For this issue of SPORTS ILLUSTRATED (Lurid, Topless Tarts) I have anagrammatized Cheryl Tiegs (Sigh Erectly) and Secretariat (Race Artiste) and Kobe Bryant (Bonk, Betray) and New Orleans Saints (Serial Wantonness), and what I have been able to discover is this: Pete Sampras Eats Pampers.
With the help of an online program, located at www.wordsmith.org/anagram and called Internet Anagram Server (I, Rearrangement Servant), I will hereby Edit/Rearrange ( Edgar Renteria) every name in sports, thus confirming what we already know about the L.A. Clippers (I Spell Crap) and Christian Laettner (Eternal Antichrist) and Rollie Massimino (Immoral Oiliness).
You see, anagrams are truth serum. They are—to this Loathsome Pundit—Sodium Pentathol. Anagrams peer into the human soul: of Isaiah Rider (I, Sir Airhead) and Vince Lombardi (Civil Doberman) and the New York Mets (My Town Reeks), whose every fan, at Shea Stadium, Audits Shame.
In these Craven Times ( Steve McNair), when it seems every last "Sunday Night Conversation" Contained Unsavory Things, we need a man like Tyrone Willingham (Lo, Almighty Winner). Impartial anagrams expose a Misnamed Shyster like Andy Messersmith and rechristen these people more aptly. Thus an anagram sees the real role of benched Ohio State running back Maurice Clarett: Termite Accrual.
All of which is to say, anagrams don't lie, and if you don't believe us, ask anyone who has stood too close to Mark O'Meara (Aroma Maker).
Anagrams know that the Orlando Magic are, come playoff time, Micro-Gonadal. Seattle Mariners? Mere Tantalisers. Anagrams see this, for anagrams see everything, much to the chagrin of Raul Mondesi (Solid Manure).
Is Priest Holmes Heroism Spelt, or the Simplest Hero, or Hostile Sperm? Whatever the answer, the Chiefs' running back is, as we have seen, Tri-Anagrammatic, which is itself an anagram of Martin Gramatica.
Anagrams often appear torn from the headlines: DEION SANDERS SOARED, SINNED.... NAACP MAILS AL CAMPANIS.... LONDON FLETCHER CONFRONTED HELL.... ORLANDO MERCED DECLARED MORON.
Yes, there is a Creepy Element to Peter McNeeley. Ron Attest is Not Sartre. Michael Irvin was, at one time, a Criminal Hive. Simeon Rice (No Mercies, I) and Tim Raines (I'm Nastier) may very well be Sicker Lunatics than Curtis Leskanic. Yet we'd rather dwell on the Whimsical Glee of a Willis McGahee than the Malodorama of A Lamar Odom.
Anagrams are looking out for your best interest, so take their advice: When participating in a Steve Carlton (Scrotal Event) like pole vaulting or pommel horse, be sure to protect your Garrison Hearst (Trashier Organs), lest you end up with a Kellen Winslow (Swollen Winkle).