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So Much Raging Bull
CHRIS BALLARD
December 14, 2009
So let me get this straight. Tiger Woods—lord of the back nine, toothy pitchman, total control freak—turns out to be the newest character in a Desperate Housewives fantasy sequence, and some people say they aren't one bit curious? You know, those high-minded sports fans who've been chastising rubberneckers and the media for not averting their eyes from this twisted saga.
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December 14, 2009

So Much Raging Bull

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You want more? How about Gold Glove Awards and the Davis Cup and the notion that Penn State's football uniforms are more sacred and awesome than any others. Phil Jackson, you may have as many rings as fingers, but I'm calling b.s. It's basketball, not Eastern religion, and it turns out that MJ, Shaq and Kobe help win a lot of games.

I could go on forever—I haven't even gotten to the Olympic opening ceremonies and intro music for relief pitchers and the "lovable" Cubs—but really, this is all just prelude to the biggest crock in the country: the b.s. BCS. Not because fans profess to love the Bowl Championship Series, but because of the indefensible sales pitch that it exists for anything but economic reasons. (And please, please don't argue that a playoff system would disrupt the players' schoolwork.) Can anyone tell me with a straight face, especially after last Saturday's thrilling games, that the BCS makes sense as a way to conclude a season? Because if so, then raise your hand and come with me. There's a home for you in Red Sox Nation.

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