The big non-playoff news in the NBA yesterday was the announcement that there may be a racial bias in how NBA officials referee games. Naturally, the minute that the words “race,” “bias,” and “sports” hit the front page of the New York Times, the sports media collectively had an orgasm at the thought of a juicy racial scandal to discuss. In short, the Times’ piece describes an upcoming study by a University of Pennsylvania professor which points to a racial disparity in fouls called during NBA games.
I never thought I’d find myself writing these words. I thought they’d go the distance. I thought they were stronger than this… stronger than Andre and Steffi, stronger then Mia and Nomar. And yet, this President’s Day weekend, the earth-shattering news broke: Alex Rodriguez and Derek Jeter are no longer best friends forever. You read that correctly, folks – A-Rod and Jeter are BFFs no more. How will we go on? How will we cope? Can the Yankees even bring themselves to compete in light of the biggest of big chills?
While the NFL season is rife with ridiculous comparisons and commentary, nothing has bothered me as much as the ludicrous assertion that the Philadelphia Eagles are a better team with Jeff Garcia than they are with Donovan McNabb. Look, I’ll grant you the fact that the Eagles are a team transformed – six straight wins leaves the current squad looking nothing like the team that even the most fervent of fans had left for dead following McNabb’s injury and a blowout loss against Indianapolis. Hell, I’ll even go so far as to say that the loss of McNabb is ultimately why the Eagles have seen such a change in their fortunes… but not because Jeff Garcia brings anything to the table that Donovan does not.
Welcome to this week in ranting. It’s been a while, but here’s how this works:
I watch them.
I react. Angrily.
Enjoy the fireworks.
-Curling is amazing, and hypnotically addictive. No really, I mean it. It’s curltastically curltastic, and anyone who thinks otherwise is a communist. There, I said it.
As football season fast approaches, I’m reminded far too often that it simply can’t approach fast enough. Most NFL diehards are currently dancing a merry jig merely at the sight of their favorite players donning pads and helmets, but I’ll be frank – preseason football is about as exciting as a rousing match of tiddlywinks. Sure, starters are there for a short spell, but the atrocities that ensue as soon as said starters leave the action is all but a crime against humanity. 17 flags in 10 minutes à la the Giants and Browns? I’ll pass, thank you.
Fessing up to a wrong you’ve committed is unarguably one of the more difficult things we all have to do in life. You make a mistake, you own up to it, and you learn from the experience. Or you fabricate a ridiculous lie. That, ladies and gentlemen, is taking the celebrity high road. Nowhere is this trend more apparent than in today’s post-steroid era of baseball.
Raffy Palmeiro did not ever use steroids.
Raffy Palmeiro did not ever intentionally use steroids.
Raffy Palmeiro did not ever have sexual relations with that woman. Er, syringe. Um, blue pill? I’m confused.
As a sports fan in the last decade of the ESPN era, we’ve all been assaulted by the astounding quantity of information available to us with the touch of one finger. If you own a computer – and if you don’t, I’ll go out on a limb and assume you aren’t reading this column – you’re frantically checking up on every score and news tidbit that concerns your favorite squadron more often than Ken Griffey Jr. has injured his hammy. We’re so hooked on this instant availability of information that our sports outlets have resorted to soothsaying just to keep us hanging. Real-time info isn’t good enough anymore – we need prophetic visions to keep us satisfied.