Syntax of Things

"We're not rabid, we just spit a lot"*

When I heard that a fan of the University of Alabama Crimson Tide had written a book, my first response was to wonder how many crayons he used. The guy is a Columbia grad, so I guess he probably had the 64-count box.

This little quip may explain why I no longer live in Alabama. You may think this a bit of an exaggeration, but college football in that state rivals the Southern Baptist Church in terms of zealousness. I've often said that the best time to rob a bank in Birmingham is on the Saturday of the Alabama-Auburn game. Then again, I don't think any of the banks and very few businesses in the state are open on that day.

By all rights, I should be an Alabama fan. My dad raised me to be one, probably would have bumper stickered my infant head had he thought about it. Dad has all of the fanatic items: the tie for the day-after-a-victory Sunday service at church; a flag to fly off of the house, the elephant head inside of a capital A; collector's edition Coke bottles celebrating key victories; and plenty of hats. I'm actually surprised that he doesn't require his employees to take an oath to the Crimson Tide after hiring them. On top of all of this, Dad is a Bryant. For all of you non-football fans, that name may not mean much, but in the state of Alabama it's akin to being a Kennedy (well, without the privileges). For Bama fans, the name conjures up the glory days of multiple national championships and undefeated seasons. Mention Bryant in Alabama and people think of hound's-tooth hats, a grumbly voice, 322 victories, and Alabama football.

So what happened to this Bryant? Simply put, I backslid. I followed the path of the in-laws; I chose the soaring War Eagle over the dumb-looking elephant, tiger over tide. I must have become an Auburn fan early enough that I don't remember my dad's disappointment when I started saying "War Eagle" on Saturday afternoons, but I imagine that he's probably shed a few tears over his lost son. I have heard him say to friends, "See what happens when you drop a kid on his head?"

My dad still loves me. He and I don't speak on that one day in November, sometimes for days afterward. We generally avoid conversations about that game altogether. I think he holds out hope that one day I'll come to my senses. He probably has the bumper sticker picked out for me.

+ Rammer Jammer Yellow Hammer site and blog
+ NYT review of Rammer Jammer Yellow Hammer
+ Auburn and Alabama jokes

*I don't remember the source of this quote, but I once read it in an interview of a rabid SEC football fan.

Take Gonzo and the Points

In his most recent ESPN Page 2 column, Hunter S. Thompson discusses a certain set of twins (and gambling):

[Indianapolis Colts owner Jim] Irsay called me last week from the ancient and honorable POLO Lounge in Beverly Hills, saying he was terribly nervous about his team's huge season opener in Foxboro -- somewhere on the outskirts of Boston. And he wondered if some of his players were planning to vote for George Bush in the coming November election.

"That's ridiculous," I told him. "Edge and Marvin would never vote for a criminal freak like George Bush. He is a failure in everything he touches."

"Well," he replied. "I don't know about that. Those two little daughters of his are extremely wild and hot. I've been sweet on those girls for a long time; I want them on my side when the deal goes down."

"Be careful, James," I said. "Those cupcakes are crazy as barn-cats, and they will never be on your side. Don't even think about inviting them up to Indianapolis for a game. Old Man Bush will call the cops on you and have you put in prison."

He laughed.

"Don't worry, Hunter," he said. "I know how to handle women. Those girls will be like putty in my hands. They will be worth at least three points in close games -- and I want those three points. I need them."

What's the Frequency, Cornelius?

Perhaps he can't help himself. It could be that Cornelius Horan responds to the voice in his head, the voice of God telling him to tackle the lead runner in the Olympic marathon thus preventing the Brazilian from winning the gold. He's a "priest on sabbatical" after all. Or maybe he wanted to see a little better competition. A fifty-five second lead with less than three miles to go may have been too much for him to stomach. If it had been close, maybe he would have tackled a Congonese runner in thirty-eighth place.

Last year, this same "man of the cloth"--and what fetching cloth it is--ran onto the middle of another course. This one happened to be filled with race cars going close to 200 MPH. Just as he did in his marathon stunt, he carried a sign, this one proclaiming, ""Read the Bible – the Bible is always right." During his court hearing afterward, he said, "The moment I stepped on the course I felt there was an unseen hand which kept me protected. God has told me this was my defining moment." I suppose that stepping in front of an exhausted runner posed little threat to him in comparison.

Perhaps Mr. Horan is a modern-day, more agressive version of Rollen "Rock'n Rollen" Stewart. You may know Rollen as the guy who popularized the John 3:16 signage at sporting events. He'd show up dressed in all kinds of strange attire, always capped off by a rainbow wig. He'd always somehow find the camera into which he would hold up his sign. The man became an icon, the stuff of sports legend.

Now the man is serving life (three of them) in prison. Not for running on the field and tackling John Elway during one of his legendary drives. No, it seems that Rollen started hearing the voice also:

On September 22, 1992, believing the Rapture was only six days away and having prepared himself by watching TV for 18 hours a day, Stewart began his last "presentation." Posing as a contractor, he picked up two day laborers in downtown LA, then drove to an airport hotel. Taking the men up to a room, he unexpectedly walked in on a chambermaid. In the confusion that followed he drew a gun, the two men escaped, and the maid locked herself in the bathroom. The police surrounded the joint, and Rollen demanded a three-hour press conference, hoping to make his last national splash. He didn't get it. After a nine-hour siege the cops threw in a concussion grenade, kicked down the door, and dragged him away.

Horan was slapped on the wrist today, set free to interrupt yet another sporting event. I'm sure like the Streaker and the Kissing Bandit, this guy has big plans. If we're lucky he'll tackle Chaka Khan before she can sing at next year's MTV Awards. But in reality, we can only hope that the voice doesn't get too loud.

The Big Aristotle

Southern California will miss Shaq if for no other reason than the classic answers he gives to interviewers.

If Kobe called you on your cell right now, what would you say?

O'Neal: I don't have a cell phone. People that I'm connected with ... all you got to do is think -- I call you. I don't have a cell phone and that's the problem with Diesel -- I'm technologically more advanced than you are. My thought process begins where the regular human apex is at.

Detroit Riot City

Note: I pulled the original content of this post because I made disparaging remarks about Detroit. A post previous to this one was deleted because I said something equally negative about L.A. I want this to be a place of peace and harmony so I should avoid describing both of those places with a word such as enema.

And I'm not hoping for a riot of any sort. Riots are such messy affairs. I wouldn't want the beauty that is L.A. or Detroit to go up in flames. After all, I'm downwind from L.A.

Tomahawk to the Heart

Don't feel sorry for me. Sure, I'm a Braves fan, and so far, this season has been tough to sit through. Sure, the Braves have won 300 straight division titles, so we're a little spoiled. And before you add a comment that references anything to do with choking, I'm also well aware of the pathetic performance of my team come October.

That said, I agree with most of the top 10 reasons listed on ESPN's Page 2 that make Atlanta number 8 among the most tortured cities in terms of sports. October 27, 1991, still ranks as one of the worst days of my life. Maybe it seems extreme, but after suffering through a lifetime of crappy teams, seeing the Braves get that close only to lose sent me into a depression that took turning 21 to overcome.

I'd actually make an entire list of Braves moments that have tortured me. Leyritz's homerun (#2 on the list) definitely stays. The sweep at the hands of the Yanks in 99. The sweep by the Cardinals in 1982 has to be up there. Don't forget the takeover by AOL-TW, which is part of the reason why I'm suffering this season.

So what city will rank #1? I'm placing my early bet that they will pick Chicago, but I'd also not be surprised to see Philly on top of that list (hiring Larry Bowa should automatically rank them in the top three). And of course, somewhere in the top 3, New Orleans (think paper bags and the fact that the name Jazz is now forever in Utah) will find its rightful place.

The Future of the Asterisk

Under a proposal approved by the IOC executive board, athletes who have undergone sex-change surgery will be eligible for the Olympics if their new gender has been legally recognized and they have gone through a minimum two-year period of postoperative hormone therapy.

Sure, Olympic sports are often duller than CSPAN at 4 pm, but ballroom dancing takes on a whole new meaning with this adjustment to the rules. I just hope that the rush of women looking to add a penis in order to win a gold in skeet shooting does not become an issue.

Is It Over Yet?

"Come on, what could happen in zero point four seconds," said my wife while waiting for the Lakers game to finish so that she could watch the shark jumping episode of Survivor.

"It would be a miracle," I admitted.

Three timeouts and 0.4 seconds later, a miracle occurred.

I don't really care much for the NBA, but I do enjoy watching the playoffs. Secretly, I've become a bit of a Laker fan, but don't tell any of my family back in the South. Growing up, being a fan of anything L.A. or N.Y. or Notre Dame could get you taken out of a will.

So this morning, I noticed that XTRA 690, the Sports Superstation in L.A, was playing the play-by-play of the miracle shot in a continuous loop, interrupted only be the occasional call to answer the question, "Where were you when D. Fish hit the shot?"

I was sitting beside a wife who wanted it to be over so Rupert could win his million dollars.

The Hockey Player and the Hitman

What part of this story makes the least amount of sense:

The complaint alleges that Danton actually was trying to kill a male acquaintance whom he had fought with Tuesday over Danton's "promiscuity and use of alcohol." The complaint said Danton feared the acquaintance, who is not named, would talk to St. Louis Blues management and ruin Danton's career.

Since when did a professional athlete actually worry about promiscuity or alcohol use? Silly me, but I thought that both were included in a player's contract. This is all just a little too Tonya Harding for my taste.

(Update: This whole thing appears to be a bit more tangled and complicated than a simple pipe to the shins. According to this, the situation may have evolved out of an attempted "outing." I guess in retrospect Mike Piazza's press conference a while back seems to make more sense, though it was pretty clear at the time that the world of sports has a long ways to go when it comes to being open to people of all persuasions.)

This Year Will Be Different

Despite telling them twice now that I'm not going to subscribe to the MLB Extra Innings package, Cox has seen fit to charge me the first installment of the early bird special. It's almost as if they know that by May I'll want the option of enjoying a Milwaukee-Montreal contest. Two years of having almost every game piped into my house, two years of watching almost every Atlanta Braves game, but these are days of pinching pennies and needing more time for things non-baseball related.

April has never been the cruelest month for me. April means baseball. Another season of the Braves, connecting me to my earliest memories of sitting in front of the family TV with an overworked father watching them lose another game. Still all the names on those bad teams--Biff Pocoroba and Brian Asselstine, Rick and Mickey Mahler, and my favorite, Glenn Hubbard--are like comic book characters from my youth. I collected their cards and held firm in trades. There would be no Bob Horner rookie card given away for anything less than three or four J.R. Richards.

By the early 90s, I no longer lived with the parents, rarely had a chance to watch a game with Dad, and had long since quit collecting baseball cards. But every night, I had the TV turned to the SuperStation, Skip and Pete detailing the game around bad jokes and oft-repeated memories. Suddenly, the Braves were winning. Not just that one season, 1991, but it became commonplace. Unbelievable pennant races, late August clinchings, and by 1995, a World Series to celebrate. The winning lasted the entire decade.

But with the winning came disappointments. Playoff losses would send me into weeks-long depressions and always the vow not to watch again (until April).

So now it's opening day (tomorrow for the Braves). Instead of taking the day off and watching the games with the eagerness of a child at Disneyland, I'm at work figuring out the best way to sneak a scoreboard peak between meetings. I have low to no expectations for this year's Braves. New faces, no Maddux, lots of question marks, but they always seem to find a way. Still, I have to make a decision and like Time-Warner chopping the core of this team with the stroke of a pen, I must give up the cable package.

There's just too much to do.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Baseball links for opening day:
+ Maddux most overpaid pitcher in baseball last year according to Bloomberg analysis
+ Some burning issues
+ A Braves preview

And a poem:

Piling on While I Can

The Yankees are in last place. In case you missed it, Satan's minions lost to the Devil Rays this morning in Japan. I know, it's only one game, but allow all of us Yankee haters one day to enjoy the standings. Baseball Musings blogged the game, beginning with this post. I watched the final two outs and celebrated by waking up.

I hope to have my first annual MLB preseason predictions ready before opening day. Until then, enjoy a few links:

+ PacBell SBC Park wired for WiFi.
+ Stephen King and Stewart O'Nan to journal Red Sox season, collaborate on a book once the Red Sox are eventually eliminated in game 7 of the ALCS
+ Will Leitch's baseball preview {from Rake}. Leitch links to baseball blogs for every team, just click on the photo. His choice of blogs is suspect. Syntax of Things favorite, Ducksnorts, is hands-down better than the one he links to for the Padres.

They Are Laughing at Me back Home

Everyone knows that a state's value can be judged only by the current success of its university sports programs. That being the case, Alabama has to be considered one of the top states in the nation right now. The NCAA tournament field is down to the Sweet Sixteen, and Alabama has TWO teams remaining (UAB and U of A). Only North Carolina (Wake Forest and Duke) and Pennsylvania (St. Joseph and Pitt) can make the same claim. My current state of residence, California, has zero.

As an Auburn fan, I must add that the only Alabama team that I hope survives the weekend is the one that plays in Birmingham. In fact, as a kid, my dad would take me up to Birmingham to see UAB play in the BJCC, back in the early days of the program when they still played in the Sun Belt. Gene Bartow built a pretty solid program and even took the team to the Elite Eight in the team's fourth year of existence.

Ultimately, though, I don't really care. For me, March Madness is the last athletic hurdle before the only real sport begins play.

Brady Anderson, Steroids? Nah

Jim Palmer seems to think Brady Anderson was juicing in 1996 when the sideburned one hit 50 home runs.

"I like Brady, and it doesn't mean he's a bad guy because he took steroids," Palmer said in the interview, which was taped Saturday. "But I'm sure he wanted to enhance his performance." (ESPN)

Could it be that Mr. Palmer fears that Brady could beat him in a best-looking Oriole contest? Just a theory.

Click links for popup images and judge for yourself.

The Passion of the Julio

After being accused by Andy Van Slyke of being on steroids, 45-year-old (?) Braves first baseman Julio Franco responded with the quote of the week.

Tell Andy Van Slyke he's right -- I'm on the best juice there is. I'm juiced up every day, and the name of my juice is Jesus. . . . Next time you talk to him, tell him the steroid I'm on is Jesus of Nazareth.

Well, Jesus and Formaldehyde...

Not Your Average Dog Park

Before I forget, I want to point out the great pictures of San Diego's new baseball park. Geoff took a tour of Petco last weekend and came away impressed. I had a chance to tour it a few weeks ago, and I'm still having to prop up my jaw. Unlike me, though, Geoff remembered his camera.

By the way, if anyone is interested in a little fantasy baseball, leave a comment and I'll send you an e-mail with all of the details. There are a few spots left in the Ducksnort fantasy league. In case you're wondering, it's free.

Peter Gammons's Urine

One of the most obvious lessons learned from my attempt to blog a Southern California "storm" (read: heavy drizzle) was that storm blogging should be left to those who will actually experience a storm. Not that I was over my head in my attempts, but I have to realize that just because I get excited at the prospect of a coming weather event doesn't mean that it will translate a) into an interesting post and b) into an actual weather event. I've come to expect as much from San Diego weather. It hardly ever lives up to its promise.

Wednesday night as the storm was being touted as a true monster by everyone in the weather media, I started flipping through the channels. Not just the Weather Channel but also every local news channel and even a few radio stations. In doing so, I landed on ESPN and caught SportsCenter just as Dan Patrick was interviewing ex-Brave Gary Sheffield. Of course, the issue was steroids and the fact that just the day before Sheffield had accepted a NY Post reporter's dare to be tested for 'roids, only to back away a day later when the reporter revealed that he had actually lined up the test. Sheffield requested the interview with ESPN in order to present his side of the story. In the course of the interview, Sheff denied ever using performance-enhancing drugs, said that the reporter had tricked him, insisted that he would take a test but the union would not let him. Patrick decided to lean on him, and this is where the interview turned ugly.

In an offer that seemed fueled more by whiskey than journalism (even ESPN-style journalism), Patrick asked if Sheffield would be willing to submit to a test if it were arranged by and taken along with an ESPN reporter. Patrick's suggestion you ask? Peter Gammons. Mental image here is simply too much to take. For one, I don't want to think of P. Gammons and G. Sheffield tinkling in a cup in a locker room in order to prove anything. Then there's the very idea of Gammons on steroids. What drug-fueled bullshit rumors could he possible come up with if his already atrophied brain were juiced? Jeff Bagwell to Boston for a minor leaguer? This possibly explains too much. Finally, and I'll leave you with this, anyone who follows baseball and who pays the least bit of attention to Gammon's true homer leanings knows that Gammons probably doesn't pee in a cup without the assistance of Nomar Garciaparra or one of his beloved Red Sox.

Up Yours, Mate

And baseball worries over a little steroid use:

[Australian rugby player] John Hopoate...has been slapped with a 12-week suspension for what league officials called the "most disgusting" behavior they have ever encountered.

The accused professed his innocence. He claimed that what he did was actually an attempt to administer a wedgie to his opponents. "I'm a great believer in what happens on the field should stay there," he said.

One of his opponents didn't see it that way: "I think I know the difference between a wedgie and someone sticking their finger up my bum."

But there was video of the heinous act - don't be looking for it on SportsCenter - and the testimony of outraged victims, who said they knew quite well the difference between a wedgie and what Hopoate did. {Story here}

Damn Yankees

I guess I would have to turn in my official Baseball Fan badge if I didn't make some sort of comment about the A-Rod to the Yankees trade. Really, though, what else can be said? I'm not surprised that the trade went down. The Rangers had to rid themselves of A-Rod's contract and all of the baggage of the tradeus interruptus with the Red Sox. When Boston pulled out (sorry) and with almost every other team in baseball crying about financial woes and downsizing team salaries, there was left but one team to consummate a deal--the damn, intolerable, team of Satan known as the New York Yankees.

So while Yankee fans everywhere have started saving money for their 2004 World Champions shirts, the rest of us are left to wonder two things: who's next and who cares? And of course, we'll all be wanting to find someone to blame, so we should just settle on blaming Bud Selig if for no other reason than because he is--in the words of a Yankee fan, I'm sure--"a friggin idiot."

+ The Onion was a year premature, but spot on
+ Get your Yankees Suck gear

Question of the Day

Did the NHL and ABC's decision to have the Barenaked Ladies perform during the second intermission of today's all-star game strike anyone else as funny? I'm wondering if there was a delay in the feed in case Brett Hull happened to leap on stage and rip off the jersey of the BNL lead singer. America--and the world for that matter--has had enough excitement for one week.

Super(bly too much) Bowl

Less than three hours until the most overhyped sporting event in the world finally commences and I couldn't be any less excited. This morning, I spent a few hours in a used bookstore trying to restock my book pile and had to listen to a couple of women talking about the party they were having and the thrill of the commercials and the halftime show and the dip they had made. I wish I could care. For me, it's the thrill of knowing that the football season is coming to an end and baseball is right around the corner. I do have a bit of an interest in the outcome of every quarter, twenty bucks plopped down on two different office pools--the grid type where the numbers are chosen randomly and to figure out one's odds of winning takes a better mathematician than yours truly.

Don't get me wrong, I'll be watching. I have a staff member who will be at the game and who promised to mouth a hello to me if she gets on camera. The fact that she said this while I was giving her her review may mean something. And I'll be watching to see the mind-numbing innovation. I'm somewhat interested in seeing just what they will do with the three dozen cameras, if they'll slow down the action to the point where an observant enough viewer will be able to isolate the genetic sequence of Tom Brady. I might even turn up the volume long enough to catch a couple of the commercials or to let Greg Gumble's play-by-play help me drift off to a much needed afternoon nap.

Mostly, I'll spend this afternoon cooking various Asian dishes and fending off the desire to watch Sea Biscuit. And if you read this far to see if I'll make a prediction, well I won't let you down. I predict that it will all be over by midnight. I just hope that at some point all of my numbers line up.

The Doctor Is In (and the Dodgers Are Blue)

My favorite NBA team as a kid was the Philadelphia 76ers. You see, in our house, there had to exist some sort of friendly rivalry at all times. During football season, we had Auburn (me)/Alabama (Dad), so it was only natural for me to choose one of the main rivals of Dad's beloved Celtics--the 76ers. I remember Dad waking me up for school one morning with the news that Moses Malone had broken his leg and would be out for the remainder of the year. Of course, Malone was fine, but I wouldn't find out the truth until that afternoon at the dinner table.

But the main reason for my love of the Sixers was Julius "Dr. J" Erving. In second grade, I wrote a report about Dr. J and the book that I drew most of my information from was full of black and white pictures of this man with a rather large afro soaring over some hapless Denver Nugget. I loved the man and everything he stood for at the time. He was excitement in shorts, flashy to the extreme, and it seemed like he could do anything while in the air, defying gravity, common sense, and Larry Bird all at the same time.

A few years ago, Dr. J revealed that he had fathered tennis player Alexandra Stevenson. Now this week, Dr. J has joined the ranks of Paris Hilton and Rob Lowe:

A sex video featuring NBA Hall of Famer Julius Erving has surfaced, just in time for his divorce proceedings from Turquoise Erving, his wife of 30 years.

I long ago gave up my love for the Sixers. I guess age and Allen Iverson can do that to someone. Now, I pretty much watch the NBA with the same passion as I do golf. It's generally just background until baseball starts, with my excitement level peaking during the finals. But I'll always have a child-like reverence for Julius Erving. I just don't want to see this particular slam dunk.

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I wish I could find it in my heart to feel sympathy for Dodgers fans. I know they are having to watch a once proud franchise become the laughing stock of the league, and they aren't happy about it. But if there is one team I've always hated, it was L.A. So instead of sympathy, I only find humor. For instance, this Viewpoint Letter in the L.A. Times is just plain funny:

OK, let's see. The Dodgers keep Ramon Martinez and let go his brother Pedro. Then they sign Chris Gwynn, brother of Tony. Third base coach Glenn Hoffman's brother Trevor has been a star for the Padres for years. And anyone remember Wilton Guerrero? Guess who his brother is? Now, the latest move by these geniuses is to sign Jeremy Giambi, brother of Jason.

If Dodger management were in charge of the Democratic party in 1976, Billy Carter would have been their nominee.

Cary Ginell

Thousand Oaks

Read more here.