Having just celebrated my son’s six-month birthday one week ago, I must admit I have slacked a bit in analyzing the sports world. Instead of singing the praises of athletes, I have become quite the troubadour of the tunes from The Disney Channel. “Mickey Mouse Clubhouse” and “Little Einsteins” have dominated my brain just like the Green Bay Packers have ruled the NFL. See, I still pay attention! I even know the lauded Wisconsin juggernauts lost their chance at an undefeated season today against Kansas City.
My time away from intense study of baseballs, footballs and pucks (Sorry, basketballs, your bouncers and shooters deserve as much attention as a Rick Santorum campaign speech.) has helped me to realize how fickle the nation’s athletic heroes can be. It seems as if opportunity shocks as often as it knocks for stars, and my recent run of casual observance offers no rebuttal to my views.
Take Ryan Braun. How strange that a man whose last name is a homophone for a term indicating strength would have to combat allegations that he used a performance-enhancing drug. If Braun unsuccessfully battles to clear his name, “The Hebrew Hammer” will likely be striking himself over receiving a suspension. I am a fan of the Milwaukee Brewer and reigning National League Most Valuable Player, yet I idolized Roger Clemens for years, too.
I am glad to see Jimmy Rollins will remain a Phillie. I cannot wait to see how that new contract will increase his walk totals and willingness to leg out grounders.
As for the old pigskin, I see the Eagles are teasing their fans again with two straight wins. What a sad division the Birds find themselves in that an 8-8 record could clinch the NFC East for the perpetual teasers! The temperatures have grown quite cold, fellow Philadelphians. Allow Andy Reid to pull the wool over your eyes and the rest of your bodies.
The Flyers are impressing me, yet the loss of defenseman Chris Pronger has me fearing Paul Holmgren will make a foolish trade (the Flyers have made a few of those, just so you know.) to sure up his bunch. I worry that young talent will be the bait for oldheads whom he will praise as solid veterans, a synonym for hacks.
Ah, basketball. Aside from a passing interest in the college game, I have taken only immature joy in the failure of Kobe Bryant’s marriage. Bryant has never won my favor, but his wife certainly gained her own share of my interest by booting him. Here is to a fruitless season for the Lakers, too. I sense a Dallas dynasty.
Only a few hours separate me from another morning with Mickey House and the gang. I am tempted to think DeSean Jackson, showboater extraordinaire, devised their “Hot Dog Dance.” I am sure he will be able to perform his moves in early January at a dance club instead of during a playoff game. Ah, an opportunity to rag Jackson, how could I resist? It is an opportunity whose knock I will always answer.