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.