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.