Draft Day Suit

Hey, remember February?

Long time ago. Snow and things.

But the part you might remember is Vancouver’s Olympics. Hockey. Ryan Miller vs. Roberto Luongo. Overtime.  Sidney Crosby dumping it in the net. And an entire nation going completely insane.

Now, I’m not trying to rub that whole Canada-USA thing in. (Although I totally could.)

But here’s a question: Would you have cared as much if the game was being held at 4 a.m. in Russia instead of prime time in Vancouver?

The NHL is pretending you wouldn’t have. The NHL says it’s too disruptive to shut down for two weeks. The NHL says it’s too hard on their players. The NHL doesn’t want to let their players play anymore.

If you read between the lines, what the millionaires running the NHL are really saying is that they don’t feel like there’s anything in it for them. The pinnacle of sportsmanship, sure, whatever. The real point is, they didn’t get paid enough.  Nobody gave them one red cent to shut down for two weeks with four years’ notice. Nobody gave them a cut on the ticket prices or the merchandise prices or the overpriced concessions. Nobody let them control anything. The nerve.

So the NHL’s stance really is, if you want professional hockey players in the Olympics, if you want the guys we own in the Olympics, then we need to run the show – and you have to pay us for it. Never mind what the players want. You need to line *our* pockets first.  But we don’t want to come right out and say that because that would just be rude.

Instead, the NHL has a brilliant idea:  resurrect the World Cup. Which would take their players out of the NHL for weeks, would be played on the other side of the world, would be hard on the players, and – and this is the crucial part – would allow the NHL to call the shots and reap the profits.   Sure, nobody around the world really cares about the World Cup and viewership for a tournament like this would be lukewarm at best without an entire Olympic juggernaut behind it. This does not matter. We all know Gary Bettman and his penchant for expanding in to areas that have lukewarm support for hockey but great big deep city pockets to build arenas and pay franchise fees. (See: Phoenix). He’d love to charge obscure European cities obscene fees to host World Cup events that will then be played in the middle of the night watched by nearly nobody.

People watch the Olympics. People take time off work for the Olympics. People have Olympic-watching parties with couches and wings and beer. People talk about the Olympics and tune in to games surreptitiously at work. The Olympics is where people watch sports they only watch every four years – hockey included. Yet another tournament isn’t going to give the NHL more exposure.  As much as Bettman would like it to be, hockey isn’t football.  People love the Olympics. And you can guarantee that even if the next Luongo-Miller grudge match is being played at 4 a.m. EST on a frosty Siberian plain, we’ll be tuning in. Because for any athlete anywhere, the Olympics is the pinnacle. The best. If you win there, you win it all. Why steal that from both the fans and the players, just for the sake of profit?

Seriously, Bettman. Go charge another $3 for a bottled water, if you’re that hard up for cash. Leave the Olympics alone.

Brett Favre announced in a news conference today that he would return to the Minnesota Vikings for another season.

He was so close to the Super Bowl last year, he said, he could feel it. And he “owes it” to the Vikings to give it one more try. He’s not promising he can make it through the season, though, the season that he says will be his “last.”

Right, anyway.

I used to like the guy. Respect him, even. Now, the more I hear his name the more I want to pull my ears off with some rusty pliers. Dude, grow a pair and quit trying to relive your youth. I know that you produced last year but realistically how long will that last? I’m guessing one good sack in the regular season and you’re toast, as if your body isn’t already. You’ll be in a wheelchair before your 40s are over, and then where will you be? Counting your millions while someone has to feed you because you can’t lift your right arm isn’t as glamorous as it sounds. I’m also guessing that the millions that you’ve already earned won’t be enough to buy back the missed time with your family or the time you’ll spend rehabbing all of those joints that are going to have to be replaced.

And you know what? I’m not the only one that’s calling shenanigains on you.

Go home to Hattiesberg. Have a mint julep. Relax a little. Sure, let the tv crew in when they’re ready for a little NFL analysis come playoff time, but quit jacking with your team and your body. The shtick is just old.

You can thank me later, but I’d like my share of whatever you’re paying your therapist now, in small bills. And considering that your salary is reported to hit $16.5 million this year from $13.5 million last year, plus incentives reported to jack it up to almost $20 million, I think you can spare the dimes.

Kendra is ready for some football. But not like this.

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My alma mater is having a golf outing in the area to raise money for kids who can’t read good or some such and I’m thinking of going. But, I’m not a “networker.” I don’t enjoy “talking to strangers” or “not being anti-social.” I find I “sweat profusely around others.” While I will have graduated with most participants, I’m not one to be in for a foursome of back-slappin’ class of ‘77ers.

That being the case, I asked a friend if she was going. She told me she “wasn’t much of a golfer.” I replied, “Golfing is only a vehicle to drunkeness.” While a good Flyer never needs an excuse to drink, it helps to keep the rehab whispers at bay if you’re not drinking alone on your couch on a Tuesday or blending girly drinks in the office closet most afternoons. So, that is the opportunity that sport affords. Pure, delightful boozing.

In that spirit, allow me to present the best sports for drinking.

• Running Sports: So far, off to a bad start. Unless you’re going for the immediate purge, it’s a bad idea to chug a couple of beers and then start running all over hell’s half-acre. Pace yourself and slow things down so as to increase your intake. Remember drunkenness and not excellence is the goal in sports or aerobic fitness.
• Golf: Better choice. You’re outside. It’s usually sunny. If you’re one shade on the dark side of Powder like me, the sun will accelerate the process. But, you do have to swing the club kind of a lot and there’s an abundance of walking, even with the cart. If there’s no drink-cart girl, you might as well be wandering the Mojave.
• Softball: While nearly all softball players look like they could shotgun a twelver, it’s exceedingly difficult to partake during the game. I’ve heard of mythical “keg” leagues where there’s a keg at third base, but much like unicorns, it eludes.
• Boating: Boating is not really a sport, but you can do sport-type things off the back of a boat, water-skiing, tubing, exploding Jaws and whatnot. Problem being you’ve got to be hella-good at water-skiing to chug a beer while doing it. That would take many, many years of practice. Years you could have spent drinking. But, you might wonder, is pulling your friend in a tube behind the boat in an effort to get him to wipe out a sport? Well, ok, but only if you draw blood.
• Darts: To me, darts is the ultimate drinking “sport.” There’s an element of danger – ever hit the ring around the bull and the dart came back at you? There’s downtime between throws, adequate for chugging. It’s played IN A BAR. And, while probably not a “sport,” its professional players are always drinking DURING COMPETITION. I think that’s what’s always impressed me so much about Babe Ruth. He was hammered or hungover for nearly all of his games. Professional darters are his adopted sons, drunkenly throwing sharp metal objects at cork.

And there you have it. May all your drinks be cold and all your sports slow-paced.

He's too sexy for his shirt.

More attention-grabbing than Lindsay Lohan, able to defame quarterbacks faster than Ben Roethlisberger can unzip his zipper at a college bar, and able to ruin a team in a season’s time.  It’s a 49′er, it’s an Eagle, it’s a Cowboy, it’s a Bill, it’s a Bengal.  It’s Terrell Owens.

That’s right, the Queen City has acquired the biggest homewrecker the NFL has ever seen.  I could give you a million reasons why this move is crazy, but I only need one.  This is the manchild who once said,   “The only people that really matter are the people that are in my inner circle.”  This means that he is an ass and a liar, because everyone knows that the only person who matters to Terrell is Terrell.

Ocho Crappo and T.O. on the same team?  Truly.  Two reality show wannabes not only sharing the same locker room, but the same field.  Carson Palmer deserves better.  T.O. will gather his pack of enablers and defame Palmer and the offense and take down the Bungals’ hopes of a division title and Super Bowl glory.

With plenty of company in the troublemaker department, including Tank Johnson (assault and unlawful possesion of a weapon), Antonio Bryant (wreckless and drunken driving), Cedric Benson (assault and DUI), at least T.O. may not have to worry about suspensions.  What the hell happened to the team of my childhood?  Boomer, can’t you do something about this?

All I know is that you can’t teach an old dog with diminished skills new tricks and especially to get a new attitude.  Get your popcorn ready, but the drama is in town.  If nothing else, it will be interesting to watch it play out.  You know, kind of like a train wreck.

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