Some overused clichés don't deserve to be repeated

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To my despair, we keep having to hear about unpleasant words, only identified by their lead letter. The N-word, the F-word, and so forth. Boy, I'm tired of that. It's so coy, isn't it? But if that's the way the game has to be played, then I think it's time to register a catalog of sports words that are so cliched, so predictable that they become obscene in their own dreary way, and thus henceforth should only be identified by their first letter. OK?

At the top of any list: the M-word. Momentum. It is, apparently, the ultimate secret to all victory in sport. We had momentum. Or the excuse for all defeat. We lost our momentum.

Only slightly less overused is the F-word. Focus. It explains everything that the M-word doesn't. We need to focus better. We lost our focus for awhile there.

And leave us not forget the I-word. Intensity. If you have the F-word, that will get you the I-word and produce the M-word.

The W-word. Wake-up call. Every team that loses a game says it's a wake-up call. Excuse me, every time I hear the W-word, it puts me to sleep.

Of course, sometimes, instead of the W-word, coaches use the J-word. The J-word is jump-start. Why does every team need a jump-start? Why can't some coach just turn the ignition key on? Hey, in the 21st century, it works just as fast that way.

The D-word. Dee-fense. Is Robert Gates the Secretary of Dee-fence? He is not. He is the Secretary of Defense. The D-word is not only an assault on our aural sensitivity, but also our visual, because invariably the television cameras at a game will show us two idiots in the stands, one holding up a big capital letter "D" and the other a picket fence. Please.

The A-word: Athletic. Everybody knows that when a broadcaster says a team has to be more athletic, it's code for: they need more black guys. Either say it straight out or use the A-word.

The L-word and the T-word come as a pair. They are Looks and Touches. Announcers love to talk about how certain players are not getting enough looks. Or touches. It sounds so much more knowledgeable than just saying he's not getting the ball enough.

The B-word. Blue-collar. Every team that doesn't have some graceful star is a blue-collar team. Every player who isn't very good but flops all around and acts like a tough guy is called a blue-collar player. Blue-collar is always a term of endearment in sports. Why? Nobody ever says: they're just a bunch of blue-collar bums. Also, no one is ever described as a white-collar player, even though, if there were white-collar players they would be better than the grungy B-word players.

The G-word. Guarantee. Every member of the media who reports that a player has guaranteed victory ought to lose his press card. Why do we fall for the G-word stuff every time?

Look, I've got F-word and I'm giving one hundred and ten percent as a commentator, because I'm a B-word kinda guy and if I get a W-word and J-word my first paragraph, I'll find my I-word and I'll take this commentary to another level. I absolutely G-word it.