Here's good advice (please don't take it)

Bryan Stow’s family is suing the Dodgers over his parking lot beating.

The suit says Stow was “inappropriately exposed to the aggressive acts of third parties" because the Dodgers "failed to take reasonable steps to prevent the attack on Stow.”

"It's fairly simple," said attorney Thomas Girardi. “The Dodgers have shown a total disregard for public safety. They've gotten rid of security people, they've had all these incidents at their games, more than other teams, there's also a known gang presence. What did they think was going to happen?”

Considering the suit is filed in L.A., where Dodger owner Frank McCourt is about as popular as rabies …

Considering information from his recent ugly divorce from Jamie McCourt indicated the then-couple let stadium security slide while they siphoned off money to support a lavish lifestyle …

Considering that since Stow’s beating, the team has greatly increased security — even engaging the former chief of the LAPD — thus essentially proving part of the Stow family’s case, I offer a word of advice to McCourt:

Settle.

As of today, the Dodgers were planning on fighting the suit in court. Just like the Frank fought Jamie in court. One more word of advice, Frank:

SETTLE.

Still, it won’t bother me if you don’t. Like your divorce case, these court proceedings promise to be most interesting.

Well, THIS is a surprise

Recommended reading: An Associated Press story on drinking and sports. You’ll be shocked, I’m sure, to learn the two are rather closely linked.

"I hear from people who'd been going to games their entire life, they say, 'I don't go to games anymore,'" said Darin Erickson, who worked on some of the studies quoted in the story. "They tell stories about people swearing blatantly, throwing things and fights. It's not always actual assaults, but some of the people I talk to just aren't comfortable with the environment. And it seems that they're often saying it's attributable to general drunkenness."

You’ll also be shocked that pro teams, while giving lip service to closely monitoring excess drinking, largely do jack about it.

Why?

Too much money involved, not only in the sales of the booze, but in sponsorship green (think Busch Stadium, Coors Field, Miller Stadium).

The thugs who put Bryan Stow in a coma, by the way, were said to be drunk.

http://www.google.com/hostednews/ap/article/ALeqM5i9X8UHXnjfpI4W749m0dlQT8dwbg?docId=12a9c919f1e940589a8791b45459adcf

Another shocker: Corruption at FIFA (gasp!)

An American on FIFA’s executive committee, is claiming that Mohamed bin Hammam of Qatar — running against Seth Blatter as head of the organization was offering cash on the barrel ($40,000) in exchange for votes. (That's the happy couple above.)

The headline for the New York Times story reads:

“FIFA can’t ignore insider’s charges of corruption”

To which I reply: Sure it can.

Now, Blatter may not want to ignore the charges, for sheer political reasons. Bin Hammam, after all, is his opponent. But could he? Could FIFA? Sure. An organization that riddled with corruption can pretty do anything it wants — without a single blush.

Friday column: A question of belief

Ah, Harold …

Here I was, exhaling a ginormous sigh of relief that the world didn’t go boom May 21 as you predicted, when you go and move the goal posts.

Now, I have to wait in terror five more months to Oct. 21?

Not fair, Harold.

Still, I think I’ll manage.

Somehow.

I’d give Harold credit for being light on his feet, but it’s rather a job requirement for a false prophet. In honor of Camping’s latest fizzle — he first predicted the End of it All in 1994 — The Christian Science Monitor ran a look back at some other apocalyptic busts.

My favorite was the 1954 prediction by a Chicago housewife and Dianetics follower involving aliens from the planet Clarion. Some of her followers, like Camping’s, quit jobs and sold possessions, then gathered at her house to await The Big Event.

When the appointed time came and went, her followers became increasingly agitated, whereupon the housewife announced she’d heard from the Clarions once again: God was so impressed by her group’s faithfulness, he had decided to spare Earth, after all!

Now, that’s being light-footed.

Lance Armstrong and his lawyers are not nearly as nimble on their toes. Perhaps they can’t be. Or perhaps they don’t have to be. It’s hard to tell.

To former associates’ accusations of the use of banned substances comes Armstrong’s mantra: “Never failed a drug test.” To former teammates’ allegations of cheating comes his lawyers’ mantra: “Liars out to sell a book.”

Armstrong doesn’t claim to be a prophet, but he does have followers, believers who have a stake in his story and his veracity.

Many of those have cancer, or have loved ones with cancer, and want very much to believe that the founder of the Livestrong Foundation won all those Tours de France riding clean.

One of them is Jennifer Floyd Engel, who writes for the Star-Telegram in Fort Worth, Texas. Her mother died of a hereditary form of cancer, a fact that, she says, “skyrockets my odds into an ugly place.”

Engel wrote this week about the importance of Armstrong’s Tour de France victories:

“The yellow jersey provided inspiration for everybody fighting cancer and everybody who may one day lock horns with this insidious disease. This was proof that doctors are not always right, that not everybody they say is going to die does and those who do win can come back stronger and better.”

Engel is shaken by the latest allegations but is hanging on to her belief in Armstrong’s innocence.

So is a friend of mine, who can marshal an impressive array of facts to support the view of Armstrong and his lawyers.

I would not dispute a single sentence of his litany; he knows the material much better than I.

And perhaps he is right; I would like him to be so.

And yet.

When there’s this much smoke, usually there is fire — somewhere.

It’s difficult for me to believe that all who have accused Armstrong have done so from ulterior motives, and even if they have, it doesn’t mean their charges don’t carry some truth (see Canseco, Jose).

It’s hard for me to believe that Armstrong — as fierce and driven a competitor as I’ve ever seen — would not avail himself of the same “edge” as did many of his competitors (and many of his teammates). Not if it meant victory instead of defeat.

Do I know he cheated? No, I don’t.

And I don’t know the world isn’t going to end Oct. 21.

But I’m not quitting my job.

The limits of knowledge

I’m always amazed at what people claim they know.

Not think. Not believe. But know.

As, for instance, in the recent death of Kenyan marathon champion Sammy Wanjiru, who fell from the balcony of his home following a domestic dispute involving his estranged wife and another woman.

One police official called it suicide; another said he jumped to prevent his wife from leaving the house after discovering him with the other woman.

His agent, Federico Rosa, was certain it wasn’t the former.

"I talked to him yesterday and the day before," said Rosa, who claimed the runner’s his training was proceeding smoothly. "It was going well and smoothly and he had no problem at all.

"This I can guarantee, it was not a suicide at all," Rosa said.

Well, sometimes the word “suicide” come with the word “surprise” before it. Two relatively recent ones in the sporting world are Erica Blasberg and Denver Broncos receiver Kenny McKinley. No one saw those suicides coming either. Nobody knows for certain what’s in another person’s mind and heart.

Now, Rosa may be right that it wasn’t suicide. But can he guarantee it? Can he really know?

No.

Yes, I'm sure he's right, and yet ...

In La Belle France, a Socialist leader is also certain about something:
Former IMF chief Dominique Strauss-Kahn may have used seduction to have sex with the hotel maid accusing him of rape, “but no way would he use constraint or violence.”

No, no, of course not. Out of the question.

Still, one wonders.

After all, he was arrested on a jet, seemingly trying to get out of Dodge. And there are reports he phoned his wife to tell her he was in some trouble. Then there’s the fact that a French writer and journalist, Tristane Banon is claiming she once had to fight Strauss-Kahn off, saying she is coming forward with her story now because after his arrest, she is finally confident she’ll be heard.

France, of course, is famously relaxed about the private behavior of public figures.

"Politicians and artists enjoy a particular tolerance on this subject," wrote Nicolas Demorand, editor of the Liberation daily newspaper. "Part of the shock comes also from the unusual scene, until now unthinkable here: police arresting a top-level politician on a matter of morals."

Correction: Guilty or innocent, Strauss-Kahn wasn't arrested on a matter of morals. He was arrested on a matter of crime.

Friday column: Recalling day-to-day graciousness

Treating people well — especially those who can’t do anything for you — is a mark of character.

Harmon Killebrew, who died this week at 74, demonstrated that mark.

The adage that it’s impolite to speak ill of the dead hardly deters anyone in this Internet age, but I’ve yet to read something negative about the Twins’ Hall of Fame slugger.

Instead, there are stories about his kindness — nothing spectacular, just account after account of his day-to-day graciousness. How he surprised a family by sending them a personal letter in response to a get-well card they sent him. How he went out of his way to make people feel welcome.

“He was a consummate professional who treated everyone from the brashest of rookies to the groundskeepers to the ushers in the stadium with the utmost of respect,” former teammate Rod Carew said. “I would not be the person I am today if it weren’t for Harmon Killebrew.”

Once asked why he was unfailingly nice to everybody, Killebrew said, “You never know. That might be the only time a person sees you play or meets you. I always tried to remember that.”

I never met Killebrew, but I did meet Chuck Tanner, who preceded Killebrew in death by three months.

In the early 1980s, Tanner was a few years removed from winning the World Series as manager of the Pittsburgh Pirates. I was the UCLA beat writer for a small Pasadena newspaper and occasionally subbed for our baseball writer.

One night after a Pirates-Dodgers game, I spent too much time in the L.A. locker room, and by time I got to the Bucs’ side, everyone was gone.

Everyone, that is, except for Tanner and his coaches, who were busy plotting next-game strategy in their cramped office.

I had missed the interview session, and Tanner had every reason to brush me off or grudgingly answer a question or two before shooing me on my way.

Instead, he invited me in and acted as though he had all the time in the world, as though nothing was more important to him than giving me whatever I needed to make my story complete. “Are you sure you have enough?” I remember him asking as I backed out the door.

Tanner may have heard of our small daily, but we didn’t mean anything to him in terms of coverage. We certainly couldn’t do anything for him.

But with Tanner, as with Killebrew, that wasn’t the point.
Both Killebrew and Tanner will be missed not so much for what they did — and they did plenty — but for who they were.

Retired Twin Paul Molitor summed up Killebew in words that also apply to Tanner:

“He didn’t differentiate how he treated other people based on their status or social standing,” Molitor said. “Whether you were an 18-year-old minor-leaguer or a clubhouse worker, you got the same Harmon. And that was a pretty good Harmon to get.”