Just how much reverence does he deserve? The heretofore current level? Does anyone? We gave it to Sammy Sosa and Mark McGwire, didn't we? They had a loss of a rear view mirror and English-speaking ability, respectively, in front of a congressional sub-committee. We gave it to Roger Clemens. We all know where that went (to a 15-year-old country singer's diary, apparently, and to a relatively unknown locker room attendant's laundry basket-turned-safe deposit box).
We gave it to Barry Bonds. His trial starts sometime next year. We gave it to Wilt Chamberlain. He, in turn, gave it to 20,000 women, or so he claimed. We gave it to Patrick Kane of the Chicago Blackhawks. He got indicted. We gave it Ray Lewis, and still do, despite the past charges against him and his still-overt haughtiness.
We are hero-worshipping assholes who just happen to get the last word, that's all. God knows we need it. Tiger doesn't though, and we need not be apologists for him. He doesn't want us to be anymore than he wants us stalking him like paparazzi. Let's start treating him like what he is. A great golfer, no more, no less, and not the God we make him out to be.
It will feature the world's best bowlers, with the emphasis on "world's," because the format will make it more accommodating for a global field to compete. It will rotate from city to city, venue to venue, to whet the appetites of fans eager to attend live events. Men, women and senior men will each have their own brackets of competition to maximize the demographics of the viewing audience (and the advertisers advertising). It'll be on ESPN, which means 9 p.m. starts and no venues west of Grand Rapids, but the PBA, which would like to do at least one event in its demographic dreamland of Milwaukee, will live with that anyway for the exposure. It'll feature documentary-style coverage sometimes and up-close-and-personal tidbits.
In fact, it'll debut in greater Detroit, where the fan base is hanging out in bowling alleys already anyway. Mostly at the bar.
I'll be watching - if they have cheerleaders, that is.
To listen to ESPN tell it, you'd think any and every Yankees-Red Sox series is the "bomb," the end of the world as we know it and nothing else matters in sports when they play.
Well, that is, unless you live in Chicago right now, where, as the Sox and Cubs do fade routines, the only thing happening according to the local media is the ascension of the Bears on the arm and mind of Jay Cutler.
Which is all big news, unless you live in Cleveland (my apologies) and you'd think the only thing going on in sports is the quarterback battle between Derek what's-his-name and Brady Quinn, whom we are regularly reminded is a Notre Dame product (we dare not insult the Golden Dome or miss a chance to mention it).
Which is all big news, unless you live in Cincinnati, where - can this be true? - no players have been arrested yet this preseason. Aha, I understand charges are coming down the pike though anytime now against many of them on the roster for impersonating NFL players.
Speaking of impersonating NFL players, who's that guy with the single-digit jersey playing for the Eagles being relentlessly followed by reporters? I am disgusted by my fellow media brethren who have defended Michael Vick's right to play in the NFL again.
He is a murderer, self-admittedly, of dogs, that is. Plus, figuratively, two head coaches and one promising NFL season that-was-supposed-to-have-been in Atlanta.
Now, in Philadelphia, he makes his comeback. Good for him. How many of you, HOW MANY OF YOU think you could just walk back in at your old place of employment after being convicted of the charges Vick was and having served the sentence Vick did (and still is) and get your old job back?
Well, how many of you? In the media? In the post office? In the 7-11? In the Albertson's? In the Home Depot? At the U.S. Department of Defense? At the Milwaukee Zoo (bad example, OK). At a collection agency? At a bank? Driving a semi-trailer cross-country?
Yeah, right. Welcome to the cab-driving business, if you're lucky. Unless you play in the NFL, which means, despite the standards imposed by the new commish, a.k.a. the tough new sheriff in town, you're back in, bro. Welcome back, Michael Vick. But isn't it kind of obvious why they didn't want you, say, in Cleveland? Cause of the 'Dawg Pound, dude, woof woof.