The face of ... well, you call it

At the very close of 2010, Tucker Carlson made a strong big for Cretin of the Year. Which isn't that surprising. Carlson's ability to continue to find employment on one cable news network or another speaks to the content of the 24-hour news cycle (not favorably).

Saying that Michael Vick should have been executed for the killing of dogs may not be the dumbest thing he’s ever said, but it’s certainly in the top 5.

I would explain why it’s dumb, but if you really need an explanation, you most likely wouldn’t understand it.

Friday column: What was 2010 about? Take a guess

So, Boss, you say you want a quick review of Toyland in 2010? Can do:

Sex.

Money.

Ego.

There you go, Boss; now I’ll start on next Friday’s col — … what’s that? You need more? You want it fleshed out, so to speak? Really?

OK.

Well, for sex we have Tiger Woods, whose addiction to the amorous cost him his reputation, his wife and his game — in that order.

We have Lawrence Taylor, whose attempted tryst with an underage paramour — the entrepreneurial kind — has cost him his reputation (what was left of it) and oodles of green. It also may cost him his freedom.

We have French soccer stars Franck Ribery and Karim Benzema, who’ve been charged with soliciting an underage prostitute (I’m sensing a theme here).

That’s just the tip of the iceberg, sex-wise. As for money, where do we start? Or end? Let me give you just one story — two, actually, that are linked by — what else? — dollars.

In June, the NCAA fell like a ton of bricks on Southern Cal because Reggie Bush’s family took hundreds of thousands of dollars in freebies in his Trojan days. In December, the NCAA admitted Cam Newton’s father did everything to shop his son except list him on eBay — but still it allowed the star quarterback to continue playing for Auburn, maintaining there was no reason to think the son was in on the deal.

The real difference between the two cases? Bush’s college career is over, while Newton still has money to make for his school, his conference and the BCS. The NCAA pulling the plug on the Heisman Trophy winner before Jan. 10’s national title game would cost the BCS and its sponsors a bundle.

Wasn’t. Going. To. Happen.

By the way, Boss, there were some nice stories this year.
We had Detroit’s Andres Galarraga showing amazing self-control and sportsmanship when an ump’s blown call cost him a perfect game and a ticket to Cooperstown. We had Santa Fe Little Leaguers accepting sure defeat rather than have their team broken up. We had Grant Desme, a young Oakland prospect, giving up a promising baseball career to pursue the priesthood.

What’s that? Forget the sweetness and light and give you the ego angle?

I can do that in two syllables: Brett Favre.

Favre began his last ride (please, Lord) on the Ego Train by making Vikings teammates trek to Mississippi to beg him to play. Then he squeezed the team for more millions. Finally, he embarrassed the NFL — if that’s possible — by stonewalling an investigation into charges he sexually harassed a twenty-something Jets employee.

What? That’s more than just ego? Right you are, Boss. With just one player in one sport, you have the essence of Toyland in 2010:

Sex.

Money.

Ego.

Like I said.

Contact Jim Gordon at gjames43@msn.com.

Credibility problem? What credibility problem?

So.

In Columbus, Ohio, football players — including Terrelle Pryor, the Buckeyes’ best and most marketable player — are found to have taken improper benefits that will cost them five-game suspensions.

But not until next season.

Too much money involved in the Buckeyes’ Sugar Bowl appearance to suspend them now.

Greed and hypocrisy, thy name is NCAA football.

Yes, Bret, we know you're special ...

In Minnesota, Vikings quarterback Brett Favre spent some time after possibly his last NFL appearance patting himself on the back: “It's been a 20-year career; not too many guys can say that. I took one day off and a half, but again not a lot of guys can say that.”

Oddly enough, he didn’t add, “And I sexually harassed a sideline reporter.” He probably didn’t add that because he couldn’t — not with a straight face — finish with, “not a lot of guys have done that.”

Friday column: In trial, no surprises — just pain

Christmas is a season for the unexpected; for some, the unbelievable.

Unfortunately, in sportsland the last few days, we’ve seen nothing but the expected and the believable. I discuss a couple of incidents today in my blog.

But of the expected, nothing was more tragic this week than the end of the trial of Andrew Thomas Gallo.
An athlete? No, a killer of one.

Last year, Gallo — driving with a blood alcohol content of 0.19 percent after a night of drinking with his stepbrother — blew through a red light in Fullerton, Calif., and hit a car carrying Nick Adenhart, a 22-year-old pitcher for the Los Angeles Angels.

Adenhart was killed, along with friends Courtney Stewart, 20, and Henry Pearson, 25. Jon Wilhite, 24, survived, but sustained major injuries.

The trial played out along predictable lines. The state charged Gallo with second-degree murder; the defendant pleaded not guilty.

Gallo, with a previous DUI conviction and at least two stints in rehab on his record, was defended by his family.
“It was an accident,” his mother, Sandra Sagahon, said.

The jury said it was murder, leading to the penalty phase of the trial, which also moved along predictable lines.

In emotional testimony, the families of Stewart, Pearson, Wilhite and Adenhart understandably pressed for the longest possible incarceration.

“Andrew Gallo, the night you killed my daughter you killed me,” Stewart’s mother said. “I will never be the same.”

Wilhite’s mother discussed the excruciating pain her son had been in and his difficult recovery. “Mr. Gallo, you put my son through hell,” she said. … I hope you enjoy your new address.”

The Adenhart family sent a letter that said, in part, “There is no justice as long as Mr. Gallo is drawing a breath.”

While families of the victim asked for the maximum, Gallo’s family asked for leniency.

Gallo didn’t get it, the judge sentencing him to 55 years to life. Gallo, 23, will be eligible for parole when he’s 72. As he handed down the sentence, the judge put it bluntly:

“Mr. Gallo, you have devastated four families — really five families, with your own.”

If there was any hint of grace, it came when Gallo’s father, after asking for leniency for his son, turned to the victims’ families and said, “My family prays for you all the time. We also pray that someday you’ll forgive us.”

Forgive us.

That’s the father including the family in the sins of the son.

Then, there’s someday.

In the courtroom Tuesday, just four days before Christmas, there was nothing unexpected, nothing unbelievable. Which doesn’t mean there won’t be — somewhere, someday.

Transcendence can take time.

An impressive lineup

Good thing Albert Haynesworth makes so much money. He just might need every dollar.

The big-earning-but-not-so-hard-working Washington linesman is facing a few legal challenges. According to a Thom Loverro story in The Washington Examiner:

* He’s being sued by a woman who claims Haynesworth’s reckless driving caused the accident that left her disabled.

* He’s being sued by a Tennessee bank for not paying back a $2.38 million loan.

* He’s being sued by an exotic dancer for $10 million for allegedly impregnating her.

* And his former wife has been in court charging him with not paying her health insurance or their children's bills.

On top of that, his current team reportedly is considering going after the $21 million bonus they paid him earlier this year.

Haynesworth has made his employers very unhappy; but it appears he’ll make his lawyers very happy — assuming, of course, he actually pays them …

Blame game

So.

Terrell Owens has unloaded not on his quarterback — his usual target — but on his coaches.

“I think there's underachieving from the top down,” Owens said of the 2-11 Bengals. “You start with the owner, you start with the coaches. And obviously we as players, we are a product of what the coaches are coaching us throughout the course of the week.”

Cincy is an undisciplined team, so the coaching probably isn’t first-rate. But perhaps the bulk of the blame should go to the Browns — President Mike and Vice Presidents Pete and Paul — the player personnel people who keep bringing in players such as … well, Terrell Owens.

Friday column: Long-term plans? Don't bother

Hamlet: What’s the news?
Rosencrantz: None, my lord, but that the world’s grown honest.
Hamlet: Then is doomsday near.
Hamlet — Act II, Scene 2

Last time I looked, the world hadn’t grown honest. But I have my own way of judging the nearness of the end times, and I’m getting a bit concerned. I wrote a positive column about three sports figures less than a month ago — and now I’ve done it again.

Starting with the Terrence Williams.

Williams, sent to New Jersey’s Development League team in Springfield, Mass., after consistently being late to Nets games and practices, was upbraided by the D-League club’s eighth-grade ball boy.

Carlos Gonzalez Jr. told Williams he was one of his favorite players, then asked, “Why would you blow it?”

Recalled Williams: “I was like, ‘What are you talking about?’ He said, ‘Why would you want to have an attitude, and be late — the simplest things you can control? And you get to be in the NBA? I would die to do that, so don’t blow it.’ ”

More amazing than a 13-year-old talking to a 23-year-old pro that way is the fact that the pro listened, changed his ways, and is now back in the NBA — albeit with Houston.
“There definitely was an awakening,” Williams said. “It woke me up a lot.”

* * *

Some would say that Keith Fitzhugh must have been asleep when the New York Jets asked the 24-year-old to join the team to shore up their secondary.

The gig probably wouldn’t have been for long, but hey, it still was the NFL, and a chance.

Fitzhugh said no thanks. Why?

He was afraid he would lose his regular job — as a trainee with the Norfolk Southern railroad.

Fitzhugh, it turns out, loves trains. He also loves his aging parents, with whom he lives in Hampton, Ga.

His decision has given Fitzhugh more notice than he ever garnered as a player.

But, Fitzhugh said, “I’m not doing this for fun or publicity or any other reason. I’m doing this because this is who I am.”

* * *

It remains unclear who Ron Artest is, exactly, but for the second time in a month he’s caught my attention. This time, it’s for refusing to allow a reporter to entice him into grousing because his minutes with the Lakers are down this year.

Said Artest: “I don’t be analyzing it, you know what I mean? I don’t be analyzing, analyzing, analyzing.”

I don’t be either.

But if I were, two columns praising Artest within a month of each other would make me think that while the world hadn’t grown honest, perhaps the sports world was beginning to grow wise.

In which case, doomsday definitely is near.

Contact Jim Gordon at gjames43@msn.com.

Just a thought ...

So.

Cam Newton's dad says he won't attend the Heisman Trophy award ceremony.

Why?

Because, he says, his presence might "rob Cam and the event of a sacred moment."

Well, that could be the reason.

Or maybe the Downtown Athletic Club couldn't come up with the requisite appearance fee ...

Getting it done, on and off the field

Recommended reading: Greg Bishops’s New York Times piece on former running back Curtis Martin.

Martin not only had the requisite talent and toughness to play the position, he also had — and has — perspective and smarts.

Writes Bishop: “Even when he played, Martin did not want to be a scout or a coach or a broadcaster afterward. He wanted to own part of a team.”

Martin on his Hall-of-Fame candidacy:

“When I think of the Hall, what’s most satisfying is this really wasn’t something that I wanted. But I’m proud of that fact. I made the most of that situation. I maximized my opportunity.”

That's not something every athlete — or non-athlete, for the matter — can say.

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/12/03/sports/football/03martin.html?adxnnl=1&ref=football&adxnnlx=1291964403-wBMltZdsV48nlbjwR4Weyw

As long as they had a good reason

Not that brawling over good football teams would be intelligent, but how dumb are the folks who fought in a Rose Bowl parking lot Saturday over the honor of the UCLA Bruins and USC Trojans?

Some 40 fans got into it, Pasadena, Calif., police said. One person was stabbed in the cheek and another was stabbed in the back. Two officers were slightly injured.

Arturo Cisneros, 44, was arrested on suspicion of attempted murder, police said. Steven Radu, 27, and Joshua Elder, 23, were arrested for investigation of assault on a police officer.

Cisneros was later released, but his three adult sons were arrested for investigation of attempted murder.

Nothing brings a family together like a nice attempted slaying.

I know I’m taking a wild guess here, but I’m assuming alcohol was involved.

How much? Well, apparently more alcohol than brains.

Friday column: Competition's pluses, minuses

I’m fond of Eugene McCarthy’s line about politicians needing to be like football coaches: “You have to be smart enough to understand the game, and dumb enough to think it’s important.”

But having spent a lot of my life competing in athletics, including doing a little coaching, I do understand its lure — or at least one of the lures.

By and large, I think, people are less happy when they’re focused on themselves, more happy when they’re not — when they are able to “lose themselves” in something else.

There were times when I was young and miserable, when nothing could make me forget my unhappiness like a good, competitive game of basketball — in a gym or on a street.

Being “outside of myself” for that time was sheer relief.

Sports offers an arena in which you not only can focus on externals, but also you can easily chart your progress. Want to know how you are doing? Look at the scoreboard. Look at your batting average. Look at your winning percentage. Life — real life — doesn’t offer those clear measuring sticks.

Of course, a life of constant competition comes with a price, a price Florida football coach Urban Meyer says he’s decided he no longer wants to pay, at least for now. One year after resigning following a health scare — only to quickly un-resign — Meyer appears sincere in his decision to step down.

In today’s college game, coaches at Meyer’s level are compensated at absurd levels, but just as absurd are the expectations others place on them. Meyer won two national titles at Florida; yet last year he “disappointed” Gators fans by only going 13-1. The reaction to this year’s 7-5 season? Don’t ask.

Coaching legend John Wooden told the story of a booster who came up to him after his UCLA team had beaten Kentucky to win the 1975 NCAA basketball title.

“It was a great victory, John.” Then the booster added, “After you let us down last year.”

“Last year,” 1974, Wooden’s Bruins had lost to North Carolina State in the NCAA finals, in double overtime — only the second time in 12 years Wooden’s team hadn’t cut down the nets.

That was Wooden’s last season; he knew when it was time to get out. It appears Meyer does, too.

Even so, the break for Meyer, just 46, could be brief.

“I can’t ever see that son of a gun getting out of the game and going into broadcasting,” Notre Dame assistant Tim Hinton said last year. “He’s too much of a competitor.”

Hopefully not.

Meyer already has discovered the health consequences of being super competitive. Competition also can be an addiction. It’s the need to compete, I think, that led to Pete Rose’s career meltdown and to the gambling problems of Michael Jordan and Charles Barkley.

Competition is a way to “lose yourself.” The trouble is, sometimes it really happens.

Contact Jim Gordon at gjames43@msn.com.

Not too well, as I recall

The funniest line to come out recent stories about the Miami Heat’s alleged unhappiness with coach with Erik Spoelstra is this one: They're not winning as much as expected because he won’t let them be themselves.

It’s funny because when easy-going Wade Phillips replaced disciplinarian Bill Parcells as coach of the Dallas Cowboys, every player was allowed to be himself.

How did that work out?

Implausible denial

So.

Cam Newton’s father, the good Rev. Newton, was pimping his son around to college football programs for a couple of hundred thou, but the son knew nothing about it?

Two words: Un-likely.

Auburn may gets its national championship, but the NCAA investigation will continue, and the subsequent embarrassment may be a bitch.

Even if it comes years later.

Just as Southern Cal.

As for Newton attorney George Lawson's insistence that he is "a million percent confident that Cam Newton took no money from no one," I'm a million percent confident that Lawson, saying just what a flak is paid to say, has credibility in this matter of ... just ... about ... zero.

No offense, Derek, but …

Derek Jeter is easily my favorite player in Major League Baseball.

I love his work ethic, his demeanor, his hustle. I’ve never seen him not run out a ground ball — and I mean hard.

But the idea the Yankees owe him tons of money in his declining years simply because he is Derek Jeter, because of what he has done for them in the past, is absurd. He was well compensated for all those years.

The sense now is that after early rebuffs, Jeter and his agent are getting more realistic about his current monetary value. I hope so.

In an era when hardly anybody plays for one team his entire career, it would be nice for Jeter to finish as a Yankee.

Friday column: 'This how you do me?'

I PRAISE YOU 24/7!!!!!! AND THIS HOW YOU DO ME?!!!!! YOU EXPECT ME TO LEARN FROM THIS??? HOW???!!! ILL NEVER FORGET THIS!! EVER!!! THX THO …

Thus tweeted Buffalo wide receiver Steve Johnson’s after dropping a sure touchdown pass Sunday, a play that would have given the Bills an upset victory over Pittsburgh.

Johnson’s reaction brought to mind my struggles with a Ignatius Loyola prayer of dedication recommended to me years ago.

Recognizing God as the source of all things, the prayer offers back to that source all of one’s freedom, memory, intelligence and will for God to use as he sees fit. The prayer ends, “I ask only for your love and your grace, for they are enough for me.”

I have found praying that prayer problematic in this sense: While I understand and do believe that God’s love and grace should be enough for me, I find as say those words that, in truth, I want a little more.

A newer car would be nice. Maybe a house without so many problems. A bit of financial security would be appreciated. I wouldn’t mind a Pulitzer.

Johnson apparently would very much have liked a game-winning touchdown. When he didn’t get it, he tweeted, ostensibly to God. But as his faith tells Johnson that the Almighty already knows his thoughts, it’s safe to assume the tweet was really to Bills fans, to let them know the drop really wasn’t Johnson’s fault — blame the Man Upstairs.

In a world of suffering, it’s easy to make fun of Johnson’s angst over a dropped pass. But it’s worth remembering the wide receiver is only 24 and clearly felt he had let down an entire community. When he said after the game that he would “never get over it — ever,” I’m quite sure he meant it.

But, obviously a little perspective is called for.

There are countless millions of people waking up today who must struggle with their faith, whatever it may be, while confronting soul-shattering losses — of job, health, child, husband, wife. In this life, loss, pain and fear come at us, sometimes in waves. We do what we can to prevent them but sooner or later they come, just the same.

What we can control, one hopes, is our response, and here Johnson should have an edge. He’s an elite athlete, which means he’s already learned that pushing through the hard moments — wind sprints at the end of practice, extra reps when you’re tired, discouraged and want to quit — is where the most progress is made.

What’s true in the athletic realm I believe to be true also in the spiritual.

For people of faith, getting from “And this how you do me?” to “your love and your grace are enough for me,” is a long, arduous journey, and there are frequent drops — for all of us — along the way.

Contact Jim Gordon at gjames43@msn.com.

Friday column: Nothing like a visual to spur the conscience

Why do people lie?

Let’s ask Bruce Pearl.

“There’s no reasonable excuse,” the University of Tennessee men’s basketball coach said. “When you get asked a question, you panic.”

Pearl knows whereof he speaks as he recently admitted to … uh … misleading — that’s the word Pearl used — NCAA investigators probing infractions in Pearl’s program.

So far, the results of the lie and other ethical boo-boos are an eight-game suspension for Pearl and a $1.5 million pay cut over five years. Pearl also won’t be allowed to recruit off campus for a year. Those penalties were imposed by the Southeastern Conference and the university, respectively. The NCAA is yet to be heard from, but even the penalties thus far imposed could have been worse.

If he had stuck with his lie, Pearl could have lost his job.

To me, that help explains Pearl’s decision to ’fess up to his athletic director.

Pearl’s lie apparently involved a recruit being in his home in violation of NCAA rules. Reportedly, there was a photo of the visit. It doesn’t take a Mensa-caliber intellect to see a continued denial of the truth in this situation was foolhardy.

An image — or images — also played a role in another confession — that of Nebraska defensive coordinator Carl Pelini, who was accused of pushing a video camera held by a reporter for a Texas A&M fan website following the Cornhuskers’ Saturday loss to the Aggies.

Carl Pelini’s first response?

The incident never happened.

The response of his brother, head coach Bo Pelini? Well, it happened, but it was accidental. You see, Carl was trying to help a Nebraska player off the field and the photographer got in the way.

Unfortunately for the Pelinis, video to the contrary surfaced, leading to Carl’s Tuesday mea culpa.

“It was a very emotional situation and the mob scene on the field after the game amplified that,” he said. “Having been involved in a similar situation in 2003 at Missouri, and in witnessing the situation on the field, I made a poor decision in trying to prevent a reporter from recording the scene.”

Ah, yes, the dreaded “poor decision.”

And the false story peddled by his brother? Was that another “poor decision”?

“Unfortunately, Bo did not have all the facts prior to (Monday’s) press conference and wasn’t fully prepared for the question,” Carl Pelini said.

I hate when that happens.

Why do people lie? Often, I guess, because they know they’ve done something wrong and don’t want to own up to it. Or perhaps a close relative has done something wrong, and they don’t want them to have to own up to it.

Why do people who first lie later tell the truth? That’s often a bit easier to figure out.

Two words.

Visual evidence.

Contact Jim Gordon at gjames43@msn.com.

Might want to be careful, Rev.

So.

Besides NCAA and state officials probing the auction ... I mean recruitment ... of Auburn quarterback Cam Newton, now federal officials are involved.

Note to the Rev. Cecil Newton, Cam's dad, who is alleged to have demanded lots and lots of cash for his son's services: The feds don't like to be lied to. Don't believe me? Ask, oh ... Marion Jones or Martha Stewart ... or any number of folks who've made that mistake.

Don't ... lie ... to ... the ... feds.

Friday column: Sometimes, it’s good to be surprised

The sports landscape often showcases individuals who accept praise more quickly than blame, are more interested in themselves than in others, are more interested in taking than in giving.
Often — but not always.
Oct. 27, a Notre Dame student videographer died when a high wind toppled the hydraulic lift from which he was recording football practice.
Eight days later, the Rev. John Jenkins, Notre Dame’s president, sent an e-mail to students, faculty, staff and alumni stating what most everyone understood but what few expected to hear from an institution with lawyers on the payroll.
“Declan Sullivan was entrusted to our care, and we failed to keep him safe. We at Notre Dame and ultimately I as president are responsible. Words cannot express our sorrow to the Sullivan family and to all involved.”
Jenkins didn’t blame Sullivan for somehow improperly using the lift. He didn’t blame the maker of the device. He didn’t even blame God. He did what one would hope a university president would do — stood up and told the truth.

* * *

Truth is, athletes have been known to spend their retirement living in the past rather than moving on and doing something significant with their lives.
Not Roberto Baggio.
Baggio, one of the finest soccer players ever, works to raise awareness of world hunger and serves as a goodwill ambassador for the Food and Agriculture Organization of the United Nations.
That’s just for starters.
As a recent New York Times article pointed out, Baggio “helps to fund hospitals. He committed to raise money in the aftermath of the Haiti earthquake. He involved himself in the fight against bird flu. He joined the pro-democracy movement for Daw Aung San Suu Kyi in Myanmar.”
Baggio won plenty of honors as a player, but last Sunday was given something more meaningful than a sporting trophy. In Hiroshima, Baggio received the Peace Summit Award given yearly by the world’s Nobel Peace Prize laureates.

* * *

I can’t imagine a World Peace Award being given to Ron Artest, but the thing about the aggressive Laker swingman is that with him, you never really know what to expect.
For years, we did know. We expected bad behavior.
Artest’s image began to change when, following the Lakers’ victory over Boston, he became the first athlete to begin his post-championship comments by thanking his psychologist. And no, it wasn’t a joke.
Then he appeared at an L.A.-area intermediate school to talk to kids about the importance of seeking help for emotional problems. Now, he’s taking what some athletes regard as their prized possession — a championship ring — and auctioning it off to raise money for, yes, mental health charities.
The idea came to him suddenly. Said Artest: “It was … simple. It was perfect. It’s something that can help others.”
Artest has gone from pariah to role model, of a sort. And I can’t believe I just wrote that.

Contact Jim Gordon at gjames43@msn.com.

The rich ARE different

The following quote is the divorce proceedings between Frank McCourt and Jamie McCourt, one of whom — and possibly both — own the Los Angeles Dodgers. The soon-to-be-officially-ex-couple own several multi-million dollar abodes, most of which were put in Jamie’s name, allowing Frank’s defense to claim he really wasn’t involved in his wife’s domecile-buying spree.

Jamie’s lawyers would have none of that.

"It's a road they walked down hand in hand," Mike Kump said of the house collecting. "The idea that Frank was just going along with this to appease his wife is not credible. He was involved in picking out the houses … They were just like any other husband and wife — except with a few more houses."

Oh.

I don't know ... human nature?

Why is it that “adults” in college athletics so often talk the importance of kids — their players — being accountable for bad behavior, yet so rarely hold themselves to that standard?

Witness Kansas Athletic Director Lew Perkins, who Tuesday suddenly retired 12 months early. Why?

Well, one might infer it has to do with a year of controversy and embarrassment involving a ticket scam allegedly run by members of his staff. Five of his full-time employees and one part-time consultant have been implicated.

One could infer that, and one certainly would like to ask Perkins about it. Unfortunately — but not surprisingly — Perkins didn’t make himself available to reporters.

Neither did university chancellor Bernadette Gray-Little. Keep that in mind the next time someone at KU talks about athlete “accountability.”

Friday column: No place you want to be

Manny Pacquiao would seem to have gotten into Floyd Mayweather Jr.’s head.

And that’s a disturbing place to be.

Witness Mayweather’s recent YouTube posting, where Mayweather went on a racist, homophobic rant against the Filipino, whom he continues to find reasons to avoid in the ring.

In 10 minutes of pure vitriol, Mayweather called Pacquiao a “whore,” a “little yellow chump,” and a “midget” several times. He also used a denigrating word for gays and said he would force Pacquiao to “make some sushi rolls and cook some rice” and “we’re going to cook him with some cats and dogs.”

Pacquiao’s response? It was what one would expect from an adult, and helps further delineate the difference between the two men.

“I just heard about that, but I didn’t see the video,” Pacquiao said. “But it’s an uneducated message.”

Uneducated is the last thing Pacquiao would come across as, even though his family’s poverty forced him to drop out of high school. In 2007, a dozen years after he began making money as a professional fighter, Pacquiao took and passed a high school equivalency exam.

Since then, he’s taken business courses at Notre Dame of Dadiangas University and a governance class at the Development Academy of the Philippines — Graduate School of Public and Development Management.

The latter is preparation for his career as a lawmaker — Pacquiao was elected to Congress in May, taking on and defeating a wealthy, machine politician whose family had controlled the district for three decades.

There’s talk that Pacquiao one day could be president of his country.

Somehow, I don’t see that happening for Mayweather.

If Pacquiao is about service, at least in part, Mayweather is all about money — that’s his nickname — and about ego. Mayweather brags about the money he makes; Pacquiao, meanwhile, often gives money away.

Both could make a lot more money — to do with whatever they chose — if they fought, a bout that could earn each $40 million or more. But in fighting the powerful Pacquiao, Mayweather would be risking his undefeated record and the basis for his claim to be the best fighter ever.

Doubt about his ability to prevail is the only reasonable explanation why Mayweather has avoided going toe-to-toe with Pacquiao, rated by Ring magazine the best pound-for-pound boxer in the world.

In a pathetic “apology” posted after his rant, Mayweather said, “Forgive me for saying what I said. I was just having fun. I didn’t really mean it. Nothing in a bad way. So let’s just stay on this roller-coaster ride and keep riding, baby. It’s all love.”

It’s love, all right — self-love. And insecurity. And fear.

I don’t know who would win if the two ever met, but I suspect I know who Mayweather thinks would win.

(Hint: It’s not Mayweather.)

Contact Jim Gordon at gjames43@msn.com.

Friday column: Talk about your easy prediction

Last week, I wrote about 14 Little Leaguers who — in just a few days together — discovered the importance of team. Today, I write about a pro athlete with no sense of team.

No, that might be unfair; I'm sure he, his agent and his accountant are very close.

Yes, I'm talking about Manny.

Ramirez's breakup with the Dodgers came as a surprise to no one, including some New Mexican columnist who in 2008 — after Ramirez quit on his previous club and forced the trade to L.A. — wrote the following:

"On his way out of Boston, Ramirez said the Red Sox didn't deserve him. He was dead wrong. The Red Sox covered and made excuses for their petulant hitting star for years, and when he turned on them, they deserved him, all right.

"And when it turns ugly in L.A., his new enablers, the Dodgers, will have richly deserved it as well."

And richly they did.

The Dodgers welcomed Ramirez, smiled at his dreadlocks, laughed at his antics, made excuses for his behavior in Beantown, and rode his umm ... let's call it unnatural ... hitting as far as they could.

The Dodgers named part of the left-field stands "Mannywood" and held special promotions to take advantage of the aging slugger's popularity — popularity so great the Dodgers signed him to a two-year, $45 million deal in the off-season.

Such largess appeared justified when L.A. started the 2009 season like a rocket, jumping off to a 61/2-game lead. Manny was never more beloved. Then came May and Ramirez's 50-game suspension by Major League Baseball — reportedly for testing positive for artificial testosterone and for using a banned fertility drug that steroid cheats use to restart their natural testosterone production.

Without their star hitter, the Dodgers fizzled.

"Somebody punched a hole in the balloon," said Joe Torre, Dodgers manager and chief excuse-maker.

By the time Ramirez returned, the Dodgers were not the same, and neither was Manny.

No, let me rephrase that. He was still the same me-first greedhead. He just wasn't the same hitter, and this injury-plagued season has been the least productive of his career. Not only was he no longer juicing, now with the Dodgers' money in his pocket, he was no longer even pretending to care.

In his final appearance as a Red Sox, he didn't bother to take his bat off his shoulders. In his final appearance in Dodger blue, he couldn't be bothered to even look at three pitches, instead getting tossed out of the game for arguing with the ump after a single delivery.

(The laughter you hear is coming from Boston.)

The excuse making already has started with the White Sox, who took Ramirez off the Dodgers' hands in hopes he can do for them what he did for L.A. in 2008. If they do more than rent his bat for the rest of the season — actually sign him for next year — they, too, will richly deserve whatever Me-Manny-Me serves up.

Contact Jim Gordon at gjames43@msn.com.

Friday column: Sometimes team tops dream

Saturday in South Williamsport, Pa., the U.S. champion of the Little League World Series will be determined. Sunday will see the winning American team take on the top international team.

The games will be televised around the world. Millions will be watching. Former big league players will be analyzing. For the 11- and 12-year-olds fortunate enough to be on the field, it is a very big thing, indeed. An experience of a lifetime? Maybe not, but close.

Some 1,800 miles away in Santa Fe, a handful of 11- and 12-year-olds will watch and wonder, "What if?"

Those are 14 Little League players from the Santa Fe American and Santa Fe Metro, which in July combined players — properly, it was thought — to begin a journey the kids hoped would end in Williamsport.

According to manager John Gibbs, district officials, considering Santa Fe National, Santa Fe American and Santa Fe Metro to be different divisions of the same league, decided "we could combine (forces) to make one All-Star team."

"As we thought about it, we thought why not?" said Gibbs, who guided LOE Alarm during the Santa Fe American regular season. "Seemed a good thing for a couple of reasons. We'd be very competitive, and we'd get to know these other people. We'd get a chance to play with them rather than against them."

While National, Gibbs said, declined to participate, nine players from American and five from Metro came together — and not just physically. As they practiced for the upcoming district tournament under the hot July sun, they bonded.

"It was a fun clinic," Gibbs said, "everyone getting better and better."

Then four days before the district tournament, officials broke the bad news: Administrators in Williamsport decreed the joining of Santa Fe American and Metro wouldn't be allowed.

What now?

The obvious option, Gibbs said, was to pick up more players from Santa Fe American. "We'd still have a great team," Gibbs said, "a powerful team." But that would leave the players from Metro out in the cold.

Enter assistant coach Tim Kirkpatrick, who had been talking with S.F. American player Evan Ruesch, whose first question was, "What's going to happen with the kids from Metro?"

"They're done," Gibbs told him. "They can't put a team together."

" 'These guys have worked so hard,' "
Gibbs recalls Evan saying; " 'we've become friends with them.' "

So another option was presented to Evan and eventually to the rest of the players: Stay together as a team and play two games in the double-elimination tournament — knowing that win or lose on the field, the team would officially forfeit the contests, and any chance of advancing.

Evan went for it; the Metro players went for it; the American players went for it.

Two games later — games won on the field 11-2 and 10-2, Gibbs remembers — the team was done. But it was still a team.

The players, all of whom voted to stay together: Will Gibbs, Evan Ruesch, Tristan Gress, Gabe Valdez, Ben Miller, Angelo Lopez, Francisco Martinez, Alex Mundt, Chris Polhamus, Hiram Lopez, Santiago Gonzales, Joaquin Rivera, Isaac Hurtado and Michael Salazar.

Contact Jim Gordon at gjames43@msn.com.

Friday column: Two egos in perfect harmony

I’ve been cheated. Been mistreated. When will I be loved?

The Everly Brothers sang those words first in 1960. Linda Ronstadt sang them in 1975. I always thought Ronstadt’s cover superior. I can still hear that amazing voice:

When will I be-eeee … lov uh-uh-uh-uh-uh-ved?

I doubt anyone will ever do it better.

Except possibly Bret Favre.

And maybe LeBron James.

Now, I don’t know if either can sing a note. But that wouldn’t matter. They would bring such depth of feeling to the words, such gut-wrenching pathos to the rendition. I’m thinking platinum. First week. Easy.

Favre, of course, is back with Minnesota after the Vikings successfully courted the 40-year-old passer. Not that it was a simple affair.

They not only offered Favre a $3.5 million raise on his $13 million salary — with another $3.5 million in incentives thrown in — they also dispatched head coach Brad Childress to Hattiesburg, Miss., on bended knee.

When that didn’t elicit a “Yes, Brad,” they sent three of Favre’s teammates to ply the Vikings’ troth.

One of them, Steve Hutchinson, recalled the wooing this way: “ ‘The guys on this team want you here. Everybody wants you here.’ Basically that’s what we told him.”

Finally, in the backyard of Favre’s mansion, assured of the Vikings’ undying affection, the quarterback brought out the grill, slapped on the steaks, and the four bonded over beef and guy talk. At long last, love!

Listen to the words of Ryan Longwell, another of Favre’s suitors. Instead of being chagrined at being sent to beg Favre to play, the punter positively gushed. The quarterback, he said, “loves the guys in the locker room” and “is doing it for all of us.”

Cue the violins and hand me a hanky — but keep one in reserve for James, who, as it turns out, in Cleveland was looking for love in all the wrong places.

Yes, it’s true that Cavaliers owner Dan Gilbert offered “The Chosen One” the moon to stay with the team, but it turns out he really only cared about James’ talent, not James himself (sniff).

“I don’t think he ever cared about LeBron,” James told GQ, giving himself the famous-athlete-celebrity-third-person treatment, undoubtedly to lessen the sting of rejection.

What about the Cleveland fans? Didn’t they love “The King,” for who he was?

No. They merely took him for granted.

“I love our fans,” he said. “Cleveland fans are awesome. But I mean, even my family gets spoiled at times watching me doing things that I do, on and off the court.”

Still, all’s well that ends well. Favre is beloved in Minnesota, James is adored now in Miami. Of course, next year about this time, after a critical interception ends the Vikings’ season and after the Heat fail to win a ring, doubts will creep into the superstars’ fragile psyches once again.

When that happens, may I suggest a duet.

Contact Jim Gordon at gjames43@msn.com.

Friday column: No longer fun seeing Woods play like hacker

It doesn’t speak well of me, but I admit to experiencing a certain amount of schadenfreude the last few weeks watching Tiger Woods look like anything but Tiger Woods.

While Woods obviously paid a private price for his behavior, behavior that torpedoed his relationship with his wife and his children, I wanted to see that price extend to a place commentators said might be his sanctuary — the golf course.

When some folks picked Woods to win the Masters — his first tournament since his life blew up Thanksgiving night — I feared they might be right. Woods, after all, once won a major tournament playing with a broken leg.

My wife, Andi, said there was no way he could win — well, almost no way.

“If he can win a tournament after what’s gone on in his life,” she said, “he’s a sociopath.”

Turns out Woods, whatever else he is, is not a sociopath. Several tournaments into the season, he not only hasn’t won (0-for-8), his play is headed south — due south.

Going into today’s PGA Championship round, Woods has managed just three rounds under par out of his last 21.

Last week at the World Golf Championships, playing on a course he loves, he was simply dreadful, finishing next to last. And as bad as he played, he looked even worse — listless, disconnected, uncaring.

A few years ago, I wrote a column about watching Woods on a Sunday where he was out of contention — rare in those days.

What impressed me about him that Sunday was that he worked every shot as though he was a stroke back on the final day at Augusta. It was, I wrote, an example of a healthy pride, the kind that caused Joe DiMaggio to explain an extraordinary effort in a meaningless game this way: “There is always some kid who may be seeing me for the first time.”

Last week as Woods imploded, the whole sporting world was watching, yet there were times when he walked up to his ball and didn’t take so much as a practice swing before whacking at it like a weekend duffer.

Pride took a holiday.

Yet, as excessive self-regard seems to have been a component in Woods’ dangerous and destructive behavior, a serious humbling would seem to be a necessary step in his putting his life back together. I don’t know if finishing 79th in a field of 80 is rock bottom for Woods, but I hope it is.

Watching him founder no longer brings me any pleasure.

Fallen human beings, such as myself, tend to want mercy and grace for our failings, but justice for those of others. I wanted to see some public justice for Woods, and now I’ve seen more than enough. Now I’m rooting for some grace to enter Woods’ world, first in his personal life, then in his golf game.

The second, I think, will follow the first.

Contact Jim Gordon at gjames43@msn.com.

A little something, surely

So.

The New York Times is reporting that federal prosecutors “have intensified their criminal investigation of the cyclist Lance Armstrong since the end of the Tour de France last month.”

Among those said to have been questioned is a former teammate who reportedly has corroborated Floyd Landis’ story that Armstrong doped.

Can we have a comment from Bryan D. Daly, Armstrong’s newly hired criminal defense attorney?

“To the extent that there’s anyone besides Floyd Landis saying things, the bottom line is, if you take away the soap opera and look at the scientific evidence, there is nothing.”

Actually, councilor, sworn testimony is not nothing. It may or not be accurate — and you may get a chance to cross-examine whoever gave it — but it is not nothing.

It is not nothing.

Ah, the beauty of belief.

So.

Jeremiah Masoli, late of the University of Oregon, has been given new life at the University of Mississippi — thanks to Rebels coach Houston Nutt and his current roster of quarterbacks, which is a mite thin.

“I am very excited about this opportunity and very thankful Ole Miss is giving me this chance,” Masoli wrote on the home page of www.jeremiahmasoli.net. “I really want to thank Coach Nutt for believing in me.”

Ah, that’s sweet. It’s nice to be believed in, no? But then Masoli didn’t seem to care all that much about the last coach who believed in him. That would be the Ducks’ coach Chip Kelly, who now looks like a chump for keeping Masoli in the program after he a) stole laptops and a guitar from other students; b) lied about it; c) eventually pled guilty to it.

Suspended, Masoli nonetheless was given a chance to work his way back on the active roster — for which he was so grateful he was cited for marijuana possession and two other noncriminal violations following a traffic stop.

At that point, Kelly stopped believing.

Wonder how long it will take Nutt?

A cheater speaks

It still amazes me that athletes — I guess because of their celebrity status and obscene wealth — think they can utter the most amazing bullshit and have people not challenge it.

Take Reggie Bush, who says of the massive sanctions placed on the Southern California football program because of his and his family’s greed: "…nobody feels worse about it than I do."

Really, Reggie? Nobody?

I think former athletic director Mike Garrett, who lost his job over it, feels worse than you do.

I think Pete Carroll, who left the best job in college football to escape the sanctions he knew were coming, feels worse than you do.

I think all the current players who will be denied a chance to play in a bowl game the next two years and will have their team weakened by the loss of scholarships feel worse than you do.

I think all the current students and the other members of the Trojan family who live and die SC football feel worse than you do.

Other than some minor embarrassment and the odd question — which you handled with the “let’s move on” mantra straight out of The Sleazeoid Handbook, you’ve hardly been touched by the scandal. You’re still making tens of millions of dollars with the Saints, still raking in millions more in endorsement deals.

No one feels worse?

What a joke.

I’m guessing he’ll make it back

So.

Kentucky basketball player Darnell Dodson will not play for the Wildcats this season.

The head coach was a little vague on why the the junior guard would be ineligible, but did say that Dodson could return to the team “if he meets our standards.”

Considering this is a John Calipari team, that can’t be too tough.

Friday column:

It’s not easy being green.

Not to mention red, black, rust or any other darn color one can choose to be when one is an octopus.

Such as Paul.

Yes, that Paul — the prognosticating polypus, who since his amazing run of picking World Cup winners (and losers) has been forced to constantly look over his shoulders.

First, the Argentines were after him because he chose against “La Albiceleste.” Then the Germans wanted him pickled for favoring Spain over the “Nationalelf.”

That was bad enough. But now Paul has a new enemy, a soon-to-be nuclear power, no less — yes, the Islamic Republic of Iran.

Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, taking a much-needed break from condemning Israel and crushing internal dissent — being an anti-Semitic tyrant does take energy — recharged recently by railing against the amazing myriapod.

In a recent speech in Tehran, Ahmadinejad referenced Paul several times, accusing the creature of spreading “western propaganda and superstition” and claiming that Paul is a symbol of decadence and decay among “his enemies.”

“Those who believe in this type of thing,” he said, “cannot be the leaders of the global nations that aspire, like Iran, to human perfection, basing themselves in the love of all sacred values.”

Ah, Mahmoud, if I may — gently — suggest a ride on the Clue Bus: No one in the West truly believes that Paul is psychic. We have a word for an octopus “picking” the winner of seven straight World Cup matches: coincidence.

(Not that I wouldn’t have considered putting a hundred or so on Spain in the finals, if I were a betting man. A hot streak is a hot streak, after all).

Ahmadinejad’s inability to see this, of course, speaks to the question of aspiring to human perfection, a pursuit that’s not only a fool’s errand but dangerous, as it sometimes leads to such things as the eugenics movement and the Third Reich.

Speaking of the latter, Paul — as far as we know — has never denied the historicity of the Holocaust. Which, in my book, puts him one up Ahmadinejad.

Then there’s the question of a sense of humor, of understanding the pleasure of sheer whimsy, which also seems to be a problem for the Supreme Leader.

Not so for the octopus.

According to the National Geographic website, “Many octopuses show behavior that suggests curiosity, consciousness, and even a sense of humor, said Eugene Linden, author of the 2002 book The Octopus and the Orangutan: More True Tales of Animal Intrigue, Intelligence, and Ingenuity.”

That would make it: Paul 2, Ahmadinejad 0, a representative World Cup soccer score.

Paul could have predicted it.

Contact Jim Gordon at gjames43@msn.com.

Friday column: No class anywhere night of ‘Decision’

Let me start with this:

In his self-promotion and glory seeking, LeBron James — egged on by his suck-up entourage — has been shameless. Patience and a tall beverage wasn’t what was needed to get through The Decision. What was needed was a barf bag.

And his ego-fest the next day in Miami with new running buddies Dwyane Wade and Chris Bosh might have been worse.

Wrote Israel Gutierrez of the Miami Herald:

“They giggled, danced and whooped while waiting to be raised onto the AmericanAirlines Arena platform, literally rising from the floor in a cloud of smoke before 10,000 of their most devoted, delighted and delirious fans.”

All that was missing was the public address announcer intoning: “And now, Miami, bow down to your new gods” — that and human sacrifice.

Now, if Dan Gilbert had been around …

But the thing about James is he’s all of 25, and from a very young age has been told that he’s the greatest thing since … well since never. He’s been told he’s the greatest thing. Period.

So, while one would hope that James would know better, there’s reason to see why he doesn’t.

The owner of the Cavs, on the other hand, is 48, and he definitely should know better. Gilbert’s written rant the night of The Decision read like a hastily penned screed from a pimply 16-year-old dumped by his first girlfriend.

(And no, Jesse Jackson, there’s really no reason to bring race into the issue but thanks for playing, just the same).

James had every right to make the move he made. And while his decision to keep his hometown team twisting in the wind was ill advised, he also had the right to do that. If Gilbert didn’t relish the prospect of being blindsided, he could have given James a deadline.

For that matter, if Gilbert really thought that James was an out-of-control narcissist, as he claimed in his letter, he could have given “The King” some boundaries while he was still a Cav. He could, for instance, have told James he wouldn’t put members of James’ entourage on the Cleveland payroll, told him his gang couldn’t ride with him on the team plane. Could have told him “no” once in a while.

If Gilbert really thought James had “quit” on the Cavs during the playoffs, as he alleged in his letter, he should have called him on it then.

I feel for the Cleveland fans who feel devastated and betrayed by James’ leaving for South Beach. But part of me also wants to say, “Get a life.” To Dan Gilbert, I want to say, “Grow a spine.”

There are a 1,001 ways LeBron James could handled his departure from Cleveland with more class. But the proper response to his actions was not to demonstrate even less class.

Contact Jim Gordon at gjames43@msn.com.

Now, THAT'S paying attention

Monday, the University of Georgia athletic director is forced to resign after an embarrassing drunken driving arrest.

Saturday — less than a week later — two University of Georgia football players, Dontavius Jackson and Tavarres King, are arrested on alcohol-related charges after being stopped about 3 a.m.

I’m guessing they were too busy hitting the books for summer school to notice the first incident.

Now, THAT'S teamwork

Something bad happened at a Knoxville bar in the early-morning hours last Friday. While the details aren’t clear and an investigation is ongoing, it does seem that a group of University of Tennessee football players were involved in a beating that sent two men to the hospital.

One of the men was Robert Capouellez, an off-duty police officer who was trying to break up the melee. He was knocked unconscious. The bar owner said he saw one of the football players kick at Capouellez after he was already lying on the ground unconscious.

Nice.

The other man, Gary Russell, said he also was both punched and kicked.

"If not for my friends jumping in, I would be dead or brain-dead," Russell told ESPN.com. "It was obvious that they weren't going to stop."

"One of them was holding my head up, and they were punching me in my face while I was on the ground and stomping on my chest," Russell said.

Ah, teamwork.

Head coach Derek Dooley said, in part, "I am disappointed and in many ways embarrassed by the poor judgment displayed on many fronts by several members of our football team last night."

Poor judgment? He’s disappointed in their poor judgment?

Gee, Coach, that’s harsh.

What it takes

Recommended reading: Greg Bishop’s New York Times article headed "The Cornerback and the Ex-Con" about the Green Bay Packers’ Al Harris’ long association with former convict Kevin Soto.

It’s a story about, among other things, the power of friendship. The story quotes Johnny Harris, Al’s father: “Al always believed in Kevin. Sometimes, that’s what it takes.”

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/07/11/sports/football/11harris.html

Textbook case of self-destruction

For screwing up a good gig, it’s hard to beat Damon Evans.

At the relatively young age of 40, the University of Georgia athletic director was successful, popular and well-paid — $550,000.

Then the married father of two starts drinking. Then he apparently begins an affair with a 28-year-old. Then he drives drunk. Then he tries to use his influence to avoid arrest. Then he refuses to resign. Then, under pressure, after more embarrassing details of his encounter with the cops emerge, finally he “resigns.”

Because he was successful putting winning teams on the field, Evans will get another gig. But it probably won’t be for $550,000.

More importantly, it will be a long time — if ever — before people look at Evans the way they did, oh, two weeks ago.

How to make a bad situation worse

The attempt to influence the Georgia state trooper bordered on pathetic.

The officer said that when he was pulled over, Evans, apparently still in the grip of whatever he had imbibed, was smiling and jocular.

The lasted until it was clear he would be arrested. At which point Evans said, "I am not trying to bribe you but I'm the athletic director of the University of Georgia.”

Evans asked to be let off with a warning, only to be told the trooper didn’t issue warnings for DUI.

Evans tried the influence card again: "I don't want to use who I am but I would just ask that you take me to a motel."

Now, I said Evans' attempt to get out of his predicament was borderline pathetic. The attempt by his 28-year-old … companion … to "help" him was all-the-way-drunken pathetic.

According to the cop, Courtney Fuhrmann was being "very loud and obnoxious and was obviously intoxicated." The police report said she repeatedly got out of the car, ignoring the trooper's instructions, leading to her arrest on a disorderly conduct charge.

The best — best as in most pathetic — line of the encounter was Fuhrmann’s:

"Just to let you know, (Evans’ arrest) will be erased because he is the athletic director of UGA and he has that power.”

I guess he doesn’t.

Biggest draft bust ever is busted

Speaking of messing up one’s life, I give you JaMarcus Russell.

The former No. 1 overall NFL draft pick — whose perceived lack of effort helped him fail miserably as Oakland’s quarterback, leading to his outright release — was getting a look from the New York Jets as a possible backup.

He was, that is, until he was arrested for alleged possession of codeine syrup, the key and illegal ingredient in a concoction called “purple drank,” reportedly growing in popularity in the South, where Russell is from.

If that sounds like a “so-what” offense, an ESPN Outside the Lines episode quoted a Houston police officer as saying that purple drank can be a harder addiction to break than marijuana, cocaine or heroin.

Russell’s next step? Hard to say, but there’s little reason to believe it will be in an upward direction.

Even more self-destruction

Then we have Bobby Gonzalez, former hoops coach at Seton Hall.

Gonzalez, who ran an outlaw program with the Pirates — no, I mean really; several players on his roster had run-ins with the police — was arrested for allegedly shoplifting a roughly $1,400 men's satchel from the Polo Ralph Lauren store in a New Jersey mall.

Gonzalez, known as a cutter-of-corners, is suspected of cutting off a sensor tag on the bag, then leaving the store.

Said Gonzalez’s lawyer: “This is a misunderstanding and series of miscommunications. Bobby did not intend to steal anything.”

Notice the mouthpiece didn’t say “Bobby” didn’t steal it — just that he didn’t intend to.

'Nice' piece of the week

Recommended reading: The Associated Press story on what some NFL players did on their off-season — what they did and what they learned.

Learned from helping kids in India and Nepal, learned providing earthquake relief in Haiti, learned spending time with “real” warriors in Afghanistan. (Above, NFL players Joe Thomas of the Cleveland Browns, Mario Williams of the Houston Texans and Jason Witten of the Dallas Cowboys, from left, talk to Sgt. Eric Harder, of Crystal, Minn., in Bostick, Afghanistan).

The story said that after spending time in Africa, Minnesota running back Adrian Peterson “was struck by how the simplest necessities could be so difficult to get, with people often walking miles on dirt roads for fresh water.

“ ‘It was a blessing to be in a position to experience that,” he said. “It makes you more grounded and be able to say: ‘Hey, you think you’ve got it rough? Ha.’ This was rough. This was survival.”

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/07/04/sports/football/04nfl.html?ref=football

Friday column: No, no, Kevin — that's not how you do it!

Poor Kevin Durant.

Doesn’t this clueless kid know how the NBA superstar game is supposed to be played?

First of all, even if you are going to stay with your current team, you don’t just sign an extension and be done with it — you play the string out, keep the fans guessing, keep the pub flowing.

Then you visit your suitors — no, no, that’s wrong; you make your suitors come to you.

On bended knee.

With open wallet.

And puckered lips.

You get ink-stained wretches and their broadcast equivalents to talk about you for days on end.

Then you get a money-grubbing, no-sense-of-proportion network to do an hourlong special — hourlong! — on your momentous “decision” (drum roll, please).

The whole world is watching!

With LeBron James — I mean King James … Lord James? — showing the way, building his brand, how could Durant just quietly re-up for five years with Oklahoma City. Oklahoma City?

Tweeted Durant: “God Is Great, me and my family came a long way.”

Said Durant’s agent: “Kevin wanted to make this commitment to the Thunder because he and his family are very appreciative of the commitment that the Thunder have made to him.”

Appreciation? Commitment?

I’m worried about this kid. I fear he’s got the wrong attitude, a poor approach. He’ll never become a billionaire or a global icon this way.

* * *

The funniest line I read during the free-agent “recruitment” process came from Pat Riley, once and future coach of the Heat.

The Miami president said he was confident of star guard Dwyane Wade’s return to South Beach in part, he said, because “We’re about stability. And we’re about family.”

Family?

Tell that to Stan Van Gundy, the Heat head coach Riley kicked to the curb four years ago in his rush to collect his sixth NBA championship ring as a coach. For Riley, the 2006 ring was his first since leaving Magic Johnson and the Lakers, and thus a form of validation.

To get the ring, Riley had to convince Van Gundy that Van Gundy really needed to spend “more time with (his) family,” thus opening a spot for Riles’ return to the bench — this a season after Van Gundy had coached the Heat within a victory of the NBA Finals.

Now, with Wade’s return and the addition of James and power forward Chris Bosh, the Heat suddenly are relevant again. I wonder if that makes Miami head coach Erik Spoelstra just a little bit nervous. I wonder how much time Spoelstra’s been spending with his family.

Contact Jim Gordon at gjames43@msn.com.

Oops … he did it again?

It appears that Michael Vick might have been less than forthcoming in a statement to authorities.

If true, this would surprise us … why?

Vick — I don’t really have to go into his history, do I? — said through his lawyer that he was “long gone” from the Virginia Beach, Fla., restaurant that hosted his 30th birthday bash by the time someone was shot nearby.

That someone has been identified as Quanis Phillips, a co-defendant in the dogfighting case that resulted in Vick being a guest of the feds for 18 months — and someone Vick was supposed to not have any contact with as a condition of his parole.

Vick lawyer Larry Woodward said Vick departed between 10 and 20 minutes before the gunshots rang out, but a partner of the restaurant says a video surveillance tape shows Vick leaving just three minutes before shots were fired — and he was heading in the direction of where the shooting took place.

And yes, the partner has turned the evidence over to the police.

Responded Woodward: I stand by what I said, that Michael was long gone before the shooting, does not know who did the shooting and had nothing to do with the shooting," Woodward said Tuesday. "Anyone who says any different better be very careful."

Gee, counselor, that sounds awfully like a threat. But may I suggest — every so respectfully — that Vick has a history of uh … prevarication under stress. And he’s the one I think who ought to be careful. He’s still on parole, remember? And the last time I looked, courts and their authorities don’t liked to be lied to.

Oh, and neither does the NFL commissioner. Your client just might remember what happened the last time he was less than truthful to Roger Goodell.

Stupid is as stupid does

You’re Joshua Shirley, Shaquille Richardson or Paul Richardson. You’ve all won scholarships to play football at UCLA. You’re in summer school, ready to enroll for the fall quarter. You literally have the opportunity of a lifetime before you.

So you …

Reach into the dormitory locker of a fellow student and take her backpack, stealing contents worth $1,200?

Smooth move.

Now the three have been dismissed from the team, though head weasel — I mean head coach — Rick Neuheisel said the trio may be able to earn their way back to his team. I’m guessing if the three are truly talented — I mean remorseful — Slick Rick will have their services before long.

Hooray for hierarchy

Recommended reading: Drake Bennett’s Boston Globe piece tying together Gen. Stanley McChrystal’s flameout and the failure of the French World Cup team.

The connection: the importance in cooperative ventures — like war and team sports — of having a clear hierarchy.

Writes Bennett: “In certain settings, having a clear hierarchy makes us more comfortable, more productive, and happier, even when our own place in it is an inferior one. In one intriguing finding, NBA basketball teams on which large salary differentials separate the stars from the utility players actually play better and more selflessly than their more egalitarian rivals.”

http://www.boston.com/bostonglobe/ideas/articles/2010/06/27/out_of_line/

Friday column: Great moments in fatherhood

So.

You’re a parent of a teenager trying out for a team in the Greater Toronto Hockey League.

Your son doesn’t make the roster — alas. Do you:

A) Tell your son to practice harder and try again next year?

B) Stoke his determination with stories about great stars who were cut early in their careers.

C) Sue the bastards.

If you’re like two fathers whose respective pride and joy didn’t measure up during tryouts for the Avalanche Minor Sports Club midget junior A team, the amazingly-silly-but-hardly-surprising-in-this-day-and-age answer is … C.

I’d name the patresfamilias, but if you’re a dad who is egocentric enough to sue over your son getting cut from a youth team, you’re egocentric enough to enjoy the notoriety.

Let’s just call them Lame Dad 1 and Lame Dad 2. Both lame dads cited damage to the fragile morale of their precious boys as the reason for burdening the Canadian court system with such piffle.

“Their direct actions have caused irreparable psychological damage to (the boy’s) self-esteem as an impressionable teenager and demoralized (him) as an athlete and team hockey player with his peers,” Lame Dad 1’s statement of claim reads: “The conduct by all defendants destroyed the dignity of my son, whom in good conscience gave his team nothing but his best efforts.”

The statement of claim from Lame Dad 2 states: “When (our son) was advised of his termination by my wife and I, he vowed never to play the game he loved since childhood. And, moreover, this misguided group of defendants demoralized my wife and I, whom had gone well beyond the call of duty as parents in support of the Toronto Avalanche hockey team for two seasons.”

Deep breath, everyone. All together now — and don’t forget the descending tone — one, two, three … awwwwwwww!

Yes, nothing like a dad preparing his progeny for the vicissitudes of life by encouraging the idea that when anything bad happens to you, it’s definitely someone else’s fault. So go in the corner and sulk.

Then sue.

Unfortunately, for Lame Dad 2, his son managed to get a gig with another team, which necessitated the following additional sentence in the statement of claim:

“Thank the good Lord that my son had the courage and strength to compose himself in his demoralized state.”

Yes, thank the good Lord, indeed, though the boy’s ability to summon such courage and strength does undercut Lame Dad 2’s claim of his son’s disheartenment. But then, maybe he should just come clean and sue in his own name, as he’s the one who seems demoralized.

My son can’t even make the team — what does that say about me?

Actually, that says nothing about you. Your going to court over this — I’m talking to both you lame dads — says a lot about you.

Contact Jim Gordon at gjames43@msn.com.

Cue Inspector Callahan

I have a favorite bullfighter.

As of Sunday.

The man’s name is Christian Hernandez, and you may have seen him in action on the news or on YouTube waving his cape in his bull’s general direction, then taking off like a rocket and vaulting over the wall for safety.

Hernandez, who several months ago had been seriously gored, didn’t mince words after the “fight.”

"There are some things you must be aware of about yourself," Hernandez, a 22-year-old Mexican, said. “I didn't have the ability, I didn't have the balls, this is not my thing.”

I’ve never had a favorite bullfighter before. What’s that? Hernandez said he’s quitting? OK, so I have a favorite former bullfighter.

As Dirty Harry so eloquently put it: "A man's got to know his limitations."

What? No O.J. Simpson?

Reggie Bush’s lawyer says the former USC star fully cooperated with the NCAA investigation into allegations he and his family accepted illicit benefits — such as living rent-free — while Bush was a star with the Trojans.

The NCAA says he didn’t cooperate fully.

Hmmmm. Who to believe? Who to believe?

Bush attorney Shawn Chapman Holley said his client sat down with the NCAA though he couldn’t be compelled to do so. The NCAA said that while that may be so, Bush failed to provide information that could have backed up his claim of innocence.

Holley insisted that Bush’s willing to meet with the NCAA investigators showed “he had nothing to hide.”

So, who to believe?

What's that, you say? Holley’s former clients include Lindsay Lohan, Paris Hilton and Mike Tyson?

That rather makes my decision a bit easier.

Bush, second take

So.

Reggie Bush regrets the effect on USC of the NCAA penalties imposed on the school in large part because the extra benefits he reportedly received.

Bush said that to him it’s the “closest thing to death without dying.”

Spare me the tears.

Bush was just another young athlete who just couldn’t wait for the gravy train. If what the NCAA alleges is true — and I believe their investigators — Bush and his family were greedy.

Period.

As for Pete Carroll and USC, here’s my strong guess: They couldn’t have and should have known something was up with Bush. Like many coaches and programs, they didn’t want to know.

It’s just a game — no, really

You’re Nicholis Williams, a 29-year-old man with a 10-year-old son. You’re watching your kid play baseball and don’t think he’s getting as many at-bats as other boys.

So … you … curse the coach?

OK, well that’s not the brightest or most gentlemanly thing to do, but at least he didn’t pull a gun, right?

Right?

After the game, Williams and coach Joe Powell walked to Williams’ car, and Williams did, indeed, pull a handgun and point it at Williams.

Williams actually had a gun permit, but that’s been suspended now that Williams has been arrested by police and charged with felony aggravated assault.

Ah, the lessons our youth can learn through sport …

Friday column: Maturity issues and other problems

Two weeks ago, I wrote about the graciousness of Armando Galarraga. Last week, I wrote about the remarkable life of John Wooden. Will we have three uplifting columns in a row?

No, thank goodness. OK, let’s not thank goodness; let’s thank Vince Young, the University of Southern California and Albert Haynesworth.

Young, the former University of Texas star, now the quarterback and wannabe leader of the NFL’s Tennessee Titans, got involved Sunday in a way-past-bedtime scuffle at a … wait for it … strip club.

Video surveillance showed Young getting violent after a man made derogatory remarks about UT and flashed an upside-down “Hook ’em, Horns” sign.

Let me repeat that. Young, who has been attempting to show the Titans he’s no longer the pouting, immature jock who couldn’t stand to be booed and whose erratic behavior had his mother worried about his emotional stability, attacked a man because of an upside-down rah-rah sign.

What’s that sound, you ask? Yes, I heard it, too. I’m pretty sure that was Titans head coach Jeff Fisher, still sighing.

Of course, the team Young’s Longhorns beat in the 2006 BCS title game — Southern Cal — has its own problems, thanks in part to that game’s other marquee talent — Reggie Bush.

According to the NCAA, Bush and his family received extra benefits — hundreds of thousands of dollars have been alleged. As a result, the football program has been slammed with major sanctions, including forfeiture of victories, loss of scholarships and four years probation.

The severity of the punishments is linked to the finding of a lack of institutional control at the school, which also was hit for special benefits provided another “I want it now” jock, former basketball star O.J. Mayo.

Mayo’s coach, Tim Floyd, who was accused of being his own bagman in securing Mayo’s services for the Trojans, is long gone from the scene. Also gone is football coach Pete Carroll, who in the offseason suddenly developed an itch to jump to the NFL.

Of course, Carroll insists, the prospect of major NCAA penalties had nothing to do with his decision.

And I believe Carroll; sure, I do. But, then, I believe BP will get a handle on this oil thing any minute now.

Speaking of spurting crude, it’s hard to imagine an athlete leaking more credibility at the moment than Haynesworth.

The Washington defensive tackle was a no-show at practice this week. It seems Haynesworth, who already has collected $32 million on the $100 million contract he signed last year, is miffed at the team’s switch from a 3-4 defense to a 4-3 alignment, and wants to be traded.

Even his teammates are supporting the team’s attempt to reclaim some of the money they’ve paid to Haynesworth, who was a bust in his first year with the club.

Say this for Haynesworth: He might be a selfish, childish jerk, but at least the former Tennessee Volunteer waited until he turned pro to get paid.

Um … as far as we know.

Contact Jim Gordon at gjames43@msn.com.

Dumb and not-so-dumb

Mathias Kiwanuka is smarter than Ben Roethlisberger.

How do I know this?

In June 2006, Roethlisberger was injured in a motorcycle accident. He went over his handlebars and hit — head-first — into the windshield of a car. He was not wearing a helmet.

According to Wikipedia, police sources said “Roethlisberger suffered fractures to the jaw and right sinus cavity, as well as a nine-inch laceration to the back of the head, the loss of two teeth, and several chipped teeth. His facial injuries were severe enough that witnesses on the scene did not immediately recognize him, even after he identified himself as ‘Ben.’ ”

Yet after the accident, he continued to ride — sometimes, despite pledges to the contrary — sans helmet.

New York Giants defensive end Mathias Kiwanuka wasn’t even in an accident and has decided to stop riding — period. Watching his brother get seriously injured was enough.

Benedict Kiwanuka reportedly broke several bones, suffered internal injuries and there were doubts for two days about his survival.

"You go through something like that and you realize how much of a gift life is and how short it can be," Kiwanuka said. "(You) just try to make better decisions and for me, in the position I was in watching that and knowing what I have left to do, not in just football but on this Earth, it's enough to wake you up and realize there are better ways to have fun."

Kiwanuka is smarter than Roethlisberger — which, admittedly, isn't saying much.

Dumb and incredibly dumb

So.

You’re quarterback Jeremiah Masoli.

Despite a troubled past, but you land a football scholarship to the University of Oregon. There, you succeed so well on the field that you’re talked of as a Heisman Trophy candidate.

Victories, honors and a fat NFL contract beckon.

So you get involved in the stealing of laptops from a university fraternity house and wind up suspended for the entire 2010 season?

But OK. OK. You’re a young man and young men make “mistakes.” Your coach is willing to put you back on the team in 2011 if you follow some Very Simple Rules, which include no more brushes with the law.

Victories, honors and possibly a fat NFL contract still beckon.

So you … get busted driving with marijuana in the car?

Now you’ve permanently been kicked off the team. You’ll eventually find some program to take you for your final year of eligibility — this is college football, after all.

But that fat NFL contract no longer beckons.

You’re not only dumb — you’re chump dumb.

Friday column: His was a life well-lived

John Wooden wasn’t a saint, and he wouldn’t have wanted anyone to think he was.

Wooden was a competitor. Nicknamed the “Indiana Rubber Man” in his playing days at Purdue for his willingness to throw his body on the floor in pursuit of a loose ball, Wooden lost none of his desire to win when he turned to coaching.

Bill Walton, who played for Wooden, acknowledged Wooden’s calm demeanor but said, “there is also the side of coach Wooden that he is this caged tiger.”

Wooden didn’t use profanity, but he could make his displeasure evident to his players with an emphatic “goodness gracious sakes alive.” He didn’t engage in sideline histrionics, but the zebras knew he was around.

“He never swore, but there was not a coach in the United States who could use the English language any better than he could,” one official said. “He was always technically and grammatically correct when he was chewing you out.”

It was probably the competitor that led Wooden to fail to run off booster and arch-fixer Sam Gilbert — the “sugar daddy” of UCLA basketball — who eventually landed the Bruins on NCAA probation. It is Wooden’s one significant failure, and it needs to be remembered.

But the competitor was only one part of Wooden. There was much more.

There was the teacher, beginning each season with the simple and surprisingly valuable lesson of how to properly put on sweat socks to avoid blisters.

There was the civil-rights advocate, early in his career keeping his Indiana State team from playing in an NAIA tournament because the tourney barred African-Americans.

There was the philosopher, constructing his Pyramid of Success, with its basic building blocks of industriousness, friendship, loyalty, cooperation and enthusiasm.

There was the husband, for a quarter century writing monthly love letters to his late wife — not only the only woman he had ever loved but the only woman he’d ever dated.

There was the moralist, stressing to his players that “a life not lived for others is not well-lived.”

There was the philanthropist. Wooden wasn’t wealthy; he never made more than $35,000 a year, but he generously gave of what he had — his time, even as his advancing age took its toll. A telling story about Wooden is that he remained listed in the Encino, Calif., phone book to the end of his days.

Wooden successfully coached young men from diverse cultures in a turbulent time — the 1960s and early ’70s. He managed this by not being brittle yet staying true to the values he learned growing up in Indiana.

One of the sayings he learned from his father, Joshua, was “Make each day your masterpiece,” which sounds trite — and is, I suppose, unless you actually try to live by it. Wooden did.

Wooden was authentic, and his players loved him for it. They believed knowing him made them better, not just on the court but in life.

John Wooden wasn’t a saint. He was, however, extraordinary, and to those who knew him, irreplaceable.

Contact Jim Gordon at gjames43@msn.com.