Bracket This!

Selection Sunday?
That sounds a lot more formal – in a pretentious, artificial way – than a Lazy Sunday wherein Mr. Pibb and Red Vines equals crazy delicious.
There’s plenty that's crazy (but nothing delicious) about NCAA rec-league b-ball (which they really should be playing outdoors somewhere … anywhere in a neighborhood near you in Blacktop, USA).
We got winner.

Look … Selection Sunday lost all of its glitter at the precise moment yesterday when the Hurryin’ Hoosiers couldn’t get past the Black-Eyed Buckeyes, and, thus, down the drain went a classic, vintage face-off today between Iowa’s EREK Hansen vs. Indiana’s ERREK Suhr.

So, many Americans (except this one) will be stuck watching that “Jekel and Hide” exhibition on CBS.
That’s right … my main man, Jekel Foster from THE Ohio State University, continues his 3-point shooting slump, which has now reached Biblical proportions.
To update: Since his red-hot, 4-game streak (Jan. 30-Feb. 12) when he made America believe in itself again after he sank 21 of 27 treys (77.77777 percent), Jekel Foster has played eight games and he's converted 7 of 52 threes (a wicked 13.46153 percent).
In the past week, Jekel went 1 of 9 vs. Purdue; 0 of 5 vs. Penn State; and 0 of 10 vs. Indiana – and, that’s why we call it “Jekel and Hide,” boys n’ girls.
JEKEL spots up from 20 and OSU fans HIDE their heads by pulling their Blackeye sweatshirts up over their faces.
Nuthin’ but the side of the backboard, beee-yotch!
(Insert Batman-like sounds here, such as “Bwof!” … and “Zunk!” … and “Glrt!” … and “Kak!”)

If Jekel makes two treys today and misses nine, his recent percentage of un-hotness will increase from 13.46153 to 14.28571.
Put that in your little bracket and bracketize it, Joe Lunardi.
Just close the bathroom door when you’re busy with it, okay?
And don’t forget to Glade when you’re done …

Now that ya mention it, watching that little butterball Joe Lunardi shoot baskets alone in a gym might be better than 98 percent of the tourney which is still part of my boycott.
Did I mention that it was a naked Joe Lunardi?

I couldn’t believe how I caved yesterday and momentarily lifted my lifetime ban from college b-ball on TV in my living room – but, just so you know that my heart was in the right place, I did it only to gawk at the final two-plus minutes of the twisted metal, the shattered glass, the flaming wreckage and complete carnage which was the final two-plus minutes of the OSU-IU game.
Y’know … just in case the Mrs. (an IU grad) needs me to fill out the survey “How Many Things Did You Find Objectionable About This Contest?”
Those boys didn’t disappoint …

One of my mistakes, however, was to keep the sound on, therefore Billy Packer violated me with, “A really fantastic ballgame by these two teams.”
Two teams which combined to shoot 33 percent.
That’s Packer for ya … taking a cavalcade of poor shot selection, unwise clock management, half-assed boxing out, lackadaisical screen-setting and tentative, unintelligent defense and, well … if it’s going to hell in a handbasket, Packer’s gonna put a pretty bow on the basket.
To think: Only two more weeks ‘til the announcement that Dickie V. is going to the Hall of Fame.
He’s a real P.P.A. (piss-poor announcer), bayyyyy-beeeee.

What I like most about the ‘05/’06 season which I’ve gone great lengths to ignore is the rule which was recently instituted whereby if the score is not tied 25-25 at halftime, then one team is mandated to go into a one-basket-in-10-minutes funk and the other team is required to score no more than three or four baskets during that stretch.
It’s the new courtesy rule – nuthin’ like the old days when, if a team went into a scoring drought, they wouldn’t emerge from it trailing by six or seven, but, rather TRAILING BY 22!

You’d think that more teams would violate the “let’s be good neighbors” policy and really press their sneaker to the other team’s throat, if for no other reason than to build a 30-point lead so that the autistic team manager can get into the game and start jacking up 3-balls in the worst publicity stunt of 2006.

It’s too fatiguing to watch b-ball teams try to out-mediocre one another with less-than-mediocre talent and smarts.
Makes ya wanna watch more Lifetime Network programing.
Or … maybe this very intriguing World Baseball Classic – an event which definitely scratched me where I itched last week.
The first-round action in Pools A thru D had something to offer which college b-ball doesn’t – talent and team chemistry.
Best of all, it’s all Packer-less and Dickie V.–free!

We'll explore that in greater detail mometarily ...

Halftime: Wisconsucks 19, Hooters 15

Only minutes after the '05/'06 college b-ball was dismissed as a complete waste of time, the object of our desire became the World Baseball Classic and the tourney action available for our viewership (after all, the sked indicated that the Netherlands and Panama played at 1 o'clock in Puerto Rico and the U.S. was scheduled to meet South Africa at 3, so ... ).

"Son of a biscuit!" ... IU and Bucky Badger violated America's personal space and, no frickin' way! ... is that 19-15 halftime score a typo?
Think about it: When the Hooters' football team played at Wisconsin last Oct. 1, the halftime score was 31-14.
On that day, one minute into the second quarter, Wisconsin's Brandon Williams was scoring his third TD of the day (one TD catch, one punt-return TD) by hauling in a 13-yard TD pass from John Stocco for a 24-7 Badger lead.
(Yup, even in March -- as the Mildness pervades -- is sos easy to discuss college football for hours on end)

Back on the hardwood, each team was 0 of 9 on 3-pointers until Roderick Wilmont connected for IU with 20-something seconds to play.
IU was also 0 of 4 from the stripe.

IU will end up winning, 57-53 ... and Lavs (or somebody with the same amount of nothing to say) will proclaim that it was a gritty, hard-fought victory.
At least Erin Andrews is decked out in lovely blue sweater today.
THAT is the only appealing individual on the floor -- but, go ahead, Lavs, pretend that you know something about college b-ball and pretend to explain diagonal passing against the 1-3-1 zone and pretend that we understand (or care) ...

Mother Chuckers (or "64 Busloads of B.S.")

Like many Americans, I still vividly recall when Jerry and George had completed a basketball workout at the gym (George called a ballhog “a chucker”) and, while B.S.-ing in the locker room, Jerry noticed that, stretching nearby, was Keith Hernandez.
After Jerry introduced himself to Keith, their conversation was interrupted by the dumpy little guy holding a basketball -- George.
Keith gave the little fella a look-over, sneered a little, and asked Jerry, “Who’s this chucker?”

Well, for those Americans who have followed closely the Gerry McNamara controversy during the past few days, the Hernandez-esque question has become, “Is G-Mac an over-chucker or and under-chucker?”
Dude's definitely a chucker, so don’t be alarmed by Boeheim’s F-bombs during his press conferences (although he apologized to America, through Jay Bilas, saying, “I never shoulda swore” following the win over #1 UConn on Thursday).
Now, we should hug.

The dust-up, apparently, revolved around some articles in the campus newspaper, the Daily Orange, and the local Sorrycuse Post Standard re: G-Mac’s overratedness.
Moreover, I saw an S.I.com tidbit on the matter Thurs. and while it pointed out that a recent S.I. poll addressed the matter, it forgot to reveal that, in the Big East voting, McNamara “tied” for “most overrated” with UConn’s Rudy Gay.
Oh … and McNamara was voted the conference’s “biggest crybaby.”

OK, then … who exactly is this chucker?
Well, he’s Scranton’s beloved chucker, for one thing. In case you missed it last Sunday, the citizens of Scranton, Pa. (McNamara’s hometown) filled more than five-dozen buses with 3,000 fans for the pilgrimage up I-81 to see G-Mac’s final home game (the attendance of 33,633 was an NCAA, on-campus record).

For the first time since the Carrier Dome opened in 1980, a Sorrycuse b-ball game was sold out in advance – which, surprises me, given the tremendous charisma of Howard Triche nearly 20 years ago and the popularity of my boy, Reafsnyder (I can’t remember his first name), from the national finalist team of 10 years ago.
Note: NBC’s Al Trautwig, moments after the Arena League contest last Sunday, reported that it was 64 buses … the AP story from the same day reported that it was “over 60 buses” (AP style, though, should have told the reader that proper usage is “more than” instead of “over”) … and Sean McDonough reported that it was 65 buses during the ‘Cuse-Cincy game.

We may never get to the bottom of how many busloads of Scrantonites are hard-core McNamara worshippers. What we do know is that they live in Scranton Pa. … and, seeing how they reside in the Philly half of the Keystone State, their brains get pretty scrambled with Phillies-Eagles-Sixers-Flyers as their pro options (hey, who do ya think phoned in the anti-Steelers bomb threat to the Loew’s Theater in West Homestead last week?)
That mental imbalance notwithstanding, they love their chucker.
Any why shouldn’t they? He’s very remiscent, in a swashbuckling sense, of a Luke Recker, the former Indiana/Iowa starlet.
He’s so resilient … like when he goes 0 of 10 on 3-balls vs. Cornell, you know it’s just a matter of time before he explodes.
Like when he goes 5 of 9 on 3-balls against The ‘Nati and finishes with 29, one week later against ‘Nova, he’ll play 37 minutes and not attempt a three (though he’d averaged nine 3-point atts. per game to that point).

Any time I was thinking of labelling him as an erratic, poorly-coached performer, I referred to the ESPN.com “souting report”:
“A chameleon who adapts to team needs … can be a scorer or merely a distributor if need be … great shooter … moves well of (sic) the ball for spot-up jumpers from beyond the arc … gets his feet under him and releases at the highest point of elevation …”

Well, ya sold me, Andy Katz or Joe Lunardi or whichever EspyTime got-cut-from-the-JV-team, dot-commer wrote that.
Me? I would’ve included “Gerry singlehandedly won the national championship game as a freshman in the ’02-’03 season because Coach taught him how to defend the 3-pointer (causing Kansas to shoot 4 of 20 from beyond the arc) and Coach taught him how to defend the free throw (causing Kansas to go 12 of 30 from the foul line).”
Just to be thorough.
And, for good measure, I’d’ve also added the always-famous: “… makes everyone around him better.”
Y’know … like when Carmelo couldn’t seem to find a Baltimore high school to suit his needs, Coach and Gerry and a cutting-edge counseling staff got ‘Melo to remain “eligible” (wink wink) for an entire semester.
That’s teamwork.

So, is our chucker overrated? Like I said, he’s Luke Recker Jr. You can rave all ya want about his 13 assists from Thurs., but he also had five turnovers. He knocked down the big trey to send the game to OT, but he was 3 of 14 shootin’ the ball – and when G-Mac misses, he misses the proverbial broadside of the barn.
He plays hard, sure … but who doesn’t?
Since he’s a VERY impressive foul shooter (91 percent), why doesn’t Coach Genius work on gettin’ him more ways to get to the stripe?
True, it might require structuring an offense which is predicated on more than, "Here, you guys chuck it at the rim and, anyone who's not chucking it at the rim, see about using your pogo-stick athleticism for the follow jam, okay?" -- but G-Mac had played 18 games this season when he’s attempted three or fewer foul shots, which means that he’s had 18 games in which he got to the line ONCE (likely) to shoot two.

Now, when Andy Katz refers to G-Mac as “a great shooter,” is that greatness reflected in a 34 percent average from beyond the arc or is that greatness measured in how many feet beyond the arc a player is when he spots up?
A 20-footer off the back iron is a lot less glamorous than the 25-footer which barely grazes the rim.
A career % of 37 or 38 percent ... big deal.

I definitely don’t blame G-Mac for any of his shortcomings. He didn’t appreciably improve since his freshman year because he didn’t receive much quality coaching. However, with that pencil-thin beard which extends from ear to ear, you can see the impact it’s had on freshman teammate Eric DevenDORK, who actually has a better pencil-thin, ear-to-ear beard.
By his senior year, The Dork is gonna be all tricked out with a more-mature beard to go along with those gnarly tatts.
Mark my words.

I’m not gonna be around to see it because, thanks to the Big Least playing some bad rec-league b-ball on Weds. and Thurs., I think it’s time for me to hang it up and call it a career with "college b-ball as a real, tangible concept."
Not that this is a painful estrangement. I mean, we all make voluntary decisions to walk away from unwatchable sports such as moto-cross and rhythmic gymnastics at some point in our lives.
Besides, college b-ball is on the verge of receiving a lifetime ban in my household anyway once the official announcement comes down on Final Four weekend that Dickie V. has been elected to the Baketball Hall of Fame.
Dip-seeeee doooooo, dunk-a-rooooo!

In theory, a “hall of fame” should be about “accomplishment” and “professionalism,” not about a bald head spouting the same ol’ re-hash of Team A has to shoot well, play good defense, rebound well and avoid turnovers (spoken seven different ways) and Team B must counter that by shooting well and playing good D and rebounding well and avoiding turnovers.

So, Smitty asks me, “You’re gonna miss the Sweet 16, the Elite Eight AND the Final Four?”
Riiiiiiiiight ... I really wanna see that two-legged, pile of camel dung named Mike Nardi goin' three of 13 on 3-balls and Vitale moaning that Nardi was a little off today and ...
No sh**, Sherlock.
The only thing worse than watching guys brick threes all day long is having Vitale explain it to me all night long.
That is, after Joe Lunardi and that beaver pelt atop his head tell me why this bracket was seeded this way and why that bracker was seeded that way.
Tell ya what, Smitty ... YOU watch it.
And tell me if Lunardi's beaver pelt moves, okay?

West Virginia ... now, there's a textbook example of "Trifecters In Action."
That's a fun team to watch.
Watch melt down, that is -- which is why they're known as "the Meltdowneers" in some circles.
It was funny last night when I wasn't paying attention to their loss to Georgeclown -- and when Beilein's kid nailed a three late, I think I heard Len Elmore spazzing out a little over the kid's range.
"Range"?
Here's the deal: Beilein’s kid has made 13 of 49 treys in his past eight games and, worse than that 27 percent is the 17 percent that Frank Young is knockin' down in his past nine games.
They shoot from three.
They don't make it from three.
Big diff.

In a smarter, more-structured, b-ball paradigm, 3-point "makers" would be the ones attempting the 3-pointers and 3-point "brickshit chuckers" would be required to do "other things," such as, oh ... setting screens, fine-tuning pick-and-roll moves, sharpening the jump-stop and the pump-fake ... improving court awareness and recognizing what's a passing lane and what is not ... bodying an oponent away from the basket on a box-out.
Aw, F it ... let's chuck it from threeeeee!

You can’t blame Beilein's kid and Frank Young for being chuckers. What’s the worst that can happen? Beilein’s not gonna bench those two and pull a Jimmy Serrano and say, “You and that other dummy had better get more personally-involved in your work or I'm gonna stab you through the heart with a (frickin') pencil."
So, they'll just keep chuckin' because, well ... they really aren't talented enough to do much else.
And, they aren't obedient enough to follow Coach's plan-of-attack if, in fact, Coach actually had one.

Remember that Elite 8 game last year when the Meltdowneers went 3 crazy against Lousyville?
With 5:27 remaining in the game, WVU was a staggering 17 of 22 on 3-balls.
But then it all went wrong. During the next 10:27 (regulation and OT), WVU was 1 of 5 on treys. They were 1 of 8 on two-point attempts during the final 13:38.
The Meltdowneers had four offensive rebounds the entire game, thus eliminating what Overstater Of The Obvious Digger Phelps would call “second-chance points.”

Hey … here’s an update for my lunch break: Ten minutes into the Duke-Miami game, the Dukies are 4 of 15 on 3-balls (y’know, if Duke misses 4 of its next 6 threes, its percentage from beyond the arc will go from 26 percent to 28 percent, so … keep chucking, Melchionni, ya big piece o’ crap … )
Oh, and, 11 minutes into the Ohio State-Penn State game, the hoping-for-a-No.-1-seed-which-they-definitely-don’t-deserve Blackeyes have seven points (0 of 6 on threes).
I had to click away from ABC’s Big Ten tourney before Steve Lavin’s axle-greased hair tried to tell me how PSU’s 2-3 zone was stymying the Blackeyes.
Note to Lavs: In his past 10 games, Matt Sylvester is 8 of 36 on treys. You could put two beanbag chairs, a file cabinet and a potted plant out on the floor and Matt's still gonna clank it from 3-land, my man!
Addendum to the Note to Lavs: Going into today, in the seven games that Jekel Foster has played since he had that 3-game hot streak where he was 21 of 27 "from distance," he's 7 of 38 (18 percent) from that same "distance."
And, he's 0 of 5 today, which makes him 7 of 43 ... which means that if he misses 14 of his next 17 treys (which I predict he will), he can raise his recent 8-game, 3-point shooting percentage from 16.27906 percent to 16.66666 percent.
Go for it, J-Fost!
Keep me posted, Lavs!

Wait! Here's another fun one recently unearthered ... in the 10 games that Duke won between the loss to Georgeclown and the loss to Fla. St., Lee Melchionni was 4 of 26 on three balls. Although he found his stroke against FSU and UNC (5 of 9), he started off today's game against Miami by clanking two in the game's first 30 seconds.
My fave chucker of ’05-’06, however, HAS to be Colin Falls of Notre Dame. That guy doesn’t even pretend to be anything but a chucker. The other night against Georgeclown, Falls scored nine points on two threes and by sinking three foul shots after getting fouled while shooting a three.
At that point, ND led, 11-0 as Georgeclown was 0 of 12 from the floor (0 of 6 from downtown).
At 13:18, Falls hit another 3 (to go 3 for 3), but, then after missing a trey at the 8:40 mark, he went the next 11:41 without attempting a shot.

Falls drained three 3’s in the span of 1:47 (he was 6 of 9 on threes at that point) … but then he missed a three at 11:26 … and then he missed another at 8:07 … and then he didn’t attempt another shot for the next 8:04, missing a three with :03 to play (when the Irish were down by four).

That’s the new math … make three 3’s, miss three 3’s, make three 3’s, miss three 3’s, don’t take a shot for stretches of 11:41 and 8:04, don’t rebound, don’t pass, maybe get back on D, maybe not, maybe commit a reach-in foul, whatever …
In 28 games this season, Falls attempted almost 9 treys per game and two 2-pointers per game.
In the three games leading up to the Georgeclown defeat, Falls had made 3 of 16 threes. And, in his final four games, he averaged 31 minutes and totalled 2 rebounds.
Talk about being bolted to the 3-point line.

If Falls doesn’t turn pro, Mike Brey should have an open competition at the shooting guard between Falls and the incoming freshman … Jason McElwain of Greece Athena High in suburban Rochester, NY.
Because of McElwain's autism, he might not equal his career high 6-of-10 from 3-point range in that 4-minute span vs. Southport, but, then again, McElwain is considered "highly functioning" (even though he was benched for the playoffs).
If we're going to mainstream the kid, we need to create autism awareness by working him into the Notre Dame backcourt mix.

I'm out.
I'm gonna check it out and see if there's an all-night Yahtzee tournament or a "Nash Bridges" marathon ...

Puck n' Pags

Like a lot of Americans, I remember exactly where I was and exactly what I was doing the moment that I didn’t see and didn’t really care that Kirby Puckett hit that walk-off homer (before EspyTime and Karl Ravech invented the term “walk-off”) in Game 6 of the ’91 World Series.
I was coverin’ a ballgame.
Another vintage football game at Cupertino High.

Ever since Kirby Puckett passed away at the age of 45 yesterday, a lot of Americans are having flashbacks to how Puck made the ’91 Series the greatest ever played.
I couldn’t agree more.
That ’91 Series had an extra-special specialness.
I mean, who could forget Game 4? That was the classic game in which Mike Pagliarulo (remember how we called him “Pags”?) went 3 for 3, only to have it all go for naught when Jerry Willard hit that walk-off sac fly in the bottom of the 9th.

America couldn’t stop buzzing about how Pags hit that RBI single in the top of the second for a 1-0 Twins lead … only to have Atlanta counter with the tying run in the bottom of the third. Then, after Pags went yard (a year or two before Berman or Ravech invented the term “went yard”) in the top of the seventh, Lonnie Smith struck back in the bottom of the seventh with a game-tying solo blast.
2-2 … back n’ forth … wow!
Even before the end of Game 4, it was … BY FAR! … the best Series ever.

And then came the 9th inning … when, with two outs in the top of the frame, Twins manager Tom Kelly played the percentages and had Scott Leius pinch-hit for Pags against lefty Mike Stanton.
Classic chess match!

Once Stanton retired Leius, that set the stage for the bottom of the 9th when, with one out, Mark Lemke tripled, forcing Tom Kelly to intentionally walk Jeff Blauser to set up the double play.
Leave it to Bobby Cox to pull an ace out of his sleeve – and that ace was Francisco Cabrera, who was announced as the pinch-hitter, but then was called back to the dugout when Kelly replaced southpaw pitcher with righty Steve Bedrosian and – here’s the fun part – Kelly pulled “A DOUBLE SWITCH!!!!!”
He had Bedrosian in the game batting in the number 7 spot in the order and he put Al Newman in at third base (replacing Leius, who had replaced Pagliarulo) and penciled him in to bat in the number 9 spot, which would’ve been the second batter if there was a top of the 10th.

Thanks to Jerry Willard, there was no top of the 10th in this roller-coaster ride of cloak n’ dagger, cat n’ mouse, check-and-check-mate, mind-boggling labrynth of double-switches.
Willard -- the guy who’d been part of the Von Hayes, 5-for-1 deal nearly a decade earlier … the same Jerry Willard who’d had a total of 23 ABs with three teams in the five seasons of ’87 thru ’91 – “rose to the occasion,” as they say, and, on baseball’s grandest stage … with the Twins holding a 2-game-to-1 series edge … well, Jerry Willard hit that unforgettable fly ball to RF which Shane Mack played kinda poorly despite the fact that he was playing shallow and had to retreat a few steps.

You don’t forget a Jerry Willard walk-off, sac fly. And you don’t forget a Brian Hunter solo dong which gives the Bravos a 14-4 lead in the top of the 8th in Game 5 … a shot over the fence and a shot in the arm which will surely propel the Braves to the world title with Avery and Smoltz on the hill for Games 6 and 7 in the HomerDome, right?.
I heard that Hunter homer on the car radio moments after my softball game.
Like I said, you don’t forget a Brian Hunter homer you hear on the radio moments after your own softball game.
You just don’t.

Without a doubt, that ’91 World Series was definitely the best World Series of 1991, no doubt about it.
It ranked right up there with the ’87 World Series when Puck & Co. (sorry, no Pags on that team) stole our hearts with that 7-game triumph over the Redbirds.
In case you still haven’t exhaled since watching that riveting 6th inning of Game 7 when the game was tied, 2-2, I’ll re-create that magic here:
Bruno and Herbie drew walks off of Danny Cox … Todd Worrell replaced Cox and coaxed Tim Laudner into a foulout … Danny Cox was ejected from the Cards dugout … Roy Smalley pinch-hit for Steve Lombardozzi and drew a walk which loaded the bases … Al Newman pinch-ran for Smalley (ANOTHER Al Newman sighting, no way!) … Greg Gagne tapped a single to third … it’s 3-2, Twins!!!!
Puck then struck out to end the threat.

The Twins won, 4-2, in a real heart-stopper of a Series. In fact, the starting lineup that Whitey Herzog fielded for the Redbirds for that Game 7 – Vince Coleman, Ozzie Smith, Tommy Herr, Jim Lindeman, Willie McGee, Tony Pena, Jose Oquendo, Tom Lawless, Steve Lake – wow, you really couldn’t find a more murderous Murderer’s Row, could you?
Those nine players combined for 32 homers during the regular season – and, just to demonstrate how accomplished they were as batsmen, be aware that only four of them hit more homers than Redbirds pitcher Bob Forsch (who had 2 in ’91) and only one (the Wizard of Oz) had a higher batting average than Bob’s .298.

In all fairness to the Cards (the team that I was rooting for … not hardcore “rooting,” mind you), Jack Clark (35 HRs, 106 RBI) was injured and had one PH AB in the NLCS … and then Terry Pendleton was injured in the World Series.
Dan Driessen batting cleanup?

But, before we begin lobbying for Whitey Herzog’s induction into the Hall of Fame (where he belongs because he was 17 times the manager Lasorda was), let’s remember who we’re saluting:
Puck.

For it was less than one week after Puck’s mighty Game 6 walk-off clout (before Ravech invented the term “walk-off”) that the current (and only) Mrs. PF7 and I had our first date, unofficial as it may’ve been.
Regardless of the conditions of our initial tryst, whether it’s senior citizens, smokers or non-smokers, young lovers, ambitious businessmen … we all realize that Puck represented what it took to bring us together as a nation … to get people to connect … to help us to look inside ourselves and realize that a really super-mediocre World Series, such as the one in ’91, was something special and indellible.

I don’t know if the stories are true about his brutality toward women … at least, not until that Emmitt-sez-put-Michael-in-the-Hall voice goes off inside my head: “This is NOT the Hall of Fame of Life!”
Damn straight!
It’s Al Newman goin’ into the game as a defensive replacement and batting in the No. 9 spot in case there is a top of the 10th in the Greatest World Series Ever Played … and it’s about Al Newman pinch-running for Roy Smalley in the Second-Greatest World Series Ever Played.

Thank you, Puck, for making me remember Al Newman.
I vow to have my greatest Al Newman softball season ever …

A Bomb At The Box-Office

When you hear/read about what happened to the Steelers the other night (i.e. a bomb threat phoned in to the Loew’s Theater in West Homestead where the team had gathered to a watch the highlight DVD of this Super Season past), it really makes ya stop and realize that the relationship between “Steelers” and “movie theaters” has always been a rocky one.
Follow along:
There was “Black Sunday” in ’77 … the movie which interspersed actual CBS footage from the Steelers-Cowboys/Super Bowl X tussle with the plot of Bruce Dern’s political statement.
Of course, when that blimp crashed-landed on the Orange Bowl Poly Turf, I’m pretty sure that those were actors wearing Steelers and Cowboys gear – and not actually Steelers and Cowboys – getting crushed by the airship.
Now that I think about it, maybe I should buy the “Black Sunday” DVD just to see which players were crushed (presumably to death).
NOTE: Yeah, I know that both of my readers out there are gonna say, “If Franco Harris had been piloting the blimp, it would’ve glided gently out of bounds, thus, causing injury to no one” – to which I would’ve said, “For another first down, so shut the F up!”

Yet, in the interest of public safety (as well as responsible movie-making), there should’ve been a disclaimer at the end of “Black Sunday” which read: “No actual Steelers were injured during the filming of this movie.” Wait … what about the Cowboys?
“F ‘em!”
And the horse they rode in on …

Y’see, the bigger picture of the motion-picture industry is that only a year after the release of “Black Sunday,” the Steelers were treated equally rudely during the filming of “Heaven Can Wait,” which, despite its oversights, was a fine movie.
As everybody knows by now, the Escort (Buck Henry) jumped the gun and took Rams QB Joe Pendleton (Warren Beatty) to the Way Station somewhere between Earth and Heaven before Joe had actually died … so, Mr. Jordan (James Mason) was forced to oversee the insertion of Joe into the body of millionaire Leo Farnsworth until a suitable replacement could be found – which, as it turns out, was when Rams QB Tom Jarrett presumably died (I guess) sometime in the overtime period of the Super Bowl against the Steelers.
Joe, Jordan, Jarrett … that’s a lot of J’s, I’ve decided .
And that’s not counting the recently-retired Rams who had bit parts in the movie: Deacon Jones, Les Josephsen and Jack Snow.
NOTE: To this day, I believe there’s a Mr. Jordan who oversees the Almost-Dead QB Paradigm of every NFL team. One case-in-point example was the time when the Escort took Rams QB Trent Green to the Way Station when Trent had his knee shredded in preseason and then Mr. Jordan put Trent’s non-dead person into the body of a grocery bagger named Kurt Warner, who, subsequently, got the Rams to the Super Bowl … until Marc Bulger one day died (we guess), so Mr. Jordan put Trent Green into Marc Bulger’s body and, well … “now you know … the rest of the story … I’m Paul Harvey … Good Day!”

Look, if you think that the Escort/Mr. Jordan dynamic is pure fiction, then explain how when Rams QB Joe Namath died, he was put into the body of a Rhodes Scholar named Pat Haden – and then when Pat Haden died (actually, he might’ve only broken a finger on his throwing hand), he was put into the body of an inexperienced Vince Ferragamo to help the Rams get to the REAL Rams-Steelers Super Bowl one year after the CINEMA Rams-Steelers Super Bowl.
The thing is … you can’t explain the unexplainable.
Nobody can.

Of course, in the real Super Bowl, Ferragamo did not complete a short pass in OT which, after that receiver fumbled at midfield, Vince scooped up an turned into a walk-off, game-winning, sudden-death, 51-yard TD.
No … and that’s because the Steeler universe is ruled by forces darker than movie-time special effects, so when Ferragamo was marching the Rams downfield in a 24-19 ballgame … the NFL’s Darth Vader (Jack Lambert) made that drive-killing INT.
No Hollywood ending for you, Vinny.

Anyway, miscasting is one thing … but a total omission … well, that’s just wrong.
Take, for example, “The Deer Hunter” in 1978.
Sure … it won the Academy Award for Best Picture and Best Director … and Chris Walken took home an Oscar for Best Supporting Actor.
DeNiro, well … basically, he rocked as Mike Bronsky.
But, here’s what I never understood: The movie-going audience shared in the lives of these western-PA steelworkers and their lives before, during and after the Vietnam War … but, not once did these blue-collar boys, these red-blooded American soldiers ever mention the local pro football team.
There wasn’t a single scene with Mike (DeNiro) and Nicky (Walken) with their weapons posied as they waited to kill either a six-point buck or the Viet Cong ... and, as they waited, Mike turning to Nicky and saying, “Hey, didja see that game last week? Franco was runnin’ wild, Lambert was knockin’ the crap outta people … solid shit, man. The Browns are gonna have big, F-ing problems on Sunday, Nicky. BIG, F-ing problems, my man!”

Let’s suppose “best director” Michael Cimino opted not to clutter the dialogue with Steelers talk (as if four sentences would provide mind-boggling complexity) … couldn’t he have tossed the Pirates into the conversation.
Mike: “Didja see the game last night? Stargell took two out … TWO!”
Nicky: “That was something. I think Candelaria’s going to be the ace of the staff. Mark my words.”
NOTE: DeNiro could not have said that Stargell “went yard” because ESPN and Karl Ravech hadn’t been invented yet …

Nobody is suggesting that when the guys showed up for work at the mill that one of 'em shoulda been wearing a black #47 BLOUNT jersey, but … maybe someone shoulda suggested it.
NOTE: We remember that when Chris Walken phoned from 'Nam to talk to his young bride (Meryl Streep), he told the operator that he wanted to place a call to Clairton, PA. I always hoped that he would get through and ask, "Hey, Babe ... whose career did my boy Jack Ham end with one of his punishing tackles? Just once, I'd like to draw a bead on Ho Chi Minh and drop that jerk-off with a textbook, Jack Ham tackle."

Perhaps one of these days, Hollywood will get its (stuff) together and make a movie about the Steelers that’s on par with that Jimmy Fallon/Drew Barrymore/Red Sox movie from a year or so ago … y’know, the one which none of us can remember the name of because none of us went and saw it.
In the meantime, the Steelers learned a valuable lesson about mingling with “we, the civilians."
It’s what prompts bomb-threat hoaxes.
You can’t tell me that one of the Steelers doesn’t have a mansion somewhere in Fox Chapel or McKees Rocks or Turtle Creek or Squirrel Hill where there’s a home theater (with real theater seating for 50) and a 380-inch, hi-def screen.

I mean, I saw the KDKA report and it looked as though the Steelers were sitting in the Loew’s Theater seats … and it looked like the riff-raff was seated with them.
Dammit, Cowher … your team is royalty.
Start acting like it.
Save the “mingling” and “mixing with the commoners” for when you make visits to the hospital.
For when we need our heartstrings pulled.

The amusing part of the KDKA story was a woman who was at the event – and she told the KDKA viewing audience that she got The Bus’ autograph.
“Mr. Bettis, will you sign this rookie card?” is what she said.
If that was me, I’d’ve kept Jerome honest and made him sign something, before I fled the scene while yelling, “Thanks, Bam!”
Either that, or while he’s scribbling, say something smart-alecky like: “If you can use one hand to hold the card and the other hand to hold the pen, why can’t you use two hands to carry the football at the Colts’ 2-yard line?”

Anyway, thanks again, Bam!

Bottom line: These team “functions” can get dangerous. It takes me back to June ’97 when I was high on the fumes of Hockeytown winning its first Stanley Cup in 42 years – and how the euphoria hit the skids less than a week after sweeping the series against the Flyers when that limousine carrying Vladimir Konstantinov, Slava Fetisov and Sergei Mnetsakanov crashed into the tree because the driver smoked too much weed.
The Vladi-nator was left paralyzed for life at the height of his NHL career.
“For life,” by the way, is a very long time.

The paralyzation put a damper on the Red Wings’ summer of carting the Cup all over the world in celebration. Nevertheless, it was quite amazing how a team who’d lost one of its most-valuable components embarked on a mission to win another Cup … only this time, it was gonna be for Vladi.
And I’ll be damned if they didn’t do it.
Mrs. PF7 scored tickets for us for Game 3 of that Cup final … and when the Red Wings war wagon completed the four-game sweep of the Caps two nights later, captain Steve Yzerman had a mini conflict when he stepped forward to raise the Cup.
The story goes that Yzerman was going to hand it off to goalie Chris Osgood because Ozzie had allowed two odd goals (shot from the blue line) in the playoffs and he was taking some abuse from the fans and the media (not from his teammates, though).

Anyway, as Eye-zee sought out Ozzie, he noticed that Vladi had been brought out onto the ice in his wheelchair. Hence, Capt. Steve placed the big trophy gently in Vladi’s lap.
To a lot of Americans, this was a poignant Detroit sports story on a far greater emotional plane than “Let’s Forget About That Fumble At The Colts 2-Yard Line … The Bus Is Coming Home!”

It boils down to this: The Steelers ’05 Highlight Reel is only going to have real meaning in my life if there’s a prologue by backup center Chukky Okobi.
Oh … and if someone splices in “The Lost Ending To ‘Black Sunday’ ” wherein Mean Joe is seen grabbing the blimp, steering it away from the Orange Bowl and hurling it back to North Korea from whence it came, whereupon it explodes on impact.

And everyone inside the Loew’s Theater lived happily ever after.
The end …

G-Mac, Tinz & All That Is Mild

Any time a dream basketball matchup such as this – Sorrycuse (19-10) at RuPaul (12-14) – appears on the radar, there’s no other choice but to grab the notepad and a pen and jot down the lessons to be learned from March Mildness.
Time to get mild, everybody!
It’s all about bubble teams on the bubble – and if the ‘Cuse can channel into its inner bubble and perform in bubble-rific fashion tonight, Coach Bubbleheim can prove to many of us Americans that he’s more than the Barry Switzer of the hardwood.

Uh-oh … 13 seconds in and somebody named Sammy Mejia hit a three for RuPaul. All we know about Sammy Mejia is that he’s a dandy player from Brooklyn.
18:32 to play in the half – My boy, Gerry McNamara (whose finely-detailed sideburns seem to suggest, “Call me ‘ G-Mac, bee-yotch" made a layup and it’s a 3-2 donnybrook.
In the time it takes the scoreboard digits to tick down from 17:57 to 15:55, somebody named Karron Clarke scored eight points on what we used to call a “stuff shot” and a pair of 3-point set shots. It’s 15-9, RuPaul … and all that America knows about Karron Clarke is that he’s from the Bronx and Karen is usually a girl’s name.
15:17 – Mejia clanks a 3-ball …
15:09 – Mejia doinks another 3-ball …
15:06 – This memo just came across my desk: It is Mejia who is from the Bronx and Karen who is from Brooklyn, not vice versa.
13:37 – Eric Devendorf scores … and reminds me that “Devendorf” is only my second-favorite white-boy Sorrycuse name (after “Reafsnyder”).
13:15 – Devendorf (who the Carrier Dumb rabble probably refers to as “E-Dev”) tallies another deuce and he’s got nine of the Orange’s 15 points in this 16-15 tussle. I did the math and performed the triangulations: Nine points scored in 6:45 of elapsed time means that DevenDORK is on pace to score 53.3333 points tonight …
10:01 – G-Mac scores on a layup six seconds after an official TV timeout to cut The Big O’s deficit to 27-21. Ten minutes in and G-Mac has attempted only three shots. With his four points in the first 10 minutes, he’s on pace to finish with only 16, which is far behind DevenDORK’s insane pace of finishing with 53.33333
5:30 – Slipperycuse scores on a dunk … but that’s the first basket for Bubbleheim’s team since the G-Mac basket at 10:01. Without any deuces or treys in a 4½-minute span, the game COULD have slipped away from Slipperycuse. Luckily, it’s only 38-23, so the deficit is manageable provided G-Mac starts hitting 3-balls and DevenDORK maintains his torrid 53.33333 pace.
4:05 – See? Whaddid I tell ya? Little bingo for G-Mac … he drains what Vitale calls “a trifecTER,” and it’s 40-30. G-Mac is getting’ ready to do some major damage
3:38 – G-Mac misses a shot …
3:14 – G-Mac is off the mark again (something’s wrong with my G-Dawg tonight. Coach Bubbleheim’s gotta tell the kid to step back five or six feet and jack ‘em up from 24 feet. This pissy 2-point shootin’ … where’ll that get ya?)
0:38 – DevenDORK breaks his silence by sinking two foul shots. That 12½-minute stretch in which he had zero points and refused to burn down RuPaul’s house … that’s inexcusable. Kid’s gotta want the rock, guys gotta get him the rock.
0:00 – There’s the halftime horn. It’s 48-34 in favor of RuPaul, but Bubbleheim made it to a national title game with Reafsnyder, so he’s capable of anything. G-Mac was 2 of 7 on two-pointers in that first half and he was 1 of 2 on trifecters.
He’s on pace to score 14 points, which would be barely below his 16 PPG avg.
The numbers are conclusive: G-Mac is pulling his weight.

AND THE SECOND HALF BEGINS … and as the clock ticks down to 16:12, G-Mac misses a three, DevenDORK misses two shots and somebody named Wilson Chandler scores a bucket and sinks all four foul shots during this pivotal 12-3 run to open the second half.
It’s 60-37 and the Blue Devil, errrrr … the Demon Deacon, ummmmm … the Blue Demon fans are sensing an upset.
15:17 – DevenDORK buries a trey and he’s got Sorrycuse back to within 20 at 62-42.
14:28 – G-Mac answers a Marcus Heard dunk with a basket of his own
12:16 – DevenDORK responds to another Marcus Heard dunk with an emphatic free throw to make it 73-49.
Somebody’s getting’ ready to make a run.
11:14 – Andy Rautins gets into the scoring column for the team with orange tank tops … and, because of his name, I think that he just might be the chosen one to lead the Children of the ‘Cuse’s comeback (I suspect that he’s somehow related to the legendary Leo Rautins of the ‘Cuse and brother George Rautins of Niagara University lore … but it’s a 26-point game and there’s still more than 11 minutes remaining to go through the motions … )
10:44 – Andy Rautins misses a three which woulda cut it to 23 … and I’m sensing that we can now use Andy’s street-cred name (“A-Raut”) to depict the action.
It’s “A Rout.”
10:37 – I’m guessing that maybe Andy Rautins likes to be called “A-Tinz” … or just “Tinz.” Either way … that ain’t helping DevenDORK ‘cuz he just missed a trey …
9:39 – G-Mac clanks a 3 …
9:34 – Tinz bricks a 3 which woulda pulled The ‘Cuse to within 25. If Bitchheim is the miracle worker I think he is, he should seek the passage of legislation which would enact a 20-point shot to get his boys to within 5 points of tying the score (on second thought, G-Mac would take that 20-point shot and miss it, anyway) …
9:17-6:44 – RuPaul hits 4 of 4 on 3-balls and the lead has expanded to 93-54. If The ‘Cuse has any plans of staging a comeback, they mustn’t dawdle. The clock is not their friend at this point …
5:24 – Tinz found his stroke! That’s a 3. However, the only Orange points in the 5:50-minute window between Tinz buckets was a 3 by G-Mac.
4:12 – G-Mac drains a 3 (it’s 97-62 – and, if Boeheim can get that student manager from Greece Athena High’s b-ball team in nearby Rochester active and on a flight to Chicago, well … if that kid can go 6 of 10 on 3-balls in the final 4:00 as he did one week ago, hey … it could be a 105-80 game just like that!)
3:46 – G-Mac bangs home another 3 to make it 99-65 (this would be a good time for a graphic to appear on the the screen: “Sorrycuse is on an 11-6 run”)
3:17 – Karen Clarke is not amused by G-Mac so he hits a 3 (he’s 5 for 5 from beyond 19-9 tonight and I’ll bet that more than once Karen and G-Mac exchanged pleasantries such as, “For real, bitch” after making a basket)
3:05 – G-Mac comes unglued and misses a 3 …
2:32 – Somebody named Cliff Clinkscales went 3-ball (it’s 105-66) …
1:32 – Somebody named Rashad Woods buries one from downtown (it’s 108-66 and about the only person in America who hasn’t hit a 3 for RuPaul tonight is the team manager for Greece Athena High … if I only knew who the coach for RuPaul was, I’d ask why he’s so anti-autism and not suiting up his own student managers for the final 1:32 of this game)
1:11 – Tinz misses another 3 (he’s 1 of 4 “from distance” tonight and he’s a real disappointment to all of us who had high hopes for him … then again, if ya emptied out the arena and let him shoot all by himself for 30 minutes after the game, he’s still not gonna convert better than 28 percent … 19-feet, 9-inches is well beyond his range, but how’s he gonna become a 30 percent shooter if we don’t let him keep jacking off from 19-9?)
0:22 – Let G-Mac show ya how it’s done … bang! G-Mac drills it from 23 and makes a 108-69 loss a lot easier to swallow than a 108-66 defeat. 40-point losses are so humiliating.

WAIT! Don’t start calling him “Gerry NonFactormara” just because he was 4 of 5 on 3-balls after the score ballooned to 87-51. Kid with the wicked sideburns (which he got detailed on “Pimp My ‘Burns”) did everything he could. Fuh real.
And, on Saturday, it’s G-Mac’s final home game (which Digger has referred to on at least three occasions), so I smell something real special cooking.
And why not. G-Mac has averaged right around 15 per game for his career.
That's 15!
Per game!
We could spend the next 11 paragraphs exploring that upstart RuPaul team ... a team which believed in itself ... which believed in each other when all "you guys" said that a 12-14 team couldn't beat a bubble team ... but, instead, our energy might be better spent dialing back to when Ray Meyer was coaching the Blue Demons ... and when he got them to the Final Four in 1979, his team lost, 76-74, to Larry Bird and Indiana State.
Ray Meyer did not play a substitute in that game. That's right ... the five starters (Mark Aguirre, Curtis Watkins, James Mitchem, Clyde Bradshaw and Gary Garland) did not "come out for a blow" nor did Ray Meyer "substitute offense for defense and defense for offense" during every free-throw attempt.
Maybe he wasn't that kooky (although emperical evidence suggests he was), but the Blue Demons shot 64 percent that day.
Bird, though, he was 16 of 19 (35 points, 16 rebounds) and, my god ... if there'd've been a 3-point line.
Yup ... 53.33333 points
At least ...

Oh, and in the other '79 Final Four Game, Earvin Johnson had 29 points, 10 rebounds, 10 assists and Greg Kelser had 28 points and 9 boards (the dynamic duo was 21 of 29 from the floor) in Michigan State's 101-67 win over the Penn Quakers.
(Note: I love basketball, which is why I obsess with rewinding to the previous seasons in much the same manner that modern-day guards obsess with the 3-ball as they camp along that stripe ... and why I flash back to a time when basketball actually existed in this nation and March Madness was a tournament with some quality teams and a few hidden superstars and not a field with maybe eight solid teams swerving to avoid a 56-team pileup of players just itchin' to bust loose with 13 or 14 points on 4-of-11 shooting from beyond the arc, are you listening, Calipari?)

Nevertheless, let's not to take away from G-Mac and his big day (which'll be the basketball equivalent of "A Salute To Chili Davis!" in a baseball paradigm).
Jeez, Senior Day ceremonies followed by the ‘Cuse hosting ‘Nova and 3-balls flying all over the place.
Some of them may actually fly through the netted hoop.
Most of 'em won't, though.
Which is why I'll be breakin’ out the pad n’ pen again.
You go, Tinz!
Word!

It’s March Mildness.
Time to get mild, evv-reee-budd-dee!

Bobby Hurley's Championship Gardening Tips

I suspect that most Americans don’t remember where they were and what they were doing when they didn’t care that J.J. Redick broke the ACC scoring record two days ago.
No hard feelings, Bucko, but that’s an asterisk record, anyway.*
(* - accomplished with the benefit of the 3-point arc in a watered-down conference with only a cursory understanding of defense …)
Context, people … context …

Wow, EspyTime gave me so much wall-to-wall basketball this weekend, jeez … I’ll need a week just to decompress.
Actually, the Sunday-to-Monday-overnight SporkCenter condensed for me what I’ll need to de-program from my brain during the decompressurization.
One priceless, quickie nugget was provided by coll. b-ball studio pencilneck Doug Gottlieb, who thumbnailed U-Conn with: “When they want to play, when they defend, when they rebound, when they take quality shots, they are arguably the most-talented team in the nation and probably the No. 1 team.”
Word!
Or, as the vanilla rhymesters say in the Chronic-(What?!)-Kulls of Narrr-nee-yuhh rap: “Double true!”
(Please don’t sue me, SNL)


Anyway, “Leebs” (as I call him in our Yiddish, street-cred vocab) was a 20 percent 3-point maker at Okie State and he was a 43 percent foul shooter (look it up, America … it’s “double true!”). And, maybe Leebs didn’t get around to reading my blog from a few weeks ago when I stated in no uncertain terms that the ONLY keys to every b-ball game ever played in the history of the universe (of all-time, EVER!) are: 1) D up 2) Box out 3) Minimize turnovers 4) Don’t take crappy 3’s which are beyond yer range.
Leebs doesn’t want you to know about the 20/43 component, so don’t tell anyone. Okay? Lock it in the vault where ya keep the knowledge that he spent the entire first half of that Big Monday game back in ’00 or ’01 with his shorts on backwards.
Oh, that nutty Dugster.

That’s the thing about b-ball – it always delivers when it comes to putting a smile on the faces of American citizens. SporkCenter proved that when it spent the 90-minute tilt-o’-whirl of goodness dealing with the key topics such as: A) A Harlem Globetrotters feature story B) The Mediocre Life of The Mediocre Kenny Mayne C) The Shuh-Sheff-Skee Sit-Down and D) My fave: Greece Athena High Holds A 50/50 Raffle For That Little Boy In The Hospital Who Is Dying Of Autism.

Don’t get me wrong … the Globetrotters piece was outstanding. It was well-packaged and watching Curly Neal drain two roof-scraping, 35-foot chest passes for baskets, well … it’s better than watching Pittsnogle and his tatts square up from 19-9.
And, for those of us who wondered what ever happened to the gigantic ‘fro of Arizona Wildcat Eugene Edgerson … yes!
Edge is a 'Trotter.

The thing about the Globetrotters is that when they took the floor, they were TRYING to be funny. And, Meadowlark shooting a hook shot from 25 feet will always go into the basket more times than J.J. Redick spotting up from 19-9.
Double true!

Speaking of which, Coach Krzyzewski offered some priceless moments when he had that sit-down with EspyTime stiff (reporter John Barr, I think his name is).
I, like most of America, was transfixed when Coach Mike was asked to give a clear-cut example of how his wife or daughters allowed him to look at coaching with a “different” perspective.
Coach Krzyz offered the anecdote about how Mrs. Krzyz, years ago, opined “something’s bothering Bobby Hurley” when Coach couldn’t see anything wrong at all.
Mike was building up to how Mrs. Duke-Sheffsky prodded Coach to have Bobby Hurley come in for a meeting, just to see what the problem was.
Coach Krzyz: “And I found out that there WAS something wrong with Bobby Hurley.”

In the land of Those Not In The Employ of ESPN, the next question is, “So, what WAS wrong with Bobby Hurley? Did he oversleep and miss a mid-term? Was there a death in the family? Did he have car trouble? Did he need a few bucks to get a burger at the Student Union? Had he just broken up with his girlfriend? Did he forsee himself sucking in the NBA?”
Yup, I know that’s actually seven questions – but that shouldn’t excuse Reporter EspyTime from going into a shell when Coach said what he said.
Barr's follow-up question was: “We understand you have quite a flower garden. Is it YOUR flower garden?”

Was the “What’s Eating Gilbert Grape?” ending to the Bobby Hurley anecdote edited out by Mike himself? Does Duke-Sheffskee have some sort of a God complex wherein we’re watching the footage of an opposing player driving to the basket and, subsequently, getting bludgeoned by Shelden Williams five feet from a ref who cannot seem to operate the complicated whistle matrix of blowing to activate the tiny wooden ball rattling inside the chamber to produce a tweeeeeet sound … well, Coach Mike wants you to know that accusations of Duke “getting the calls,” well, you aren’t only hurting Duke University, you’re hurting the game when you make those accusations.
Okay, swell.
But, when you called Bobby Hurley into your office, what did you learn was wrong with him?

Interviews with Coach Kzyz-Kid-Gloves-ski always end up like this mostly because we eventually end up talking about what grows in Mike’s flower garden because reporters who can’t grow any ‘nads can’t seem to bring themselves to ask Mike about anything other than the awesomeness of Mike’s awesomeness.

Since EspyTime Theater doesn’t have anyone qualified to do more than lob softballs at ILoveDuke, citizens who are Non-Cameron Crazy should send someone who would engage in more “biting” dialogue.
That’s right … send in Triumph The Insult Comic Dog.
“Coach, you’re team looks very good this year. Good for me TO POOP ON!”
Triumph, no!
Don’t go poopies on the Dukies.
Let them go poopies on themselves in the Sweet 16.
(Note: Coach Duke-Sheffskee is the only coach in America exempt from answering questions when CBS shoves a microphone in his face as he walks off the court at halftime. That’s because, well … “Keep that mike away from Mike. Mike don’t wanna see the mike.” Double true!)

Finally, America has spent the past several days connecting with that autistic kid from Greece Athena High after seeing what he did in the final 4:17 vs. Spencerport.
I feel especially connected since the cigarettes I smoke come from the Tuscarora Indian Reservation next door to Lewiston, NY – and it’s only a 70-mile trip east along Route 104 from the Tuscarora Indian Reservation to the sleepy Rochester suburb of Greece (note: you can drive the same distance along Route 31 from the Tuscarora Indian Reservation to get to Spencerport).
Still, if I was the coach of Spencerport, I’d work on getting myself into Tues. nite’s sectional semifinal in which Greece Athena is participating.
“Say, Coach Johnson, good luck tonight. Wait … I see that your best shooter is on the bench in street clothes. Why isn’t that kid starting? I watched him scorch us for 20 points and drain six treys in the final four minutes … and he’s not starting? What’s that all about? Is he injured? Is he sick? If he’s hurtin’, pump him full of meds and get him out there. It’s every player’s dream to win a sectional championship. Please tell me that you didn’t let him play his final home game to exploit autism at the expense of my team.”

Hey, I don’t hate the kid.
I hate that EspyTime pissed all over every other “unfashionable” or “inconvenient” disability. For every “He’s One Of Us” feel-good stories, there’s several dozen autistic kids or kids w/ cerebal palsy or muscular dystrophy who are viewed as some sorta freak show by kids their own age.
Let’s hug Jason McElwain because, well … he's non-threatening and, besides, that weirdo over there, that dude’s retarded or something.
Oh, and don’t forget to look right through every person in a wheelchair.
They can’t ball.
They’re losers.
Wanna go to the mall?

Get over yourselves, amputees and paraplegics. When you can stick the three like J-Mac, maybe EspyTime Theater can milk every drop from your story.
So, stop throwing your wheelchairs at the TV.

Stop actin’ all crippled and start accepting autism into your hearts.
It can’t be about you and your damn access ramps all the time …

Autistic Statistic

Here we go again ... stuck between a rock and a hard spot. In this case, "the rock" = ESPN’s Throwdown Thursday and "the hard spot" = Bracketbuster Saturday.
Alas, 'tis all part of Judgment Week (presented by Cisco Systems).
The inner-conflict shall percolate.

Some salvation, however, was achieved a few nights ago when ESPN offered another textbook example of re-establishing itself as EspyTime Theater (emphasis on the "Espys," which emphasizes throwdowns and the three-run jimmy jack and emphasis on "theater," which depicts that which is theatrical and may be more melodrama than actual drama).
So, it's necessary to ask: "Why did ESPN feel the need to use Jason McElwain to scratch its melodramatic itch?"

Everybody's seen the video clip by now ... the one where the autistic kid in Rochester, NY (Jason McElwain) comes off the bench and wins our hearts by sinking six 3-pointers in the final minutes of that high school game.
The next day, some of us recalled that poignant moment and then wept quietly at our office cubicles.
Well, some of us didn't.
And that's not solely because we don't work in an office cubicle.
It's because most of us iconoclasts see right through melancholy and melodrama.
As a full-fledged iconoclast, it's essential to spot the "con".

The truth is, America's acknowledgement of autism evaporated the very moment that EspyTime returned to its regularly-scheduled programming ... y'know, the hard-hitting issues such as: “Sunday Conversation: Should Roger Clemens pitch in the WBC?” … or the espn.com poll: “Will Roger Clemens pitch for the Astros this season?" (log on and vote now!)… will the Clippers make a run in the Western Division? … does Roger Clemens like the Clippers chances? … Carmelo missing a dunk … a breakdown of why Carmelo missed the dunk … Day 3 of Barry Bonds taking BP and shagging flies at spring training and trying to look natural and “not noticing” the cameras … more, more, more pf Sean Salisbury violating your TV space and, thereby, violating you.

EspyTime Theater is adorable the way that it provides one of those "Jeepers, that's swell" stories just to show “how much we really care” (sniff).
It’s so fashionable.

While those highlights were EspyTime Theater's version of "Autism Week In Review," a few questions spring to mind. Such as:
--- Did EspyTime acquire that video clip of Jason McElwain because the network dispatched its “Today’s Autistic Athlete” correspondent to the game?
--- If the kid’s good enough to drain six treys in the final minutes of a ballgame, then why didn’t he start the game?
--- If his team wasn't winning by 20 in those final four minutes, what then?

Seems to us as though maybe, earlier in the season, Jason McElwain's autism might've "gotten in the way."
So, the kid was allowed to do something safe ... such as handing out towels during timeouts. Then, once the timeout was over, he could go back to "staying out of the way" with his pesky autism.
A few weeks ago, America didn't need Jason McElwain as a prop for "theater."

America has allowed EspyTime Theater to lead it down this path before -- to yield to "feel-good stories" which are extremely misleading. And, the knee-jerk reaction is usually, "Jason McElwain -- whose name I didn't know 15 minutes ago -- was living out his dream."

For the record, EspyTime Theater returned to earth two days after airing the heroism of Jason McElwain by devoting as much time (less than one minute) on late-Friday’s SporkCenter to the winner of the “Hairy Back” winner at an NBA game.
Yup … Fatso with the fur all over his shirtless torso … posing topless at midcourt of an NBA arena … sure brings tears to your eyes, don’t it, Jeremy (or whatever your name is, Forgotten Autistic 3-Point Maker)?
(Note: It can’t ALWAYS be about the autistic kids because, dammit, flabby freaks with hair all over their backs have dreams, too)

Sensitive creature that it is, ESPN aired a BETTER piece on its Friday 6 o’clock SportsCenter ... Chris Connelly narrating a 5-minute piece about the Pop Warner Challenger League in East Greenbush, N.Y.
The league is for kids with disabilities who want to play football and who face everyday challenges which are greater than coming off the bench to pop six treys.
Those kids' stories/situations will rip yer guts out.

Not that Jason McElwain isn't challenged -- it's just that EspyTime gave America only a 15-30-second peek inside Jason McElwain's world.
Thus, EspyTime gathered material for an Espy Awards show without twisting our arms to either recognize or understand autism.
That's your autism snapshot, America -- less than 30 seconds of warm n' fuzziness to recollect for when you forget the kid's name next week.
For a lot of us, we learned everything there is to know about autism in "Rain Man."

"Five minutes 'til Wapner."

Maybe there are guys out there who are prepared to take this Jason McElwain thing to the next level ... such as Sharpie-ing the initials “J M” on the left sleeve of their dress shirts, then, while out at happy hour, brazenly approaching a 36-24-26 so that they can point to the sleeve and say, "That’s for my little buddy, Jeremy McElroy ... the guy you saw on SportsCenter the other night ... that little dude who demonstrated a triumph of the human spirit when he was singlehandedly leading his basketball team to the city championship. That little kid is autistic. Here ... it's on my ESPN Mobile phone, check it out. I don't work with autistic kids right now, but I plan to. Y'know, someday, they’re gonna invent a cure for autism or pass legislation that'll outlaw autism, but, until they do, all we can do is keep praying as we fight the good fight."
(Heavy sigh for melodrama and ... five ... four ... three ... two ... one ...)
HER: "That is soooo sweet. You're very sensitive."

With the proper Owen Wilson softness and inflection in your voice, yes, you can play "Autism To Win" and bed that little feminita who you plied with margaritas.
It's called "raising awareness."
Best of all ... it's for the kids.

Once we're done "fightin' for the cause," we can go back to bashing T.O. and hatin' on Bonds -- because those are concepts we understand.
Now that Jason or Jeremy or whatever has served his purpose, when someone asks us about autism, we can shrug and say, "Yeah, that's the thing that Boomer Esiason's kid has."
Oops... cystic fibrosis, whatever ...
If Boomer's kid is so special, why ain't he poppin' in six treys in the final minutes?

Maybe we'd all feel a little better if the coach of Johnny McElray's allowed a wheelchair-bound teen to play the final five minutes of a non-league game next season.
Then again, wheelcahir b-ballers are losers for one very specific reason.
They can't dunk.
And that doesn't fit into the EspyTime Theater paradigm of "Trendy Diseases & Afflictions."

Besides, do you have any idea how difficult it is to pick up a wheelchair b-baller (in his wheelchair) and carry him off the court on your shoulders after he sinks the game-winning three?

People with real, everyday struggles ... what a pain in the ass ...

Fallen Heroes, Flaming Heteros

While surfing for some Curt Gowdy data the other day (after learning of his passing less than an hour after I had included his name in that day's Pitchfork pontification), I stumbled across a site (which shall remain unnamed) and scrolled through the thumbnail high points:
Born: 31-Jul-1919
Birthplace: Green River, WY
Died: 20-Feb-2006
Location of death: Palm Beach, FL
Cause of death: Cancer - Leukemia
Gender: Male
Ethnicity: White
Sexual orientation: Straight
Occupation: Radio Personality, Journalist
Nationality: United States
Executive summary: Voice of the Red Sox
Military service: US Army Air Corps

For a lot of us, Curt Gowdy will remain as that inimitable voice in our minds ... that friendly, folksy narrator of our favorite Rose Bowl, our favorite Super Bowl or our favorite World Series.
So uncluttered.
To others, Curt Gowdy will be remembered as the Straight White Male US Army Air Corps Voice of the Red Sox Radio Personality Journalist who was born in Green River, Wyoming and died of leukemia in Palm Beach.
Notice how "straight" was listed first.

Curt Gowdy's passing makes a lot of us (well, me n' Smitty, anyway) ponder our own immortality in conjunction with the epitaph slated for our own grave plates.
It's very important to make sure that the paperwork at the county clerk's office is typed up professionally and adequately.
Y'know, delicate matters which extend beyond the Page 9 obit -- "sexual orientation."
My worst fear is the day when Mrs. PF7 is walking out of the county clerk's office with the urn of the Former PF7's ashes tucked under her arm and then, when she gets to the car, notices that there's a misprint or two on Line 15(c): "Sexual orientation: N/A."

No one wants to die as an "N/A."
But, that's the burden of every dead hetero and every soon-to-be-dead hetero (I mean, if I keep wolfing down cigs at this rate) ... ensuring that the S.O. Paradigm is adequate and operational.
Curt Gowdy did -- and now, most of us Americans who viewed him as somewhat iconic, can sleep at night.
Quality announcer ... respected outdoorsman ... digs the ladies.

Still, ya can't help but wonder if when it comes to submitting paperwork to That Big Processor In The Sky, if maybe you can't distinguish varying degrees of straight-ness.
I'm shooting for an upgrade from "N/A" to "undeniably straight." That would definitely contradict the reports from my college days when those gals' assessment reports graded me out with remarks ranging from "borderline straight" to "clumsily hetero" to "hard to say ... he always sings along to that 'Rio' video by 'Duran Duran.' "
What can I say? It was a jaunty, light-hearted song that didn't get all preachy and ...

Hey, we're talkin' 'bout Curt Gowdy, not me.
And, when it comes to sportscasters' sexuality, I usually leave such matters to CNN's Wolf Blitzer in "The Situation Room" (sitting in for Wolf today: Kitty Pilgrim).
It's refreshing that somebody out there has addressed the public's right to know in matters of Curt Gowdy's sexuality. It takes too much time to research whether he was a good husband and a proud father and a reliable friend, so, at least the nuts n' bolts were listed.
Kinda makes me wonder that if I go surfing for data on, oh, let's say another sportscaster, such as Marv Albert. What will I find in his S.O. Paradigm.
Answer: Straight.*
(Note: The asterisk means "extenuating circumstances," circa 1997)

Sorry ... I'm not interested in learning if Mike Tirico is gay or straight, but that ESPN book from a few years ago didn't paint him in a good light.
Sexual innuendo aside, America's 2006 Monday Night Football audience is going to absolutely adore the manner in which Tirico has an orgasm every time a running back breaks into the clear and HE'S AT THE 30! THE 20! THE 10!
For us college football diehards, we've been earwitnesses to such broadcasting.
Tirico ... good for golf, but ...

Personally, I care a lot more if a sportscaster is a straight-shooter who likes his whiskey straight rather than the knowledge of whether he's gay or straight.
But, in the name of fairness, it's good to be thorough when completing the bio.
On the other hand, when Curt Gowdy was calling Super Bowl VII, he could've watched that botched Yepremian field goal/fumble-pass unfolding and, without getting into hot water, could've said, "That was one queer play, Al! But, the Redskins are back in the game and they sure look gay."

As you would expect, I can incorporate Curt Gowdy into a "What does this have to do with the Steelers winning the Super Bowl?" since, after all, it was Curt Gowdy who was doin' the play-by-play for NBC in Super Bowl IX when the Steelers won their first. And, he was there for Super Bowl XIII when the Steelers beat Dallas, 35-31.

One of Tom Landry's Dallas assistant coaches back in those days was Ernie Stautner, who -- I'm sexually at ease with myself to say -- was a handsome, silver-haired man with firm, square jaw and the broad shoulders even though Landry, back in the day, had all of his assistants wearing those powder-blue sweaters.
Probably just as many people who didn't realize that Ernie Stautner passed away last week also don't realize that Ernie Stautner is the Hall of Famer who spent 14 years (1950-63) playing for some god-awful Steeler teams.

And, Ernie Stautner's jersey #70 is the only one that the Steelers have officially retired. I've often thought about retired Steeler jersey numbers every time that I think about Antwaan Randle El wearing John Stallworth's #82 and Matt Kranchick (yeah, THAT Matt Kranchick) being the most-recent of many to wear Swannie's #88.
It seems as though Bradshaw's #12 is unofficially permanently off-limits ... same deal with Franco's #32, Lambert's #58, Ham's #59, and Mean Joe's #75.
Scott Shields (yeah, THAT Scott Shields) was wearing Mel Blount's #47 a few years ago and Willie Parker was wearing Bobby Walden's #39.
How dare he!
When Rod Woodson gets into the Hall of Fame a few years from now, will Deshea Townsend still be around wearing #26? And, will that jersey number, too, be unofficially off-limits?

It's times like these when I wish Steve Sabol would toss me the keys to the NFL Films warehouse and say, "Go nuts."
Just so I could track down some archived Ernie Stautner footage.
And a few of the A-list games which Curt Gowdy announced.

In case you're keeping score at home re: Ernie Stautner:
Born: 20-Apr-1925
Birthplace: Prinzing-by-Cham, Germany
College: Boston College
Occupation: Pittsburgh Steelers defensive tackle, Dallas Cowboys assistant coach
Sexual orientation: Does slamming QBs STRAIGHT to the ground count?
Years played in NFL: 1950-1963
Hall of Fame: 1969

A Jekel & Hide Weekend

That wasn't much of a Bracketbuster Saturday, EspyTime!
You're to blame, Jekel Foster.
Here's why:
I'd already hosted the dedication ceremony for a "Fabulous Foster February" when the Ohio State guard sank 7 of 8 three-balls against Minnesota on Feb. 4, drained sank 5 of 6 trifectas against Michigan on Feb. 9 and buried 6 of 8 treys against Illinois on Feb. 12.
In this, the United States of 37 Percent 3-Point-Makers, I viewed Foster's 18-of-22 spurt as a ray of hope for those of us who'd like to see the U.S. strive to become more than a land of 37 percent 3-point makers (which'll lead to the U.S. outsourcing 3-point shooting to overseas markets).
Foster broke my heart on Thurs. when he went 1 of 5 on 3-balls vs. Wisconsin and then compounded my agony on Sat. when he was 0 of 6 vs. Northwestern.
There went my "Pick To Click."

Bracketbuster? About the only bracket which got busted over the weekend were the ones in offices across this great land which had Lindsey Jacobellis winning the gold medal in that funky, new made-for-Americans X Games moto-cross snowboard event.
Other than that, Roundball America still has (and will continue to have) Duke and U-Conn in its NCAA office-pool bracket.
Those two teams, I've heard are super! scintillating! sensational!
(Sidebar, Your Honour: I'm hoping that Egghead Vitale, who was recently nominated for the basketball Hall of Fame, gets elected when the announcement comes down on Apr. 3. Let's face it, Egghead revolutionized the game by stringing together catch-phrases such as "super! scintillating! sensational!" and "Diaper Dandy" and "PTP'er" and "bay-beee!" at the end of dunks ... not to mention that keen insight such as "So-and-so needs to shoot better" and "So-and-so has to avoid the turnovers" ... if I had a vote, I'd vote for Egghead five times, possibly six. And Smitty sez if he had a Hall of Fame vote, he'd vote for Egghead seven times because of the pioneering manner in which he added "Windex" to our lexicon. Smitty sez it doesn't matter that the guy couldn't play and couldn't coach, he invented PTP'er, bayyy-bee ... )

Anyway, Jekel and Lindsey really ripped my heart out this weekend. Thank goodness EspyTime's "College GameDay" bailed out America out on Saturday morning. Wait ... I can't watch that (not unless they resurrect the Wazzu Flag which made autumn Saturdays worth living). So, instead, I completely immersed myself in what EspyTime Theater aired in the time slot immediately following College GameDay -- the replay of the college football skills competition which EspyTime has replayed about five times since it originally aired two Saturdays ago.
That's a winner for me on three levels: 1) No 37 percent 3-point shooters to clog up my colon with their 37 percent 3-point shooting 2) A chance to reunite with my boy Charlie Whitehurst of Clemson and 3) Erin Andrews in that green sweater.
When Erin Andrews smiles, my brackets get all smudgy.
Same deal for Smitty.
Lindsey has no effect on us whatsoever.
Not even if she was snowboarding nude (which she will be when that becomes an Olympic event in 2014).

By the way, Costas had Lindsey on the hot seat on Friday's NBC late-night show, but Bob and his L'Oreal dye job didn't give me much insight.
For one thing, Bob & His Dye Job didn't ask about whether Lindsey's zooming-downhill thoughts might've drifted toward imagining her VISA Card getting stolen.
Anonymous N.E. Patriots Lineman-In-Full-Game-Gear-While-Seated-At-The-Restaurant-Table says, "Metaphors ..."

By the time I was done cursing the Patriots and wondering why Costas wasn't asking Lindsey about what she thought of the Steelers winning the Super Bowl, bingo! ... I found myself watching 5 minutes of Olympic action on Sunday and there he was, sittin' across from Costas in a big, comfy chair.
"J-Bet" (show me where it's written that we HAVE to call him "Bus" all the time).

Bettis is in Torino and since America couldn't get enough of The Bus at the beginning of February (and since none of us has any interest in visiting "joinbode.com" or what the status is of Lindsey's stolen VISA Card), B-Cost was almost giddy when telling America that J-Bet will be visiting American living rooms this autumn when NBC unveils its "Football Night In America" show on NBC.
Once America sees wall-to-wall Bus on the 53-inch plasma, America will reach into its pocket (the pocket opposite the one where the Terrible Towel is stuffed) and pull out a mini American flag to wave furiously while chanting, "U-S-A! U-S-A! U-S-A!"
(Sidebar, Your Honour: B-Cost was asked J-Bet if he could relate to Lindsey's wipeout, since it was like his fumble -- but The Bus missed the bus and didn't respond with something witty such as, "Lindsey sure could've used someone like Big Ben out there to tackle the girl who was boarding past and taking the gold medal which belonged to Lindsey.")

The point is, NBC ... the network which gave America the voice of Curt Gowdy and Dick Enberg during all of those memorable AFC games way back before the '90s (and which gave us the Red Network, the White Network and the Blue Network as part of the Triplecast Olympic package) ... is back in the NFL biz.
Of course, NBC also gave us Bryant Gumbel, but, don't despair. He told me to stay away from the Olympics because it, apparently, ain't ghetto enough, so, when it comes to gold medalist Shani Davis, nope ... never heard of him.
I'm sure I must've been watching BET at the time.

Yeah, I heard that there were other big-time events worth checkin' out during the weekend, such as the Daytona 500 and the NBA All-Star Game. I didn't see the restrictor-plate auto race, but I did see something on one of EspyTime's SporkCenter segments which America might never see again -- Chris Fowler with his hair un-gelled.
The morning Florida breeze left Fowler's hair uncharacteristically tossled -- to, which, no doubt, he returned to his trailer, applied the product, looked in the mirror and said, "Oh, you are so gellin'. And, I am cuter than Herb Kirkstreit, I am cuter than Herb Kirkstreit, I am cuter than Herb Kirkstreit ... "

There you have it: A weekend which was a little jumbled and disorganized, sports-platter-wise.
Funny thing is, Mrs. PF7 and I had every intention of watching "Knight School" at 10 o'clock Sunday night as part of EspyTime Theater's "original programming."
Then, we forgot.
Maybe Smitty TiVo'ed it for us.
We might've lost our focus once I took over the clicker and surfed over to Comcast to peek in on five minutes of UCLA and USC and then felt short-changed when 'SC's Abdoulaye Ndiaye didn't dunk over Luc Richard Mbah a Moute and talk smack with, "Cameroon sucks!" which would've led to Mbah a Moute returning the favor by dunking over Ndiaye and screaming, "Senegal sucks worse!"
So, I think I might've clicked back to BET to make Gumbel proud.

Back to the gospel according to "Knight School" ... he's that guy who coaches at O'Reilly Auto Parts Tech, right? I've seen that guy before. His team plays its home games in an arena wherein the O'Reilly Auto Parts logo is on each player's chair, the O'Reilly Auto Parts logo is on the floor not too far from the chairs with the O'Reilly Auto Parts logo and another O'Reilly Auto Parts logo is on a large display in front of the scorer's table.
What I don't see is O'Reilly Auto Parts in the rankings, not to mention very high in the Big XII standings.

LUCKY FOR YOU N' ME, Smitty (and Roundball America!) O'Reilly Auto Parts is on EspyTime's Theater's "Big Monday" package tonight.
O'Reilly Auto Parts will tangle with the Sooner Schooner as part of EspyTime's "Judgment Week."
(Sidebar, Your Honour: My preliminary judgment: "Weak.")

Anyway, what intrigues me about O'Reilly Auto Parts vs. Sooner Schooner is, ummm ... these are football schools. What business have they playing basketball?
If nothing else, viewers will get a healthy dose of Patrick Knight doin' a formidable job of assistant coaching by doing what he does every game: Fastening his elbows to his knees, keeping track of the timeouts remaining and wearing Kevlar ear plugs to block out Daddy's profanity.

I don't want to give it away, but I've seen this game a dozen times. A sneak preview follows: A lot of standing around by O'Reilly Auto Parts players and a lot of sitting around with a far-away look in the eyes of Patrick.
On the flip side, here's your Sooner Schooner teaser: A lot of mediocre kids doing a lot of mediocre things. I see OU shooting anywhere from 35-38 percent on 3-balls (y'know, somewhere in that 8 of 22 range ... that is, if they assert themselves).
Final: 73-66.

Now, that I've spilled the beans, there's no reason for Deadspin to commission me for a running blog.
Okay, America ... let's get out there in the snow and see if we can find Lindsey's stolen gold medal and stolen VISA Card ...

The Hoosier Hundred Cloak (& Dagger) Room

The reason why many of us found Mike Davis objectionable was because, in the “Pantheon of Memorable Mike Davises,” Mike Davis was only our third-favorite Mike Davis.
And, that was because we couldn’t think of any other Mike Davises to rank ahead of Mike Davis.
As it was, we remembered that Mike Davis was the Oakland Raider DB who made that end-zone interception of that Brian Sipe pass intended for Ozzie Newsome in the waning moments of that AFC playoff game in Jan. ’81 … the pass which broke Cleveland’s heart and secured the Raiders’ 14-12 victory en route to the world championship.
And, we never forgot that Mike Davis was the Oakland Athletic who coaxed a walk from Dennis Eckersley before Kirk Gibson’s “I-don’t-believe-what-I-just-saw!” homer to win Game 1 of the ’88 World Series.
So, while there was a Mike Davis who was either saving Oakland or sinking Oakland, there was never a Mike Davis who won the hearts of Bloomingtonians.

The only reason that I care is because Mrs. PF7 is an Indiana alumnae, which means that she was there for the championship run in ’87 and she was in the gym the night when Knight slid the chair across the court in her direction.
The Mrs. has plenty of dandy behind-the-scenes stories, not the least of which is when she told me about Lawrence Funderburke’s recruiting visit and how he wouldn't go out to dinner with the fellow b-ballers, instead opting for an evening in with a bowl, possibly two, of Sugar Smacks cereal.

While such an anecdote may paint Lawrence Funderburke as someone who was anti-social or aloof, that’s not the mission here. Truth be told, I’d like to reach out to Big Funder (if that is, in fact, what anyone called him) get his thoughts about where he was and what he was doing the day when Sugar Smacks and Super Sugar Crisp became "Honey Smacks" and "Golden Crisp," respectively.
Of course, leave it to Kellogg’s to keep its Sugar Smacks mascot, Dig ‘Em (the cartoon frog), and Post to retain the rights to Sugar Bear to pitch their puffed-wheat cereals.

Yeah, yeah, I know, I know … you can’t have cereals with the word “sugar” in the name because sugar became the anti-Christ sometime in the early ‘90s (when America started to go into full-blown denial, as demonstrated by putting a shotgun in its mouth by electing Preisdent Bubba to two terms).
Look … I’m not saying that Bush is appreciably better – it’s just that I don’t think sugar should be stigmatized to the point where parents are psyched out into believing that the cereals they’re buying are either “Crack Smacks” or “Crystal Meth Crisp” just because the word “sugar” appears in bold letters on the box.

Which takes us back to our third-favorite Mike Davis. He definitely seemed to have sugar-sweetened, puffed wheat for brains when it came to various basketball concepts, not to mention b-ball concepts as they pertain to IU.
And, it wasn't the color of skin that seemed like a problem. More like the "thickness" of his skin.

From what we've seen and heard, Mike Davis is a thin-skinned, troubled individual who says things which sugar-smack of paranoia and hypocrisy.
Or stupidity – such as those two gems he had from early in the ‘02/’03 season, less than eight months after he led Knight’s recruits to the NCAA title game.
Davis said, “I think that understanding the pro game is half the battle.”
To compound our confusion, he said, “I want Indiana to have more players in the NBA than any other school.”

The first inclination is to laugh and say, “Okay, Coach … that’s a good one. You crack me up.”
Then, when you see that he's serious (well, "serious" in the Mike Davis sense), you want to host the intervention that gets Coach Davis to kick the floor-wax-huffing addiction for good.

The fact that he used the terms “pro” and “NBA” less than one year after those yokels Coverdale and Fife and Odle and Hornsby (along with the mostly-ordinary Jared Jefferies) were the best players on the roster he inherited, well … it was reminiscent of the basketball scene in “Cuckoo’s Nest” [which is the greatest basketball scene in the history of cinema, sorry, Jimmy Chitwood … your elegant jumper for Hickory High can never measure up to Martini (Danny Devito) taking the inbounds pass from McMurphy (Nicholson) and, in one, hot-potato motion, happily and psychotically flinging the ball against the chain-link fence … 30 years later, there’s remains nuthin’ better than to hear Nicholson’s high-pitched ranting and raving in what SHOULD have been the way Davis reacted any time one of his 31 percent 3-point shooters decided to jack one up from 22 feet and hit nothing but chain-link fence].
Yup ... Coverdale, Fife and Martini in a stylish NBA, three-guard offense. Nice guys...scrappers...NBA?
Oh, definitely...

Through the years, Davis’ comments (like the ones above) were usually vapid and his body language was always wrong. For example, it’s almost impossible to forget the expression on his face when, during the final seconds of his upset win over Duke in the ’02 Sweet 16, Fife fouled (Jayson Williams, I think) as he was making a 3 when IU had a 4-point lead w/ :04 or :03 on the clock.
On the replay, the CBS cameras captured Davis’ reaction as the foul was being whistled and the ball was going through the hoop, etc …
Davis acted with such oh-my-god-what-are-you-doing? incredulity at the horror he was witnessing – as if Dane Fife was either committing some act of high treason or, possibly, holding a kitten’s head under water in the bath tub.
Alright already, we know he wears his heart on his sleeve, but that "I'm-about-to-explode-into-tears" look, ummm ... how is that any worse than Knight barking expletives at Fife?
Fact is ... it isn't.
So, settle down, Coach. Remain stoic so as to instill confidence in the lads.
After all, Martini didn’t mean to throw the ball against the fence …

Mike Davis led us to believe that there was a lot of “pressure” to live up to Knight's legacy. With an annual salary of anywhere between $500K and a mil, seems as though Mike should've heeded the words of Inspector Callahan when he slid off his slacks so that the doctor wouldn't have to slice up the pant leg to treat the gunshot wound.
Doc: "It'll hurt."
Harry: "For $29.50, let it hurt."

Mike Davis wore trousers priced higher than $29.50, although that didn't stop him from standing in his pleated pants, gesturing and orchestrating a team which, like Knight's final five teams, was marginally-talented and mostly-disorganized.
What's so pressure-packed about that?
“Pressure” is goin’ to work every day in a coal mine or grinding out a living in a blue-collar job, not putting on a $500 blazer and shouting directions to players who might've tuned you out a month ago.
There's a word for a job like that.
It's called "cush."

I read something recently about how, in terms of the ’02 run to the title game, yes, those were Knight’s players in theory, but it was Davis who coaxed Jeffries, Newton and Moye to come to IU and it was Davis who somehow made Coverdale more than a bench-warmer and it was Davis who got that pretty flower Dane Fife to become more “Dane-gerous.”
What a bunch of B.S.

For anyone who watched Coverdale or Newton or Fife back then (and later Bracey Wright and George Leach), what you saw were guys who could offer anywhere from 15-23 points one night and in the next game, provide two points, no rebounds, five turnovers, no assists and three fouls the next night.
The best case in point came during that ’02 tourney when IU fell into a 16-point hole against Duke and then Coach Shuh-Sheff-Skee said, “Carlos Boozer seems as though he’s scoring too easily; let’s allow our Hoosier opponent to get back into this game by NOT getting the ball to Boozer for the next 15 or 20 minutes.”
When IU beat Kent State in the Elite Eight, the good times rolled when the H-Men sank 15 of 19 from 3-point range (I seem to recall a pass ricocheting off of Odle’s elbow, caroming off Hornsby’s forehead and bouncing off of Fife’s shoulder and into the basket for threeeeeeeeeeee!!!!)

That ’02 tournament run was classic because it was a textbook example of how coaches can out-stupid one another. In the Final Four, when IU went up against Oklahoma, Sooner coach Kelvin Sampson – forgetting that he had four players on his team who were 80 percent foul shooters – figured, “okay, let’s shoot ill-advised 3-balls instead of getting IU into foul trouble.”

Well, some normalcy was established in the title game when the team with the best talent and the best chemistry (Maryland) defeated the team which could not locate its 15-of-19, three-ball mojo.
“Understanding the pro game is half the battle ...” – which is pretty much why Jarrad Odle inked a contract to become the NBA’s next Vanilla Von Dunkenburg immediately after the postgame show.

It doesn’t matter if it’s Jarrod Odle or Patrick Ewing, Jr. … the college game isn’t about living up to someone else’s “legacy” … it’s more about about developing game-to-game teamwork and a level of consistency. The Davis recruits which had no attachment to Knight were not, from what anyone could see, appreciably better than when they arrived in Bloomington.
And, if Davis was so keen on the NBA game, why didn’t he pattern his team’s style of play after the Spurs or the Pistons?
Answer: Because he’s not much of a coach, a judgment which was the sum of his in-game X’s and O’s and the unit on the floor which seemed to accomplish little in practice (except maybe shooting indiscrimate threes).

To wit, two years ago, after the Hooters lost to Illinois in the Big Ten tourney to finish 14-15, Moye said, “It hurts because it comes down to pride. If we were 14-15 and we gave it everything we had this year, I’d be OK with that. But we didn’t.”

Pride?
Giving it everything you have?
Can Coach help with those principles?
Right … if the team actually has a coach.
And not a bellyacher.

Seems as though matters of pride and lack of intensity – nearly four years after Knight’s departure – would fall squarely in the lap of Davis. The H-Men, as Moye implied, didn’t “give it everything they had” because Coach found it easier to accuse the pressure of high expectations as to why his team was sloppy … or why the low-post players looked lost in the low-post … or why the offense had no flow and took questionable 3-point shots … or why his players couldn't hound the opponent on the defensive end ... or why they would get beaten on the boards …

Mike Davis was run out of town, figuratively, before he ran out of excuses. He could’ve told the Knight Faithful to cram it, taking the offensive with, “Hey, I went to as many Final Fours as Huggins did” or, better yet, he could’ve played the race card and said, “Was Branch McCracken the racist that people like Hall of Fame pitcher Bob Gibson said he was?"

It’s funny, but when referring to those final games of the ’04 season, Davis allowed bench-warmer Mark Johnson to play in the final two games. In the win over Ohio State and the loss to the Illini, Johnson – who had scored 31 points in his IU career – was 7 of 15 from the floor (all 3-point attempts) and was 8 for 8 from the line.
Now, THAT actually was a move which made some sense ... inserting a benchwarmer because the stars weren’t delivering.
Sure, maybe Johnson was playing with a nothing-to-lose mentality, but maybe he would’ve been that way a lot earlier in the season if someone had given him a chance.
And, if Patrick Ewing, Jr. had transferred out sooner.

Aside from the fact that he was a sub-par coach and an inadequate recruiter, Mike Davis actually DID live up to the standards of Knight in the final five years in Bloomington – having a team look out of sync and playing like crap in just about every road game.
All while wearing the peppermint-striped warm-up pants.

Of course, those IU elitists who hang their winter coats and jackets in the Hoosier Hundred Cloak Room (I laughed my ass off when I saw where IU's finest hang their cloaks when the Mrs. took me to my one IU game in Assembly Hall ten years ago) are becoming Nervous Nellies because they're seeing what has happened at Purdue and how swiftly an elite team can become the Big Ten doormat.
Now, they're looking to Steve Alford as the savior.

Alford’s tele-conference on Friday was a real hoot. Every question was met with Alford’s pre-written reply of, “My entire focus and energy is helping my team win a Big Ten championship and get ready for the N-C-Double-A tournament. This is my only concern.”
“Hi, Coach, ummm … Sugar Smacks becoming Honey Smacks and Super Sugar Crisp transitioning to Golden Crisp, ummm … your thoughts?”
“My entire focus and energy is helping my team win a Big Ten championship and get ready for the N-C-Double-A tournament. This is my only concern.”

The situation is interesting for the H-Men of B-Town. Through it all, though, the lingering question lingers still: “How can we give the IU b-ball matter a Steelers’ Super Bowl victory tie-in?”
That’s pretty easy once you consider that, on the front cover of this Indiana Hoosiers Media Guide & Yearbook ‘99/’00 (Knight’s final season) is A.J. Guyton (the Mrs. and I loved that kid) and, on the inside cover (lower left corner) there’s a color depiction of No. 10 D-ing up against Ball State … ANTWAAN RANDLE EL!!!

Antwaan Randle El can tell Mike Davis a thing or two about pressure at Indiana, although, in ‘Twon’s case, it was the pressure of being chased by a Buckeye or Badger or ‘Boiler linebacker and then getting pulverized by the Buckeye or Badger or ‘Boiler linebacker.
‘Twon didn’t say, “Maybe Indiana needs a quarterback more like what they’re used to … y’know, like a Trent Green or a Babe Laufenberg.”
‘Twon just kept pluggin’ away and makin’ magical plays.
When he wasn't running for dear life.

His knack for playmaking did not go unnoticed, which is funny to think about once you rewind your mind to the ’02 NFL draft. After the Steelers spent their first-round pick on guard Kendall Simmons out of Auburn (a perfectly-acceptable selection), the team braintrust raised a few eyebrows by drafting Randle El as a receiver with the 62nd pick in the draft ahead of Pittsburgh Panthers wideout Antonio Bryant (who was chosen by Dallas with the next pick) and Louisville’s Deion Branch (who was taken by New England three picks later).

It seemed like a head-scratcher at the time ... like some sort of crazy ploy to replace Kordell Stewart (a.k.a. "Slash") with "Slash II" or "The New Slash" or "Second Slash" or "National Lampoon's European Slash-cation."

Sorry … my bad.

Although he was in his Indiana jersey at the time, Antwaan Randle El was not eligible to play (a freshman non-qualifier) when the Mrs. took me to my only IU football game (a 37-0 loss at home to Michigan in Sept. ’97).
All I remember about that game against the eventual national co-champs is that by the time the Mrs. and I were hitting the apparel racks inside the Big Red Gift Center, Michigan had pulled starting QB Brian Griese in favor of the garbage-time QB.
Some sophomore scrub named Tom Brady.

For the IU diehards, they remember the ’97 football season as a time when the Hoosier defense had two performers with great talent and great names – Adewale Ogunleye and Kywin Supernaw – but little else.
Of course, that ’97 season marked the first year for a new head coach who made a bold statement when he played God by switching the school colors, thus replacing crimson helmets and crimson jerseys with black helmets and blood-red jerseys.
All that was missing, in the minds of the Hoosier Hundred Cloak Room, was the peppermint-striped pants.

Either way, by referencing the ’97 season, we’ve ended our search for “Who’s Replacing The Guy Who Couldn’t Replace Knight?”

Ladies and gentlemen, welcome back “one of our own” … MALCOLM “CAM” CAMERON!!!!