"And when they light up our town I just think, what a waste of gunpowder and sky."
-Aimee Mann "4th of July"

It started slowly. A fastball that got by, he once would have turned on. Reporters he once would have eluded, catching him coming out of a strip club in Toronto with a woman not his wife. Reflexes which once would have turned from the camera, now caught like a deer in headlights. The numbness working it's way up, until finally the ability to think and see straight was lost. A once great athlete, now a shell of himself pursuing a broom factory test pilot old enough to be his stepmother.

So it was 69 years to the day after Lou Gehrig made his famous speech that ARod, Alex Rodriquez, made his way to the microphones.

Fans, for the past week you have been reading about the bad break I got. Who knew apartment house doormen were such gossips? Yet today I consider myself the luckiest man on the face of this earth. I have been in ballparks for fifteen years and have never received anything but ever increasing paychecks and an ever decreasing sense of personal responsibility.

"Look at you poor saps. Which of you wouldn't consider it the highlight of his career just to hang with me for even one day? Sure, I'm lucky. Who wouldn't consider it an honor to have known Madonna? Also, Lenny Kravitz? What a guy. And so concerned about my wife. To have spent seven years in that wonderful little town, Seattle, and set an example the Seattle Supersonics have emulated by running as fast as they can away from there? Then to have spent the next three years with that outstanding leader, that endless bucket of cash, the best owner in baseball today, Tom Hicks? Sure, I'm lucky.

"When the Boston RedSox, Los Angeles Angels, Detroit Tigers, and Cleveland Indians, all teams you would give your right arm to beat, and vice versa, send you a gift basket of doughnuts for reasons I'm not entirely clear on-that's something. When everybody down to the groundskeepers and those boys in white coats walk up to you so concerned and ask if you're crazy - that's something. When you have a wonderful ownership team here in New York who takes sides with you when you're out doing things they would never tolerate being done to their own daughter - that's something. When you have a father and a mother who work all their lives so you can end up being on TMZ more often than Lindsay Lohan- it's a blessing. When you have a wife who has been a tower of strength and has never once registered to carry a concealed handgun (I know, my lawyers checked)- that's the finest I know.

"So I close in saying that I may have had a tough break, but I have a lot more to live for, assuming the checks keep rolling in."

Mrs. Alex Rodriquez: Keep your weight evenly distributed during the swing and make sure the trademark faces up. And you might want to consider one of those maple bats.

Brett Favre: Two words for you. Arena football. When was the last time you saw an arena football quarterback get hit? You could be making comebacks into your mid-40's.

Barry Bonds: There is a point in most episodes of Law & Order when the defense attorney leans over and, with a look of great seriousness, nods his head at the offer the DA just made. You can't see me, but I'm giving you that look. The feds don't care about Barry Bonds, they want to take down a network of steroid distributors. Give them what they want before you end up in some federal prison getting an asterisk carved into your back.

Ed Wade: Don't bother people while they're eating.

Manny Ramirez: Two words. Stub Hub.

Tiger Woods: You've got some free time. Shake up your image. I'm thinking some NBA style tattoos, body piercings, pimp up the old Buick. Get seen in public wearing that green jacket inside out with a sideways ball cap. Then go on the Golf Channel and tell them your one regret is that you'll always wonder how good you could have been if you'd actually enjoyed the game. You might want to wait until next April 1, but feel free to do it earlier if you get bored.

O.J. Mayo: Decide early on who you are and what your game is going to be about. You can be who Stephon Marbury is, or who he could have been.

ESPN: Get over yourself. The ESPY awards? Nobody cares. You're in danger of being what MTV is to music. A network about culture that forgot what its core business is.

LeBron James: Just go to New York already. The NBA will work something out. But if you do the dance of a thousand veils for the next two seasons you'll turn off the fans in Cleveland and alot of other places. Stay. Go. Just make a decision now.

Tony Stewart: Hire a weather guy. No excuse for coming in at New Hampshire when everyone could see rain was going to hit the track. All that stood between you and your first victory was not having some kid with a laptop and the URL of NOAA looking at the nearest radar. For the want of a nail...

The City of Seattle: Take the NBA's $75 million and let the Sonics go. Then look into creating an ABA for the new millennium. Eight team league to start, four overseas, salaries about half of what the NBA offers but a league bounty to go after a few big name stars. Emphasis on old school, fundamental basketball. The anti-NBA. Just crazy enough that it might work.

And finally.....To the New York Mets. Get rid of those awful black and blue caps. They symbolize everything wrong with the current direction of the team. The Mets are supposed to look like the likable alternative to the Yankees, not Brittany Spears roadies.

They say the oddest things in sports.

Changing channels I heard someone talk about how long it had been since a player had tasted victory. What does victory taste like? Chicken? Really good Gatorade?

If you're a Cubs fan it would be really smooth. It should, seeing how it's aged for one hundred years. Yankee championships taste like cigars wrapped in thousand dollar bills.

I like hearing the NASCAR announcers talk about a driver being able to smell victory. There's Dale Jr. coming into the last lap, talking to his crew chief. "Don't worry Dale, that's not the transmission, just the smell of victory. You probably don't remember it. Just give us one more lap."

The smell of defeat hangs on like Scott Boras trying to leach out the last five million in a seven year deal. Kobe Bryant probably is tired of hearing his kids ask him why the house smells like the New York Knicks.

Animals can smell fear. I'm betting the horses at the Belmont could smell Big Brown coming. They were probably rolling their eyes at each other when he came onto the track. "This ought to be good, he smells like the Mets in September".

Gene Mauch, the Phillies manager during their epic 1964 collapse, said he knew the season was lost when he looked into the eyes of his closer and saw fear. I imagine Joe Girardi looking into Sidney Ponson's eyes and seeing the Golden Arches.

Some sports images are gruesome. College coaches are fond of saying "My guys played their hearts out tonight." Imagine the phone conversations. "Mrs. Smithers, I'm sorry but we were down two touchdowns to State late in the 4th quarter and your son played his heart out. What's that? Yes, mam, I know it was a non-conference game, but your boy was a real competitor."

Most college coaches are deluded. They see things none of us see. Bobby Ray Jim Bob may have residue in the ash tray, an automatic weapon under the front seat, and a hooker in the back but somehow you know his coach will say "I looked in his eyes and saw a young man who needs athletics to put his life back together." Just once I'd like to here the coach say, "I looked in his eyes and saw "Law & Order" reruns. I wished him well and sent him home."

Then you have the phychic broadcaster. "I can feel the momentum changing, Bob." I'm skeptical, because it seems like they always say this right after some team has run off eight straight points. There may be one or two who can actually feel momentum shifting. I feel sorry for them. Their social lives have to be a nightmare. "I was out with Linda last night and suddenly I felt the momentum shift, so I dropped her off at the curb and went home."

Some poor guys can feel the electricity in the air. It's a little known fact that #### Vitale once threw himself on top of Duke coach Mike Krzyzewski during warmups of a Duke-Carolina game when he felt too much electricity in the air at the Dean Dome. Unfortunately, it was just accumulated static from Mike Shulman's scalp.

Finally, who are these guys who play for "pride". "No, no, you keep the $7.5 million I'm owed this year, I'm playing for pride." Does this mean there others who play because of deep seated self-loathing? "Mike, in the 4th quarter we were down 18 and I just hated myself so bad I threw myself under Tank Johnson and prayed the end would come quickly."

Gotta go. I smell victory. Or bacon. I get confused sometimes.

We never had this problem with Wilt and Jerry West. We also never had freestyle rap. Don't know what they would have done in 75', but I imagine it would have gone like this:

SHAQ
"Theme From Shaq"

Who's the big man rhymin' quick
That's a sex machine to all the chicks?
SHAQ!
Ya damn right!

Who is the man who would get a ring
For his brother Kobe?
SHAQ!
Can you dig it?

Who's the cat that won't cop out
When there's Celtics all about?
SHAQ!
Right On!

They say this cat Shaq is a bad mother
SHUT YOUR MOUTH!
I'm talkin' 'bout Shaq.
THEN WE CAN DIG IT!

He's a complicated man
Who Kobe ratted out to his woman
GOT THE SHAFT!

Got more rings than the scoring machine...
Got more rings than the scoring machine...
Shaq!
Shaq!

Four...


KOBE AND THE PIPS
"Midnight Train to Phoenix"

Kobe, proved too much for the man
So he left the wife he'd come to know
He said he's goin' back to find what's left of his game
The game he left behind oh so long ago

He's leavin' on that midnight train to Phoenix
Said he's goin' back to find a seat for his behind
I won't be with him on that midnight train to Phoenix
I'd rather he live in his world and live without him in mine

He kept dreamin' that without me he'd be a star
But he sure found out the hard way that dreams don't always come true
So he's pawned all his hopes and he even sold his thirty-two nicknames
Buyin' a playoff ticket back is the only way he'll have a finals view

Said he's leavin' on that midnight train to Phoneix
Said he's goin' back to find some words that rhyme with behind
I'm won't be with him on that midnight train to Phoenix
I'd rather he live in his world and live without him in mine

Oh he's leavin' on the midnight train to Phoenix
Said he's goin' try to find a way to score from the line
Next year he'll watch me, from a recliner somewhere in Phoenix
I'd rather he live in his world than live with him in mine

Get off the boards, get off the boards, get off the boards
On the midnight train to Phoenix
He got to go
He got to go
He got to go

It was extraordinary.

A GM, J.P. Ricciardi of Toronto, publicly bashing Adam Dunn of the Reds on a call-in show. Not something you see every day. If there is an opposite of tampering, this was it.

Here's Ricciardi on Dunn:

"We've done our homework on guys like Adam Dunn and there's a reason we don't want Adam Dunn."

"Do you know the guy (Dunn) doesn't like baseball that much? Do you know he doesn't have a passion to play the game that much?"

Should Ricciardi have been that candid with a Blue Jays fan? Of course not. It did nothing for the Toronto Blue Jays. And agents of future free agents probably didn't admire his candor.

But this was a rare glimpse into how big league general managers view players. And even though Ricciardi apologized afterward, it raises some interesting questions.

Since, as Dunn pointed out, Ricciardi doesn't know him, where did the damning evaluation come from? Here's a hint. Dunn has only played for one organization in his career. The Cincinnati Reds.

Who defended Dunn, a free agent after this season, afterwards? Not Reds GM Walt Jocketty.

"I'd rather not comment. You look at his run production. But it's not my position to give a scouting report on him. I like him as a player. He's someone we're going to have to decide on. He's still young, so that's not a factor."

Nothing about how hard Dunn plays, or doesn't. Not a word about his passion for the game, or lack thereof. Dusty Baker did manage to describe Dunn as a "gentle giant".

How does Ricciardi know Dunn "doesn't even like baseball that much"? Ricciardi's information comes from somewhere. And while Dunn has every right to be mad at the Blue Jays GM, he should be more concerned with who in Cincinnati believes the Reds slugger isn't that into the game.

Who are these "players like Adam Dunn"? Are we talking about power hitters with an all or nothing approach to hitting? Players with low batting averages and good on base percentages? Physically large players? Players with questionable attitudes?

Who knows? But it is safe to say there are a lot of teams who will be interested in a player like Adam Dunn when he becomes a free agent. Just not the Blue Jays or Reds, apparently.

Here's the balance sheet on Dunn:

Four straight seasons at 40 home runs and at least 90 RBI, should make five this season.

One hundred fourteen walks per 162 games and 181 strikeouts.

A lifetime on base percentage of .381.

A range factor in left field substantially above the league average.

Twenty-seven years old, and no noticeable decline in stats.

Relatively healthy throughout his career.

What's not to like?

It comes down to this. Dunn easily fits a stereotype. The big swinger who goes for broke.

If you believe home runs are the big guns in an offense's arsenal, and walks are as good as hits, you have a place on your team for Dunn. If you think a strikeout is a momentum stopping offense killer and that baseball is about putting the ball in play, you hate Dunn.

Think that anyone over 6'1" is a lumbering Neanderthal who isn't hustling and doesn't care about the game, or that quiet equals disinterested and you have a reason not to spend on Dunn. Or, maybe, to hope nobody else does and you can bring him back to the Reds at a discount.

You can make a case for or against Adam Dunn. J.P. Ricciardi has made his decision, and I'm guessing the Reds have. But before they publicly bash Dunn or give him luke warm support, they ought to consider that someone will sign him in 2009. It might even be a team that comes to Cincinnati or Toronto in a key series.

Payback is everything they say.

People throw the word thug around too loosely.

In discussing the NBA, the word thug is actually a sort of short hand. It refers to players (mostly, or entirely) African-American who don't exactly spend their off days signing autographs at the local children's hospital. Ask people what the league's problem is and they will drop the "t" word.

But a thug, in the more traditional sense, is someone who bullies other people in order to have their way. Who steps outside the bounds of propriety with intimidation and threats.

Like the thugs in the NBA front office.

Today we find the NBA demanding $1.4 million from Tim Donaghy, the ref who traded inside information to gamblers. This comes shortly after Donaghy filed papers alleging widespread misconduct by league officials and executives.

The NBA doesn't need $1.4 million. This is a sport where Kwame Brown makes $3.9 million a year for single digit mediocrity.

I seriously doubt the NBA ever spent a fraction of $1.4 million they claim to have sunk into investigating Donaghy's charges and corruption in the ranks of officials. The league has pretty much turned a blind eye to most anything referees have done over the years.

Joey Crawford challenges Tim Duncan to a fight one season, and is back calling crucial playoff games the next. No problem. The Sacramento-LA playoff game in 2005 that smelled worse than a fixed prize fight? Never looked into. A college study that found patterns of point spread manipulation late in games? Denied as faulty methodology.

If the league didn't conduct a serious inquiry, what's the $1.4 million request for? As thugs do, Daniel Stern's goons in suits are trying to shut up someone who knows too much. In this case Donaghy. And send a message to any of the league's other officials to keep quiet or risk financial ruination.

Actually, it's $1,400,750. The NBA issued a separate demand for $750 to pay for the shoes the league provided Donaghy. See, that's another thing about thugs. They tend to be petty and try to rub people's noses into the ground to make a point.

Then there is Seattle.

Daniel Stern's personal touch of thuggery was his direct involvement in trying to extort a free arena from the taxpayers of Seattle. "Hand over the money or we take your team." So, the Sonics are a big part of the league's history with some of the most loyal fans in the sport?

It means nothing.

Stern believed he could bully and threaten Seattle into handing over the keys to a new arena to the Sonics new ownership, with minimal financial exposure by the new owners. New owners who just so happened to be from Oklahoma.

Now what were the odds? The league approved as the new owners of the Sonics a business leader in Oklahoma City who was active in trying to get the NBA to locate a franchise there.

Coincidence? No, a message. The message being the league was going to be given a free building or would move to Oklahoma, lease or not. The NBA is now in court trying, in a heavy handed, thuggish way to rip the Sonics away from Seattle before the arena contract says it's time to go.

There is a line I like in an old Woody Guthrie song called "Pretty Boy Floyd the Outlaw". It says, simply, "Some will rob you with a six gun, and some with a fountain pen."

The Stern gang won't shower money on strippers, or get stopped at 3 a.m. with residue in the ash tray and automatic weapons under the front seat. But make no mistake about it, the real thugs in the NBA are on Fifth Avenue in New York.

And it's time for the NBA owners to do something about them.

Greatest players in each sport. Twenty seconds to think. Ready set go.

Odds are many of you named Ruth in baseball, Michael Jordan in basketball, Jim Brown in football, Gretzky in hockey, Pele in soccer, Tiger Woods in golf, Pete Sampras and Martina Navratilova in tennis, and Dale Earhardt in NASCAR. OK, throw in Secretariat in horse racing with Willie Shoemaker along for the ride.

Miss anyone?

Most of it is conventional wisdom which changes over time. But is it right? And if these guys are number one, who is number two? And who on that list makes a good claim at possibly being the best?

Baseball. Barry Bonds wrote himself out of this spot. Who can say what he's guilty of? Who can say what he isn't? Ty Cobb? Madison Avenue hasn't invented the PR firm which could reform his image. Not much power, either. Don't talk to me about Alex Rodriquez. We don't have that much time. Ted Williams? Not a complete player. Hank Aaron? Wagner, or a man who might well be the best ever, Nap Lajoie?

So, who's in second? I'll take Christy Mathewson. Before Ruth came along, Mathewson made New York fall in love with baseball. Mathewson set all kinds of records, but more than that gave baseball respectability with the upper class (and the chattering class-the media). Quite possibly the best pitcher of all-time, a master of control who never stood taller than in the spotlight of the biggest games. Erudite, largely a cipher, and the coolest customer of them all

Football. People get sentimental about Unitas, and he was the first great TV quarterback. But not as good as Elway. Jerry Rice is Cal Ripken. Joe Montana the definition of a professional. Lawrence Taylor a force of nature. Maybe Manning or Brady? Before it's over that argument will be made for one or both.

I'll go with #### Butkus. Taylor had more talent, but Butkus was football. If you ever get a chance to watch one of his games on video, keep an eye and an ear open. Hard to describe, but a Butkus tackle sounded like a car wreck. Forward momentum ceased. Strong men flinched. Butkus and Brown had the hearts of lions.

All that aside, it always bugs me that Terry Bradshaw's name isn't higher on these lists. The man worked hard to harness enormous talents and won Super Bowls. The Steelers without Bradshaw would not have been any where near successful. Put aside the laughing image. This was a great, great quarterback.

Basketball. Russell for all the banners in the old Boston Garden, Chamberlin for how he changed the game. Jabbar for the sustained excellence. Bird and Johnson, linked forever in time as competitors and showmen. All were great.

I'd throw two other names in, along with a qualification. I don't believe Jordan was the best. Maybe not even in the top three. I've seen Julius Erving play and Doctor J. would eat Jordan's lunch. Heresy aside, the best all-around player the game has seen may be Oscar Robertson. He had it all. Scorer, tremendous assist man, solid rebounder, tenacious defender. If not the best, then certainly no slouch at #2.

Hockey. Gordie Howe and Bobby Hull were tremendous scorers. Rocket Richard maybe the most glamorous player ever. Too many goalies to name.

This is easy, though. It has to be Bobby Orr at #2, maybe even #1. The pure excitement of Orr rushing out of the Boston zone into open ice is perhaps unmatched in sports. Fifteen thousand people catching their breath at one time. Pure magic. Skills rivaling Gretzky's from a defenseman. Hard to explain to anyone brought up on today's game. There may be another Gretzky. There will never be another Bobby Orr.

Soccer. A subject I know little to nothing about. I don't put Beckham in Pele's league, however, and someone who knows more history might even suggest two or three better. Pele dominated his sport in the way Ruth did baseball for a time.

Golf. Palmer or Nicklaus. Toss a coin. I'd take Nicklaus on talent. If they somehow could be matched in their prime I'm not sure Nicklaus wouldn't have beaten him if the played just once. Over a stretch Woods is better, but he never had other great players to press him the way Nicklaus did.

Tennis. I suppose you're supposed to say Rod Laver, who may have been the best. I'd go with Bjorn Borg. And if I had to have someone go out and win one match, not sure that Jimmy Conners wouldn't find a way to win. The women's side of the coin is much clearer. If not Navaratilova then Evert.

NASCAR. I think we forget RIchard Petty all too easily. Behind the image o####ood natured man in retirement is a record of unparalleled excellence. Earnhardt had the advantage of being around when the rest of the country discovered stock car racing. Petty was there at the beginning of the climb and won on guts and smarts.

Horse Racing. Secretariat may not be the greatest horse of all time, but he had the greatest film clip, pulling away from the field by what seemed like miles. Man of War, though, could easily be the best. What I wouldn't give to have seen them race.

Jockeys? I'll put one name in. Pat Day. Here it may be sentiment on my part, having seen Day ride and admiring his work for years. He perfected what is simply known as "the Pat Day ride", always knowing exactly when to make his move. Was he the best? I don't know, but he's the best I ever saw.

Number two is not a bad place to be. We don't remember number two, but we can always argue number one. It part of what makes sports so much fun.

"Let's do something, even if it's wrong.." Roy Drusky

Something must be done!

And so it was, and so Willie Randolph joins the ranks of the unemployed. And the question you have to ask, the only one that matters, is whether the Mets are better off.

Absolutely, positively, well, probably not.

Because the problem is not Randolph, but General Manager Omar Minaya. The man who assembled the defective machine which failed to deliver a pennant last year or even the hope of one this year. A team with no head or heart.

And no bullpen.

Make no mistake, keeping Randolph wouldn't have changed the situation. Randolph was Gamelin, in charge of the French Army of 1940. On paper he had an edge, in the field, alas, a different story.

Back in the back of the pitching staff, behind Johan Santana and John Maine, stands a fire brigade of arsonists. A bullpen that has yielded 25 home runs. And a surprisingly weak rotation. Grim indeed is the question Nelson Figueroa or Claudio Vargas is the answer to.

Minaya, and not Randolph, rolled out the duct tape which binds this fetid assemblage. It seems he has a rolodex somewhere of every past prime pitcher in the universe. The height of this depth plumbing approach was four horrendous starts by Jose Lima in 2005.  Seventeen innings, 25 hits, 19 earned runs, 10 walks, 12 strikeouts and four losses.  Pregnant women who watched those games will have children who spend their lives flinching at the sound of bat contacting ball.

The signing of Pedro Martinez, for which Minaya has been widely hailed, has been a mixed blessing. The Mets tied up over $52 million in payroll to procure the services of a pitcher widely known to have a bad arm. It paid off in one good season, much less so in three others where the team's rotation and planning have been disrupted by his presence and absence from the roster.

Minaya's other acquistions?  Carlos Delgado. A study in decline. Carlos Beltran. A player who is probably not up to the unique pressures of playing in New York City.  A past his prime Luis Castillo. The dreadful Jorge Sosa who, if one man can cause another to lose his job, more than anyone did in Randolph.

The John Maine trade has to go into the plus column. Xavier Nady for Oliver Perez is starting to look a net loss. Moises Alou, an aging illusion. The loss of Heath Bell, Matt Lindstrom and Dan Wheeler from the bullpen has been a source of constant grief, and likely cost a pennant last year. Billy Wagner is the classic blessing and curse.

Mostly, though, the Minaya Mets are less than the sum of their parts. A team which finds a way to lose, the double play not turned, the weak grounder with two out and men on in the late innings. It is a team no manager could win with.

Was Randolph to blame for not lighting a fire under a listless pile of kindling? Probably. Should he have held pitching coach Rick Peterson to account for the team's pitchers failing at inopportune times? Absolutely.   Should he have found a way to get through to Jose Reyes?  Of course.

But did Randolph deserve to twist in the wind for weeks while Minaya vacillated and the Wilpons schemed?  And does it make sense to replace Randolph with one of his coaches?

Jerry Manuel won't fix the Mets. Nor will anyone else. It is not a time to hope for miracle comebacks, but a time to gut the interior of a badly damaged house and start over.

Without Omar Minaya.

If I understand the logic correctly, the Lakers can't come back and win the NBA finals because it's never been done before. In other words, nothing is possible until it has happened at least once.

Maybe not this time. As much as I detest the Lakers, this could be the year history is made.

Commissioner David Stern, whose credibility as a sports czar is now a rather large notch below that of Vince McMahon of the WWE, got his dream matchup. Celtics and Lakers. Raise the ancient banners, pump up the volume on the hype, pray this is the year the finals TV ratings slide is reversed.

One small problem. The Celtics aren't the Celtics anymore, and the Lakers are just a West Coast version of the Cleveland Cavaliers. So anything could happen, from LA rolling over and playing dead to the Celtics losing three in a row.

How could it happen?

The Celtics were 12-8 entering their matchup with Los Angeles. Round one they went up 2-0 on Atlanta and needed seven games to take down the mighty Hawks. Round two, they barely escaped a game seven one man attack by LeBron James. Next came the Pistons. Tied up after a 19 point blowout in Detroit, they righted themselves to win in 6.

The team all and sundry want to hand over the NBA title to is 3-8 on the road going into tonight's game at Los Angeles. If the dysfunctional Lakers can get their act together, and there is no reason they can't, they will go back to Boston needing only to win two road games against a talented, but not great team.

The Celtics have been held under 80 points four times during the playoffs and are perfectly capable of disappearing for long stretches of game time. When they are good they are very good, and when they are bad they are awfully bad.

What would a Celtic collapse look like? It would see Bryant scoring 40 plus in two of the three games. It would include a serious imbalance in rebounding in favor of Los Angeles. And it would likely include Paul Pierce disappearing in one of the two home games, the way he did in Game 3 in LA.

All of which are possible.

This is the series we learn where Phil Jackson really stands in NBA coaching history next to Auerbach and Holtzman. This is where we discover if the inner demons within Kobe Bryant have voices loud enough to drive him to carry his team on his shoulders three more nights. And it may be when we get solid evidence of how much truth there is to rumors of NBA manipulation of officiating.

Do I think the Lakers will stage a miracle comeback? Probably not, maybe even 80% odds against not. But I do think the series will go back to Boston and that game 6 will be tight. And that a Game 7 battle of two not so great teams would be a coin flip.

Anything can happen. Now we'll see if it does.

Several, actually.

I love baseball, study baseball, spend hours on hours watching it. But some things I don't understand.

If a starter's arm will fall off after 100 pitches, why waste so many between innings? These guys are throwing 90 pitches plus another 50 between innings, albeit not at full speed. So another 20 late in the game are going to result in injury and ineffectiveness? Absolute nonsense.

Why does nobody pitch high in the strike zone? If you miss by three inches trying to put the ball under the batter's belt the ball is now right in his wheel house. Put it three inches above his shoulders and he probably isn't quick enough to make solid contact.

Why not hit the first pitch if it's the one you want? "Money Ball" is a good concept, but how you implement it depends on the situation. If the pitcher is aiming the ball over the plate to get ahead in the count, there are going to be times when the appropriate response is to smoke the ball. And it never hurts to keep pitchers and catchers off balance.

If Willie Randolph is a dolt who needs to lose his job in 2008, and was a genius in 2005 when they won 97 games, at what point did he get stupid? Was a head injury involved? Did he wake up in the opposite of a Holiday Inn and forget everything he knew? Or was he not that smart when the team was winning and the Mets front office has just now noticed?

Why do teams give the ball so often to their fifth starters? With off days in season there are plenty of opportunities to skip that spot, but teams keeping running out guys who are one step from AA. If there was a baseball version of the glue factory, most of these guys would be sent there. Want to win? Pick a rotation, stick to it, and skip #5 at any and every opportunity.

If it is important for teams to carry twelve pitchers to gain match up advantages in late innings, doesn't logic dictate it would also be a good thing to have an extra bat on the bench to turn around the situational pitcher? In which case why doesn't some team go back to 10 pitchers and spend serious money on fastball eating bench players?

Suppose relief pitchers are right. Suppose those cheesy little goatees are intimidating hitters. Who are the psychologically impaired batters who tremble at the sight of poor grooming? I want the name of the hitter who goes to the plate, looks out at a bad case of 5 o'clock shadow and waves helplessly at three 85 mile and hour fastballs.

While we're on the subject of relievers, what's with the entrance music? Welcome to the jungle? What jungle? It's a baseball game! Actual lyrics. "If you've got the money, honey, we got your disease"? What does that even mean? Are they saying closers are infected male prostitutes?

What of all the dedicated followers of fashion who wear their pants down over their shoes? I suppose it is supposed to look cool. What it actually looks like is an old man playing ball in his street clothes at a company softball game.

Who do the umpires work for? Not the people who wrote the book on the strike zone. Today's umpire can't be spoken to, can't have dirt kicked in their direction, can't position themselves to call the actual strike zone, can't hustle to get a fair/foul call right. The pre-1980 umpires would have chewed these prima donnas up and spit them out.

Finally, what will we have to do to be rid of the DH? Steroids are a problem. The designated hitter is an abomination.

Every day NBA commissioner David Stern reminds me more of Richard Nixon.

Deny, deny, and deny. Absolutely no other officials were involved, we are told. Donaghy is a liar. The league doesn't influence officials. No serious investigation by the league, just blanket denials.

And yet..

If you ask NBA fans if the league favors certain teams, whether refs tip the outcome of games, and do they give too much latitude to star players, the answer would have be yes. Without hesitation. And that is the same answer you would have gotten before anyone ever heard of Tim Donaghy.

So what's the truth?

Stern rightfully reminds anyone who listens that Donaghy has an interest in saying whatever will minimize his upcoming sentence for wire fraud and gambling by use of interstate commerce. Beyond that, how credible are his claims the NBA wanted to extend a playoff series (supposedly the Kings and Lakers in 2002) to enhance gate receipts? Teams don't make or lose money in the NBA on the strength of a single playoff game.

If the refs are in the tank for the Lakers, the memo obviously hasn't gotten around in the Celtics-Lakers series. And Kobe Bryant did not even once get 10 free throw attempts in the San Antonio series.

Open and shut case of wild accusations and innuendo, right?

You could say that if the league's officials were pure as the driven snow, and if Stern had been as interested in what happened on the court as what kind of bling the players wore on the sidelines.

Cases in point-

In the late 90's a ref made a statement in a tax fraud investigation that as many as 15 officials had used the same South Carolina travel agency to manufacture phony travel receipts. The officials traded down tickets from first class to coach and pocketed the difference without reporting it as income. Three refs plead guilty to tax charges and 14 settled out of court.

For years there have been reports of refs spending too much time and losing too much money in Las Vegas and at the track.

Mike Mathis, an official who retired in 2001, cited Michael Jordan's game clinching shot in Game 6 of the 1998 NBA finals after pushing off to gain position as an example of star treatment and bad officiating run amuck. He also criticized the league for hiring officials and their supervisors based on an old boy network instead of qualifications.

For all his arrogance, Mavs owner Mark Cuban has documented time and again how bad NBA officiating is. You can't help believe, going back through playoff games involving Dallas, that Cuban's criticism had the effect of making things worse on his team.

In 2007 Joey Crawford, a talented official who has the habit of interjecting himself too much into games, called a technical foul on Tim Duncan for laughing at him from the bench. According to Duncan he then challenged him to a fight and was suspended for part of the season and the playoffs. Despite his outrageous conduct, he's back calling games this year.

Finally, you have Donaghy's allegation refs cooked the outcome of Game 6 of the 2002 Lakers-Kings playoff game. Before Donaghy said a word, that game was a legend of bad officiating. The Lakers went to the line 15 more times than Sacramento, and in the 4th quarter went 21-27 from the aptly named charity stripe. Then there was the famous sequence where Kobe Bryant shoved and elbowed Mike Bibby, which resulted in a foul on Bibby.

If there is nothing to any of this, how do you explain that game? Incompetence? A bad night? What about the years of Jordan's chronic extra step not being called? Crawford's arrogance? Cuban's video tapes and reams of documentation of missed calls? Mathis allegation?

The truth is out there, and it probably is this. The NBA's officials are too much a fraternity, and like many frats this one is running amuck and then closing ranks when someone notices their misdeeds. They schmooze with players and coaches, settle scores with their whistles, and are probably susceptible to unqualified supervisors passing along comments from league officials about players, teams, and type of fouls.

There is no grand conspiracy. Probably no more than a couple of refs actually have shaved points, but also probably more than just one. Likely the league does favor teams from New York, Chicago, and Los Angeles because ratings points come from the major metro areas, and ratings points are what drive the size of TV contracts. And nobody, and I mean absolutely nobody, thinks star players don't get away with murder.

The time has come for the league to look hard at itself before Congress does, or worse before a bigger scandal takes places which has a major impact on the credibility of the pro game. And it's time for David Stern, the biggest obstacle to a full accounting and reform, to step aside.

Can my roto team be cursed?

Or is it "accursed"? I like accursed better. It conjures imagines of King Lear sitting in front of his TV with Tom Glavine pitching. Old Lear is thinking, "Aye, a quality start tis' mine." Then down goes Glavine and it's all "Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! rage! blow! You sulphurous and thought-executing fires."

That's what I said when Glavine's elbow gave out against the Cubs. Or something like that. I couldn't hear from the roaring sound in my ears. I think it was the ocean. Or my brain melting.

I had just picked him up Glavine on waivers after another owner dropped him. So there I was with the newly acquired Glavine, feeling like Dillinger after a bank job. And there is Tom Glavine grimacing in pain and been lead off by assorted men with worried looks.

I talk to the TV. It doesn't answer.

Then I read the news today. Oh, boy. Albert Pujols is going on the DL. The heart of my team's lineup carved out with a rusty spoon. Down with a calf injury. Who gets calf injuries? You don't go to work and here somebody say, "Hey, too bad about Herb, his calf is acting up and he'll be out of work for three weeks." No, your boss screams at him on the phone to drag his sorry self to work and he does.

Does anyone have Pujols' phone number?

Like they say on TV ads, "but wait, there's more!"

Rafael Furcal's back resembles that of a 72 year old man. First he was out for a week. Then 10 days. Then the DL. Now, there are dark rumors of a horse van pulling up in front of Dodger stadium and attendants talking about "putting the big fellow down". LA says he may be back in July. They don't say which year.

Then there are injuries to the psyche. Every year I resist picking up Ian Snell of the Pirates for two reasons. First, he isn't tall enough to be a power pitcher. Second, I don't like the name Snell. What the heck, somebody always picks him up and he does well. Until this year. Snell couldn't find the plate if Vanna White stood beside it and did that little sideways thing she does with her hands on "Wheel of Fortune".

I'd draft Vanna White. Granted, for all the wrong reasons. Where was I?

Then there is Tom Gorzelanny. Tom, if you're reading this, just let me say I know what's going on here. After I suffer through 8 starts, an 8.67 ERA, 2.01 WHP I finally cave in and give up. Then you come back today and beat the Nationals. And Jason Bergman, who I replaced you with.

This obviously has gotten personal.

J.R. Towles, we hardly knew ye. Hope you are enjoying Round Rock. Send a postcard.

Has anyone seen Dave Roberts? I understand he's hitting off a tee. If I had been drafting for a tee ball league I'd be sitting in the cat bird seat.

No more Garciaparra. Please, no more. Fare thee well Bill Hall. Best wishes Barry Zito. Send a heating pad to Odalis Perez for his arm, a knee brace to Omar Vizquel.

And the name o####ood mental health provider to the poor roto owners who suffer with you.

Greensboro is not a big league town. We almost got there once, completely screwing up a chance to bring the Minnesota Twins south. One of the local restaurant guys rallied the locals against a very minor restaurant tax that would have financed a stadium and we lost out.

But I have gotten around to a few games over the years and seen some good players. These are the best I've seen so far.

Catcher-I want to say Choo Choo Coleman as a joke (an original Met I saw in the minors when I was much, much, younger). Truth is I haven't seen any great catchers, just a number of good ones. Pencil in Mike Lieberthal of the Phillies. In Martinsville, Virginia when he first signed he was so small he looked like he should be holding a lantern and standing in someone's yard. But he already had a great arm and good mechanics.

First Base-Mark McGwire. Jeff Bagwell was a better player and hitter, with a violent uppercut you never forgot. But McGwire was a monster. In Pittsburgh I saw him hit a liner over the shortstop's glove by maybe two feet that ended up striking the outfield wall with such force it sounded like a shell impacting a target. Whether he earned that power on the level is for someone else to decide.

Second Base-Joe Morgan. When you saw Morgan play it felt like you should give the ticket money directly to him. Inspired pure panic among pitchers and catchers with his base stealing. Not a great hitter, but smart enough to turn himself into a threat. Craig Biggio was a pleasure to watch, an honest worker who played with everything he had. But Morgan was a show.

Shortstop-Derek Jeter. Saw him in the minors. Wouldn't sit behind first base with him playing short. Made something like 50 errors in one season. He was already a polished hitter, though.

Third Base-Cal Ripken. Saw Ripken hit a line drive home run late in his career, at the stage when he was being worshipped in Baltimore. I never joined that particular cult, but you appreciated the moment and the crowd reaction to him. You sensed he was smarter than talented, getting alot of bat speed from an unusual stance. Never understood why he isn't managing somewhere today.

Left Field-Has to be Bonds. For all the criticism, I really am glad I got a chance to see him play. Forget the home runs. He may have been the best hitter since Ted Williams. And when he came to bat you knew exactly what it was like to have been in the crowd and seen Babe Ruth. There was an electricity every time he came to the plate, like when Gretzky touched the puck in hockey. Saw Stan Musial in an old-timers game, still had that sweet swing. If I was a GM and could have built a team around one hitter it might have been Musial.

Center Field-Cesar Cedeno and nobody close. I was fortunate enough to see Cedeno before the injuries and off field problems robbed him of his gifts. Leo Durocher, who tended to exaggerate, said Cedeno could have been in a league with Willie Mays. I don't disagree. He had such great speed he just ate up ground in the outfield without looking like he was running. On the bases he was explosive. The very definition of the 5 tool player. Eric Davis was another from the same mold. Loved to watch him, even if he did nearly hit me with a line drive into the upper deck one night in Baltimore.

Right Field-Hank Aaron. Aaron was regal. Baseball royalty. It wasn't so much exciting to see him as it was an event. I saw him toward the end of his career in Atlanta, but you could still see the pitchers coming at him like an ordinance disposal technician approaches a bomb. The best outfielder I've seen, in terms of his throwing arm and fielding technique, has to be Dwight Evans. The funny thing is, I saw him in Winston-Salem when he was probably 20 and he already looked like a big leaguer. If I wanted to teach someone how to be an outfielder, I've have them look up Evans.

Pitcher-There is alot of really bad pitching and I feel like I've seen most of it. I'm the guy who always shows up when the #5 starters face off. I'm going to say Mark Mulder, mainly because he was so good the day I saw him pitch. It's a shame injuries have kept him from achieving his potential.

One of the joys of baseball, maybe more than any other sport, is the memories. The game you see might be good or bad, but if you luck out and see a great player you have something to hold in your mind's eye for a lifetime.

Baseball, you gotta love it.

(Reporter) Big, tough race out there today, disappointed?

(Big Brown) Let's see, I win the race and I get a bunch of carnations around my neck and a picture with a short guy on my back. Afterwards I go back, have a nice meal, and sleep in a barn. Then I end up getting put out to stud. If I have this figured right, all I'm out is the photo.

(Reporter) So you weren't trying?

(Big Brown) You saw the race.

(Reporter) Did you give it your all?

(Big Brown) Which part of "you saw the race" is escaping you, Einstein? Tell, you what, stamp on the ground three times if you can hear me. Next question.

(Reporter) Did your trainer guaranteeing a Triple Crown put any pressure on you?

(Big Brown) Oh, no (rolls eyes). You're out there with eleven other great athletes and your trainer is in the press saying they're all on their way to becoming dog food. When we were loading up you could cut the tension with a knife.

(Reporter) Did that affect the outcome?

(Big Brown) I'm on the rail to start, always a tough spot. The bell goes off and I'm boxed in. It just so happens the horse in front of me slows and "accidentally" kicks me. I blame Dutrow.

(Reporter) You come back from that and are in third on the far turn. Desormeaux says he asked you for a move and, I am quoting here, realized "I had no horse."

(Big Brown) He said what?

(Reporter) "I had no horse".

(Big Brown) Why that little (bleep). I drag his dead (bleep) around these (bleep) tracks and he says "I had no horse". What did he think he was riding, a (bleep) big (bleep) red dog?

(Reporter) You were lightly excercised between the Preakness and the Belmont. Did that have any effect on you?

(Big Brown) It ain't about that at all. It's easy to sum it up if you're just talking about practice. We're standing here, and I'm supposed to be the the first Triple Crown winner in 30 years, and we're talking about practice. I mean listen, we're here talking about practice, not a race, not a race, not a race, but we're talking about practice. Not the race that I go out there and die for and run every race as if it's my last but we're talking about practice man. How silly is that?

Now I know that I'm supposed to lead by example and all that but I'm not shoving that aside like it don't mean anything. I know it's important, I honestly do but we're talking about practice. We're talking about practice man. (laughter from the media crowd) We're talking about practice. We're talking about practice. We're not talking about the race. We're talking about practice. When you come to the track, and you see me run, you've seen me run right, you've seen me give everything I've got, but we're talking about practice right now. (more laughter).

(Reporter) Big Allen Iverson fan?

(Big Brown) Why do you ask?

(Reporter) What about the quarter crack in the front hoof that wasn't patched until yesterday?

(Big Brown) Talk to Dutrow about that. I just show up and run the race. I'm not here to make excuses.

(Reporter) What did you think when Desormeaux pulled you up?

(Big Brown) "I had no jockey".

(Reporter) Meaning?

(Big Brown) I can see I'm not the only one in this room with a brain the size of a walnut.

(Reporter) Several people track side said your manners weren't good on the way to the gate and the heat appeared to be affecting you?

(Big Brown) My manners now is it? Well, excuse me for not prancing all the way out in 88 degree heat with darn near 100% humdity. You people think this is so easy, give it try. My gear is in the barn and I'm sure we can get Kenny boy to hop on your back and beat with a whip for two minutes while you're running as fast as you can.

(Reporter) What about the future?

(Big Brown) I'm outta here, man, I'm outta here. Talk to Dutrow.

 

Ten reasons I'm for the Celtics in the finals.

I suspect Kobe's tattoos wash off.

I've got Boston in the "all sports" pool for 2008.

Now and zen I don't like Phil Jackson.

There are no lakes in LA, but there are Irishmen in Boston.

Because Ray Allen made the greatest escape from the Northwest since D.B. Cooper.

The Kwame Brown and picks for Pau Gasol trade was a put up job by the NBA.

To avenge the San Antonio Spurs.

Because Kevin Garnett hung in through all those years in Minneapolis.

I'd like to see Boston win 4-0 on a day Beckett doesn't pitch.

To see what all the writers and announcers will say after it's over.