Who? No really, who?

When I was a kid I figured I heard Ronald Reagan’s name spoken every single day. Whether I consciously paid attention to hearing it, or simply caught it in passing, I was certain that a day had not passed without at least one utterance of that name.

I felt the same way about George H.W. Bush, Bill Clinton and now with Barack Obama. George W. Bush? Well, yeah, but mostly as a punch line.

Cable TV was more accessible during the Reagan years, which was the impetus of our media saturation and 24-hour connectivity. Of course no one foresaw the coming of the Internet during the Reagan years other than Doc Brown and Marty McFly, though they had the luxury of a time machine. And as we have learned, the Internet is the greatest invention since Tommy John surgery.

So Ronald Reagan taught me that everyday folks like to talk about people they will never, ever meet and/or don’t care a whit about them like a president, congressman, or Lady Gaga. Ina sense, the common man and the cultural star use each other. One uses the other to sell something which in turn forces the regular people to use the seller in a manner that makes them feel better about themselves. In other words, everybody wins.

Or do they? Since the gulf between the two factions grow with each passing TMZ post, each side digs in deeper and deeper. Agendas are forced with no regard for the other side. That’s just the way it happens when a group feels slighted.

In our little universe here in Philadelphia, Donovan McNabb is our new Ronald Reagan. Not a day passes when something is not spoken or written about the man or his importance and future to the professional football team in the city. Go ahead and comb through the daily stories about the Eagles on CSNPhilly.com or Philly.com and I’m positive there will be one mention of McNabb in something produced today. Turn on 610 or 950 and set an egg timer and wait…

Someone will say the words, “Donovan,” or “McNabb.”

The difficulty in this phenomenon is when a guy thinks he is part of one group, though in reality he is not. That’s where Mike Richards of the Flyers enters.

I get the feeling that Mike Richards could walk down Walnut Street and grab a seat in Rittenhouse Square and no one would bat an eye. Probably a shade below 5-foot-10 and 180 pounds, Richards looks just like any regular 24-year-old dude seen in the city. He probably blends in in Kenora, Ontario, too, which is probably why he thinks he can non-discretely go about his business in Philadelphia.

INSERT HEARTY LAUGH RIGHT HERE

What Richards might not get—or maybe he does, we don’t know—is that a $69 million contract and the captaincy of the beloved Flyers means he is not a regular dude. Yes, celebrity is both a blessing and a curse and it’s because of these reasons that he is clearly not amongst the regular-dude folk and because he is not “regular,” if he chooses not to talk to the media, for whatever reason, some folks are going to feel slighted or even angry. McNabb or Chase Utley might give obtuse, one-word answers to pointed questions from time to time, but after some prodding and long waits, at least he goes through the motions complete with a bemused grin and a placid stare on non-engagement.

It works for him.

Now I don’t know about the finer details of Richards’ tête-à-tête with the writers that cover the team on a daily basis. I also don’t know anything about Richards’ private life and what he does for fun.

I also don’t care.

Really…

I.

Don’t.

Care.

However, Richards can make his life a whole lot less complex if he figures out how to do things like Chase Utley or Donovan McNabb and mask his contempt for those commoners with a steady barrage of clichés and bleep-eating grins.

It's worth mentioning that the time McNabb told Terrell Owens to, "Keep my name out of your mouth..." That was awesome.

So now we’re talking about Mike Richards for a couple of days in a row. Better yet, some people may (or may not) have learned who he is because of the recent media storm. Probably not too many more, though. It’s not like he’s Donovan McNabb.

The return of Brandon Duckworth

In mid-July of the 2001 baseball season, the Phillies surprisingly found themselves in the midst of a battle for the NL East with the Atlanta Braves. At the time, no one thought the Phillies were ready to contend yet, but the Phillies surprised a lot of people by hanging around until the next-to-last series of the season.

For 159 games that year, the Phillies gave the Braves all they could handle.

Give some credit to first-year manager Larry Bowa for getting the most out of his kids by putting his foot on the gas and never letting up. Bowa made his players treat every game as if it was the seventh game of the World Series and for the most part they responded. Of course those tactics backfired often throughout Bowa’s tenure in Philadelphia, though in the manager’s defense the team’s talent wasn’t quite there yet.

In 2001 though, Bowa took on the Braves with a rotation that featured Robert Person, Randy Wolf, Omar Daal and rookies Nelson Figueroa and Brandon Duckworth. Person reached the apex of his career by winning 15 games that season before the injuries mounted, while Wolf entrenched himself as a bona fide big-league starter. Daal was the veteran lefty in the mix who got the ball on opening day simply because he was the only guy the team had ready to go.

Meanwhile, Figueroa and Duckworth held down spots in the rotation because of injuries and the fact that Bowa didn’t quite trust Amaury Telemaco and Dave Coggin too much. Maybe he didn’t trust those guys either, but for a little while he was pleasantly surprised.

Who would have guessed that all these years later Figueroa and Duckworth are still out there fighting for spots on big-league rosters? Last season Figueroa made 10 starts for the Mets and has appeared in 32 games for his hometown team over the past two seasons. In between his 2001 season for the Phillies and 2009 work for New York, Figueroa has pitched for Milwaukee and Pittsburgh in the Majors, as well as Scranton/Wilkes-Barre, Indianapolis, New Orleans, Nashville, Long Island, Buffalo, Chihuahua in the Mexican League as well as South Korea.

Yes, with his 36 birthday quickly approaching, Figueroa will pitch for whatever you want to pay him.

The same goes for Duckworth, too, only in locales that are not as exotica as his old buddy, Figgy. After landing in Bowa’s crowded doghouse, Duckworth was a piece in the trade that brought Billy Wagner from Houston to the Phillies. Following a couple of seasons where he shuttled up and down between the Astros and New Orleans/Round Rock, Duckworth moved to the Pittsburgh organization where he pitched for Indianapolis.

Duckworth appeared to be a cornerstone of the Phillies future during the 2001 season. However, the mild-mannered right-hander got around the league a couple times after the ’01 pennant chase, big-league hitters caught up with his repertoire. However, in Game 159 with the Phillies clinging to hope that they could catch the Braves, Bowa yanked veteran 13-game winner Omar Daal from a start in Atlanta in favor of Duckworth.

Since 2006, Duckworth has been pitching for Kansas City and their top farm club, Omaha, where he worked mostly in relief.

The relief role just might be where he fits in with the Phillies in 2010.

What goes around, comes around…

Of course Duckworth has to make the team, first. However, in making the official announcement that Duckworth had agreed to a minor-league deal with the team on Tuesday, the soon-to-be 34 year-old righty will likely spend the summer in Allentown with the Triple-A IronPigs.

In the meantime, Duckworth will get into a bunch of Grapefruit League games this spring and get a first-hand look at how much things have changed since he left before the 2004 season. Sure, some tired old faces are hanging around, but for the most part the Phillies are a different beast than they were in the early 2000s.

Regardless, it’s always neat to see guys like Duckworth and Figueroa hanging around the game and still battling for a spot on a roster. At its essence, those are the guys who make Major league Baseball interesting. They are just regular dudes who work as hard as they can in order to carve out a little spot in the game for as long as possible. They may never get to an All-Star Game or see their picture on too many baseball cards, but it’s difficult not to respect their perseverance and love for the game.

Gotta love the guys just hoping to get by.

Reynolds a blast from the past

Spend 10 years writing exclusively about baseball and it’s easy to get lost about the goings on in other sports. There is only so much one guy can do to keep up with the full range of games, but when it gets right down to it sometimes all a guy can do is focus on what is in front of him.

Over the past decade I’ll wager that I have been to approximately 1,000 baseball games, but maybe 30 to 40 college basketball games. A long time ago those numbers would have been reversed.

The bad par, of course, is missing out on the terrific ballplayers that came through the Big Five over the past decade. Oh sure, I caught Jameer Nelson just because St. Joe’s was one of the biggest stories of 2004 when they were No. 1 for most of the college season. However, names like Randy Foye, Allan Ray, Dionte Christmas, Pat Carroll, Mardy Collins, Dante Cunningham, David Hawkins , Kyle Lowry, Steven Smith and Curtis Sumpter (amongst other standouts over the last 10 years), get lost in the pile of early-season ballgames.

Fortunately, Scottie Reynolds of Villanova decided to return to Villanova for his last season because it would be a shame to miss out on watching him play.

Reynolds is an undersized guard in a city with a long tradition of great guards. Though he’s listed at 6-foot-2 and 190 pounds, I suspect he’s probably an even 6-foot and maybe a few pounds lighter. However, unlike the traditional Big 5 guard, Reynolds isn’t content to stay in the backcourt in half-court sets and spread the ball around like Howie Evans, Pepe Sanchez or even a shooter like Lynn Greer.

Reynolds will mix it up inside if need be. For instance, even though he scored 12 straight points from the outside in the first half of the 82-77 victory over No. 11 Georgetown at the Wachovia Center on Sunday afternoon, Reynolds’ biggest hoop of the game came with 3:14 left when he knifed to the hoop against three bigger players for a layup and a foul. For good measure he made four straight foul shots to held ice the game with less than 36 seconds remaining.

Reynolds scored 27 points on just 15 shots and 29 minutes in the victory over Georgetown.

“He can’t be contained,” Georgetown’s coach John Thompson III said after the game. “I don't say that in jest. He's too good of an offensive player and they do too good of a job of getting him where he needs to be. It's nothing new. He’s been doing it for four years. What's different is now as a senior, when they need a basket, he ends up with the ball in his hand and good things happen.”

Though he’s a small guard, Reynolds has a game similar to 6-foot-5 Big Five guard, Mark Macon of Temple. The difference, of course, was that Temple relied on Macon to score. In fact, John Chaney, Macon’s college coach, was known to say that he’d rather have Macon take a bad shot than another player to take a good one. That’s how much Macon meant to Temple and Chaney.

But aside from his freshman year in 1988 when Temple was the No. 1 team in the country, Macon didn’t have the supporting cast like Reynolds has had with Villanova. Still, even with teammates destined for the NBA like Foye, Cunningham, Ray and Kyle Lowry, Reynolds should hit the 2,000-point plateau by the end of the month.

Depending upon how far Villanova goes into the NCAA Tournament, Reynolds could flirt with Kerry Kittles’ all-time scoring record (2,243), which is saying something considering all the talent he had to share the ball with.

Still, the best part about Reynolds—and where he is most like Macon—is that he is accountable. Though Chaney would always forgive one of Macon’s hurried shots, the former Owl (now acting head coach at the University of Binghamton) famously pleaded with his coach to yell at him more. Because Chaney leaned on him so much more than the others, Macon thought he should also have to face the music more often, too.

As if anyone has to tell John Chaney to scream at them twice…

Villanova’s coach Jay Wright also forgives a lot of Reynolds’ mistakes for a lot of the same reasons. That attitude works out very well when Reynolds turns in some bad games like the one he had in the Big East Tournament semifinals against Louisville last year where he went 1-for-6 from the field, including 0-for-3 from beyond the three-point arc with six turnovers and just two measly points in 38 minutes.

Prior to that, Reynolds dropped 40 points on Seton Hall only to fall into a funk where it took him four games to match the scoring output of that one game.

“Some games we lose and he looks really bad, but that never affects him. He comes back the next game and makes the same plays,” Wright said last season, marveling at Reynolds’ fearlessness in the face of failure. “That's a great quality to have as an athlete.”

So if you get the chance to catch Reynolds in action (and you’re into that sort of thing), make sure you do it. After all, players like him are seen just a few times a decade.

Picking (playoff) winners

If there is a plus to the first weekend of the NFL season without the Eagles it’s that the hometown fans can relax and quietly enjoy the full slate of playoff football without any stress or undue tension. Philly fans can just sit back, relax and enjoy all the color and pageantry that is NFL playoff football…

Right?

OK, maybe not. Certainly it’s no fun to go to a party and then be told to leave before the fun really starts. What happens if they have a piñata at the party or if Kurt Warner climbs up onto the roof and proclaims himself a, “Golden God!”

That’s no fun when you’re at home licking your wounds after two weekends in Dallas where you go your bottom spanked. What is this, masochism? No, it’s football.

Anyway, the fun part for me was doing that point-spread thang last weekend where I went a supernal 3-1 by choosing the Cowboys, Ravens and Cardinals to cover. I dare any of those obnoxiously loud degenerates with their web sites and dial-in numbers to hang with that.

In other words, kudos. Kudos to me.

So let’s see if we can duplicate last weekend’s stellarness. Or better yet, let’s try and top it.

Saturday games
Arizona Cardinals vs. New Orleans Saints
Pick: Saints (minus-7)

The Saints signed running back Deuce McAllister yesterday even though he can no longer play football. In doing so, McAllister immediately gets a $21,000 as his portion of the team’s playoff share. That’s $21K for signing his name and then standing around and looking import. You know, kind of like a U.S. Congressman with a lower paycheck.

Come early for the 11 o’clock show… we work blue.

Baltimore Colts vs. Indianapolis NFL Football Club
Pick: (Indianapolis minus-6)

Ever been to Indianapolis? Crazy place, huh? Not sure I like how they pilfered the name “Colts” from Baltimore, but that seems to be the modus operandi of that group of muckety-mucks from the Indiana NFL entry. In fact, a few years ago there was a lawsuit filed against little ol’ Cedar Cliff  High School in Camp Hill, Pa. (just outside of Harrisburg… there’s a state pen’ there) because they have the nickname “Colts,” and have white helmets with a blue horseshoe on it.

Guess what? The Cedar Cliff Colts were older than the Indianapolis Colts. In other words, the Indiana football team was trying to steal the same name again only this time it was from a bunch of high school kids.

There's a name for people like that...

“Let me make it clear, that we took the name from the Baltimore Colts . . . not from Indianapolis. We followed the Baltimore Colts and respected what they meant to the NFL,” said Bob Craig in a 1994 interview with the Baltimore Sun. “We admired Johnny Unitas and Lenny Moore in particular. By the way, Stan Jones, who entered the Pro Football Hall of Fame, is an alumnus of our school. Cedar Cliff came about by a merger of New Cumberland and Lemoyne. I'd sure like to see the NFL try to tell all the high school teams, there must be 10,000 of them, that use the name Redskins. The same with us and the Colts.”

So there.

Additionally, it was Cedar Cliff with tight end Kyle Brady that beat my J.P. McCaskey Red Tornadoes in the 1988 Quad-A, District III championship game on a sun-soaked day at HersheyPark Stadium. We played over our heads and led late until the Colts got sick of us and swatted us away like pesky gnats. All they did was send Brady out for three-yard drop passes and let him to the rest.

It was exactly like one of those silly John Wayne movies where some ravenous monster is tearing through the forest with a couple hundred natives on its back trying to bring it down.

That Kyle Brady was pretty good.

Sunday games
Dallas Cowboys vs. Minnesota Vikings
Pick: Dallas (plus-3)

That crazy buckaroo Brett Favre is a gunslinger. The Cowboys play too much defense though—they’ll get that wacky Favre runnin’.

New York Jets vs. San Diego Chargers
Pick: San Diego (minus-7)

If the Jets win this one and make it to the AFC Championship, get ready for all those fawning stories coming from the New York-based media about how dreamy rookie QB Mark Sanchez is. Either way, the sun will shine in San Diego.

It’s 70 degrees in San Diego every stinkin’ day of the year… what are they worried about?

Happy (for entertainment purposes only) wagering!

Cry, baby, cry

In the wake of Mark McGwire’s tearful confession to Bob Costas about his steroid use earlier this week, it’s worth mentioning that Big Mac’s effort didn’t quite measure up with some of the all-time tear jerking.

The best?

Easy…

Mike Schmidt announcing his retirement
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DOPLJQuVm_I&w=425&h=344]

Schmidty just falls apart here and blubbers to a degree that it's almost decipher what he's trying to say. It was also one of those public cries that makes a guy feel a little funny, but not because it wrestles up some emotions within--it's almost cringe worthy.

But maybe that's relatable to the Flock of Seagulls ‘do than simply the big, juicy tears.

Oh, but we kid because we like to. As such, if a guy is going to cry in public one time Schmidty's is pretty good. Needless to say, it's much better than this one...

Terrell Owens crying about his quarterback
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PNO6On7cK1M&w=425&h=344]

As far as put on/phony crying acts go, Terrell Owens' effort wasn't even good enough for the worst soap opera. Funny? Absolutely. But a quality effort... dreadful.

Dick Vermeil crying... well, just because
Strangely, for a guy who cried so much there aren't many videos out there of Vermeil in action. Perhaps we should give him credit for being an old-school crier and getting it done before the proliferation of digital media.

Nevertheless, Vermeil was such an epic crier that people wrote essays about it. The best is from the great Jeff Johnson and his old NFL writing for Timothy McSweeney’s Quarterly Concern:

The first time I saw Dick Vermeil cry, I thought: What a jagoff. What is an adult man doing crying about football?

The second time I saw Dick Vermeil cry, I thought: Okay, Vermeil. Calm down. And also, what a jagoff.

The third time I saw Dick Vermeil cry, I thought: The problem is with you, Johnson. You're the one who has to loosen up. Vermeil is in touch with his feelings. Vermeil has a ring, you don't. Let Vermeil cry.

The eighth time I saw Dick Vermeil cry, I thought: Okay, Vermeil. Get on some meds, amigo. Take a deep breath. Let it go.

The fourteenth time I saw Dick Vermeil cry, I thought: This is getting weird.

The thirty-ninth time I saw Dick Vermeil cry: I had just gotten done polishing off a bottle of Drambuie with him. We were at a golf tournament outside Pawtucket, Rhode Island. He told me he wasn't sure if he'd ever eaten a better salad than the one we'd had at dinner. "Those farmers," he wailed, "who are they? The romaine was exquisite. What are you looking at? If you can't—if a grown man can't enjoy a leaf of lettuce—"

The eighty-first time I saw Dick Vermeil cry: It was back on TV. The folks at UW-River Falls, where the Chiefs spend preseason, hadn't followed through on a team-catering request for Rice Krispies. Vermeil was melting down. "Just how tough is it? I'm sorry. I gotta go public with this," the waterworks were on. "My men love their cereal. And now, I don't know what kinda season we're gonna have."

The three hundred and fifteenth time I saw Dick Vermeil cry: It was because of a traffic light that he thought was on the verge of burning itself out. I was on a three-speed in Locust Valley, MO, and I saw him pointing and howling from the driver's seat of his Lincoln. "Some family's gonna get killed!" Several cars honked behind him, but he wasn't budging.

The nine hundred forty-first time I saw Dick Vermeil cry: I was on a cruise ship. Vermeil was at a press conference. One of his kick-returners kept an adult video late and there was a fine. Vermeil, to that day, was unaware of a phenomenon known as porn. It did not make him happy.

The 33,872nd time I saw Dick Vermeil cry: I didn't. It was just an editorial that he wrote for USA Today about the dangers of using magic markers to write kids' names on athletic tape to identify them on football helmets. I assumed he cried the whole time he wrote it. He thought the markers were a bit toxic, that an addiction could develop.

The 198,440th time I saw Dick Vermeil cry: It was an Arby's. A packet of Horsey sauce dared him to open it. He could not.

The 708,814th time I saw Dick Vermeil cry: He said six words and broke down, "Oh, the majesty of a sauna."

The 1,933,336th time I saw Dick Vermeil cry: I only sensed it. God had begun wiping out whole cities with His own vomit. Vermeil's crying caused it. I was in Murfreesboro, TN. We were covered in slime. God had registered his disgust. Vermeil was somewhere, bawling with joy about microwave technology. He stopped abruptly and ate a corn muffin before it cooled.

The 174,999,044th time I saw Dick Vermeil cry: He was dead. Vermeil was a damn ghost and he still would not quit crying. He'd met up with Tony Franklin, the old Eagles place-kicker. "How could you have possibly gone through life so darn short, Tony? It just is not fair."

The 12,000,000,000th time I saw Vermeil cry: I got a lousy T-shirt.

The 38,555,400,093rd time I saw Dick Vermeil cry: It wasn't so much Vermeil as the whole world. A book had been written about Vermeil's penchant for tears. It was called The Vermeil Approach. A religion was involved. Millions of people wept. Of course, looking down and seeing this, Vermeil wept.

Why is it that I find the crying of sports figures so funny? That’s simple – because it’s easy to laugh at things that don’t matter. No, I don’t doubt the sincerity of the sadness in dealing with a retirement, a victory, or a 2-2 circle change up that lands just so perfectly in the strike zone. It’s just that people without real problems have lousy perspective. At some point we all had to quit playing sports, but did you cry after the last game of the 10th grade JV basketball season? As far as we can tell Mike Schmidt did not cry when announcing his retirement all those years ago because he was sick or injured and forced out of the game. Nor was anyone in his immediate family facing some sort of hardship that required his immediate attention. In fact, there was no real sadness involved at all. All Mike Schmidt cried about was that he was lucky enough to have a great baseball career.

If that’s not funny I don’t know what is.

Oh, and for the record, the medication won't allow me to make tears. Therefore I cannot cry. So there.

Playing catch up

While catching up with the 76ers and learning as much as possible about Sam Dalembert and the crisis in Haiti, we kind of put the silliness on the back burner for a couple of days. Undoubtedly there have been quite a few fun things happening around these parts, starting with…

The Philadelphia Union traded for Fred with D.C. United a day before their first foray in the MLS draft. In case you are looking at that last sentence and thinking there was a typo or inadvertent omission of Fred’s surname, guess again.

The Union got Fred. You know… Fred.

Actually, Fred is a Brazilian soccer player and just to further perplex American sports fans, guys like Fred or Ronaldo or Ronaldinho operate with just a single name. You know, just to be wacky or something. However, I have been informed that the penalty for a yellow card against Fred is that he will be forced to use a last name.

May I suggest, Fred X?
 
Helbert Frederico Carreiro da Silva is the name Fred’s mama gave him and he is not to be confused with Frederico Chaves Guedes—he goes by Frederico, which is also a good name for anyone contemplating a career as a samba dancer.

In the meantime, the first player the Philadelphia Union acquired within 24 hours of the draft is a guy with the handle, Fred. More notable is that after the Union selected Danny Mwanga from Oregon St. with the first pick of the 2010 MLS Draft, the team had two players with a combined three names.

Hey, it’s quality not quantity.

Fred and Danny Mwanga and the rest of the Union will kick-off their inaugural season in Seattle on March 25 before their home debut on April 10 at the Linc. There still is no date set for the first game at the soon-to-be constructed Union Field at Chester, the team’s new stadium located at the foot of the Commodore Barry Bridge.

So go get some tickets and see Fred. You know… Fred.

Stick it?
Brett Myers was officially introduced as a member of the Houston Astros this week, which shouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone familiar with general manager Ed Wade’s taste in players. The interesting aspect about Myers’ departure from the Phillies after eight seasons is that he is exactly the type of pitcher current GM Ruben Amaro Jr. is shopping for.

Actually, Myers could be a nice fit as a backend reliever or starter for the Phillies. Better yet, based on the deal he got from Wade, he would have fit into the price structure, too.

So for a pitcher (a pitcher!) to be given the Heisman so wantonly by Amaro, it seems clear that Myers’ act simply wore out everyone.

If you’re looking for Myers to read between the lines or understand the not-so-subtle kick to the curb, guess again. Instead, he sought to inflame the situation during his introductory press conference in Houston.

“I wanted to go back to Philadelphia, but they didn't show an interest, they had other obligations, which is fine with me,” Myers said before promising to “stick it” to the Phillies.

Certainly that last element is quite interesting because Amaro and the Phillies were quick to announce their intentions not to re-sign Myers. In fact, the decision came very quickly after the World Series ended in early November.

Moreover, based on how Myers pitched throughout most of his tenure with the Phillies, some would argue that he already has “stuck it” to them. It’s kind of hard to see that act continuing now that he’s gone.

Haiti and Sam Dalembert, Part II

An hour before tip-off, Sam Dalembert did not look like he was ready to play a basketball game. Understandably drained and confused by what had occurred in his birth country a little more than 24-hours before, Dalembert eyes gave answers to questions that his mind could not.

Was his aunt OK, despite the news that her house had been “cracked” by the earthquake that registered 7.0 on the Richter Scale a little before 5 p.m. in Port-au-Prince, Haiti on Tuesday? Or, when would the next message from Dalembert’s father arrive? Just before the tiny Carribean island lost power, the elder Dalembert sent an e-mail signifying they were, “OK.”

“OK” is a relative term, of course. Even in the most technologically advanced country, an earthquake the magnitude of the one that devastated Haiti on Tuesday would leave its mark. Put that earthquake in the poorest country on this side of the globe that was still reeling from being battered by four hurricanes since September of 2008, and it sounds so cruel.

It isn’t enough that the average Haitian lives on less than $2 a day and had been governed by infamous dictatorships for decades, now the people on the poor island are waiting for the aid to arrive while gathering the dead amidst total destruction.

They are poor, Dalembert says, but proud.

"A huge part of me will always love the country, love the people in it. We're strong people, we deal with stuff. No matter what's going on, we always find a way to stay happy. We joke about situations when most people wouldn't make a joke," he said. "That's why people say, 'Why is Sam always smiling?' When you come from where I come from and where you are right now, every day is a blessing. I don't have to deal with finding food. I don't have to deal with looking in my freezer and not finding food."

Dalembert’s birth city Port-au-Prince, so close to the epicenter of the quake, is a city larger than Philadelphia yet currently has no operational hospital. Actually, it had nothing before the earthquake hit, but now it has death and destruction without hyperbole. Haiti, as it was, is gone.

Moreover, Dalembert’s father was in Port-au-Prince with members of his family on a business trip when the earthquake hit. Before Wednesday’s game against the Knicks, Dalembert said his dad sent a message via an e-mail from his aunt with the news of his whereabouts. 

But that was more than a day ago and no word has trickled out since.

“Yesterday I turned the TV on and just kept on watching and watching and just waiting for an answer in front of the phone. I contacted everybody I know there, but no answer,” Dalembert said before Wednesday’s game. “I wasn’t able to get as much information as I wanted to. It’s really frustrating. All I’ve got is watching the screen. I’m here and there’s nothing I can do. It’s really killing me right now.”

How does anyone attempt to understand the unfathomable? Better yet, how does a guy show up for work with so much uncertainty in his life? If Dalembert decided to check out and coast through the New York Knicks, who would have blamed him?

“Hopefully, for two hours he can escape,” Sixers’ coach Eddie Jordan said before the 93-92 defeat.

“I could tell that today was a different day for him because he wasn’t the same old Sam,” Allen Iverson said. “When I saw it on the news last night the first thing I did was call him, and you could tell in his voice he was struggling with the situation.”

There were two ways Dalembert could have gone against the Knicks… he could have disappeared, or he could have lit it up.

Dalembert lit it up with a season-high 21 rebounds to go with 12 points on 6-for-8 shooting.

“He showed what type of a professional he is—he came out here and did everything he had to do for us on the basketball court to give us a chance to win, and that shows a lot of character on his part,” Iverson said.

It turned out that playing basketball was the easy part. It became a type of therapy since there was no one for Dalmebert to call and the only way he can do to help is send money. In fact, the Sixers revealed after the game that in addition to pulling down all those rebounds, Dalembert was organizing a benefit to raise funds for more aid for Haiti.

For now though, all he can do is wait and hope that maybe he’ll hear something soon.

“It’s tough, frustrating,” Dalembert said. “It’s crazy, out of your mind. It’s like you’re locked in a cage. You cannot move. You cannot do anything. I tried to go over there, but they said there’s no plane going there. Nobody can go there.

“There’s really nothing I can do except play, then send money and help out.”

Imagine not being able to talk to your family. Or imagine not knowing whether your closest friend, father, aunt, brother or sister are alive or dead.

Imagine having all of that weighing you down into an emotional abyss as if it where an anchor on the Titanic...

All before you go and pull down 21 rebounds.

To help Sam Dalembert send relief aid to Haiti, go to the UNICEF site.

Haiti and Sam Dalembert

According to NBC News, every single hospital in Port-au-Prince, Haiti has either been destroyed or abandoned in the wake of the 7.0 earthquake that hit yesterday. News reports seem to be in consensus that over 100,000 people will die from the quake. Certainly an earthquake that large would have devastating affects anywhere in the world, but in Haiti it's especially cruel.

Haiti is the poorest nation in the Western Hemisphere and based on its GDP, Haitians live on a little more than $1 a day. Moreover, the approximate population of the capital city, Port-au-Prince, is 1.7 million. For some perspective, that would make the city larger than Phoenix, Philadelphia, San Antonio and Dallas.

Imagine being in a city slightly larger than Philadelphia and living on less than $2 a day after a 7.0 earthquake just hit and there are no hospitals to go to.

At all.

For a little more perspective consider this: Sixers' center Sam Dalembert was born in Port-au-Prince in 1981 and now his city is mere rubble.

Dalembert was 2 when his family moved to Montreal where he was raised, but he has been active in providing aid to Haiti long before yesterday's earthquake. As my friend and Sixers' beat scribe, Dennis Deitch, from the Delaware County Daily Times wrote this morning:

Hey, Philly: Sam Dalembert is Haitian-born. This is when you show greatness as fans & show him support in this time of strife.

I couldn't agree more.Check out the web site for Dalembert's foundation where there is even more information about his birth country.

What are words for (again with the Missing Persons)?

I didn’t learn anything today. Not one scrap of information or insight into a topic. Nada. Generally, I approach the day with the hope that some morsel of knowledge will lodge itself into the locus of my mind, but sometimes that’s just hit or miss.

Obviously, today was a miss.

Chalk it up to the company I kept. For instance, I planned my morning around the fact that I wanted to tune into the day-after press conference starring Andy Reid hoping to face a veritable barrage of clichés, doublespeak and non-answer answers. You know, the same reason everyone tunes into those press conferences.

However, this afternoon when Reid faced the music after the ugly, 34-14 defeat in the first round of the playoffs to the Dallas Cowboys, the session was even more flummoxing than usual. In fact, I counted just two instances where Reid claimed that he needed to “do a better job,” and three variations of the phrase “myself” when owning up to the responsibility of Saturday night’s debacle before I quit counting. Those are rather paltry numbers for a man who loves a cliché as much as he loves oxygen, black clothing and pedestrian offensive schemes.

What happened was there was a departure from his regular tact of cliché use and taking the long way around to answer a direct question. Instead, on Monday after noon Reid simply decided he wasn’t going to say anything at all. Nothing revealing, interesting or even the least bit contemplative.

He just said nothing.

Oh there were actual words dropping from Reid’s mouth, but if one gathered them all up from the stew they formed there at the podium and rearranged them, there might have been a whole paragraph. It might have been coherent, too.

No one expected Reid to say much when asked about the future of his quarterback and running back and why his team looked so ill-prepared for a playoff game. But even for a man of Reid’s ability to say nothing, Monday’s performance was particularly exquisite. Every once in a while he taunted the reporters with something that seemed like it was going somewhere, like when he said he had, “three stinking good quarterbacks that could play in this league. … I don’t want to give up any of them. I like them all. The more you have, the better you are.” But then he wouldn’t say which stinking guy he liked best.

That stinks.

If that wasn’t enough, Mark McGwire came on the TV with Bob Costas for his first interview since, well… since he was knocking satellites out of the sky with mammoth home runs on an episode of The Simpsons. But where Reid said nothing, McGwire said a lot. He even got a little weepy when telling Costas about all the people he disappointed either by doing steroids during his playing career, or copping to it on Monday. I’m not sure which.

Where McGwire got off track wasn’t by speaking in circles, because by all intents McGwire appeared to be speaking earnestly. No, McGwire’s problem was that he was just wrong. He was wrong about why he did steroids, why he continued doing them, what they actually did to help him knock satellites to the earth with home runs that went to outer space, and why he was admitting it now.

Either McGwire didn’t understand what he was talking about or he thinks people are stupid… and that’s just mean. But hey, thanks for crying.

“I did this for health purposes. There’s no way I did this for any type of strength purposes,” he said, noting that he was ready to retire when injuries limited him to just 74 total games in 1993 and 1994.

Yet when he was healthy, he kept on taking it and even dabbled with HGH, “once or twice.”

No, he could not pinpoint the number of times he injected a needle full of human growth hormone into the folds of his stomach.

Still, the part that makes one arch the eyebrows, scratch the head and/or chuck a shoe at the television set was when McGwire claimed that steroids did not help him when he played. They helped his health, sure, but not his performance.

So why was he crying again?

“I truly believe I was given the gifts from the man upstairs of being a home run hitter, ever since … birth,” McGwire said. “My first hit as a Little Leaguer was a home run. I mean, they still talk about the home runs I hit in high school, in Legion ball. I led the nation in home runs in college, and then all the way up to my rookie year, 49 home runs.

The strangest part, of course, was when McGwire kept saying that he wished that he never played in the so-called “steroid era” of baseball.

“I wish I had never touched steroids,” he said. “It was foolish and it was a mistake. I truly apologize. Looking back, I wish I had never played during the steroid era.”

Oh, so that’s it… it was the era. And here we were thinking a guy just made a bad choice and he was on national cable television confessing to Bob Costas. But now that we know it was just the era we can keep our eyes open. For instance, if it was Dec. 31, 1889 people knew that the “Gay Nineties” were about to begin and they could act accordingly. One hundred years later, Mark McGwire realized that the “Steroid Era” was in bloom and got to work.

You should have seen how greedy he was in the 1980s and how he could strut like John Travolta in the ’70s.

So that leads us to the main point—is it better to be terse and unrevealing like Reid or a veritable chatter box and wrong like McGwire.  Easy call if you ask me.

Shockingly, Big Mac comes clean

When I sat down in front of my computer and saw various updates from general acquaintances on their Facebook pages, I didn’t quite know how to react. First of all, the news was so head-spinning and mind-blowing that my first reaction was to drop to one knee in attempt to catch my breath.

When I finally pulled myself off the ground a good three hours after hitting the floor, I grabbed my head and squeezed my temples as if I were shopping for the perfectly ripe melon. Like most people, I like to get my hands on the melon and give it a thorough once over because it’s not just the eating of the fruit I’m concerned with—it is the artistry of nature.

Still, my head was not as ripe as a luscious cantaloupe for the news. Why did I have to hear it on Facebook from Trenni Kusnierek instead of a breathless—yet dashingly composed—Brian Williams with a break-in of the regularly scheduled daytime programming?

If that wasn’t bad enough, Trenni continued her taunts from Twitter.

Why? Why now? No one was sworn in, or being extorted. There was no good reason to break that oh-so sacrosanct code of the clubhouse, which is nearly exactly like the oath the guys in the major motion picture, The Hangover, only on… ahem… steroids.

An admission? What in the name of Pete Rose was going on here?

"I wish I had never touched steroids," Mark McGwire revealed in a press release sent out on Monday afternoon. "It was foolish and it was a mistake. I truly apologize. Looking back, I wish I had never played during the steroid era."

McGwire didn’t stop there, either. Oh no, a baseball player admitting to something as mundane as using performance-enhancing substances is like a politician admitting he did something that might be construed as unethical. It just happens from time to time when a ballplayer is hanging around the clubhouse with his teammates and they are all flexing and snapping towels at one another. Ballplayers have an innate competiveness that a guy pushing pencils in a cubicle can’t fathom.

First it’s a flex here, a towel snap there, followed by a round of batting practice where the guys point and giggle at your warning-track power. Then, the next thing you know you’re in a bathroom stall with Jose Canseco with some needles and a dose of winstrol.

That’s how it always starts.

But McGwire didn’t stop with the admission because that wouldn’t be shocking at all despite his riveting testimony in 2006 before the Congressional House Government Reform Committee. That’s where he shakily claimed that he was not there "to talk about the past." Instead, McGwire outlined the past and gave dates and reasons for his drug use.

"I never knew when, but I always knew this day would come," McGwire wrote. "It’s time for me to talk about the past and to confirm what people have suspected. I used steroids during my playing career and I apologize. I remember trying steroids very briefly in the 1989/1990 off season and then after I was injured in 1993, I used steroids again. I used them on occasion throughout the ‘90s, including during the 1998 season."

The 1998 season, of course, was when McGwire and Sammy Sosa had that homerific lovefest as they assaulted all the standing single-season home run records as well as the good will of the believing American public. They duped everyone, especially the baseball writers who just didn’t whiff at the biggest story in their sport for forever, but didn’t even take the bat off their shoulders. Even when there was a dosage of andro wantonly strewn about his locker with the spent wrist bands, soiled batting gloves and muddy spikes, the scribes (and baseball people) attacked the one writer who wiggled away from the fairy tale to look behind the curtain.

So think how confused the old ballwriters are after Monday’s admission. First they go from organizing the national group hug with the brawny slugger to slapping him with metaphors not even a decade later after the showing before Congress. If your brain hurts, what about those poor, misguided writers?

Or better yet, what about Tony La Russa? Not only was La Russa the manager of McGwire’s teams in Oakland and St. Louis and is set to be his boss as the ex-slugger begins a new gig as the Cardinals’ hitting coach, but also the manager has been the big guy’s staunchest defender. La Russa was so far in McGwire’s corner that even when shown evidence to the contrary, the manager refused to believe that his guy would do anything like steroids.

In other words, unless La Russa was in the bathroom stall with Jose and Mark to see that plunger filled with those sweet, muscle-building chemicals injected into the hind parts in question, then it did not happen.

"I have long felt, and still do, there are certain players who need to publicize the legal way to get strong," La Russa told the St. Louis Post-Dispatch in March of 2006. "That’s my biggest complaint. When those players have been asked, they’ve been very defensive or they’ve come out and said ‘Whatever.’ Somebody should explain that you can get big and strong in a legal way. If you’re willing to work hard and be smart about what you ingest, it can be done in a legal way."

Nothing has dissuaded La Russa from believing McGwire was clean.

"That’s the basis of why I felt so strongly about Mark. I saw him do that for years and years and years. That’s why I believe it. I don’t have anything else to add. Nothing has happened since he made that statement to change my mind."

What a plot twist! What must La Russa be thinking now? If you see a dark-haired older gentleman on the deck squeezing his head as if shopping for a cantaloupe, you know why.

Sir Chuck of Late Night

Charles Barkley will host Saturday Night Live this evening, which is kind of funny even before the acting and the sketches are revealed. In fact, there is no need to put Sir Chuck on a comedy show because all he has to do is walk into a room and everyone smiles.

The dude hangs out with Urkel and then gets a DUI... take away the DUI and that's comedy gold!

Anyway, I think Charlie needs his own show where he just sits there and tells stories. Having had the chance to hear a bunch of stories about Barkley from ex-players and former scribes that covered him, they are hilarious (and in a good way).

I wish they could all be repeated here.

You don't need me to tell you that Charles needs his own show. That's common knowledge. But if you're one of those sissies that likes proof and stuff, ask yourself this:

How many other athletes do you know that have been asked to host SNL twice?

Uh-huh.

The last time Chuck hosted the show, Nirvana was the musical guest. Check out this promo featuring the host and the band where it looks as if Novaselic is about to post up Barkley on the low block:

SNL-Nirvana outake
http://mediaservices.myspace.com/services/media/embed.aspx/m=11514968,t=1,mt=video

From that first appearance I recall Al Franken doing his Stuart Smalley bit where he made fun of Charles for not winning any championships. I also remember a walk-on by Mugsy Bogues and a sketch where Charles beat up that purple dinosaur, Barney, as if he were an overmatched ballplayer from a small African country in the Olympics.

Now that's funny.

Picking winners

Gambling is all the rage these days. Better yet, gambling on professional and amateur sports is even more popular. Just look at what they're doing in Delaware to see how much people and legislative bodies love it.

While we're at it, can the Commonwealth get some table games?

But it doesn't even matter if the state of Delaware joins Nevada to make gambling on sports as legal as raw milk. The truth is people love gambling so much that they will do it illegally even when there are legal options available.

Imagine that... people will willingly break the law even when they don't have to. It's like running through a red light while staring at the little camera thingy they put up there to stop that kind of thing.

Generally speaking, breaking the law is a bad idea. However, gambling on sports seems to be one of those "victimless crime" things. I'm not sure if that is one of those oxymorons, like "jumbo shrimp," but maybe jailing gamblers is a lot like locking up Martha Stewart for insider trading. Does it really make us safer to have Martha off the streets? Really?

Anyway, people love betting on football games a lot. They even make up variations of normal gambling like that whole fantasy football bit. Ever play that? Man, people get nuts over it. Sometimes they even act like they really are a football coach and/or general manager when they talk about their fantasy football team(s). Hell, they even utilize lean muscle mass and brain power and express their feelings into words on web sites and books about how to be a really good fantasy football guy.

Yeah, I know!

So if you can't beat 'em, join 'em. If you're looking for some help on betting on those football games this weekend, here's what I'd do if I were one of those dudes who actually does that sort of thing.

Ha! Isn't that a ringing endorsement? I won't bet my own money/gold/pelts/heirlooms on my advice, but dammit, you should.

Saturday games:
New York Jets vs. Cincinnati Bengals
Pick: Cincinnati (minus-2½)

The Jets haven’t been to the playoffs in a really long time and both teams have quarterbacks from USC. The Jets’ QB, Mark Sanchez, is a rookie. That’s why Carson Palmer and the Bengals are the pick.

Philadelphia Eagles vs. Dallas Cowboys
Pick: Dallas (minus-3½)

Certainly we’ve waxed on like crazy over this matchup all week, and the bottom line is it just doesn’t seem as if the Eagles have an answer for the Cowboys’ defense. Plus, this is a game that will take some crafty coaching acumen from Andy Reid—who believes he can come through?

Sunday games:
Baltimore Ravens vs. New England Patriots
Pick: Baltimore (plus-3½)

Losing Wes Welker is a big deal for the Patriots. Plus, there has to be at least one upset... right?

Green Bay Packers vs. Arizona Cardinals
Pick: Arizona (pick ‘em)

The line indicates that the Packers should win, but I flipped a coin and it landed on Larry Fitzgerald.

Besides that, I don’t really know what I’m talking about.

Happy wagering!

Chewing up the cupcakes

We were sitting in a restaurant on the 16th Street Mall in Denver watching the early football games and just wiling away the time before Game 3 of the NLDS when the text messages started rolling in.

“What is with those brown uniforms the Broncos are wearing?”

It was true. In some sort of tribute to earth tones, the AFL, or Al Davis, the NFL thought it would be a neat idea for the Broncos to where brown, yellow and white. It was similar to the San Diego Padres color scheme from the 1970s, only uglier and with a picture of a horse. The throwback uniforms the Broncos wore on Oct. 11 defied the notion that NFL stands for “No Fun League,” because whoever came up with the idea to wear those duds clearly had an excellent sense of humor.

But that part doesn’t matter now.

“Are you watching the Cowboys get beat by the Chiefs? Wade Phillips will get fired after this one.”

That was the jest of the majority of the text that floated in. Indeed the Cowboys-Chiefs game was showing on one of the screens, and sure enough Phillips’ 2-2 club had their hands full with a 0-4 team. The Cowboys and Phillips definitely looked like they were in trouble when the Chiefs scored a touchdown with 24 seconds left in the game to force overtime.

Miles Austin might have saved the season that day for the Cowboys based on the messages I was getting. The receivers 60-yard TD catch won it in OT and capped off a 10-catch, 250-yard effort. More notable, after the game Cowboys’ owner Jerry Jones said Philips wasn’t going anywhere…

Yet.

Perhaps that scare from the Chiefs was the kick in the rear the Cowboys needed? Including that game, the Cowboys won six of their next seven before going on a three-game winning streak to end that season in which they notched two straight shutouts for the first time in team history and knocked off the 13-0 New Orleans Saints.

Of course none of that will matter if the Cowboys lose to the Eagles in the first-round playoff game on Saturday night, but think about it for a sec—Philips and the Cowboys were on the precipice and responded. Additionally, they very well could have the hottest defense in the league headed into the playoffs.

Getting two shutouts in a row is not as easy as the Cowboys made it look.

Meanwhile, in Philadelphia the Eagles were busy patting themselves on the back during the six-game winning streak that carried them into last week’s debacle. So pleased with the way things were going the team’s brass gave coach Andy Reid a contract extension.

“This is just another statement by Jeffrey (Lurie) and Joe (Banner) to say we have the top organization in the National Football League,” Reid said.

Indeed it was something like that. After all, you can’t argue with the bottom line—Reid and the Eagles went 11-5 this year and set the franchise record for points in a season. He also has the most wins in franchise history and been to the playoffs eight times in 11 years.

That’s not too bad.

But there’s something about all those points and the 11 wins that feels a bit hollow this season. Maybe it’s because the Eagles were 0-4 against teams in the playoffs and they won just one game against a team with a winning record.

That’s not too good considering Banner has claimed his team has the best roster in all of football. Oh yes, they’re very fond of themselves with all that “Gold Standard” talk. But it makes one scratch their head and wonder why the Eagles can’t beat any good teams.

Like maybe more than once.

Good teams beat good teams. So if we’re going to define Reid’s legacy as anything it’s that he certainly knows how to plow through a schedule full of cupcakes. True, Reid has a 10-7 record in the playoffs, but seven of those wins are in the first round, while five of the losses have come in a championship game where the opponent has been legit.

Want to talk about the bottom line? OK, if the Eagles don’t win it this season, it will be a half a century—50 years—since a team from Philadelphia was the champion of the NFL.

"Maybe just too much effort," Reid said when asked about his teams' failure in the biggest games of the year.

Oh yes, the trying-too-hard argument.

Gold standard? How about the Chicago Cubs of football?

Nevertheless, the sentiment out of Dallas is that despite an 11-win season and an NFC East title, Phillips is gone of the Cowboys lose.

Reid? Yeah, he’ll be back—win or lose.

Spitting mad

There’s an old-timey saying that I’m sure you heard your grandmother or great grandmother say in a fit of frustration.

“I’m so angry I could spit!”

When you give it some thought it makes a lot of sense. Most of the time anger provokes violence, but some believe violence is the last refuge of a weak mind. So if a person cannot control themselves, yet don’t want to resort to violence, the only recourse is the most disgusting thing a person can think of.

Here comes the loogie!

I’ve been in this position before. The setting was a fifth-grade kickball game in the schoolyard at James Buchanan Elementary, where our class was in a tight game against the other fifth-grade class. But as the action got heated and recess began to wind down, the sixth graders poured out of a side door and onto the macadam. Inevitably, since they were the oldest and therefore “kings” of Buchanan Elementary, they really didn’t care that we had an intense kickball game going and strutted right through the infield en masse.

“Get off the field!”

That’s where it started and it went quickly downhill from there. One thing led to another and I was shouting down the third base line at Megan O’Brien, who was wearing a lovely cable-knit sweater (at least that’s the way I put it out there for the sake of the story). So with the intensity of the game superseded by the intensity and frustration of the argument with the sixth graders, cooler heads did not prevail.

Having grown up with a sister not too much younger than me, I learned very early on that a man never, ever hits a girl. Ever. We learn hard lessons when we’re 4-years-old and hitting girls is the one that lasts the longest…

That and lifting the seat.

Remembering an incident when I was 4 where an argument over the crayons led to a punch in the nose for my sister, I knew better. However, I wanted to get Megan and her sixth-grade classmates off the diamond so we could finish the game before the recess bell rang and we had to go inside. Instead of taking a poke at her, I gathered up the saliva in my mouth and let it fly.

Not smart.

The intention, believe it or not, was to fire off a warning shot—you know, brush ‘em back a bit so we could finish the game. The problem was my aim was a little too true and the next thing I knew Megan was running and screaming toward the recess monitor with the evidence on the forearm of her nice, cable-knit sweater.

That was the end of the school day for me.

It’s interesting how people react to spitting and specifically, spitting on people, places or things. In fact, I’ll wager that spitting on a person is worse than a punch in the nose based on reactions. Truth is, it’s a valid argument that because Roberto Alomar spit on umpire John Hirschbeck during an argument in the 1997 baseball season, he was not elected to the Hall of Fame on Wednesday.

It doesn’t matter that Alomar and Hirschbeck have buried the hatchet, but it does matter that two legacies are somewhat defined by a single incident. Alomar very well may have been the best second baseman of his generation, but he spit on an umpire during an argument and that swayed a handful of voters from validating his career.

Oh yes, it was the loogie heard ‘round the world.

Remember when Charles Barkley spit at a heckler in New Jersey, but hit a little girl instead? Of course you do. Every time Sir Chuck gets arrested or does anything controversial and they recount past slip-ups, the spitting incident always gets mentioned and is usually placed high on the list of the worst things he ever did.

Charles Barkley has been arrested for throwing a man through a plate-glass window in Florida, punching a man in Milwaukee, and for a DUI charge in Arizona. HE ALSO SPIT ON A LITTLE GIRL!

For that incident in New Jersey during the 1991 season, Barkley was suspended and fined $10,000. He also bought season tickets for the girl and her family and went on to forge a friendship with them. However, when his career was over it was that one little gob of saliva that was the blemish on his record he most regretted.

“I was fairly controversial, I guess, but I regret only one thing—the spitting incident,” Barkley said. “But you know what? It taught me a valuable lesson. It taught me that I was getting way too intense during the game. It let me know I wanted to win way too bad. I had to calm down. I wanted to win at all costs. Instead of playing the game the right way and respecting the game, I only thought about winning.”

Oh yes, the loogie can force one to look inward.

Apparently that’s what happened when Dave Spadaro, the editor of the Eagles’ web site, decided it would be a neat and compelling bit of commentary to walk onto the middle of Cowboys Stadium and drop not one, but two wet ones on the iconic logo star. Based on the video it seemed to a moment where the spitter was striking some sort of defiant stand…

You know, like that guy who stood in front of the tanks in Tiananmen Square.

Maybe if Spadaro had stood in front of a star-logoed tank or handcuffed himself to the goal posts while being beaten by men dressed in Cowboys’ garb, perhaps there would be more sympathy toward his allegiances. Instead, he issued a press release/apology on the team’s official site.

Obviously he misread the way people feel about the act of spitting and what it represents. Sure, a lot of people understood the sentiment of spitting on that blue star—especially after the Eagles were dominated by the Cowboys and had to return for a rematch in the playoffs this Saturday. But spitting? Really? Is he in the fifth grade?

Take a look:

[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MZDUYDfFGMI&hl=en_US&fs=1&]

Clearly Spadaro was attempting to rally the home team against the hated Cowboys. Why else would a person drop gooey spit on an inanimate symbol of… well, the 50-yard line? But even in this case the clownish act was greeted with head-scratching from the Eagles.

“Who spit on what?” running back Leonard Weaver said with a shrug following Thursday afternoon’s practice. “

So now, the dude representing a certain segment of the fans by standing on the star and coughing one up with a video cam in hand, did not exactly sound the bugle to charge for the ballplayers.

“I didn't even know he did it,” Weaver said. “That has nothing to do with us as a team.”

Let’s just hope he didn’t spit onto the field with a head cold.

Rocking the vote, part II

For a random hump day during the first week of January, there was quite a bit of interesting stories out there today. The Gilbert Arenas suspension is the big nation news since it very well could turn out to be the richest loss from a suspension and/or voided contract in sports history.

Actually, I don’t know if that’s a fact, but I seriously doubt any player has ever had a contract as large as the one Arenas has, canceled. Including the remainder of this season, Arenas is owed approximately $88.25 million until the end of 2014.

For Arenas sake let’s hope that he has some money in the bank because it sounds like he’s going to need it.

We’ll dive back into the Arenas mess later. For now the fact that just one player was elected into the baseball Hall of Fame casts even more bad pub on a broken system in which the BBWAA presides. Those guys could mess up a one-car parade.

There, I said it.

Regardless, it seems as if the biggest issues regarding Hall of Fame election are handing out the label of “first-ballot” Hall of Famer, which underscores certain biases members of the BBWAA possess. As I wrote earlier, there has never been a unanimous election to the Hall. In fact, the highest percentage of the vote ever received is 98.8 percent for Nolan Ryan in 1999 and Tom Seaver in 1992. That’s as close as anyone (including Babe Ruth, Hank Aaron, Ty Cobb, Walter Johnson, Connie Mack, etc.) has ever come to getting 100 percent.

The truth is some guys don’t get votes because of negligence. For instance, last year a guy named Corky Simpson in Arizona left Rickey Henderson off his ballot because… well, who knows why. However, Corky had no trouble voting for Matt Williams. Corky wrote about how he did not include Mark McGwire because of questions regarding steroids, but still voted for Williams despite his inclusion on the Mitchell Report and the investigation into steroid use in baseball.

Chances are Corky got a few good quotes from Williams when he made the trip to the ballpark, which, sadly, matters.

There is some sort of cachet to being a first-ballot Hall of Famer not amongst those enshrined, but by the writers that vote. Frankly, that’s just stupid. How can a guy not be Hall-of-Fame worthy one year, but good enough the next?

A Hall of Famer is a Hall of Famer is a Hall of Famer. You mean to say Joe DiMaggio, the proclaimed “greatest living ballplayer,” (when he was living, of course) was less of a Hall of Famer because he did not get in on the first ballot?

Either way, Andre Dawson deserved to have some company when he is inducted to the Hall of Fame next summer. In his ninth time on the ballot, Dawson cleared the needed 75 percent of the vote by just a handful. Meanwhile, Roberto Alomar, the best second baseman I’ve ever seen and the best in the Majors since Joe Morgan, came five votes away from getting in on the first ballot. In fact, so sure that Alomar would be elected, the MLB Network set up a camera and sent a production crew to the Alomar homestead to record his reaction when the inevitable good news came.

It never came.

In falling five votes short, Alomar was denied in an election in which five voters sent back blank ballots while admitted steroid user David Segui, pitchers Pat Hentgen and Kevin Appier, as well as first baseman-turned-broadcaster, Eric Karros, combined for five votes. That’s 10 wasted votes and does not include the nine votes spent on Ellis Burks and Robin Ventura.

All of those guys were nice players, but there isn’t a Hall of Famer in the bunch and if the people who voted for them don’t know that, they should not vote.

So with those 19 votes that were spent on making a point, silly politics, vendettas, or drunken dares, very easily could have been spread out so that worthy candidates like Alomar and Bert Blyleven could join Dawson.

Apparently there were several instances where the unfortunate incident where Alomar spit on umpire John Hirschbeck. Writers are holding this mistake against Alomar despite the fact that Hirschbeck and Alomar have buried the hatchet and become friends. This protest vote was made despite the fact that Ty Cobb, Babe Ruth, Cap Anson, and Juan Marichal are Hall of Famers. Among those names are men who attacked a crippled fan, punched an umpire, beat an opponent on the head with a bat, and helped foster nearly a half-century of institutional racism.

Some say without Cap Anson, baseball never would have been a sport that denied the inclusion of some because of the color of their skin.

But, you know, Alomar spit at a guy...

Nice Hall of Fame you have there, baseball.

Oh, but we’ll go through all this again next year. It will be the same ridiculous song and dance only with a few new names on the list like Jeff Bagwell and Larry Walker, both of whom are worthy.

So here’s my 2010 list:

• Jeff Bagwell
• Larry Walker
• Roberto Alomar
• Bert Blyleven
• Tim Raines
• Jack Morris
• Fred McGriff
• Barry Larkin
• Edgar Martinez
• Lee Smith

Certainly the numbers matter, but for me something Billy Wagner told me about Bagwell carries much more weight—Bagwell was the best teammate Wagner ever had, he said. Just like with Dawson, the respect Bagwell’s peers had for him matter much more than the results celebrated from an anachronistic organization.

Rocking the vote

If I were a member of the BBWAA, this would be the first year I would be eligible to vote for the Hall of Fame. Of course, I am not a member of the BBWAA for the same reason I was not in Skull & Bones.

They wouldn’t have me.

Damn progressive and forward thinking Internet.

But just for amusement purposes only, I am offering a Hall-of Fame ballot anyway. In addition, I will continue to urge the Hall of Fame to put together another voting body instead of just BBWAA members.

Anyway, here’s the list (in no particular order):

• Roberto Alomar
• Bert Blyleven
• Tim Raines
• Andre Dawson
• Jack Morris
• Fred McGriff
• Barry Larkin
• Edgar Martinez
• Lee Smith

I also considered Dale Murphy, Dave Parker, Don Mattingly, Alan Trammell and Mark McGwire. Truth be told, I had been more of an absolutist against McGwire in recent years and I still have him off the list because I just don’t know enough about his era yet.

Plus, McGwire routinely had seasons where he had more home runs than singles and that’s just weird.

So debate them all you want, but remember this—of the 26 guys on the ballot, I am now old enough to have seen all of them play. Ancient.

The thing I don’t get about the Hall of Fame voting?

Not one player got a unanimous vote into the Hall of Fame. Not Babe Ruth, not Ty Cobb, not Connie Mack, not Cal Ripken, not Hank Aaron, not Willie Mays, not Ted Williams, not Joe DiMaggio, not Mike Schmidt, not Nolan Ryan and definitely not Rickey Henderson.

No one. Ever.

Hell, Joe DiMaggio wasn’t even a first ballot Hall of Famer.

Seriously.

As stated in the past, baseball is full of stupid traditions going back to the very beginning of the game. Two of the dumbest are the traditions in which only white men could play in the Major Leagues and giving the Hall of Fame vote to the BBWAA.

At least one of them has been corrected.

So why is it dumb to give certain writers the vote for life? Because a lot of them have agendas and can’t make peace with that pesky axiom that a journalist must be objective.

Y’know, that old chestnut.

Venerable ballscribe Bill Conlin of the Daily News admitted in a column from last year that he didn’t vote for Nolan Ryan for the Hall of Fame in 1999 because, well… just because. Conlin admitted that he was making a “political statement” which is another way to say that he had an agenda. That stuff is all well and good if Conlin were voting for something political like president or city council, but the Hall of Fame?

I must admit that I’m a little excited to see who was slighted by the voting this year. I’m trashy like that.

What, Gilbert worry?

Gilbert Arenas heard the shouts long before Tuesday night’s game started at the Wachovia Center. In town with the Washington Wizards (nee Bullets) to take on the Sixers in a matchup of struggling teams, Arenas took some of the friendly advice offered by the Philly fans literally.

“Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!”

So Arenas dished out a season-high 14 assists and came one short of tying his career record.

Don’t shoot? Don’t give him any ideas.

Arenas, the loquacious and sometimes controversial All-Star for the Wizards, showed up in Philadelphia for Tuesday night’s game a day after he met with law enforcement officials regarding the incident in the team locker room where Arenas and teammate Javaris Crittenton allegedly drew guns on one another.

You know, just a couple of guys horsing around with glocks.

But the word out of Washington is that a grand jury is about to convene and a possible season-long suspension from NBA commissioner David Stern could be levied. Needless to say, Arenas (and Crittenton) probably broke all sorts of rules and laws simply by keeping a gun (or guns) in the workplace. Moreover, if Arenas is convicted of a crime the Wizards could void the remainder of his contract.

That’s four years and $90 million wiped out for a little goofing off.

 “I wanna say sorry if I pissed anybody off by us havin’ fun,” Arenas Tweeted after talking to the press following the Wizards victory over the Sixers. “I'm sorry for anything u need to blame me for right now.”

Certainly if Arenas is worried about going to jail, losing his job and a potential $90 million, he didn’t show it on Tuesday night. Along with his 14 assists, Arenas did shoot (the ball, that is) a bit, filling it up for 19 points on 6-for-15 shooting from the floor. He played especially well during the Wizards’ run in the second half where the team overcame an 18-point deficit to win going away.

What, Gilbert worry?

“It’s been easy for me,” he said. “If I believed all the stories, of course it would be hard. That’s why we’re so upbeat, because we know what’s out there is way far from the truth.”

Upbeat? How about giddy? After the pregame introductions, the Wizards’ circled around Arenas while he pretended to pick them off with his fingers mimicking six-shooters. He said his teammates asked him to do it.

After the game he apologized for that, too.

When asked if he had learned anything from the controversy, Arenas said that he had and that he doesn’t, “have any guns anymore.”

“I feel bad for the situation where I’ve taken them out of my house to get away from my kids, but I bring them to my locker and put all my teammates at risk, even though they weren’t loaded,” Arenas said. “That’s somebody’s kids, too. So I’m sorry for all the parents of my teammates.”

Another apology.

Nevertheless, while it might be fun and games for Arenas—at least externally—the Wizards’ star has been expected to contribute on the court. Just because his antics could lead to a grand jury hearing and a year-long suspension doesn’t mean that Arenas can just coast along on the court while his life is in disarray. And all this a day before his 28th birthday, too.

In fact, when coach Flip Saunders felt that Arenas was being too passive on offense he called a timeout and chewed him out.

“I thought he was very passive early in the first half,” Saunders said. “I called a quick timeout in the third quarter and told him I was sick and tired of looking at three-point shots off the dribble on transition. He apologized to the team and didn’t do it anymore.”

Again with the apology.

Though he looked like he was having fun with his teammates, the Philly fans and the media in Philly on Tuesday night, and has no worries about his interview with the police on Monday, Arenas is more than a little pensive about his upcoming showdown with Stern.

“He’s mean,” Arenas said, noting that the NBA’s commissioner is likely feeling pressure to hand out a suspension.

Oh, there are meaner people out there than David Stern. Arenas could meet a few of some real meanies if the grand jury decides his case should go to trial.

Mean and nasty. Like those Philly fans that heckled him all night.

Or maybe even his former coach. When asked about the mess that Arenas is in, former Wizards and current Sixers coach Eddie Jordan talked only about basketball.

"The impression I have him is he’s a heckuva three-point shooter, he drives to the basket and he hurt us a lot down there the last time we played them, and he’s an assassin on the floor—he’s a really good player and that’s what we have to prepare for," Jordan said.

As he walked away, Jordan thought for a quick second and said to no one in particular.

"I probably should have used another word than 'assassin.'

Smile... everyone is watching

After the news that Hollywood actor Warren Beatty allegedly slept with 12,775 women, at least according to a new book, “Star: How Warren Beatty Seduced America,” it kind of puts the whole Tiger Woods thing in perspective. A “good” day at the local Perkins for Tiger would be a slow Tuesday afternoon for Warren Beatty.

It has to be that smile Warren has, right? The smile?

Whatever it is, Tiger Woods has been big news in most circles these days. It seems as if everyone is very concerned about his marriage, which is so very nice. Who says Americans are all about me, me, me? One American, a Mr. Brit Hume of the FoxNews, went so far as to offer some spiritual advice despite the fact that Tiger, like his mother, is a Buddhist.

Oh, the advice went “viral” as they say. It’s everywhere.

Hume’s advice aside, there’s a strong chance that stories about Tiger Woods and his, um, dalliances, won’t be such big news in the future. Or, maybe depending on how one’s media appetite, Tiger-like stories will be even bigger news. That’s because TMZ, the Internet scandal sheet that broke the Tiger story as well as the story of Michael Jackson’s death, has decided to launch a sports department as well as a site specific to Washington, D.C.

The assumption is that TMZ will treat the sporting scene in much the same manner it reports on Hollywood, so don’t go there expecting game analysis or a breakdown of the statistics behind the statistics. Actually, TMZ just might treat sports and Hollywood exactly the same, meaning like it’s entertainment.

Now this development should not scare the so-called “traditional” media because they have already ceded interest in sports figures’ social and personal lives until it is time to pile on. The fact is no one cared at all about Tiger Woods’ personal life until the story exploded and/or he announced (via his web site) he would be “taking a break” from golf1.

The fact is, mainstream media never dives into the realm of Hollywood-type gossip and reportage on sporting types even though certain “affairs” are hardly a secret. Everyone hears the stories and the rumors and does nothing more than chuckle about them. There’s no judgment or Hume-like advice (at least that I know about), certain choices are simply viewed as “par for the course,” to use a phrase.

No, if TMZ is going to tackle sports the way they get after the Hollywood scene, the athletes and sports types—including the radio, newspaper, web site, and television “personalities”—should take heed. After all, as the Tiger Woods saga has proved, everything is fair game and there are no secrets of limits.

TMZ’s foray might not be just a game-changer for sports and the way it is covered, but it very well might be a life-changer, too.

Or maybe another stat on the back of the bubblegum card? Who is going to try and break the records set by Warren Beatty or Wilt Chamberlain?

____________________________________________
1 Isn’t that funny… taking a break from golf. Seriously. Normal people take a break and go play golf, but not Tiger. At the risk of sounding like Brit Hume it sounds as if “taking a break” from golf is where Tiger got himself into trouble in the first place. But whatever.

Baby, it's cold!

So we’re a little more than 48 hours into the new year and we’re stuck inside thanks to a frigid arctic blast (is there any other kind of arctic blast?) a waiting another big game to close out the season between the Eagles and Cowboys.

It’s funny how things don’t change from year to year. It was last season’s finale where the Eagles needed a perfect storm of luck with two other teams losing the early games just so the game at the Linc against the ‘Boys would be meaningful.

From there the Eagles kept winning until they got to the NFC Championship game. Until there was a little more than two minutes left in the game it looked like the Eagles were headed back to the Super Bowl.

That’s where the luck ran out, of course.

This time around the Eagles don’t need any help getting into the playoffs. This time if they beat the Cowboys in Dallas in the regular-season finale, they get the No. 2 seed, a first-round bye, and a home game to open the playoffs.

If they lose, well then, all bets are off. Chances are they might have to hit the road next weekend.

Nevertheless, it’s already been an eventful start to 2010 even before we consider the big Eagles-Cowboys showdown. Of course everyone seemed to impressed with the Flyers-Bruins game at grungy, old Fenway Park in what will still go down as just another regular-season game. Nevermind the notion of what it says about the game if it has to be removed from its regular venue and placed in another sports’ ballpark just to get an audience outside of the die hards that will watch no matter where or when the team plays.

Meanwhile, the No. 1 college basketball team in the country showed up in North Philly, kicked some butts, took a few names, and left still ranked No. 1. Yes, Kansas beat Temple, 84-52, in a game that conjured memories of the 1993 butt-kicking from Wake Forest at McGonigle Hall.

Only the air outdoors was colder than Temple this weekend.

Yes, it’s very cold. It’s dangerously cold, according to the good folks at AccuWeather. But come 4 p.m. there should be plenty of TV sets warming up things in these parts.

Watch where you point that thing

Word trickling out of The District is that Wizards’ players Gilbert Arenas and Avaris Crittenton had a standoff (literally) in the team’s locker room over a money dispute. Just a day after a blizzard blanketed Washington and a few days before Christmas, Arenas reportedly drew guns on each other.

Parking space dispute, perhaps?

“This is unprecedented in the history of sports,” Player’s Association Executive Director Billy Hunter told the New York Post. “I've never heard of players pulling guns on each other in a locker room.”

The truth is the snow in Washington provided the impetus to a lot of gun play. A few days before the Wizards turned their practice facility into the NBA version of Tombstone, a D.C. police officer brandished his sidearm during an organized snowball fight at 14th and U because, according to the story, his Hummer was pelted with snowballs.

For the life of me I can’t figure out why anyone would want to throw a snowball at a Hummer. I understand if maybe someone wanted to drill a few at the jackass driving the obnoxious ride, but not the vehicle itself—after all, a Hummer is an inanimate object...

Just like its owner.

Nevertheless, the apparent showdown between teammates isn’t the surprising part. The truth is stuff like that happens all the time only before Arenas and Crittenton decided to act like cowboys, athletes used to settle their differences with hand-to-hand combat. The strange part is that something like this happened with Washington players when the murder of Redskins’ star Sean Taylor is still fresh in everyone’s memory.

Taylor’s murder came just 11 months after Broncos’ cornerback Darrent Williams was shot and killed by gang members after an altercation broke out at a party thrown by Nuggets’ star, Kenyon Martin.

So gun play, violence and supercharged testosterone-laden atmosphere that pervades the pro sports locker rooms is nothing to make fun of. If the events of Dec. 21 went down as described by the New York Post and Washington Post, then Arenas and Crittenton can expect a long suspension.

At least.

However, if it’s the confrontation between two grown men playing pro sports for a living, well, yes, that’s funny. Take the threat of gun play out of the alleged incident in Washington and it’s hilarious.

Better yet, that type of stuff happens all the time.

Remember the time Charles Oakley threw a basketball at ex-Sixer Tyrone Hill before a game because, as the story goes, Hill wouldn’t repay a gambling debt in the proper and timely, “gentlemanly” manner? Or what about when ex-Phillies’ closer Jose Mesa attempted to drill Omar Vizquel with a pitch every time he faced him for disparaging remarks in the shortstops’ autobiography?

Then again, those Phillies teams in an atmosphere fostered by manager Larry Bowa, were always a couple of six-shooters away from turning the clubhouse into the OK Corral. Fights, threats, verbal assaults and a general nasty atmosphere were the norm. Tyler Houston was waived (essentially) for being friends with Pat Burrell; Robert Person was exiled by injury and clashes with the manager; and Tim Worrell, as the story goes, punched out pitching coach Joe Kerrigan.

And those were just a few of the run-ins with those old Phillies that did not involve Brett Myers, who nearly had his own fisticuffs with Kerrigan, the Inquirer’s Sam Carchidi, and a few teammates—not counting Cole Hamels during last November’s World Series.

Incidentally, the infamous run-in with the scribe reached a head when Myers hurled the insult, “[Bleeping] retard!” In the wake of that, Myers apologized to “retards,” but not Carchidi.

Then there was the time in 1997 or 1998 on a team charter flight where Ricky Bottalico leapt over a few rows of seats with fists flying at Curt Schilling’s head. Apparently Bottalico had grown tired of warning Schilling not to throw empty beer cans at his head and decided a few punches would solve the problem quicker.

[Note: Schilling says it was Bottalico who threw the beer cans and the legend is true, only in the reverse]

According to the legend, the famous line from the incident was when Bottalico lunged at Schilling muttering, “…I’ve waited three years to do this…” as the players and coaches rushed to the center of the plane to break up the fight.

Apparently the seat belt rule doesn’t apply to big-league charters.

Baseball, though, is known for team discord. The Red Sox of the 1970s and ‘80s were famously known not because they challenged for the pennant every year, but because of the “25 cabs for 25 guys” label. Recently, the Brewers and Giants have mixed it up in the clubhouse or dugout over on thing or another. Chalk it up to a long, 162-game season, six months of travel, and close quarters. Unlike other sports, baseball players spend way too much time together.

Still, the Bowa era Phillies weren’t at each others throats so much. They were more unified in a battle against the coaching staff, going so far as to commandeer a bus that was to take the team’s traveling party from Olympic Stadium to the Montreal airport so they could hold a players-only meeting late in the 2003 season. More of an airing of the grievances than a constructive, point-by-point search for a solution, the players reportedly decided their goals should be to win just to spite the coaching staff.

As history shows, it didn’t work out that way.

Of course a team doesn’t have to be unified in order to win. The Oakland A’s of the early 1970s won it three years in a row and they couldn’t stand each other. The 2006 Cardinals not only won the World Series, but featured a sideshow in which manager Tony La Russa and third baseman Scott Rolen reportedly didn’t speak to each other in some sort of junior high-styled spat. The 2002 Giants almost won the World Series even though David Bell, Jeff Kent and Barry Bonds allegedly nearly came to blows in the dugout during a game.

Of course any team with Schilling has to have some sort of acrimony amongst the uniformed ranks. Just look at that 1993 Phillies team and what happened shortly after Mitch Williams gave up the home run to Joe Carter. All those guys did was snap at each other in the press.

So whatever it is—money, egos, fame, jealousy, too much machismo—pro sports is no different than little league.

Just keep the guns out of it and there’s nothing a handshake and a cold beer won’t cure.