With more than a month and a half of 2012 under our belt and the fate of the Western world teetering in the balance, we make these fearless prognostications for the remainder of this anno domini.
Gasoline goes to $5 a gallon and Barack Obama is re-elected anyway. The Republican field is so unpalatable that even Rick Santorum may be a tastier dish than Mitt Romney, which is to say unelectable. The argument has shifted from the Obama defense that the economy “would have been worse” if its life jackets hadn't been distributed to the Republican pout that “it would have been even better” if, for instance, Motown had not been bailed out. Either conceit is a dog that won't hunt.
The world will remain asynchronous. The United States took its lumps and is now pulling out of it. It's Europe's turn now to pay the piper for fecklessness. The Old World will pull out of it, too. By the end of 2012, U.S. consumption growth will be the engine that gets the euro zone and its environs back on the growth path. Buy France Telecom (FTE) for the lush dividend.
Uranium stocks will double as nuclear power gains currency. Buy Denison Mines (DNN) and Cameco (CCJ).
The Southeastern Conference will not have a representative in the BCS championship game. Call us a conspiracy theorist, but the other conferences are so sick with envy of the riches the SEC keeps piling up that they'll rig the computers.
The St. Louis ball club will repeat as World Series champions without Albert Pujols, who will hit .260 for the Anaheim ball club.
Speaking of St. Louis, the University thereof will be the surprise team in the NCAA basketball tournament. The Billikens are quietly 21-5. Pick them to get to the sweet 16 when the office bracket sheets are distributed.
Red Sox manager Bobby Valentine will bow to umpires when presenting lineup cards and curse them only in Japanese, thus avoiding ejection the entire season.
Apple and Nike will announce a joint venture to market smart-phone swoosh logos that athletes can use to tweet with while competing on the field, court or golf course.
The next sports scandal will be a gambling fraud at the next Super Bowl. The National Anthem singer will string out the song beyond the over/under prop bet time at the behest of organized crime. Hey, who would have thought a safety would be the first score of this year's game?
We will break 100 more than once this year and our lost sand wedge will be returned.
Showing posts with label sports. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sports. Show all posts
Saturday, February 18, 2012
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
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.
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.
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Time and Tide
Some think this sporting life we lead is all candy and nuts and a very merry Christmas. Let us let you in on a not- so-secret secret; it’s really ifs and buts, double faults, a chunked wedge shot and a parlay (for entertainment purposes only) that against all advice successfully calls the money line on the Pittsburgh vs. Cleveland game but not the over-under. Ouch, baby.
But all is not lost. Though the Browns and Steelers failed to get near the point total predicted, retail sales last month jumped twice as much as the consensus expected. Things are on the mend in this season of light, though youngsters are still sent marching off into the maw of endless war, perhaps the only job they can land, while, God bless them, Goldman Sachs executives make the sacrifice of taking their bonuses in stock.
We loved the player who walked out on Cincinnati Bearcat coach Brian Kelly when he told his undefeated team at its banquet that he was leaving them in the lurch before the Sugar Bowl game with Florida to take the Notre Dame job. This bold, go-to-hell response from a young scholar bodes ill for the golden domers who desire above all else relevance and enlivens hope for the future of American youth.
We are usually an optimistic sort, believing that the next drive will soar straight into the fairway, that the five-iron will land softly close to the pin and that the birdie putt will rattle into the cup. Is there a more satisfying sound than that rattle? Well, maybe the gentle snore of a well-fed baby, or new-born whippoorwills calling from the hills, as Nat King Cole crooned a million summers ago when summer was a comin’ in but fast.
Where has that world gone? Each generation when it reaches a certain age asks the same question. We recently spoke with a person dear to us who called the closing out of the “oughts” as a lost decade. Not so.
Mark Ingram, the remarkable young halfback from Flint, Michigan, playing for Alabama, tearfully and gracefully accepted the Heisman Trophy last night, ushering in a new decade for us sporting men and women. His next job is against Texas and then on to professional riches. Some 40 years from now, he might be savoring that rattle in the cup.
But all is not lost. Though the Browns and Steelers failed to get near the point total predicted, retail sales last month jumped twice as much as the consensus expected. Things are on the mend in this season of light, though youngsters are still sent marching off into the maw of endless war, perhaps the only job they can land, while, God bless them, Goldman Sachs executives make the sacrifice of taking their bonuses in stock.
We loved the player who walked out on Cincinnati Bearcat coach Brian Kelly when he told his undefeated team at its banquet that he was leaving them in the lurch before the Sugar Bowl game with Florida to take the Notre Dame job. This bold, go-to-hell response from a young scholar bodes ill for the golden domers who desire above all else relevance and enlivens hope for the future of American youth.
We are usually an optimistic sort, believing that the next drive will soar straight into the fairway, that the five-iron will land softly close to the pin and that the birdie putt will rattle into the cup. Is there a more satisfying sound than that rattle? Well, maybe the gentle snore of a well-fed baby, or new-born whippoorwills calling from the hills, as Nat King Cole crooned a million summers ago when summer was a comin’ in but fast.
Where has that world gone? Each generation when it reaches a certain age asks the same question. We recently spoke with a person dear to us who called the closing out of the “oughts” as a lost decade. Not so.
Mark Ingram, the remarkable young halfback from Flint, Michigan, playing for Alabama, tearfully and gracefully accepted the Heisman Trophy last night, ushering in a new decade for us sporting men and women. His next job is against Texas and then on to professional riches. Some 40 years from now, he might be savoring that rattle in the cup.
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