| This Week's Oddball Items of Interest |
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Begging Bartman's Pardon
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| Celebrate good times, come on! |
As the Cubs gear up for another stab at the World Series and talk lightly turns yet again to goats (see: Billy; scape) and curses (see: Billy; profanities uttered in crushing despair), we get an open letter -- from a Cubs fan/media member -- to the most pilloried fan in modern sports history. Apparently, all is forgiven in Chicago, so Steve Bartman can happily show his face at Wrigley the way Bill Buckner did at Fenway last April after years of having his life made a complete misery by angry fans and media mythmakers who turn mistakes into Crimes of the Century. Bartman was merely hounded underground (almost literally) by death threats and the Governor of Illinois' helpful suggestion that he avail himself of the Witness Protection Program. For good measure, ex-Cubs outfielder Moises Alou seemed to hang the poor blighter out to dry for five years before reportedly admitting that, well, yeah, he wouldn't have caught that fateful foul ball anyway. Alou later disputed that report. Now -- hah hah hoo -- Cubs fans concede that they may have gotten a little carried away by their zeal and good ol' Steve really didn't do anything so goshdarned awful. So there won't be a full-scale riot if he leads the faithful in "Take Me Out To the Ballgame" at the Fiendly Confines during the playoffs. All I can say is that folks may be in a forgiving mood at the moment, but woe be to anyone who even appears to foul up the Cubbies' quest in this the centennial of their last Series title. That poor schlub will have to leave the planet on the first thing going ... and stay there.
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The Number of the Diva
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| Terrell Otto Uno |
It's been a banner season so far for flaky wideouts. Terrell Owens is blowing a fuse at not getting the ball on every play, Plaxico Burress is setting records for team fines, and Randy Moss is a threat to lose interest in life itself, and Chad Johnson changed his name to Chad Ocho Cinco - or Ocho Stinko as disgruntled Bengals fans call him -- thereby establishing a worthy tradition for his egocentric, me-first counterparts: standing out from the rank and file by re-naming themselves after their numbers. Terrell Ocho Uno (81) is kinda cool, but Ocho Cinco got first dibs on Spanish. Thankfully, there are plenty more languages still available -- like Italian. Terrell Otto Uno has a nice ring to it. Moss also wears 81, so he could go with French (Randy Huit Un), but the Language of Love is better suited for someone like Tom Brady (Tom Douze). The sturm-und-drang of German (Randy Acht Ein) belongs on the other side of the ball with a brute like Bears linebacker Brian Funf Vier (54). Dutch was made for Pacman Twee Een (21), who's always in it. So it's Welsh for Randy Wyth Un and Finnish for Plaxico Yksi Seitseman (17), who figured prominently in the grand one in the Super Bowl but may be finnished on this mortal coil if he continues driving coach Tom Coughlin in the general direction of madness.
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Lip Service
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| The Yanks can still win something |
In a world awash in awards, it's comforting to know that the only one that matters to Real Men will be bestowed in St. Louis on Oct. 25: the inaugural edition of The Robert Goulet Memorial Mustached American of the Year, from the good folks at the American Mustache Institute. Among the nominees: Yankees slugger Jason Giambi, freshly-minted Hall of Famer Goose Gossage and the late NFL union boss Gene Upshaw. You have until Oct. 3 to submit your own nominations and Oct. 17 to vote for the recipient of this valuable prize. Facial hair is one of the grandest sports traditions, as our little gallery shows. Hopefully the AMI will forgive our inclusion of beards among Joe Namath's Fu Manchu, Rollie Fingers' handlebar, and Lanny McDonald's brush. The AMI mustache mavens pointedly stated in an e-mail remark about my own foliage: "Never forget that the beard or goatee are considered the 'spousal compromise' as they represent that half-way meeting point between the utter weakness of the clean-shaven and the sheer power of the mustache. It's where your wife, girlfriend, or partner says, 'You know, honey, I can't handle the mustache, but the beard -- I can hack that.' Fight through those shackles John! Fight!" Well, okay. Anything to help restore real estate values and get Detroit over its mourning for Matt Millen's 'stache, which was obviously welcome to remain in the Lions' front office after its owner was punted last week.
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Hurts So Good
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| Anyone for kickball? |
With the arrival of Mortal Kombat: Kollection, which its maker proudly proclaims "packs more punch, fatalities and characters into one box [pine, presumably--Ed.] than ever before," one begins to suspect that human beings are incapable of enjoying any game or sport without a little of the old Ultra-Vi. Herewith, the bracing tale of a hipster kickbrawl ball, er, kickball brawl in Brooklyn that allegedly involved Colt-45s (the firewater, not the firearm) but is likely the product of hallucination. (For a more sober account see The New York Times.) But for sheer zest and authenticity, it's hard to beat, so to speak, these droogs in Poland or this exchange of pleasantries between two similarly giddy groups of European soccer aficionados. Makes you proud to be a member of the human race. And speaking of race...
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You Can Lead a Horse to Firewater...
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| Make mine a daily double, tarbender |
... but they may not let him drink. Just so you don't leave feeling cheated because we neglected to include our weekly animal-related item, we present this nugget from England, where a pub has said "neigh" to one of its loyal customers -- which just happens to be a 13-year old equine named Peggy. Yes, the legal drinking age is 18, but the idea of knocking back frosty flagons with a horse should not be dismissed out of hand. I'm sure there are many among us who'd get a kick, so to speak, out of sharing a bottle with Big Brown, quaffing with Curlin, or sucking back a snort with Smarty Jones, Funny Cide or other luminaries of big-time racing. All things considered, it couldn't hurt the Sport of Kings in this country to promote events where fans can bend a fetlock with various Breeders' Cup entries (the Juvenile field excepted, of course). Might be a good way to give the game back to the great unwashed. The sun hat-and-mint julep set has had it long enough.
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| Got a question, comment or link (sausage only)? Email John_Rolfe@simail.com and watch what happens. |
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