You know what? And I'm sure you couldn't care less, but A-Rod is too precious. He admits the steroid use, but says it was too hot in the summer and felt "the weight of the world" so he had to take the steroids. We all have excuses (I've got my own. I blame the sun, too, as well as my 57-year-old deltoids, the crummy lie behind a tree after an otherwise manly drive, etc.)
For all his amazing talents, Rodriguez is breathtakingly silly. Maybe it's just me, but I would have told everybody to go to hell. Yeah, I took 'em. Sue me. The stuff works.
Nevertheless, spare me that the rules of major league baseball did not ban them. The MLB does not trump the laws of the United States. It is illegal to to ingest these drugs without a prescription. My 79-year-old mother proclaimed steroids a wonder drug after a doctor prescribed them for her injured hip. She hit no home runs last year, but was able to walk around New York when she came to visit.
Of course, Rodriguez took them. They work. Why does he have to pretend to fools like me who are sports fans that it matters. So what? Hey, if the right guard for the Buffalo Bills, whoever he is, made a key block to spring a running back for a touchdown and somebody told us he was a bit too muscular because of steroids, I'm sure the fans upstate would proclaim "there is no gambling at Bushwood, sir." Right.
The right guard and Bills fans would laugh.
Joe Torre's book is right. The guy's a bit consumed with himself. I'm thrilled, though, that he wants to help kids.
Monday, February 9, 2009
Saturday, February 7, 2009
Pump Me Up
All the outrage about A-Rod allegedly taking steroids (as reported by SI) misses a larger point. How about all the little boys who died of pneumonia before penicillin? It could be argued that recovery from pneumonia with the benefit of antibiotics would be an unfair advantage against the ballplayer who managed to survive without the benefit of modern science.
Steroids and HGH and whatever a chemist comes up with next year should be available to anyone who wants to take the risk. Should someone not take Tylenol for a headache?
Please, baseball is too precious about this. Does football care that behemoths on their lines take substances that increase their strength and girth? Of course not. It should be up to them. If you don't want to do it, it's a free country. Find another line of work.
Just put a bunch of asterisks in the almanacs and get on with it. The world changes exponentially. If a pitcher adds a few mphs and a hitter doesn't increase his bat speed by the same amount, then it's unfair.
But life is unfair, and to dwell in a dream past is to live without penicillin. I guess we must, though. To do otherwise would incinerate the myth that we used to walk five miles in the snow to school. I did this once and nearly froze to death before a friendly motorist picked me up.
A-Rod and baseball, give it up.
Miss Market will make a repeat performance soon.
Steroids and HGH and whatever a chemist comes up with next year should be available to anyone who wants to take the risk. Should someone not take Tylenol for a headache?
Please, baseball is too precious about this. Does football care that behemoths on their lines take substances that increase their strength and girth? Of course not. It should be up to them. If you don't want to do it, it's a free country. Find another line of work.
Just put a bunch of asterisks in the almanacs and get on with it. The world changes exponentially. If a pitcher adds a few mphs and a hitter doesn't increase his bat speed by the same amount, then it's unfair.
But life is unfair, and to dwell in a dream past is to live without penicillin. I guess we must, though. To do otherwise would incinerate the myth that we used to walk five miles in the snow to school. I did this once and nearly froze to death before a friendly motorist picked me up.
A-Rod and baseball, give it up.
Miss Market will make a repeat performance soon.
Monday, February 2, 2009
The Grassy Knoll
As Ricky Ricardo would say, "NFL, you got some 'splainin' to do."
Watching the game with my daughter, who was pulling for the Steelers just to rile me, I was indifferent to whether Pittsburgh scored or if Arizona miraculously came back in the last 35 seconds. I was just hoping Warner didn't throw a pick six in the waning moments and deep six my bet on the Cardinals and the points.
But the last play wasn't even reviewed by the referee. Apparently, the replay official in the booth said there was no need to. Was it a fumble or a forward pass? Surely there was enough evidence to take the time to look at it. I remarked, wait they're going to have to look at this a while. The next time I looked up from my nachos, Roethlisberger was taking a knee and the game was over.
The poor Cardinals had no dog in this hunt. Can you imagine the back pages if it had happened to the Giants or Jets?
Or consider this. Can you imagine the outcry from gamblers if the Cardinals were down by seven (the spread was seven or six and a half, depending on who you bet with) and they didn't get a second shot with a jump ball in the end zone with Larry Fitzgerald?
Now it may very well have been a fumble, but it appeared to me the doubt was such that even Arizona's linemen weren't scampering after the loose ball.
There has to be another explanation. Somebody in the booth had one too many at the ESPN party or didn't want to delay the post-game love fest. Less controversial plays are the subject of eight-minute looks by the replay guys in a game between nondescript losers in the middle of the season.
No, the NFL flubbed it and won't admit it.
Nevertheless, I must crow (Hah!). Warner's passing yardage fell within 102 yards of my prediction. Fitzgerald did score two touchdowns. The 14-point swing with the thug Harrison's 100-yard interception return skewered my score prediction. A prescient friend warned that a turnover touchdown would tip the scales. And, alas, Roethlisberger did flummox me with his continued expanding pocket saves. And was Santonio Holmes' right foot on top of his left and not on the ground? It's always something.
Watching the game with my daughter, who was pulling for the Steelers just to rile me, I was indifferent to whether Pittsburgh scored or if Arizona miraculously came back in the last 35 seconds. I was just hoping Warner didn't throw a pick six in the waning moments and deep six my bet on the Cardinals and the points.
But the last play wasn't even reviewed by the referee. Apparently, the replay official in the booth said there was no need to. Was it a fumble or a forward pass? Surely there was enough evidence to take the time to look at it. I remarked, wait they're going to have to look at this a while. The next time I looked up from my nachos, Roethlisberger was taking a knee and the game was over.
The poor Cardinals had no dog in this hunt. Can you imagine the back pages if it had happened to the Giants or Jets?
Or consider this. Can you imagine the outcry from gamblers if the Cardinals were down by seven (the spread was seven or six and a half, depending on who you bet with) and they didn't get a second shot with a jump ball in the end zone with Larry Fitzgerald?
Now it may very well have been a fumble, but it appeared to me the doubt was such that even Arizona's linemen weren't scampering after the loose ball.
There has to be another explanation. Somebody in the booth had one too many at the ESPN party or didn't want to delay the post-game love fest. Less controversial plays are the subject of eight-minute looks by the replay guys in a game between nondescript losers in the middle of the season.
No, the NFL flubbed it and won't admit it.
Nevertheless, I must crow (Hah!). Warner's passing yardage fell within 102 yards of my prediction. Fitzgerald did score two touchdowns. The 14-point swing with the thug Harrison's 100-yard interception return skewered my score prediction. A prescient friend warned that a turnover touchdown would tip the scales. And, alas, Roethlisberger did flummox me with his continued expanding pocket saves. And was Santonio Holmes' right foot on top of his left and not on the ground? It's always something.
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Veni, Vidi, Vici
Defense wins championships, right? Nonsense. Quick counts (and please, Arizona, mix in the no-huddle offense) will prevail tomorrow in Super Bowl XLIII and counter Pittsburgh's stealthy pash rushing schemes.
Edgerrin James will average IV yards a carry; this is the key to keeping Troy Polamolu and Ryan Clark honest. Kurt Warner will throw for CCLXXV yards and IV touchdowns. Larry Fitzgerald will catch II of them.
The Cardinals will steal a possession with a turnover and turn it into points. Ben Roethlisberger has been too lucky with the "extended pocket" miracle heaves that got cheap scores in the Steelers' playoff run. They won't happen Sunday. Cardinals will win outright XXXV-XXIV and put to rest the dominant defense myth.
Take Arizona and the points (VII last time I looked, but VI 1/2 on other venues) and the over (XLVII).
Happy Roman numeral day!
Edgerrin James will average IV yards a carry; this is the key to keeping Troy Polamolu and Ryan Clark honest. Kurt Warner will throw for CCLXXV yards and IV touchdowns. Larry Fitzgerald will catch II of them.
The Cardinals will steal a possession with a turnover and turn it into points. Ben Roethlisberger has been too lucky with the "extended pocket" miracle heaves that got cheap scores in the Steelers' playoff run. They won't happen Sunday. Cardinals will win outright XXXV-XXIV and put to rest the dominant defense myth.
Take Arizona and the points (VII last time I looked, but VI 1/2 on other venues) and the over (XLVII).
Happy Roman numeral day!
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
It Springs Eternal
Hope is the thing with feathers. Emily Dickinson probably never thought that the bird trilling in her soul and never asking "a crumb" in return was singing about Miss Market or the Super Bowl.
The Republicans, apparently denying that feathers mean anything, are disingenuous churls. Where were John Boehner and his fellows when they cut taxes and increased spending as the economy was growing. When the Fed should have recognized a bubble and contained it, policy makers allowed the balloon to expand until it burst upon us. Can leaning against the wind be that hard?
In this great recession, dough must be thrown willy-nilly. Of course there will be waste, pork, corruption. The retail industry calls it shrinkage. It accepts the fact that shoplifting, damaged goods and employee theft will take a toll on margins. But it doesn't stop Target, The Gap, Key Food or the local sneaker store from forging ahead.
I imagine Dickinson's bird (a common sparrow, I think) in the throat of sultry Miss Market (Julie London singing "Fly me to the Moon"). Those inclined to take profits on the meteoric rise of PALM will be forgiven. I'm hanging on, though. The new phone will compete vigorously against RIMM's Blackberry, and the comeback from today's lows was impressive. Stalwarts GE and MSFT have done all right. My flyer with NYT is even. Oil took a tumble today, but I'm still hanging in with DXO.
As for the upcoming football game, I'm inclined to think the Cardinals will cover the seven-point spread if Edgerrin James can average five yards a carry. Otherwise, the Steelers' intricate pass rushing schemes could derail the Kurt Warner story. Nevertheless, that thing with feathers flutters.
But all this is about the short term, which I define as the time I'm alive. In the long run, my optimism is diminished.
Arnold Toynbee's magisterial "A Study of History" covered the inevitable decline of all civilizations more than 60 years ago. Henry Adams and Brooks Adams sought a scientific explanation for history 100 years ago. Spengler did it, too, in a more impenetrable way (I defy anyone to explain "The Decline of the West" to me).
These historians were not crazies. The sky has always been falling. Great civilizations totter from within. Rising powers just push them over, only to be felled themselves when the time has come.
For my part, I'll take the medieval world of faith and mystery with indoor plumbing, a vaccine against bubonic plague and mid-60s British invasion bands. Guess I'm caught in a time warp.
The Republicans, apparently denying that feathers mean anything, are disingenuous churls. Where were John Boehner and his fellows when they cut taxes and increased spending as the economy was growing. When the Fed should have recognized a bubble and contained it, policy makers allowed the balloon to expand until it burst upon us. Can leaning against the wind be that hard?
In this great recession, dough must be thrown willy-nilly. Of course there will be waste, pork, corruption. The retail industry calls it shrinkage. It accepts the fact that shoplifting, damaged goods and employee theft will take a toll on margins. But it doesn't stop Target, The Gap, Key Food or the local sneaker store from forging ahead.
I imagine Dickinson's bird (a common sparrow, I think) in the throat of sultry Miss Market (Julie London singing "Fly me to the Moon"). Those inclined to take profits on the meteoric rise of PALM will be forgiven. I'm hanging on, though. The new phone will compete vigorously against RIMM's Blackberry, and the comeback from today's lows was impressive. Stalwarts GE and MSFT have done all right. My flyer with NYT is even. Oil took a tumble today, but I'm still hanging in with DXO.
As for the upcoming football game, I'm inclined to think the Cardinals will cover the seven-point spread if Edgerrin James can average five yards a carry. Otherwise, the Steelers' intricate pass rushing schemes could derail the Kurt Warner story. Nevertheless, that thing with feathers flutters.
But all this is about the short term, which I define as the time I'm alive. In the long run, my optimism is diminished.
Arnold Toynbee's magisterial "A Study of History" covered the inevitable decline of all civilizations more than 60 years ago. Henry Adams and Brooks Adams sought a scientific explanation for history 100 years ago. Spengler did it, too, in a more impenetrable way (I defy anyone to explain "The Decline of the West" to me).
These historians were not crazies. The sky has always been falling. Great civilizations totter from within. Rising powers just push them over, only to be felled themselves when the time has come.
For my part, I'll take the medieval world of faith and mystery with indoor plumbing, a vaccine against bubonic plague and mid-60s British invasion bands. Guess I'm caught in a time warp.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Admit that the waters around you have grown...
Ouch. Miss Market cares not a whit that Barrack H. Obama is now the 44th president of the United States on January 20, 2009. She answers to a higher mother: Ms. DO RE MI. But because I know she is secretly smitten with me, I'm confident our embrace awaits.
And I can't help but believe that she is relieved that the little boy playing dress-up in a jet pilot's outfit spouting heckuva job Brownie, bring 'em on and I answer to a higher father has been dispatched to his room to play with the Legos that mean only something to him, not the world where fleshly men and women work, play and fight.
Echoing St. Paul, President Obama noted today that "the time has come to set aside childish things." Adults are in charge again.
Chief Justice Roberts, purposefully or not, mangled the oath of office, and the President-about-to-be gracefully smiled and quizzically looked at him, giving Roberts the benefit of the doubt. Good form, old sport.
But on to more meaningful prose.
"What the cynics fail to understand is that the ground has shifted beneath them"
I heard Bob Dylan singing, Come senators, congressmen, Please heed the call, Don't stand in the doorway, Don't block up the hall, For he that gets hurt, Will be he who has stalled.
Obama: "Nor is the question before us whether the market is a force for good or ill. Its power to generate wealth and expand freedom is unmatched, but this crisis has reminded us that without a watchful eye, the market can spin out of control -- and that a nation cannot prosper long when it favors only the prosperous."
Well, here's hoping the prosperous will include you and me in the days, months and years to come.
However, to achieve this, Obama must be a stern steward to gain the confidence of the conservative doubters. In this regard, he should throw Treasury secretary-designate Tim Geithner overboard, a twit in a suit who cheated on his taxes, though I doubt at this stage Obama can do it since he knew it before. This appointment could wound him severely if the economy and market keep spiraling downward.
Miss Market is cruel and merciless, but she enchants us nevertheless. Updates on Kev's battered portfolio after its rebound tomorrow (fingers crossed; the rent depends on it!)
And I can't help but believe that she is relieved that the little boy playing dress-up in a jet pilot's outfit spouting heckuva job Brownie, bring 'em on and I answer to a higher father has been dispatched to his room to play with the Legos that mean only something to him, not the world where fleshly men and women work, play and fight.
Echoing St. Paul, President Obama noted today that "the time has come to set aside childish things." Adults are in charge again.
Chief Justice Roberts, purposefully or not, mangled the oath of office, and the President-about-to-be gracefully smiled and quizzically looked at him, giving Roberts the benefit of the doubt. Good form, old sport.
But on to more meaningful prose.
"What the cynics fail to understand is that the ground has shifted beneath them"
I heard Bob Dylan singing, Come senators, congressmen, Please heed the call, Don't stand in the doorway, Don't block up the hall, For he that gets hurt, Will be he who has stalled.
Obama: "Nor is the question before us whether the market is a force for good or ill. Its power to generate wealth and expand freedom is unmatched, but this crisis has reminded us that without a watchful eye, the market can spin out of control -- and that a nation cannot prosper long when it favors only the prosperous."
Well, here's hoping the prosperous will include you and me in the days, months and years to come.
However, to achieve this, Obama must be a stern steward to gain the confidence of the conservative doubters. In this regard, he should throw Treasury secretary-designate Tim Geithner overboard, a twit in a suit who cheated on his taxes, though I doubt at this stage Obama can do it since he knew it before. This appointment could wound him severely if the economy and market keep spiraling downward.
Miss Market is cruel and merciless, but she enchants us nevertheless. Updates on Kev's battered portfolio after its rebound tomorrow (fingers crossed; the rent depends on it!)
Monday, January 19, 2009
Keep them doggies movin'...
To gamble is to lead a self-examined life, which is good, the philosophers say. Jesus himself tells us "And why beholdest thou the mote that is in thy brother's eye, but perceivest not the beam that is in thine own eye?"
The beam in my case was taking underdog Baltimore and six points against Pittsburgh yesterday. The first two games in the regular season gave me confidence the Ravens could cover, and I was looking pretty smart well into the fourth quarter with Baltimore trailing by two and driving. I was also counting on Troy Polamalo at less than top speed. This 'possum, though, sprang like a gazelle to snare Joe Flacco's pass and zig-zag to the endzone, putting old Kev nine points down.
Still one more chance until Ryan Clark clocked Willie McGahee over the middle. Helmet met helmet and McGahee was out, the ball fumbled to the Steelers. Whether it was a good football play or not, I've come to the conclusion that referees choose to ignore the rules all the time. Spearing is prohibited. The rules don't account for looking into men's souls to determine intent. Oh well, as we all know, holding occurs on virtually every play, too. No use complaining. Good vittles, love and kissin' are waitin' at the end of my ride.
The first dog barked much better for me. Arizona, continued its Cinderella run and won outright on the shoulders of Kurt Warner and the uber-receiver Larry Fitzgerald (his father was a sportswriter, I understand. We scribes must have athletic genes after all).
So, I chased my tail, ending up in the same spot, which is reward enough for making a sporting event interesting if you don't have a rooting interest as a fan. I refuse to wager on OU games. My passion is more than stoked without begging for an extra touchdown or two to cover.
The early Super Bowl line makes Pittsburgh a 7-point favorite. In the two weeks to come, I will strive to ignore the mote in my brother's eye and remove the beam in my own, as I will in my golf game this year. I think it's my putter stuck solidly in the window to my soul.
The beam in my case was taking underdog Baltimore and six points against Pittsburgh yesterday. The first two games in the regular season gave me confidence the Ravens could cover, and I was looking pretty smart well into the fourth quarter with Baltimore trailing by two and driving. I was also counting on Troy Polamalo at less than top speed. This 'possum, though, sprang like a gazelle to snare Joe Flacco's pass and zig-zag to the endzone, putting old Kev nine points down.
Still one more chance until Ryan Clark clocked Willie McGahee over the middle. Helmet met helmet and McGahee was out, the ball fumbled to the Steelers. Whether it was a good football play or not, I've come to the conclusion that referees choose to ignore the rules all the time. Spearing is prohibited. The rules don't account for looking into men's souls to determine intent. Oh well, as we all know, holding occurs on virtually every play, too. No use complaining. Good vittles, love and kissin' are waitin' at the end of my ride.
The first dog barked much better for me. Arizona, continued its Cinderella run and won outright on the shoulders of Kurt Warner and the uber-receiver Larry Fitzgerald (his father was a sportswriter, I understand. We scribes must have athletic genes after all).
So, I chased my tail, ending up in the same spot, which is reward enough for making a sporting event interesting if you don't have a rooting interest as a fan. I refuse to wager on OU games. My passion is more than stoked without begging for an extra touchdown or two to cover.
The early Super Bowl line makes Pittsburgh a 7-point favorite. In the two weeks to come, I will strive to ignore the mote in my brother's eye and remove the beam in my own, as I will in my golf game this year. I think it's my putter stuck solidly in the window to my soul.
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