Requiem for a Sand Wedge

Accepting that you’ll never be happy again yields a certain happiness, just as knowing that one’s favorite sand wedge, forgotten on a green in the shadow of War Memorial Stadium, will remain forever in the bag of a scoundrel who found the forlorn stick and kept it for himself. Your short game will never be quite the same, but there is satisfaction in believing that whatever metaphysical power guides the universe will invest the wayward wedge with the power to poison the gentleman’s game from here to eternity.

Oh, it was a cheap thing – a bargain close-out inscribed with the name of the “wee ice man,” the man who believed as we do that putting is not golf. The American League employs the designated hitter, so why not a designated putter for those of us challenged by this feminine activity? Our choice would be Paula Creamer. We’d even let her use the pink ball she favors.

Cheap or not, it filled us with confidence when we heard the magical click of club head striking the cover of our Titleist, sending it like an exploding kernel of popcorn to a designated area near the cup, the face of the shiny wand smudged with a new fleck of candy red from the identifying inscription applied by a Sharpie to the ball.

We miss it so. There is a permanent longing to regain it, an ache so sharp yet so sweet, that, as we said, it begets a wistful nostalgia, an ennobling emotion, filled with the grandiosity of self that we gain only by losing – in this case a bloodied scepter now serving another master.

This sporting life affords us few opportunities for this peculiar satisfaction, so we savor it more than the well-struck tee shot delivered by a brutish driver. No, it is a finer thing than that, this world we have lost, always on the horizon, forever out of reach but glimmering with the promise that it can be regained. Now, if we can only enlist Ms. Creamer to pinch putt for us.

*******************

Our tattered flag is still waving after taking a beating, for entertainment purposes only. Let’s put 5,000 destroyers on Navy -7 over Army today to wrap up the college football season. Bowl picks to come.

Earthbound

Could Arkansas ever play in the national championship game? When pigs fly. After a flashy start, these Hogs remained pedestrians, pushed back into the mire by a Honey Badger named Tyrann Mathieu and his geaux-geaux Acadians in Baton Rouge.

This leaves the door open for one-loss teams Stanford and Virginia Tech to sneak in, assuming Oklahoma can vanquish Oklahoma State next week.

We were 3 and 2 last week, but nevertheless lost 300 from our goodwill bundle because, for the first time this year, our lock of the week let us down. The setback brings our year-to-date total to plus 10,790. For entertainment purposes only, we will double down on rivalry Saturday. You know, throw out the record books when these teams tangle.

Let’s put 2,000 BCS computers each on:

Michigan -7 ½ over Ohio State (Wolverines’ Denard Robinson dots the “i” for Buckeyes’ band)

Auburn +21 over Alabama (War Eagles, Plainsmen, Tigers – pick a nickname – will stun Tide. Michael Dyer outrushes Heisman hopeful Trent Richardson)

Illinois -11 over Minnesota (Just because the Golden Gophers stink)

Baylor -13 over Texas Tech (The Bears boast our vote for the Heisman – RG III)

Lock of the Week – Over/Under

Iowa State vs. Oklahoma over 60 (Sooners’ secondary exposed by aforementioned Griffin last week. Expect beaucoups points)

Agents of KAOS

Like the Republican presidential clown show, the BCS scrum has become a race to the bottom. Only Maxwell Smart and 99 can outwit this sharp-as-tacks crowd. Last night, the Cowboys, nee Aggies, of Stillwater were exposed as the latest pretender, much to the chagrin of our beloved Sooners, who were looking to knock off an undefeated Oklahoma State two weeks hence and insinuate themselves back into the championship picture.

Our pre-season pick of OU and Arkansas in the national championship game, though still possible, looks unlikely. Both will have to win out and Oregon must stumble. Alabama, though, will probably remain the highest-ranked one-loss team, and LSU with its wins against Alabama, Oregon and West Virginia, could be in the picture as well, even if it loses next week to Arkansas, who we expect to fall tonight to Mississippi State in Little Rock.

We stumbled last week, going two of five, losing 300 poll points to bring our straw vote to plus 11,090 on the year. But, hey, we're a leader not a reader. And our work as a historian has profited us handsomely so far. Our latest client is a little weak on his colonial period, so we've got to get to work and leave you with these Tiffany's gifts. For entertainment purposes only, let's put 1,000 Freddie Macs each on the following and 2,000 on our lock of the week.

Mississippi State +13 over Arkansas (Hogs have fed too much at the trough of luck. Bulldogs' Chris Relf leads team to upset)

Houston -20.5 over Southern Methodist (Casey Keenum leads Cougars. Alas, Houston will be the only undefeated team not making it to the championship)

Southern California +14 ½ over Oregon (Trojans have enough horses to keep it close)

Kansas State +8 over Texas (How can the Longhorns be the favorite after scoring just a safety and a field goal against Missouri last week?)

Lock of the Week – Over/Under
Wisconsin vs. Illinois over 51(Both teams can score, though the Illini have been anemic of late. Badgers prevail late on a Russell Wilson TD toss)

What Rough Beast

It is often remarked that there is no fool like an old fool. We should know.

But rarely does the foolishness descend to a circle of hell not limned by “il Sommo Poeta.” It is a special place for the old man who stays too long at the fair, blinded enough by his specialness to tell the bosses they don’t need to spend another second discussing his future because he’s quitting their vale of tears after a few more slack-jawed, back-bent shuffles to the Penn State sidelines.

Bad form, old sport. Check your glasses. Grandiosity little becomes you now.

Greater pens than ours have opined on the scandal (the very word seems inadequate) unfolding in State College, Pa., like Yeats’ beast slouching toward Bethlehem. We can add no more to the chorus of obvious revulsion, so we’ll leave it at this; the ugly critter is slouching still. There is much more to come in this unpretty spectacle of men too old and too cocooned by enabling fans and hagiographers to man up.

For entertainment purposes only, our picks follow. Last week we were perfect, going five for five and adding 6,000 units, bringing our year-to-date bounty to plus 11,390.

We will put 1,000 units on these four contests and 2,000 on our lock of the week.

Spread:

Stanford -3 ½ over Oregon (The Trees’ defense is the star of this one)

Wisconsin -27 ½ over Minnesota (The behemoths manning the Badger line will maul the Gophers)

UCLA +7 over Utah (UCLANS will win the Pac-12 south)

Tennessee +14 ½ over Arkansas (Volunteers hung tough against 'Bama for a half)

Over/Under Lock of the Week:

Texas A&M vs. Kansas State over 65 (Aggies can't stop anybody, but will score 35 themselves in the first half)

You're Looking Live at the 21st Century

It's game of the century time. Numbers one and two vie for what looks like a ticket to the BCS championship game. We attended the 20th century version of this dust-up in 1971, when the late Jack Mildren heaved the number-two Sooners on his crimson shoulders, only to be outdone by the number-one Huskers' Johnny Rodgers (an armed robber who got away with another crime – a punt return TD aided by an uncalled clip).

Oh well, it's just a game. Sure, and Scarlett Johansson is just a woman. If the LSU-Alabama game follows the script of its predecessor, LSU gets the win on the road.

After a rousing win of 1,800 leatherheads last week (to bring our college total to 5,390), we venture, for entertainment purposes only, 1,000 face masks each on:

University of Southern California -20 over Colorado (the woeful Buffaloes have yet to win a Pac-10 game)

Louisiana State +5 over Alabama (Thuggish Bayou brawlers force McCarron to pass and pick off three of them. It's ebb Tide)

Stanford -21 over Oregon State (The Trees keep standing tall. Beavers can't gnaw these Redwoods down. Luck has everything to do with a perfect record vs. spread – the QB and the Lady.)

Wisconsin -26 over Purdue (Boilermakers may trot out the Purdue Golden Girl to distract Bucky Badger, but it won't work)


Lock of the Week (2,000 chinstraps):
Over/Under

South Carolina vs. Arkansas over 52 (Gamecocks get feisty against Razorbacks' defensive sieve. Final score Arkansas 35, South Carolina 21).

Alas, we will miss the LSU-Alabama game as we will be ensconced at Reynolds-Razorback Stadium to watch the live action. We'll be the fellow with the hog hat on snout-backwards.

It's Gone to Our Head

It's been a banner week for the Pontiff of Picks. Saturdays have become a Holy Day of Obligation for those wishing to save their immoral, er immortal, souls. We stored up treasures in heaven worth 1,950 cherubim in our last outing, bringing our season-to-date total to plus 3,590, for enertainment purposes only.

Herewith are our pre-Halloween choices. Don't be scared, but we are doubling down this Saturday. If we fail, remember us on All-Saints Day.

Let's put 1,000 supplications each on:

Stanford -7 1/2 over USC (The Trees are perfect against the spread so far)

Northwestern -9 over Indiana (Hapless Hoosiers will be "Persa"cuted by Purple pumas)

Fordham +30 over Army (The Rams will recall Lombardi and the seven blocks of granite as the officers-to-be will lose the ball six times in the rain and snow expected on the Hudson)

Navy +21 1/2 over Notre Dame (The PT 73 runs circles around punchless Binghamtons of South Bend)

And 2,000 on our Lock of the Week:
Over/Under
Arkansas vs. Vanderbilt over 51 1/2 (Vandy routed Mississippi and will score 24 against porous pigs; predicted final Arkansas wins 35-24).

One last note, our World Series pick came to fruition. Recall, we went with St. Louis at 15 to 1 before the playoffs, netting 1,500 horsehides and closing our baseball season at plus 3,900.

New Math

Scholar athletes everywhere were not surpised by the first Bowl Championship Series rankings. Drawing on our differential calculus course work, we discern that the winners of LSU/Alabama and Oklahoma/Oklahoma State games down the road will be the representatives in the championship game.

For our cogitations this weekend, we dusted off our slide rule (remember when engineering students wore them dangling from their belts?) and came up with these quadratic equations.

For entertainment purposes only, let's put 500 second derivatives each on:

Spread:
Stanford -20 over Washington (Luck will clean split valves of Stanford band if Huskies get close)
Kansas State -10 1/2 over Kansas (Purple Cats are best-kept secret in Big 12. Jayhawks won't get 5 first downs)
Oregon -31 over Colorado (Aflacs cover easily over endangered bovine breed)

Over/Under:
Arkansas vs. Mississippi, over 56 1/2 (Hogs QB Tyler Wilson is one tough cookie. He won't crumble and will humble Bonnie Blue Flags, who get two defensive TDs)

Lock of the Week (1,000 cube roots):
Texas Tech vs. Oklahoma, over 70 (Red Raiders will score at least three TDs; Sooner Schooner ponies will be run ragged celebrating OU scores).

Last week, our lock bailed us out,cutting our loss to 150 units, bringing the toal this season to plus 1,640.

Paradise Regained

We were close to infallible last week, gathering 1,950 ex cathedras, including our lock of the week, to bring our poor box total to plus 1,790 for the season. Let's put 500 for plenary indulgences each on four and 1,000 madonnas on our lock of the week. No need for prayer, these are our nonrefundable tickets out of purgatory:

For entertainment purposes only:

Oklahoma -35 1/2 over Kansas (Sooners could score 80)

Rutgers -2 over Navy (Scarlet Knights at home win by a field goal)

Baylor +8 1/2 over Texas A&M (RG III baffles Farmers)

Alabama -28 over Mississippi (Houston Nutt's days as Rebel Yell leader numbered)

LOCK OF THE WEEK: Stanford -21 over Washington State (This is too easy. The Cardinal sin defangs improved Cougars)

Second Saturday in October

It's hard to believe that the college football season is already at the midpoint, but then it's hard to puzzle out anything other than an SEC team will be in the BCS national championship game.

For entertainment purposes only, 500 Texas State Fair corn dogs on each of the following spread picks, 1,000 on over/under lock of the week.

Against the spread:

University of Oklahoma -11 over University of Texas (Athens of the Plains uses artful passing of Jones to philosopher kings Stills and Broyles to keep Western Civilization upright)

Rutgers +7 over Pittsburgh (Scarlet Knights have covered every game this season. The trend continues as home dogs).

Stanford -29 1/2 over Colorado (The Trees at home
rain acorns aplenty on prairie bovines).

Air Force +11 over Notre Dame (too many looks from the best team in Colorado for tunnel-vision defense of lace-curtain Irish).


Over/Under Lock of the Week:

Texas A&M vs. Texas Tech, over 72 (Whoever has the ball last wins).

Our deficit swelled to minus 160 with last week's picks, saved from complete ignominy by our lock of the week.

Boomer, Sooner!

On Growing Old

There’s nothing good about it. We have reached that point where our prolonged adolescence has run up against the cruel logic of years, sixty of them to be exact.

Grow old along with me, the best is yet to be? Not so, Robert Browning. Your Victorian vanity is as unpersuasive as our new millennium variety. If Beelzebub himself were to pop up this instant and offer to return us to, say, age 25 in return for our immortal soul, we would take the old trickerator up on it without blinking, cloven hooves and all.

As a matter of fact, like most of us we always fancied ourselves a handsome devil, not Johnny Angel; a rake, not Casper Milquetoast; a bon vivant, not Cotton Mather; a jaywalker, not Dudley Doright.

As it turns out, these were only noms de guerre in a battle never sought but always fought, not on some romantic foreign plain, but in a mirror house once a gauzy sustainer of self-deception now become a horrible reflector of the real, the wretched grown-upedness of a man who once could dream himself to a dreamless sleep now spoiled by those unrelenting years.

Oh, the years. A special circle of hell is surely reserved for souls once in thrall to the imagined self. It is a place where knees creak with rust and cry out for WD 40, where pillow cases drenched in drool are hot on both sides, where endless, mocking reels spill laughable visions of glory on tarnished silver screens. We’re ready for our close-up.

Yet within our decrepit cocoon, we hide a kernel of the seed corn we once consumed without a glimmer of the years that would pile up. It is but a memory, something once smelt and tasted.

Above was the roar of the coliseum. Beneath was the sweet smell of expectant autumn, an intoxicating blend of cigar smoke and mustard circulating like a promise in the cavernous catacombs. Then out in the daylight, paper visors our shields. On the cover of the program we held was a young man in shoulder pads, a helmet in one hand and a bottle of Coca-Cola in the other, talking shyly to a blushing cheerleader.

On the walk back through the campus in the fading afternoon, boys in parkas ran to what daylight remained, crashing into shrubs. “I’m open,” each voice cried. We longed to join them but the bus was waiting. “I’m open,” they cried again, more faintly as the evening descended but reverberating through the chill toward the airy heaven, where we suspect they echo still.

Classics Class

How the mighty have fallen. Mourning may become Electra, but humility does not look too good on the infallible. Thus, at the risk of angering the gods further (they flayed us last week), for entertainment purposes only we’ll venture 500 rosy-fingered dawns each on these Olympian contests.

Spread:

Iowa State +9 over Texas (the Cyclones beat the Longhorns outright in Austin last year)

Navy -3 ½ over Air Force (the cruise missiles from the Midshipmen take out Falcon stealth bombers in battle of triple option teams)

Boise State -27 ½ over Nevada (Broncos trample Wolf Pack in payback for last year’s upset)

Stanford -21 ½ over UCLA (Uclans will need more than smarts to conquer Luck and the Trees at Palo Alto)

Over/Under:

Ball State vs. Oklahoma over 61 (Sooners will romp at home, but Cardinals will score at least three touchdowns. This is a lock. 1,000 reeboks on this one)

All hubris aside, we tumbled from plus 640 Prometheans to minus 10 Augean stables on the college football season, going 2 and 3. Our oracle assures us we’re up to the Herculean task of cleaning up.

Banjo Concert

Cue the tympani. The regular baseball season came to a crashing crescendo night before last. The symphony played in parks under the stars soared to a final note almost simultaneously. No sooner had Carl Crawford failed to snag a sinking line drive in Baltimore than Evan Longoria launched a game-winning shot in Tampa Bay.

Have Boston fans started grumbling that Yankees manager Joe Girardi doomed their wicked awesome team by not inserting savior Mariano Rivera on the hill? If so, they haven’t read the script. The put-upon Sawks thought that their legacy of heartbreak had been repudiated in 2004. But no! The bloody ankles and tomahawk choppers join the 1951 Dodgers, the 1964 Phillies, the 1969 Cubs and the Metropolitans (pick a year) in the line of folding furniture that litters the baseball firmament like the empty collapsible chairs at the end of a wedding reception as the band is packing up to go.

What’s more remarkable is that even though our beloved St. Louie ball club managed to catch and surpass the lost continent of Atlantans, we identify more with the losers than the odds-beating winners. Just as we always felt sorry for the hare in Aesop’s fable. To have everything going for you and still come up short must mean there is more going on in the cosmos than simpletons like homo sapiens can fathom. The mills of the gods grind exceedingly slow but very fine.

How else to explain the heroics of light-hitting Dan Johnson. Why, the fellow doesn’t even qualify as wielding a banjo at the plate. Nevertheless, down to the last strike for the Rays, Johnson smote the spheroid out of the Trop to set up teammate Longoria’s long ball in extra innings.

How many extra innings and two-strike, two-out hits do we have left in our banjoes? All death is sudden, not just in the NFL.

Here’s our World Series pick: St. Louis vs. Detroit in a replay of 1968. Cardinals win it this time in seven games. For entertainment purposes only, 100 pujols on the Redbirds at 15 to 1.

The Inner Child

We are a bit late with our picks this week due to inner, er I mean internet outage (Jungian slip). But here goes this Saturday's America (all picks made before noon EDT for entertainment purposes only):

Arkansas +12 over Alabama (Tramain Thomas and Hogs’ defense comes of age as Tide rolls – over)

Georgia Tech -7 over North Carolina (Ramblin’ Wreck’s triple option and big-play passing game leaves Heels stuck in the tar)

Pittsburgh +7 over Notre Dame (Panthers, in home lair, pounce on lackadaisical Leprechauns)

Vanderbilt +15 ½ over South Carolina (Commodores rule the roost over ‘Cocks sans spurs)

San Diego State +10 over Michigan (Aztecs exact Montezuma’s revenge by sacrificing virgin Wolverines to appease football gods)

We went 4-2 last week with our bonus play on Oklahoma gave us a big boost, bringing our skins on the wall to plus 640 for the young college season. This emboldens us to sling 500 frisbees on each contest, so we are getting our Labrador retrievers in shape and have them looking sharp in de rigeur bandanas.

Stoops to Conquer

Mediocrity is our calling, which is more than we can say for the great American job machine. Zero net jobs were created last month. We stand at 5-4-1 for the college football season after going 2-2-1 last week, bringing our entertainment units to plus 60 pigskins

Let’s jumpstart the economic engine this week with 100 Nike swooshes each on:

Vanderbilt +2 over Ole Miss (the Plutocratic Commodores are 2-0 and will spank the Dixiecrats at home).

Navy +16 over South Carolina (Midshipmen firing broadsides from triple option will cover against Game Hens)

Northwestern -5 ½ over Army (Black Knights of the Hudson mere yeomen against Evanstonian Smarty Pants)

Maryland -1 over West Virginia (Reminiscent of a Picasso, new Terp uniforms bedazzle quaint mountain folk)

Duke +7 over Boston College (Cerulean Satans to bedevil Eagle Exorcists)

The big game, of course, pits the Athens of the Plains Sooners against the left-behind Seminoles (one of the five civilized tribes of Indian Territory). Our bonus pick is OU -3 over Florida State. 500 schooners on this one. Landry Jones outduels E.J. Manuel. Bob Stoops outsmarts brother Mark on the sidelines because Bob has better players.

For Old Alma Mater

After a week of writing poetry in iambic pentameter, shooting skeet and calculating the expected risk-adjusted return for every stock in the S&P 500, this week’s picks among the Renaissance men in pads, for entertainment purposes only, are:

BYU +7 over Texas (Texas covered by just ½ point over Rice last week)

Penn State +10 over Alabama (battle of two two-quarterback systems)

Stanford -20 ½ over Duke (Andrew Luck and his Palo Alto palominos too much for tobacco heiresses)

Georgia +3 over South Carolina (Desperate Dawgs save Richt’s job)

Nevada +26 ½ over Oregon (Even without Kaepernick loading the pistol formation, Chris Ault’s Wolfpack covers easily)

100 ephemeral euros each.

We were 3-2 last week, which netted the kitty 80 meows.

Note: We ended the baseball season, netting 2,600 horsehides.

O Come All Ye Faithful

College football, the holiest of seasons, gets underway in earnest today. We have spent the evening in chapel and have emerged with these divinely inspired picks. 100 units on each, for entertainment purposes only:

Northwestern +4 ½ over Boston College

South Florida +10 over Notre Dame

Oregon -3 ½ over LSU

Rice +24 ½ over Texas

Boise State -3 over Georgia

Pick for BCS Championship game: Oklahoma vs. Arkansas

Adeste Fideles!

Blow, Gabriel, Blow

West Coast beisbol dogs at home been bery bery good to us. Seattle’s win over Boston Saturday night fattened the calf by 1,350 units, bringing the calorie count back up to 3,650. We’ll stick with this theme tonight, putting 1,000 halos on the underdog cherubim of Anaheim at home over the Rangers of Arlington. For entertainment purposes only, blow, Gabriel, blow!

(more to come)

Compline

We are putting 1,000 units for entertainment purposes only on the home seadogs of Seattle tonight against cross-continent rivals, the berry bloomers of Boston. Our last outing cost us 500 units, lightening the ship’s bursar’s burden to 2,300. The seadogs pit reigning Cy Young Award winner Felix Hernandez against John a Beckett (can dogs rid themselves of this troublesome priest?).

(more to come).

Huns and Vandals at the Gate

Where is Pope Leo I when we need him? The sainted pontiff was able to persuade Attila the Hun not to sack Rome in 452 A.D. Would that he would appear at Wall and Broad Streets and stand athwart history yelling “Stop!” Alas, the Vandals sacked Rome a few years later anyway and the Dark Ages were well on their way.

On the first trading day following Standard & Poor’s downgrade of U.S. sovereign debt to AA+ from AAA, which would imply higher interest rates because Treasury paper was now deemed less secure by the S&P Pooh-Bahs, investors flocked to the tarnished instruments sending their already paltry yields still lower.

Perhaps cynical investors reasoned that any agency that had rated “toxic waste” mortgage securities Triple-A could hardly be trusted with assessing the creditworthiness of the world’s largest economy.

But that wasn’t the reason. The real driver is the economy, stupid, to borrow the Clinton campaign mantra. Equity prices have fallen precipitously and government debt prices have risen not because S&P pointed out the obvious. Granted, the move by the rating firm may have had a difficult to measure psychological effect, but the outlook for economic growth is so tenuous that the S&P action, as so often is the case in momentous moves in asset prices, was just an excuse to dump shares.

Buttressing the outlook for anemic growth was the sharp decline in oil prices. S&P didn’t downgrade West Texas Intermediate crude.

Making matters worse is that President Obama is no FDR much less Pope Leo. “I welcome their hatred,” Roosevelt said of the Tea Partiers of his day. Or take Leo’s tack with Attila: “Now we pray that thou, who hast conquered others, shouldst conquer thyself. The people have felt thy scourge; now as suppliants they would feel thy mercy.” We prefer the former. The latter would only encourage the Vandals to complete the rout of the New York Sack, er, Stock Exchange, that is.

Having sworn off the stock market, we note a big win in the sporting realm Saturday, when 500 units on the Scarlet Metacarpals paid 700 units to bring the kitty back to 3,000. Tonight we’ll go against the bloody ankles from Boston with 500 units on the host (ess)Twinkies, for entertainment purposes only.

Note well, we shall delve into the mysteries of the Canadian Football League later in the week, you hosers.

C.C. Riders Unhorsed?

The Bosox are in rare territory today, that of home underdog, albeit against C.C. Sabbathia and the family Bronck. We’ll take the Fenway Fidos and John Lackey over the Doodle Dandies, speculating with 500 entertainment-only units. Our mythical purse saw 500 moths escape yesterday, cutting the treasure to 2,300 units, as the Bombers won their eighth straight 3-2. They can’t win ‘em all can they?

Job Growth Unleashed in Akron

Eldrick Woods returned to the ranks of the employed yesterday at the Bridgestone Invitational in Akron. So we know nonfarm payrolls added one in August.

In July, the beleaguered U.S. economy added 117,000 jobs, ahead of the 75,000 consensus but not enough to sate the demand from new entrants to the workplace, not to mention those that remain idle, which is 9.1% of us, according to the Bureau of Labor Statistics.

What’s more, the work week was unchanged, which bodes ill for third quarter gross domestic product, and growth in hourly earnings is lagging behind inflation, which spells trouble for increases in consumption, the key component of GDP.

We would call the labor outcome a bogey, when a birdie is needed to move up the leaderboard. Take note, Mr. Woods. The caddy you dumped last month is now carrying the bag of the first-round leader. Hey, that makes two nonfarm jobs added to payrolls this month.

Our baseball picks have followed the stock market recently. The Bronx B-52s finished their carpet-bombing of the pasty panty hose, who remained colorless except for Guillen. That brings our imaginary pile to 2,800 units. For entertainment purposes only, we’ll put 500 units on the favored hemoglobin hose of Boston and Jon Lester over the visiting poker-playing pinstripers and Bartolo Colon of New York.

Pick Your Poison

Since the stock market is home only to the brave now, let us turn to baseball. Our lockbox contains 3,300 units after Saturday’s loss. We’ll try to recoup with 500 units on the Pale Hose over the streaking Pinstripers.

National League

On the sporting front, the O’s came through last night, grounding the Bombers and increasing our fistful by 1,000 to 3,800 units. For entertainment purposes only, we are putting 500 to work tonight on another heavy underdog, the Bucs of western Pennsylvania who are weighing anchor to battle pitching-rich Philadelphia. Pittsburgh, however, has a hot James McDonald on the mound to counter a struggling Cliff Lee. At +220, Pirates are clearly undervalued in this tilt.

(More to come).

On Ye Huskies!

After adding 1,300 units with KC’s win over Bos yesterday, bringing the total in the vault to 2,800, we look for the Orioles to Baltimore chop the pinstripers. We’ll invest 500 units, for entertainment purposes only, in the O’s.

Can’t get off the dog sled yet. Mush, Mush!

One can hear the same exhortation emanating from the lips of business, labor and politicians – that is, just about everybody – after the release of anemic second quarter gross domestic product data and a sharp downward revision to first-quarter growth. The chances of tipping over into a double-dip recession have gone up

We have to admit we are surprised at the sluggishness. We guessed, incorrectly, that monetary and fiscal stimulus would have worked its magic and that the Federal Reserve Board would be tightening the money spigots by now to head off inflation.

But, alas, it appears the Fed has been “pushing on a string,” as businesses hoard cash and consumers refuse to spend (personal consumption increased just 0.1% on a seasonally adjusted annualized basis from the first quarter; meanwhile, inventories rose 0.18%, down sharply from the first quarter, but still ahead of consumption).

The all but certain curtailment of government spending tied to the debt ceiling bills couldn’t come at a worse time. The stock market is headed for its worst week in a year and jobs look to remain scarce.

We wonder what the Vegas odds are for another recession in the second half or in 2012? We might not want to speculate on this dog.

The De-Tanning of America

This sporting life brought us recently to the banks of a somnolent tributary of the mighty Mississippi. The evening was drowsy with lingering heat, but the young Texas Leaguers in a ballpark named for Yankees great Bill Dickey and the local investment banking legend seemed quite alert, though unaware they were about to engage in nine innings of cat and mouse that probably has never happened before in organized professional baseball.

You can look it up.

At least, we are reasonably sure it was a first – a game in which a no-hitter was hurled by the combined efforts of two Northwest Arkansas Naturals pitchers, who were bailed out of trouble by an around-the-horn triple play. A scorching ground ball to the hot corner after two walks, the latter a 12-pitch duel that put runners at first and second, started the fun at Dickey-Stephens Park.

The Arkansas Travelers, the singular of which was the creation of an antebellum troubadour, found no way out of the wilderness of futility, just as the itinerant woodsman of lore was baffled by the fiddler who wouldn’t mend his cabin roof and let the rain pour in.

We enjoy the same bafflement in the standoff in Washington (first in war, first in peace and last in the trust of its countrymen) over the debt ceiling increase.

As unprecedented as a combined no-hitter with a triple play, House Speaker John Boehner has lost his perpetual bronze glow, no doubt from hours better spent on the golf course wrangling with Democrats and the renegade Republican rump known as the Tea Party. What an air-conditioned mess! For a man to lose his tan because he’s inside conference rooms fencing with Obama and GOP cultists is simply outrageous.

Be that as it may, we trust all will not turn out well. Though an agreement would prevent financial market Armageddon, it won’t alter the cruel facts on the ground. Unemployment will remain stubbornly high. The government reported a disappointing drop in durable goods orders in June, and the Fed’s “Beige Book” report on conditions in the 12 reserve bank districts points to slowing economic growth.

We, however, are on a roll, having booked 1,500 units by taking Seattle over New York yesterday. We expect no triple plays, much less a no-hitter today in Boston, where the Kansas City blue bloods will face the bloody ankles and Beckett soon. KC will not be waiting for Godot, though, as Vladimir and Estragon did in Samuel Beckett’s absurdist play. Rather, the visiting dogs merit an investment of 500 units from yesterday’s win.
Woof, Woof!

Hind Catcher

We would be remiss if we didn’t relate our experience as a baseball catcher one day in our teens. Man on second, we call for a fastball with two out in the bottom of the seventh (the inning of decision for kids) and ahead by a run. The young stud at the plate laces the pitch into left center. We throw off our mask and stand astride the plate, all 130 pounds of ourselves. The left fielder picks it up cleanly and fires to us.

The throw is high, we have to jump and catch and apply the tag in one motion. The man on second, a young Pete Rose, barrels in as we tag him on his back as he sends us flying. It is our one moment of glory. Few remain, we suspect.

We never heard a greater compliment than that delivered that day by a young lady with bad teeth, common in those days. “What a brave hind catcher.” We still see her and love her wherever she is. Are there still hill folk who call the catcher a “hind catcher?”

This is why we love this sporting life. The moment of a girl (we can’t divulge her name) telling you at 16 that you are brave has an exhilarating effect. It has lasted a lifetime.

But fear tries to poke its nose beneath the tent. So we are always in awe of the man in the arena, the guy or gal who leaves the tent without a care for battle.


How about the poor son of a gun from Pittsburgh who fouled the Butler fellow on a free throw rebound with a second on the clock and the score tied? He was reacting as all of us would do when we feel an athletic feat is called for.

Hold your head high, young man. We’ve all been there. We dropped a pop foul attempting a basket catch as a hind catcher, allowing the young batsman to get another pitch and drive in the winning run

”It is awfully easy to be hard-boiled about everything in the daytime, but at night is another thing." (The Sun Also Rises, Ernest Hemingway).

Pick and Choose

The higher power has no power. He is strangely absent from the course of human events. Holy Cow! Perhaps He created us and left us to our own devices, including nuclear power plants, the Declaration of Independence and the National Football League lockout. Not to mention the rise of multi-cellular organisms with the capacity to organize games that defy logic. Why were Colorado, St. Mary’s and Virginia Tech left out of The Dance?

Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, we ask you what hath God wrought?

But this is all palaver. Baseball is a mere two weeks-plus away, and shorts, golf shirts and no socks are on the horizon.

Our picks are chalk, as they say. Philadelphia from the senior circuit and the New England Patriots, oops, we mean the Beantown bloody ankles from the designated hitter heretic league will appear in the fall classic. Expect Phillies winning it all but winning under 97 games in the regular season. Our beloved Redbirds are doomed without 20-game winner Adam Wainwright. It has been our experience that the team with the better players wins. Jeff Capel, the fired coach of the Crimson and Cream, had Blake Griffin and rode this horse to the elite eight just two years ago.

But meanwhile we have young men in baggy shorts putting us into full March Madness Mode. We are going full unchalk in this one. We see San Diego State defeating Florida in the final. This is a lock, so get in while you can. For entertainment purposes only.

Sports, as they are meant to do, distract us from life as it is. Few of us will hit the three-pointer at the buzzer, or the home run in the bottom of the ninth. Fewer of us will encounter the decision to save the elderly and endanger our own lives. But some do. In this sporting life, we face dilemmas greater than point spreads and over-unders.

By the way, take Gonzaga over St. John’s, hold onto Ford Motor Co., love thy neighbor and don’t practice putting.

You Can Smell It

Unconscious Jon Diebler undid us the other day. The young Buckeye poured in threes as easily as teddy bears nestle with toddlers snoring in their beds. It was sleepwalking against the Wisconsin Badgers. Who needed stalwart Jared Sullinger inside when beyond the arc was the comfort zone for the Ohio State University?

As earthly mammals, we all seek comfort even as we strive to overcome our fellow mammal, each of whom is born live with fur and warm blood and the drive to overcome his or her brethren. Winning requires comfort, a condition that requires the ability of holding two opposing ideas in the mind and still function, a daunting task that makes this sporting life fraught with tension.

Want to bet on West Texas Intermediate crude going to $150 a barrel? There is another mammal who would take your action and relish in your loss. How about Ford Motor Co. breaching $20 a share this year? Plenty of short-sellers who’ll go the other way.

We attended our first boxing match the other night, watching young men in blue and gold (for entertainment purposes only) and managed to escape without blood on our jacket, which we considered a victory. A delicious slice of lemon meringue pie and a cup of coffee topped the evening off, and we mused that competition makes liars of us all. Martha Stewart wasn’t convicted of insider trading, but lying to the U.S. government about it.

We had a class long ago in Hawthorne and Melville, during which, in a discussion of the latter’s “The Confidence Man,” a young man of tender sensibilities actually broke down crying, exclaiming that no one can be trusted and the professor had to go to his side and pat him on the back. We chuckled at the time, but now we wonder if he wasn’t right to despair. Comfort zones are just that -- zones. When the world is turned upside down and we see it for what it is, all the bromides, sweater vests of coaches and protestations of integrity disintegrate.

Now, we are no saint, but Jim Tressel, the pigskin coach of the Ohio State University, keeps trying to be one. C’mon man. There is no comfort zone for a phony unless he wins.

“There ain't nothin' more powerful than the odor of mendacity...You can smell it.” (Tennessee Williams, Cat on Hot tin Roof).

Meanwhile, expect the Crimson and Cream of Cleveland County Indian Territory to cover against the Bears of Waco and the Johnnies of Queens County to cover against the Scarlet Knights of New Brunswick.

Brooks and Brooklyns too Broad for Leaping

The world grows tiresome, yet rejuvenated. Young people texting while walking into traffic are a pestilence, but nevertheless endearing as they bustle about in their skinny and baggy jeans. One of them will be the POTUS someday, even if he or she can’t tell you what speech “four score and seven years” came from.

This is the reason we have children. Hope is always abundant with the young prancing, romancing and advancing among us. See! They’ve even made us a rapper. Do they still call it that?

The decline in athletic skills is a melancholy spectacle. Johnny Unitas at San Diego, Willie Mays at New York, Joe Namath at Los Angeles. They stayed too long at the fair.

Even Duke Snider, correct us if we’re wrong, the leader in home runs and RBIs in the 1950’s, attempted to prolong his career after he left the Dodgers. One of the “Boys of Summer” in Roger Kahn’s sparkling phrase, died yesterday. To Brooklynites of a certain age, among whom we count the southern hillbillies like us who have adopted the borough, the passing of Snider tears another page from the book of this sporting life. Will the next POTUS be able to name the center fielder of the Dodgers in their glory years of domination of the National League?
Never mind. They have Pujols, Cabrera, Crawford, Mauer to hold on to. We refer them, however, to A.E. Housman:

WITH rue my heart is laden
For golden friends I had,
For many a rose-lipt maiden
And many a lightfoot lad.

By brooks too broad for leaping
The lightfoot boys are laid;
The rose-lipt girls are sleeping
In fields where roses fade.

Talkin' 'Bout My Generation

So we said to ourselves, “Selves, c’mon, man, give it up.” The torch must be passed.

One generation passeth away, and another generation cometh: but the earth abideth for ever. The sun also ariseth, and the sun goeth down, and hasteth to his place where he arose.

Confession: Despite being Papists, we’ve always preferred the King James version of the word of God.

All is vanity, baby. The aging A-Rods, Derek Jeters Kevin Garnetts and Johnny Vegas’s of the world will not miss any meals, but must bow to inevitable decline. Sure, supermodels, caviar and BMWs will be aplenty, but the ball game abideth. We believe there are folks with canes who wear hog hats in Fayetteville and hairy men in pink Red Sox hats and tank tops singing “Sweet Caroline” in Boston. The long suffering, while tuning in WGN, asked for tissues when the Cubs tanked in 1969. The young boy elated by pinstriper Scott Brosius’s home run in Game 5 cried inconsolable tears when a bloop single handed the 2001 series to Arizona in Game 7.

There is a Game 7 out there for all of us, even guys like us too dim to realize it until we approach those final innings. But hope springs eternal. Pitchers and catchers unlimbered in Florida and Arizona recently (a mystery: why not corner outfielders and utility infielders first?). And now we hear that Bernard Madoff has lost weight. He should write a diet book titled “Build a Ponzi Scheme, Always shoot 3 over Par Somehow and Go to Prison.”

The New York Metropolitans baseball club, owned by beneficiaries of Mr. Madoff’s ledger main, is now apparently searching for someone to take Babe Ruth off their hands so they can produce “No, No, Nanette.”

C’mon, men (the Wilpons, that is). Time to give it up. Sell the team and settle your debt to Mr. Madoff’s losers. The Metropolitans are losers, too, so what’s the beef?

Which brings us to our beloved Cardinals. Given the economic events of the last few years, it’s surprising that Albert Pujols thinks he can rule the elements, as a dear friend of ours says. The St. Louis club can win without him when he’s 41.

We just turned 25 last year, though we find some that dispute this. Retail sales were up less than expected last month and inventories were up. Expect the stock market to drop and utility infielders to demand a few million less.

Bread and Circuses XLV

What’s in a name? Billy Shakespeare said a rose would smell as sweet. We think he was wrong. If we would change our name, it would be to Johnny Vegas. How can you not get a date with a name like the Venezuelan golfer?

We will play Johnny Vegas for a day, apt for Super Bowl Sunday, which pits the Steelers of western Pennsylvania against the publicly owned Packers of Wisconsin. Will shares of the Cheeseheads plummet if they should be undone by the Carnegies? If so, we’re buying. We’re also buying into a Green Bay victory. This way we can’t lose.

Aaron Rodgers, signal caller for the Pack, will flummox LaMarr Woodley, James Harrison and Troy Polamalu. Ben Roethlisberger, counterpart for the Pittsburgh eleven, will be harassed by Clay Matthews, Charles Woodson and B.J. Raji to the point where the substitute center Doug Legursky (another great name) will be wishing he had a high ankle sprain like Maurkice Pouncey. James Starks of the green and gold will outgain Rashard Mendenhall of the black and gold.

Take the Packers and give the 2 ½ points. The total is tougher. At 44 1/2 points, buy a couple and go over. If you’re into props, take Matthews to record the first sack. Also, pick up some guacamole and tortilla chips for nutrition, which you’ll need while battling icy streets and snow banks on your way to the party, whether in Dallas or New York.

Weather won’t be a factor for the gladiators, but for us demanding our bread and circuses we are reminded by our sainted Mother of this ditty dear old Dad used to quote when the winds came sweeping down the plains:

“The north wind doth blow and we shall have snow

And what will poor robin do then, poor thing?

He’ll fly to the barn to keep himself warm

And hide his head under his wing, poor thing.”


Poor thing, indeed. Stay warm, my friends, in front of the flat screen hearth.

How to Succeed on the Sidelines Without Really Trying

While playing touch football in Central Park 21 years ago, when we were lithe and nimble enough to engage in such athletic endeavors, we went up for a pass and came down awkwardly on our right leg and could hear the crunch of meniscus in our knee. We tried to get up and return to the huddle but crumbled to the ground and crawled to the sideline.

Thus ended our effort to change careers. We were looking forward to becoming the first 30-something rookie in the National Football League. When the game was over (think we lost 66-42, first team to 10 touchdowns), a teammate and an adversary helped us to a cab, the driver of which we directed to take us to the emergency room of Lennox Hill Hospital, where but a month later our first-born was to make his debut.

Unlike Mr. Cutler of the Chicago Bears, we could not stand, but then, we are a famous sissy, prone to jumping at loud noises and crossing to the other side of the street when confronted with a fellow walking his pit bull.

Soccer and basketball players are known for taking flops to draw foul calls, yet baseball players are urged not rub it when hit by a pitch. Just jog to first base and glare at the offending pitcher.

Body language, it seems, is all important these days. Who woulda thunk it? Mr. Cutler was tweeted to death for looking disengaged and disinterested after leaving the NFC championship game with a knee injury.

So we have a new business in mind – teaching enthusiastic facial expressions, fist pumps and jaunty stances on the sidelines, in the dugouts and on the benches courtside for injured players with a normally phlegmatic demeanor.

Class would begin with back-slapping, segueing to exhorting teammates with shouts and hand-waving and ending with practice raising arms in the touchdown signal and chest-bumping your replacement. Diplomas will be issued that will certify and indemnify graduates against accusations of sulkiness and not caring.

Meanwhile, we are still cogitating on our Super Bowl pick. Essentially a pick ‘em game with Green Bay a 2 ½ point favorite. The total is 44. We are studying game film, not to discern x’s and o’s, but to check out how a quarterback stands on the sidelines when nicked up. Hopefully he will have graduated from Kev’s Kourse in Karisma and Karing and have the sheepskin in his locker to prove it.

2011, Baby!

We are unshaven, unbowed and unbroken. Belatedly, we offer our New Year’s resolutions:

Refine our tying of bow ties. Been a little crooked lately.

Pushups every day to keep our girlish figure.

Renew superstitions like wearing our crimson and cream necktie when needing a big win. Can’t use this one too often, because it only has so many victories woven in its silk (made in the USA, though).

Stock up on duct tape to repair snow boots and various other things that go awry.

Write our congressman/woman about sin taxes. A man can’t enjoy indigenous American products such as tobacco without paying a king’s ransom. We will give up our right to bear arms for relief from the health police.

Speaking of sin, resolve to avoid the near occasion of, unless it’s too near to avoid.

Get Eagles and Creedence Clearwater songs out of our head.

Take Northwestern and John Shurna every time. The guy has a hybrid set shot (remember those) and jump shot that hits from the three-point line with uncanny accuracy.

Never cheat on Scarlett Johansson.

Shave every day. The gray is too scary.

Perfect our golfer’s tan.

Not be such a smart-ass.

When picking a football game, do due diligence then go against, kind of like sub-prime mortgage traders.

Many more laps around the sun.

Had Ourselves...

…a merry little bowl season. We have our new boxers, pajama bottoms, Christmas tree necktie and cashmere scarf made in China. The boxers came just in time because our laundry is in still in the wash and fold place across the street. Can’t get there because of the Feast of St. Stephen storm that makes walking through unshoveled drifts treacherous. And more to come.

But the three kings came bearing gifts. We thought they were for us. But no! Mr. Dyer of the Auburn War Eagles, Plainsmen, Tigers (pick your nickname) rolled off an Oregon tackler without hitting the ground and was told to run by teammates when he thought he was down.

One is never down, though. The sun comes up, and if one steps gingerly through the havoc of city streets filled with trash and snow, stiff arms and spins he can get drop kicked by Jesus through the goalposts of life.

Mr. Bynum, place kicker for the Auburn side, eschewed the drop kick and let someone hold the ball as he executed his skill. We would never want to be a snapper, holder or kicker. Rather, if we were larger, we would be a right guard buried in the pile and far from scrutiny.

When we were a young slender halfback in a T-formation, the coach called what he called a 32-cross, that is, number 3 back through the number 2 hole. Alas, there was no hole and a man playing boys planted us on our rear end.

One is never down and out, though. We have the National Basketball Association (take Clippers against the points every time), the National Football League (take Seahawks to go all the way), NCAA basketball (take St. Mary’s of California against the points every time).

And never punt, always go for two points, always onside kick and never practice putting.