Freshmen, welcome to New Orleans where our second favorite team, behind the Saints of course, is Bob Breck and his Fox 8 Weather Team – way to go, guys. While this wasn’t “the big one” as you predicted over and over and over again two Monday nights ago, I do appreciate your professionalism in not inciting a panic.
Thanks to the good folks at Team Breck, I had not been this afraid of an Ivan since Reagan was taking naptime in the Oval Office. So, with the End of Days fresh on my mind, I decided to flee the impending catastrophe and spent the following week back home in Atlanta.
Why do I mention all of this?
In all honesty, this column was written before my trip, and while the valuable insights were numerous, I couldn’t in good conscience go back and edit my column after-the-fact to hide one glaring fact: I’m really an idiot when it comes to sports and I don’t know what I’m talking about.
Seriously, I need to be stopped. Anyway, having forewarned you all, I’d like to give you a few snippets from last week’s column and some reasons why I felt that way at the time – and my apologies to everyone for trusting Fox news.
September 12: It’s a big weekend in sports with the Red Sox and Yankees squaring off at Yankee Stadium in an American League East showdown. History says this shouldn’t happen, but this one should be easy for the Red Sox. The reason is simple: these aren’t your father’s Bronx Bombers.
They lack team chemistry. They are unraveling down the stretch and even their embarrassing commercials are lacking something special – whatever happened to the good old days of Don Zimmer shilling Preperation H or Jason Giambi sounding as if Hooked On Phonics didn’t quite work for him as he pitched Right Guard deodorant?
Let’s be honest, these Yankees are a far cry from the team that dominated the World Series in the ’90s. The only World Series the Yankees are capable of dominating this year is the Little League World Series in Williamsport – I hear that Chinese Taipei team has a 12-year-old with a monster curveball though.
September 19: So, it turns out the Yankees can hit, and I’m an idiot. I should have seen all those runs they scored off Pedro coming.
After all, he’s what the experts are now calling a “warm weather” pitcher. How stupid could I have been for ignoring the warning signs?
I still hate those Visa check card commercials with Torre and Steinbrenner, though.
September 12: On the links of Oakland Hill Country Club, the Ryder Cup tees off for the 35th time, with the Americans a decided favorite. I don’t mean to sound trite, but now that Tiger has ditched the girlfriend and returned to his long-forgotten mistress, golf, the Americans are a force. And if Tiger is not enough to sufficiently shock and awe our European friends, big lefty Phil Mickelson is no longer the championship-deprived doughy white mess we once knew – now he’s a doughy white mess with a green jacket.
This one is over before it even starts.
September 19: I should have known better than to rely on a “Dream Team” from America. Mickelson finally gaining the ability to come through in the clutch is as plausible as the Moroccan space program, which consists of a bucket, some tape and one man’s dreams.
Let’s never talk of my golf knowledge again.
September 12: Fear not, Canadians – although talks appear to be at a standstill, I believe that last minute negotiations will keep the National Hockey League going strong this season. Like Major League Baseball in 2002, I think athletes and owners are finally catching on that lockouts are never the answer.
September 19: Well, what do I know about sports? Apparently my knowledge of hockey doesn’t extend much further than my expertise in the phenomenon of hockey hair – better known as a mullet. There is a silver lining in all of this though. While the owners have locked out the league’s players indefinitely, I can still sate my craving for the lost art of the mullet in its grandest stage: NASCAR.
September 12: I predict, in a fit of rage, Anaheim Angels middle-reliever Brendan Donnelly will throw a chair into the stands, injuring a heckler’s wife.
September 19: That’s the problem with listening to Miss Cleo about sports, she’s good up to a point. Turns out she was in the right division, but the wrong team and pitcher – Texas and the ill-tempered Frank Francisco.
September 12: Well, this could be the last column I ever write. As of right now, I’m sitting smack in the middle of what local newsmen are calling a soup bowl of catastrophe and gloom. Bob Breck has already performed the last rites live on TV for all the “believers” out there. I don’t know if this column will ever get out, but if it does, let the record show that I believe A.J. Feeley is the answer that Dolphins fans have been waiting for since Dan Marino’s retirement.
September 19: Obviously, I was under duress, so ignore that last prediction. I was about to be hit by “the big one,” you know.
