And let's not get
started on the operators of BALCO, those storied procurers of the "steroid
precursor." Because of them, a Giants leftfielder can now lament, "I
felt a federal sting." Of course, that same leftfielder puts people in the
seats, which is why beer vendors "revere Bonds."
(For a while, it
looked as if the career arc of Rafael Palmeiro would be summarized in three
words: "Fame, Liar, Parole.")
Sports fans put up
with all kinds of nonsense. We endure 'roid rages ("Go Raiders!") and
Yankee Stadium urinals (which "made us, like, unsanitary").
No one cares about
our athletic achievements. There is finite glamour in "miniature golf,"
and we'll never have "moola issues" like Moises Alou's.
It's enough to
make you want to "pummel a jerk" like ... Jake Plummer.
I could kick Mark
O'Meara right in his "aroma-maker."
I don't want to
hear about the problems of millionaire athletes. Spare me the "cornball
tears" of a Carlos Beltran.
Just give me that
old-time hockey, a maskless goaltender and his "dental gore."
Anagrams are not
entirely reliable, however. Matt Leinart denies that he has a "tart
ailment"--he and Paris Hilton are just friends. And is it true that Browns
Pro Bowl center LeCharles Bentley "belches eternally"? Only opposing
noseguards know for sure.
It seems unlikely
that Mickey Mantle, no matter how many nights he spent in a bar, ever uttered
the equine pickup line, "Tickle my mane."