Monday, 24-Feb-2003
Spurious
thoughts and idle musings from the sports week just past ...
Ready or
not, I'm about to cough up one of the Great Unspoken Truths of the modern
era. Here goes ... Okay, I skip over
the articles in the annual SI Swimsuit Issue.
There, I said it. Yep, it's true
... I could care less how the coffee crop did in Kenya last year. And I don't give a rat's ass what lenses
they used or how much f-stop it took to get the morning sunrise to look that
orange. Nope, I care a helluva lot more
how they got a half dozen square inches of white cotton worth $295 to look that
unbelievably smoking hot on Serena Williams.
I'm a pig, you say ??? Guilty as
charged, your honor. It's called
testosterone. Look it up, it's in all
the biology textbooks.
Having
said that, I'm kinda glad SI puts out just the one swimsuit issue each
year. Okay, now work with me here. At the press gig to launch this year's
issue, SI suits bragged about the $50,000,000 in advertising and circulation
revenue each one generates. Sports Illustrated
is owned by AOL Time Warner. AOL Time
Warner owns the Atlanta Braves. So if
SI publishes a second one, that's $100 million ... Which means the Tomaflops
probably coulda kept Tom Glavine. Not
to mention Kevin Millwood, newly-anointed staff ace and Opening Day starter for
my beloved Phillies, thank you very much.
Looks
like a few of them good old NASCAR boys got caught with their hands in the
cookie jar last weekend at Daytona ... The crew chief for Jack Sprague's No. 0
Pontiac was fined $1,000 for non-conforming external probe heaters. Ouch, I hate when that happens. Three other cars coughed up $500 apiece for
bogus fuel filters while another got pinched for illegal adjustable fender
braces. But they all paled compared to
the $500 bucks that Jack Ince, crew chief for the No. 10 Pontiac, had to cough
up for ... drum roll, please ... Illegal underpans. Musta been the skid marks that gave him away. Sorry, couldn't resist.
You know,
sometimes timing is everything. Case in
point ... For whatever reason, I hadn't seen "Ali" until now that
it's in heavy rotation on HBO. And it's
a decent flick. Will Smith is as
convincing as you're gonna get playing a living legend. But what struck me was just how utterly and
completely hopeless boxing is today compared to The Champ's day and age. Especially the heavyweight division. I mean, Muhammad Ali prize fights were so
much more than sporting events. They
were cultural happenings. Man, I
remember going to bed the night he fought Smokin' Joe in the Garden and I
couldn't wait to wake up and hear who'd won.
And I had to look up Kinshasa, Zaire on a map just to see where the
Rumble In The Jungle was. Ali was The
Greatest. Absolutely no doubt about it
...
Especially
when compared to the painfully "ludacrisp" horror show masquerading
as the heavyweight division today. Last
week's Mike Tyson freak show was pure agony.
Worse than a Jerry Springer show featuring custody dustups between
transvestite midget crack addicts in love with their gay prison wardens. By now, Tyson is like the multi-car pileup
on the Interstate that snarls traffic for hours. You know you shouldn't slow down to look but you just can't help
glancing over looking for overturned wheels and paramedics bagging dismembered
body parts. Brutal, Juice, brutal.
Stoopid
Eagles.
I swear
this isn't sour grapes. I'll even pinky
swear, if you insist. I do not miss the
Charlotte Hornets. In fact, I don't
know of a living soul in the Queen City who misses Dem Bugs. But let's take a look how they're doing down
in Nawlins anyway. Not content to cook
the attendance figures down the stretch in Charlotte last year, turns out
George Shinn and Ray Wooldridge overstated new season ticket commitments down
on the bayou. Can I have "Famous
Sleazeballs" for $400, Alex ??? Of
course, now they're also jerking around Paul Silas, the epitome of a rock solid
NBA coach, while the team is barely treading .500 water with Baron "Von
Flying Circus" Davis in sick bay.
Look out, Looziana. Next thing
you know George and Ray will be blaming you too.
Grammy
Tonya, tell us another story. Sure,
kidlets, gather round your old Grandma.
Have I ever told you kids about the time I had somebody take a whack at
old Nancy Schmancy's knee ??? Aw,
Grammy, you tell us that one all the time.
Tell us another one. Tell us
about the time you got your ass kicked in the boxing ring by some jebeepette
named Samantha Browning. You mean that
night in Memphis when Mike Tyson knocked out Clifford Etienne in 49 seconds
??? Yeah, that's the one, Grammy. Well, okay, kids, for starters, that was the
night somebody else was even nuttier than your old Grammy, if you can believe
that.
Maryland
96, North Carolina 56. I believe it is
safe to say the Tar Holes did not cover the point spread on that one. And no, I do not wish to discuss my swooning
Virginia Cavaliers. Been there, done
that, got the t-shirt.
As long
as I'm in full swine mode, I might as well pay homage to one of the finest
concepts in cable television ever imagined.
In fact, I'm stunned that nobody ever thought of this before. I speak, of course, of "Fish On"
shown each morning on The Deuce. One
guy, a cool boat, three incredible bikini babes, warm tropical waters, big time
fishies flopping all around and enough soft core tease to wake Ernest Hemingway
from the dead. Hook, line and sinker
... Sheer brilliance. Oink.
Ephedra. Bad.
Korey Stringer. Dead. Ephedra.
Bad. Steve Bechler. Dead.
Ephedra. Bad. Will someone please tell me what in the hell
is there to negotiate about ??? This
stuff makes your heart race and raises your temperature so high you might as
well be the space shuttle over Texas.
What are you waiting for, Bud ???
Don't wait for Donald Fehr and the union. Ban it now. And then we can move on to more important things like
making sure Ken Griffey Jr still has his woobie with him at bedcheck.
More from
the major league baseball corporate synergy department ... Looks like somebody
at the New York Post forgot that Rupert Murdoch's News Corp owns their paper
and the LA Dodgers too. Otherwise, the
Post might not have printed that rumor suggesting Dodger pitching great Sandy
Koufax might be a little light in the spikes.
The same Post who last year was infatuated with Mike Piazza's rumored
choice of battery mates too, you'll recall.
And so now Dodgertown is short one legendary lefthander who told News
Corp, the Post and Murdoch they could all pound sand. Good for you, Sandy. I
wish you still had one last fastball in that magic arm of yours. A little chin music might do those jerks
some good.
See ya
nexted week ...
Robert E Hunt Jr
Copyright ã 2003 by Robert E Hunt Jr. All rights reserved.