s right, over a MILLION!) to 409,000 in 2009. There is a movement to return to the traditional format, a format that began in 1911.

In New Hampshire?

All of which bring us to our beloved Granite State. Should N.H. similarly consider a one class tournament? Yes.

Could it be relatively easy? Yes.

Will there be much resistance? Of course.

Sports fans, especially coaches and ADs, tend to be hidebound traditionalists— like I was.

Consider the three-point shot for colleges and high schools. A man named Ed Seitz tirelessly promoted the idea for years. Hidebound traditionalists—including me—naturally opposed anything new, anything innovative. For example, the Big East coaches unanimously opposed the three-pointer. But Seitz and persevered and in 1986 the NCAA finally adopted the three-point shot. It was, of course, such a smashing success that high schools adopted it the next year. Another lesson learned.

Regarding a statewide, overall champion, N.H.’s hidebound traditionalists will say “We’ve never done THAT before. Things are fine the way they are.”

But are they? As in Indiana and elsewhere, tournament attendance in N.H. is not what it used to be. What can we do to re-create the basketball energy that once animated the Granite State? Why can’t we have some March Madness?

Actually, we CAN create an Indiana-style statewide tournament. We can do it AFTER the traditional Division Tournaments. This may involve tweaking the start dates for high school basketball, and perhaps shortening the schedule by a game or two. We could reduce the playoff teams from 16 to eight, or even four—like the College Football Playoff. So each school can still have its shot at a division title. We’ll still have eight (boys and girls) Final Fours. And then the real fun will begin.

Regionals/Sectionals

Indiana’s process involved sectional and regional competition leading to the state semifinals and finals. N.H. could implement a version of that. If the Hoosiers can make it work with 400 schools, we can certainly make it work with 80. And a neat aspect would be schools playing neighboring schools that they don’t normally play. Moultonboro might play Laconia. Sunapee might play Kearsage. Raymond might play Trinity.

Small Schools Overwhelmed?

Of course the small schools will be disadvantaged. But that’s part of the charm of the one big tournament. That why Milan was magic. And old-timers will recall many outstanding teams from smaller schools that never got a chance to show their stuff to greater audiences.

Take 1933, for example. Back then, N.H. had just two Classes, A and B. Berlin was then one of the largest cities in the state, and Berlin teams were always at or near the top of the standings. The 1933 Berlin team easily won the Class A championship, demolishing Portsmouth 42-17 in the title game. Groveton High School, a North Country neighbor, won the Class B title by defeating Peterborough High School 35-25.

Someone proposed that the two champions play each other and a game was set up. (I can’t imagine the NHIAA sanctioning such an impromptu contest in 2015, but 1933 was a simpler time.) The two state champions played each other at a neutral location in Lancaster, and Groveton prevailed to lay claim to the mythical overall state championship. Concord, Keene, and Nashua could eat their hearts out!

Existing Precedents

The NHIAA already sanctions a version of a statewide tournament for Track and Field/Cross Country. Following the Divisional Championships, top athletes from all schools come together for a Meet of Champions, which is an annual sports highlight. So why not do the same thing with basketball?

Why not indeed? Obviously some scheduling and logistical questions need answers, but if we can put a man on the moon, we can certainly work out some hoop scheduling issues in N.H.

A proposed statewide tournament would probably need to be reviewed by the NHIAA Basketball committee, most recently chaired by Suanapee’s Sean Moynihan. Other members include Alvirne’s Karen Bonney, Kearsage’s Scott Fitzgerald, Spaulding’s Kevin Hebert, Exeter’s Jeff Holmes, Lebanon’s Keith Matte, Kingswood’s Andrea Ogden, St. Thomas’ Dan Parr, Colebrook’s Buddy Trask, and Keene’s Rick Zecha. Jeffrey Collins is the NHIAA Executive Director.

Considering a statewide tourney means extra work, but the payoff would be huge in terms of generating basketball excitement and energy. Those payoffs, while impressive, are intangible. But dollar bills are indeed tangible and measureable. The NHIAA could gather in considerable new revenue from collecting a percentage of the gate from statewide boys and girls tourneys. Consider a boys and girls championship doubleheader at UNH’s Whittemore Center in the midst of March Madness. Imagine 6000 fans at $8 a ticket. That’s almost $50,000 from one event alone. That will help the NHIAA to pay for two more title plaques. So why not try it for a couple years? If there are unintended consequences, or it doesn’t work out, we can just revert to the status quo.

So a statewide tourney becomes the latest proposal pitting hidebound traditionalists against innovative visionaries. I believe the NHIAA basketball committee includes enough visionaries to give this a shot. We can do this!

Or my name isn’t Ed Seitz.

Sunday, March 8, 2015

BoSOX-CUBA CONNECTION

CUBAN CONNECTIONS

NEWS ITEM—The Boston Red Sox recently awarded teen-aged Cuban infielder Yoan Moncada a record $31.5million signing bonus. Reportedly, the total cost was $63 million, as there is a Major League Baseball tax of 100% for excessive spending on international free agents.

Sixty-three million dollars to sign an unproven Cuban 19-year-old. Aye carumba!

According to Prensa Libre/Associated Press, BoSox legend Luis Tiant, also a Cuban, played a role in wooing Yoan.

“Big kid, very strong,” Tiant said. “I think he’s a third baseman. We talked a little and I told him to work hard.”

So El Tiant “thinks” Yoan is a third baseman. Hmmmm. How much are we paying El Tiant for his help?

I ask that because to help secure the deal, the Red Sox also signed Carlos Mesa, a 27-year-old third baseman and FOY—Friend of Yoan. A Moncada mentor, Mesa was released by the Pirates organization in 2013 and played independent ball last season. So the cost of bringing Moncada to Boston is higher than we realize. But didn’t BoSox General Manager Ben Cherrington already spend almost $100 million to sign Pablo Sandoval to play third base? Double “Aye carumba!!”

The good news is that the BoSox outbid the Yankees for Yoan. Or IS that good news? I wonder. How much money do the Sox have to throw around? We’re talking about a team that’s finished in last place two out of the past three seasons.

The Red Sox earlier paid $72 million dollars to sign Cuban defector Rusney Castillo. But Yoan was NOT a defector. Moncada was given a passport and visa and allowed to leave by the Cuban government. So obviously the teen sensation’s status was blessed by the Castro brothers, Fidel and Raoul—Cuba’s Communist dictators.

So I ask, is any of Moncada’s money going to go back to the Cuban government, i.e. the Castros? A lot of people probably don’t care, just so long as Moncada can play. But I care. I’m not sure that I want to pay big bucks at Fenway Park, knowing that some of it will support Communist dictators. Call me old-fashioned, but that’s how I feel.

Consider what happened to Miami Marlin manager Ozzie Guillen in 2012. For some reason, Guillen felt a need to declare that he was a fan of Fidel, the elder of the Castro tyrants, who is supposedly a “retired” dictator. As south Florida is largely populated by anti-Communist Cuban refugees, Guillen’s statements were an epic example of insensitive stupidity. The Marlins actually suspended Guillen for his comments, and the team never recovered.

In the musical comedy DAMN YANKEES, Joe Boyd sold his soul to the Devil so that his Washington Senators could beat out the New York Yankees. It didn’t turn out well. I hope I’m overthinking re: Boston baseball money going to the Communist government in Cuba. I don’t think it would turn out well.

FIDEL’S FASTBALL—NOT!

Speaking of Fidel Castro and Washington, I recalled an internet story about Fidel once having a Major League try-out with the Senators back in the 50’s. I looked into this and discovered the story to be a myth. Fidel wasn’t that good. It never happened. As Abraham Lincoln reportedly said, “Don’t believe all the quotes you read on the internet.”

BLEACHER SEATS AT FENWAY

The first time I went to a Red Sox game at Fenway Park, in 1972, I paid $2 to sit in the centerfield bleachers. Years later, with the advent of free agency, the Red Sox raised the bleacher price to $3. I recall the outrage of many fans.

“Are the Red Sox crazy? Do they really expect us to pay THREE DOLLARS to go to a game?”

Yet pay we did. (But presumably none of those dollars went to Castro’s Communist Cuban government.)

Thursday, December 18, 2014

Tittle and Brady, Giants and Pats (and Tightwads)

GIANTS, PATRIOTS, AND MEMORIES

I started watching sports as a six-year-old in (gulp) 1961. Every autumn Sunday at 1 p.m., my dad and I went to our “TV Room.” There we’d watch the New York football Giants on CBS-TV Channel 3, out of Burlington, Vt.—where the Giants had a preseason camp. The Giants always put on a show. Old-timers will remember the names. Y.A. Tittle. Frank Gifford. Andy Robustelli. Sam Huff. On and on.

The games were in “black-and-white” as opposed to color, of course. But I can still hear TV play-by-play broadcaster Chris Schenkel’s voice.

“TOUCHDOWN, New York!”

I recall Tittle throwing for seven TD passes against the Washington Redskins in 1962. What fun it was to watch Alex Webster, Rosey Grier, Erich Barnes and company. The fledging Patriots weren’t taken seriously in those days. The Giants owned New England

The Giants made the NFL title game in 1961 and 1962, losing to the Packers both years. In 1963 Tittle threw for 36 touchdowns (in 14 games) but New York lost to the Chicago Bears, 14-10 in the championship game.

Those Sunday afternoon memories will never fade away.

Now the Patriots own New England, and countless New Hampshire youngsters now have their own lasting Sunday afternoon memories--watching a team that seldom disappoints.

However, there’s a difference between the Tittle-era Giants and the Tom Brady-era Patriots. Following that 1963 title game, the Giants fell upon hard times. In 1964 the team finished 2-10-2 and Tittle retired. In 1966 the Giants went 1-13. The magic was gone. Our “TV Room” was empty on Sunday afternoons.

But since Brady era began in 2001, the Patriots have had nothing but winning seasons—including five Super Bowl trips. Earlier this month they clinched yet another AFC East title. Fourteen years of unprecedented gridiron success have cemented Pats imagery into the minds of countless youngsters. A half century from now they’ll call up vivid memories of a Patriot Golden Age—just as I have my Giant memories.

So this Sunday I’ll be watching the Pats host the Buffalo Bills. At 1 p.m.. On CBS. In color. In my “TV room.” And I’ll be mentally thanking Coach Bill Belichick and Company for the memories, while pondering how sad it must be for generations of football youngsters to grow up in places like Detroit.

Go Pats!

MORE ON CHARLIE COMISKEY

I owe a “Thank you” to loyal reader Bill Lamb of Meredith, who took me to task for my comments regarding the supposedly penurious Chicago White Sox owner Charlie Comiskey (Sport-Thoughts, Dec. 11 Weirs Times). I pointed out that star ChiSox slugger Shoeless Joe Jackson made only $6000 in 1919, and the conventional wisdom was that the team threw the World Series that year because Comiskey didn’t pay them what they deserved.

Bill writes that “Comiskey was a relatively generous owner who paid his players the going salary rate, and then some.” He sent documentation that the ChiSox had the second highest player payroll in baseball for 1919. Apparently the portrayal of Comiskey as a tightwad owner was a stratagem devised by Black Sox defense lawyers at the 1921 criminal trial. Who knew?

Well, now YOU know “the rest of the story.”

Still, there remain internet accounts of Comiskey forcing his players to launder their own uniforms. And the story lingers that Comiskey’s promised bonus for winning the 1919 pennant turned out to be a case of flat champagne. But as Abe Lincoln reportedly said, “Don’t trust everything you read on the internet.”

Anyway, thanks for the info, Bill. Have a Merry Christmas!

(And if there ARE any tightwad, skinflint Scrooges out there who are not paying people what they deserve, may you be visited by the ghost of Shoeless Joe in your dreams tonight.)

Thursday, October 2, 2014

Reach-the-Beach ... a 208 mile run!

REACH THE BEACH!

An NHTI-Concord colleague named Fred King approached me a while ago and asked if I wanted to run in a race. I pondered the invite. While the years had taken a toll on my speed and stamina, I still had that competitor gene.

“When is it?” I responded.

“September 12,” I was told.

“How long is it?”

“208 miles.”

“What?”

The race Fred referred to was the annual “Reach the Beach” (RTB) Relay Race from Cannon Mountain to Hampton Beach.

“You only have to do three or four legs,” Fast Fred explained. “Around 20 miles total. There will be eleven of us splitting it up.”

Despite some trepidation, I agreed to run.

So on to September 12. Two vans with eleven team members pulled into the Cannon Mountain parking lot. It was 40 degrees with a stiff wind. I’d travelled from summer to winter in one road trip. Brrrr!

We checked in and got an orientation. There were 520 registered teams—meaning approximately 5000 runners. Groups of runners were released to run the first leg every 15 minutes. Our first runner, Bridget, would launch with a dozen other runners at 10:15 a.m.

Our team name was “Run-a-Quickie-4-Vickie” to show our support for Fred’s sister-in-law, who was recovering from a serious medical procedure. We sized up our competition—teams that we’d be crossing paths with for the next 24-plus hours. They included Orthopedics Anonymous, Off Like a Prom Dress, Agony of Duhfeet, Crouching Runner—Hidden Van, the Channel 4 News Team, and the 12 Disciples of Pain.

Bridget went almost nine miles and handed the baton off to Jeremy, our “ringer.” Jeremy passed 34 runners while doing his eight miles—“kills” in RTB parlance. The sun came out and the weather warmed as we went through Twin Mountain and down Crawford Notch. Scores of vans sped along Route 302 to transition zones to exchange runners. Each transition area featured a festive, carnival atmosphere, as RTB veterans decorated their vans with all manner of graffiti. One van had a land shark on top. Another actually featured a hula skirt. I’d never seen a van with a hula dress before.

Finally it was time for my leg. I warmed up at my transition area a few miles north of Conway, awaiting teammate Tim and the baton. I took stock of the competition. The Fat and the Furious. Girls Gone Coastal. The Joggernauts. We Got The Runs. The Vermonsters.

Dave King, brother of Fred, gave me an incredulous look.

“You’re not supposed to warm up! You need to save all your energy for the race!”

Finally, Tim appeared. I took the baton and headed south, looking for my first kill. Pumped up, I maintained a solid, steady pace, but soon was passed by a speeding runner from The Flying Bandits. I’d been killed. Despite my steady pace I was killed again and again as I approached Conway. My teammates drove by and cheered from the van. I later passed them when they were stuck in traffic.

“Don’t worry,” yelled Dave. “Fred got out and he’ll meet you up ahead at the transition area in Conway.”

I pressed on, gaining on a runner who seemed to be fading. I closed in on my first kill—a member of the Waltham Wussies. But he took away my joy when he explained he’d slowed down on purpose.

“My team is stuck in traffic,” he explained. “There’s no one waiting for me at the transition area.”

Soon I was in Conway. A cop held up traffic on Route 16 and I ran across to a side road and the transition area. But as I approached the hand-off point, I was shocked to see that Fred wasn’t there. I waited at the line. What was going on?

Suddenly Fred burst out of a port-a-john, adjusting his shorts and looking at his watch.

“You’re early!” he exclaimed. “I didn’t expect you for another four minutes!”

Fred took the baton and headed south, chasing a runner from The Last and the Furious, looking for his first kill.

Night Moves

And so it went, as runners rotated legs until the sun set. Then a new, nocturnal world beckoned. RTB is strict about participants being “lit up” as they run down such busy highways as Routes 16, 25, or 3 during the hours of darkness. My first night leg would commence at the Gilford High School transition point. Our van pulled in around 1:30 a.m. and we awaited Tim’s arrival as he completed a six mile leg from Laconia Ball Bearing. Runners tried to catch a bit of sleep in the vans, but some had brought sleeping bags and were scattered about the GHS campus. I adjusted my reflectors, my head lamp, and my tail lights. My legs ached and I wondered how many times I’d be killed on my coming leg. Finally Tim arrived and I took the baton and again headed south and eventually up into some hills.

A surreal scene unfolded as I left the hubbub of GHS behind me. Dozens of illuminated runners ascended into the darkness ahead of me, flitting like fireflies along the country road.

It was cold, around 45 degrees, but there was no wind. I eschewed the bulky sweatshirt other runners wore in favor of a t-shirt, knowing from experience that my body would overheat while running uphill— which it did.

The bounce was gone from my step. I sadly felt my age as I was killed time and again. A woman from SISTAS WITH BLISTAS blew by me. The euphoria of the afternoon was replaced by an exhausted melancholia that was relieved somewhat by the intriguing scenario and all the bouncing lights.

I passed a town marker for “Belmont” and soon saw a bunch of vans lined up ahead of me near the transition point, where Fred would hopefully be waiting. As I approached I saw an accident scene. A van ran nose down into a ditch, its tail-lights pointing up at the moonlit sky. A wrecker tried to extricate it. Then I saw Fred, handed him the baton, climbed into our van, and fell half-asleep while we waited for the stricken vehicle to be rescued so we could catch up to Fred.

To the Finish

If you’re tired enough, you can fall asleep anywhere, and I nodded off intermittently while awaiting my next leg. Dawn broke and with our van temporarily being the “off” van, we made a brief pit stop at a private residence. Then we headed to the transition point in Sandown, N.H., to meet the other van. I’d never been to Sandown before. We went through another set of legs and again Tim handed off the baton to me. Somewhere around Kingston, N.H., I handed off to Fred and finished my last leg. We returned to the van and tracked our runners the rest of the way to Hampton Beach. All of us greeted the runner doing the final leg on the sand and we finished together in triumph, 176^th overall, edging out some familiar faces from the Rosie Ruiz Fan Club—but just behind the Nuts N’ Honeys. We got our medals, posed for pictures, and enjoyed some libations in the vast beer tent.

The newfound camaraderie boosted my tired spirits and I rethought the decision I’d made during my final leg to never commit to another 208 mile race. Fred asked if I’d do it again and I surprisingly replied in the affirmative.

The Nuts N’ Honeys need to be killed, in RTB parlance. We’ll get them in 2015!

Wednesday, September 10, 2014

A Primary Victory on Sept. 9! On to Nov. 4!

A good day in Loudon/Canterbury !!!! ON TO NOVEMBER !!!

State House - Merrimack District 9 - GOP Primary
September 10, 2014 - 08:25AM ET
New Hampshire - 2 of 2 Precincts Reporting - 100%...

Moffett, Michael 464    43%
Kreis, Kenneth    441    41%
Shaikh, Lee         176    16%