Something put Clint Barmes' arm in a sling, but we're just not sure what it was. AP

I don't enjoy being suspicious of my fellow man, but my mind got to workin' overtime after Clint Barmes of the Colorado Rockies took his tumble last week, busting his collarbone and his shot at the National League Rookie of the Year Award.

Ordinarily, I would have said, "Man, what a scurvy break." But thanks to Jeff Kent, I'm entertaining darker thoughts.

You may recall the spring of 2002 when Kent broke his wrist tumbling off a pickup truck while he was washing it. Or so he said. Witnesses reported an aerial sighting of the San Francisco second-sacker after he allegedly popped a wheelie on a motorcycle and ran smack dab into a curb. Slight difference in the details, but understandable. Contract clauses forbidding risky activity are standard equipment. Honesty in such instances can cost a guy beaucoup dough.

When Barmes said he fell while carrying groceries up to his apartment, I envisioned him laden with sacks from his local Piggly-Wiggly, the stairs suddenly littered with cans of tuna and spaghetti-o's. Then he admitted he was actually toting a package of frozen deer given to him by teammate Todd Helton after, um, riding ATV's, ahm, but only at 5 mph, ahem, at Helton's ranch.

This begged the question: Just how big was that package of deer, anyway? Was the 6-foot, 190-pound Barmes lugging half a frozen 12-point buck? If so, he'd taken a page out of Alexander Karelin's handbook. The legendary Russian wrestler used to train by hauling a refrigerator on his back up flights of stairs. I'm not calling Barmes a liar, mind you. It's just that I have three kids and when tales change and rugged activities are in the picture, well ...

Kent, Kellen Winslow Jr. (motorcycle mishap), Aaron Boone (rec hoops wreck), Ron Gant (dirt bike debacle), these are but a few of the athletes who have indulged their extracurricular passions and paid a stiff tab. Again, their behavior is understandable. These are vibrant young men who no doubt feel indestructible. We all engage in risky business when we're young. So if Helton invited Barmes out for a brisk afternoon of ATV riding and hunting the wily caribou with their bare hands, of course he'd accept.

Teams can write all the restrictive clauses they want, but simply living can be hazardous to your health. Broncos QB Brian Griese said he screwed up his ankle while tripping over his dog in 2002, although tight end Shannon Sharpe poked holes in his cover by saying, "I think I could have come up with a better one than that."

It is worth noting that this was several months after Griese said he'd knocked himself unconscious while falling in a teammate's driveway.

So, that spill David Wells took off the bar stool he was riding in his kitchen last year? I'm sure there are betting men layin' good money that the scene of the accident was really the Pig 'n Whistle. Heck, I've always detected the sour aroma of a pop-top holiday whenever an athlete sits out with the "flu" in the middle of summer.

And more than money is at stake in these incidents. In May, pitcher Terry Mulholland and infielders Jason Bartlett and Juan Castro of the Twins were laid up under suspicious circumstances. Mulholland said he scratched his eyeball on a feather sticking out of his pillow. Bartlett claimed he tore a fingernail while adjusting a TV set. Castro woke up with a stiff neck. I'm no Inspector Clouseau, but the three Twins were staying at the same hotel.

Pillow fight gone horribly awry, anyone?

That's something no pro athlete would ever admit to.

The Game's The Thing

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And now, more best darned games that readers have ever seen in any ol' sport:

Larry Lattman, Los Angeles: September 21, 1978, San Diego Stadium, Chargers vs. Raiders. I was in the loge level, 30-yard line on the north side of the stadium. Game clock down to 10 seconds and the Raiders have the ball, fourth down. Ken Stabler goes back to pass and fumbles. Pete Banaszak gets it, shovels it to Dave Casper who kicks it into the end zone, then falls on it. The cheers that started when we saw Stabler all but throw the ball into the ground died when the referee signaled touchdown. The stadium got real quiet, then the booing started. No one knew for sure just what had happened (this was before instant replay) and we left in a daze wondering how the Chargers had lost.

Michael, Branford, Conn.: Bjorn Borg vs. John McEnroe, 1980 Wimbledon final. It was the one with that went on forever [3 hours 53 minutes, won by Borg]. I was visiting a friend, and everyone else in the house was asleep. The match started around 7:30 a.m., and I was watching on a black and white set with fuzzy reception. It was dazzling nonetheless to see how their bodies moved around the court. You could tell each was at the very top of his game. I was so excited I wanted to call out to someone to come and see it with me. I've never seen a tennis match to compare, before or since.

Bob Williams, Phoenixville, Pa.: Game 6 of the Flyers-Oilers Stanley Cup final in 1987. The Oilers are up three games to two and leading by a goal in the third period. It looks like we will be watching them skate with the Cup when the night's over -- not a sight we wanted to see in Philly. Then, with about 10 minutes left in the game, the Flyers scored two goals in about 30 seconds. Brian Propp got the second one and the Spectrum exploded in cheers. I have never experienced such a rush of excitement as when 17,000-plus cheered that goal. Ron Hextall provided some of his usual dramatics in the last seconds to scare us, but Propp's goal held up. Unfortunately, the Oilers won Game 7. But I will never forget the sheer joy of the moment after Propp scored.