Once 7-foot JAMIE SMALLIGAN of the Wuss Virginia Meltdowneers was eliminated from participation in Championship Saturday with yesterday's bow-down vs. Georgeclown, America's focus shifted to TennisSea 6th man JORDAN HOWELL.
Jordy didn't disappoint (as Knight Knonsense persisted in slouching in the Bristol studio as his sweater changed colour from Weds./Thurs. black to Fri. green to Sat. tan).
During Rocky Top's defeat against the Razorblades, Jordy came off the bench and provided 17 minutes of play which the Americans who exist beyond the borders of the Jordan Howell Appreciation Society won't soon forget.
Besides those 3 rebounds and that 1 assist, Jordy was allowed to cut loose from beyond the 3-point stripe.
In fact, all 4 of his shot attempts were from "downtown."
And Jordy missed 'em all -- proof again that once Jordy enters the game, all he needs to do is "find his rhythm."
That notion is supported by the fact that, in his past 12 games (including today's), Jordy is 3 of 35 (8.6 percent) on 3-balls.
During that same 12-game span, Jordy is 1 of 7 on 2-point FG attempts.
Some haters out there might be under the assumption that there's "something wrong" with Jordy ... that his 8.6 rate of success "from distance" is the result of a malady (either scurvy or senioritis) or a mental difficiency (such as the fact that yesterday he was missin' both threes against South Carolina inside the Georgia Dome then, after severe winds ripped a hole in the roof and the SEC tourney was moved to the Georgia Tech campus, Jordy had to re-invent his stroke from the perimeter against Arkansas).
Regardless, just about all of us in Jordan Howell's fan club are just itchin' for the moment when we can turn the tables on the haters and get in their faces with, "Now, THAT looks more like the Jordy Howell from four months ago when he drained 2 of 4 trifecters in a 57-point win over the Arkansas-Monticello Weevils and, six days later, knocked down 3 of 4 treys in a 69-point victory over the Middle Tennessee State Blue Raiders!"
We recollect that those early games were glorious ones for TennisSea coach (the Black Pearl) because he exercised his option -- leading by 50 points and 60 points -- to allow future starlet (a.k.a. his son, Stephen ... a.k.a. "Son of the Black Pearl") some PT at a point in the game in which the kid could do his damage w/o getting ejaculate all over his jersey (Black Pearl, Jr., as we know, wears the same #22 which Ernie Grunfeld wore with such pride distinction while averaging 25 PPG during his jr. and sr. seasons of '76 and '77 ... before Ernie's #22 was "retired" two weekends ago).
Hey ... no one's sayin' that Jordy Howell is a bricklayin' sack of shit -- and no one's implying that Stephen Pearl is a punk for wearing Grunfeld's #22 just because Daddy is attempting to achieve some sort of Hebrew/Yiddish love connection.
Besides, those are matters for either Wolf Blitzer in "The Situation Room" or for Anderson Cooper on "Anderson Cooper 360."
What Blitz n' Coop might find more interesting, however, is what happened locally today ... the Mrs. n' her La-Z-Boy Reclinerista checkin' out their first prep girls basketball game together since 1994.
And, this milestone moment occurred in the late afternoon at the same venue where, only hours earlier, the Maryland-Baltimore County Retrievers earned a berth in the NCAA Tournament by winning the (???? Whatever) Conference championship game (six days after the conference tournament semis, which makes no sense at all).
So, there we were ... at "The RAC" (the Retriever Athletic Center) -- and, what made it truly, was the fact that while our retriever slept in the car ... and after "Retriever Fever" had subsided inside the gym ... we took a moment to observe the statue of the Chesapeake Bay Retriever located 25 yards from the gym entrance.
Said the Mrs.' hubby, "At least this statue has more anatomical correctness than the one of Johnny Unitas outside of the Ravens stadium."
That was a reference to a dog sculpture with proportionate genitalia vs. the sculpture of Johnny U., which was endowed with a package the size of a Volvo.
Every sculptor knows (Michaelangelo did when he chiseled his David) that the unit must be represented in a tasteful, accurate manner lest the artwork be deemed comical or farcical.
And, that should serve as a warning to the Black Pearl ... an admonishment which goes: "Stop allowing dickless wonders such as Jordan Howell to shoot jumpers ..."