Hello sports fans.  I'm sitting out on the balcony of the Vatican, having my morning espresso, going over the sports page of L'Osservatore Romano.  Let me tell you, I don't like what I see.

The Catholic Church started out with ten--ten!--schools out of 64 on the Road to the Final Four.  So far, 8 have been knocked on their donkeys like St. Paul and are lying in a ditch next to the breakdown lane.  We have only two teams in the Sweet 16.  This is not good.

"Nothing but net!"

Let me tell you, Villanova or Xavier better make it at least to the Final Four, or there will be hell to pay.  Literally.

Mark Few

I'm thinking, for example, of Gonzaga.   Every year, the Zags are the darlings of March Madness.  This year--eliminated in the first round!  I've got a call into the Archdiocese of Spokane.  This guy Mark Few--the head coach--as far as I'm concerned he's leftover tuna noodle casserole about to be scraped into the cafeteria garbage bin of college basketball history.  And there won't be any nun standing by to tell me to take my tray back to my seat and clean my plate because there are point guards starving in Bosnia-Herzogovinia.

Emeka Okafor

Here comes Francis Arinze, the Cardinal from Nigeria.  He's been completely insufferable since he picked UConn to go all the way in 2004.  Big deal, he knew Omeka Ekafor, or Emeka Okafor, or however you spell it.  Wants to be called "the patron saint of Hoops".  Puh-lease.  Makes me want to gag.  Thank God we have St. Blaise, the patron saint of people who get things stuck in their throats.  How ya doing, Frank--nice to see you too.  Yeah, see you in the gym later.

St. Blaise: "Try a throat lozenge."

Blow it out your shorts you overgrown ball boy.

I'm looking at my sheets and wondering where I went wrong.  Davidson beat Georgetown in the second round--I sure as hell didn't see that one coming.  Screwed up my whole Midwest bracket, and the entire game I was throwing everything I had at the TV.  Leaning into the low-post to help the Hoyas get better position, setting invisible moving picks to get G-town open looks.  Then Arinze walks in and says "It won't do you any good--the game's on tape delay."  What a wise-guy.  All because he figured out how to work the DVD player in the Vatican rec room first.

I'm pretty sure I'm still the Pope, the direct descendant and living embodiment of St. Peter.  They were eliminated in the first round, too.  No wait--that was St. Joseph's.  And St. Mary's.

If Kansas beats Villanova, and West Virginia beats Xavier, I'll have nothing to watch but boring half-court NBA basketball until next fall.

Remember to check Baltimore Catechism and see if suicide is still a mortal sin.

MIAMI.  As Dorrell Wright threw the ball high into the air above the court at American Airlines Arena here following the Miami Heat’s 98-96 win over the Indiana Pacers Saturday, his teammates released an audible sigh of relief.

Wright:  “Whew–glad that’s over with.”

“I hope we never have to go through something like that again,” said Dwyane Wade, referring to the team’s fifteen-game losing streak, a franchise record.

Dwyane Wade:  Hobbled by a silent “y” in his first name.

“Don’t be so sure,” said Shaquille O’Neal, the team’s towering center who has been slowed by an inflammation in his hip.  “I think we’re in for changes of catastrophic proportions.”

O’Neal:  Low-post force, rapper extraordinaire, actor, and now environmental activist.

O’Neal is referring to global warming, which is expected to raise sea levels, contibute to aggravated psoriasis in housepets, and submerge sand-filled ashtrays in hotel lobbies throughout the Miami area.

“I don’t like to make excuses,” O’Neal said, “but me and my teammates have the hottest logo in the NBA, and it’s getting harder to compete with teams from Northern latitudes like the Timberwolves and the Trailblazers.”

Peter Jacobs, a reporter for NBA Today, pointed out that the gradual increase in the earth’s temperatures seems not to have affected the Phoenix Suns, whose nickname is derived directly from the luminous celestial body at the center of the solar system, and who are in first place in their division.  “They’re in the Western Conference,” O’Neal reminded him, “where certain guys think they’re so cool,” a veiled reference to his former teammate Kobe Bryant of the Lakers.

Cool!

Global warming is ranked as the number one threat to human civilization among college graduates, ahead of long lines in coffee shops and mismatched socks.  Among respondents with high school degrees, global warming slips to fifth place behind “Location of truck keys” and “Whose house we gonna watch the Super Bowl at?” among other concerns.

“No way–you didn’t call ‘Glass’!”

O’Neal, who has played on four NBA championship teams, has become increasingly restless watching his team flounder while he is confined to a starring role on the ABC TV show “Shaq’s Family Challenge”, a weight-loss reality show.  He turned his attention to environmental concerns after winning former vice president Al Gore’s Nobel Peace Prize in a game of H-O-R-S-E.

Copyright 2008, Con Chapman

We do so many defensive drills in practice that we do them in our sleep.  Man, I come home putting the press on my woman, denying her the ball.  It's sad, man.

                                               
                    Boston Celtic Kevin Garnett, The Boston Herald

It was 7:28, and I had my game face on.  I put the last glass in the dishwasher, dried my hands with a terry-cloth towel, and headed for the den. 

Kevin Garnett

As I walked in, I saw my wife Sarah "Sally" Christopher, a two-time Volunteer of the Year for the Uphams School PTO, fiddling with a dried flower arrangement on the armoire.  Just like her, I thought, acting blase right up to the moment of tipoff.

"Are you going to be in here or the living room?" she asked as she turned around.  Like I'd tell her where I was going to set up.  "Can't say," I said as I picked up the local paper and nonchalantly flipped through the high school sports section.  The second hand on the Pottery Barn Scottish Terrier clock on the wall ticked up towards twelve.  We looked each other in the eyes, bent at the knees and extended our arms for balance.  Bring it on.

That is just so precious!

As the clock struck 7:30, we lunged for the remote and, after a brief scramble, I emerged with possession.  "Celtics vs. Kings," I said as I pointed and clicked at the big-screen TV.  "You're going to have to go watch 'The Queen' someplace else."

"That's okay, I'd rather spend time with you," she said calmly as she picked up a Martha Stewart Living from the wicker magazine basket at her feet and took a seat on the couch.  I wasn't fooled--I know a zone defense when I see it. 

The Celtics took a 25-17 lead as the first quarter ended, and I decided it was time for dessert.  "I'm going to go get some ice cream," I said as I got up from my chair.  "You want anything?"

"No, I'm fine for now, thanks," she said, not even looking up from a photoessay on homegrown herbs.  She had learned the game in the hardscrabble Presbyterian living rooms of her youth, in a gritty suburban neighborhood where you didn't get to watch H.R. Pufnstuf unless you were quick to the dial, and willing to throw an elbow at your big sister if you had to.

H.R. Pufnstuf: He's your friend when things get rough.

I scooped myself a bowl of Haagen-Dazs strawberry frozen yogurt--I needed to be ready to run if she decided to switch to an uptempo game in the second quarter.  I turned and walked back to the den and saw--Sally with the remote in her hand, clicking for the Lifetime Channel!

Lifetime Disease-of-the-Week Movie:  "I just hope you live 'til the next commercial, sweetie."

"Hey, what gives!" I said with a pouty look that I learned by watching Miami Heat coach Pat Riley. 

"Gimme the remote, dammit!"

"You snooze, you lose," she said as she watched a mother lovingly stroke her daughter's forehead.

I flopped down in my chair as if I'd just been pulled from a game for a missed slam dunk.  "What's the Disease-of-the-Week?" I asked, knowing that someone would get sick and die before I'd see another transition basket.

"They don't know yet," Sally replied.  "They think it might be Osgood-Schlatter's Disease."

Osgood-Schlatter's Disease

"What a crackpot diagnosis that is!" I said with a snort.  "Everybody knows Osgood-Schlatter's primarily affects adolescent boys . . ."

"Primarily," she said without taking her eyes from the screen.

I decided to slow things down and work the shot clock.  It is virtually impossible for a woman to watch the Lifetime Channel for more than ten minutes without breaking into tears.  Sure enough, just as they wheeled the girl into the operating room for emergency surgery, Sally began to sniffle. 

"I'm going to go get a tissue," she said as a touching commercial for instant cinnamon-flavored cappucino (yuk) came on.

"You getting a cold?" I asked solicitously, if sarcastically.

"Keep up the trash-talk and you can sleep on the couch," she said.

As soon as she was out of the room I set up on the block in front of the cable box and switched back to the game--45-44 Kings, halftime.  The Boston Celtics dance team--who go by the name 'The Boston Celtics Dance Team'--took their places on the historic parquet floor of the TD Banknorth Garden to shake some obligatory male-fan-base-pleasing booty.

Red Auerbach is spinning in his grave.

"Oh for the love of God!" Sally exclaimed when she returned as she saw the rock-hard abs that are standard equipment on the underemployed aerobics instructors who succeed in the fiercely-competitive world of NBA fleshpot entertainment.

"I thought you liked dance," I said with an innocent look on my face.  "Sure, they're not the Boston Ballet, but then who is?"

Co-Defensive Players of the Game

Sally plopped down on the couch as Rocco and Oakie, our two cats, came into the room, looking for a warm lap to sit in for the rest of the night.  I don't like to brag, but they do favor me--maybe because I'm such a sensitive guy.

Sure enough, they both hopped up in my chair and settled down after doing that circling thing that cats do to find the best spot.  Rocco took the high lap up by my waist where he could get his chin scratched, while Oakie took the low post on my ankles, which were resting on a footstool.

"They sure love you, don't they," my wife purred with a chocolate-eating grin after our little tableau vivant was set.

"What's not to like?" I asked rhetorically.

"Oh, I don't know," she said with a thoughtful look on her face.  "Maybe the way you hog this!"

As she spoke she stole the remote from my hand.  I was stuck--I couldn't fight my way through the double-team.  "Illegal defense!" I yelled.

Deviated septum:  Before, and after.

"You're not going to get that call in a close one," she replied coldly.  "The refs aren't going to win the game for you."

Sally switched back to Lifetime, where the ailing daughter was seen walking out of the hospital and throwing away her crutches.  "Mom!" she cried.  "I'm fine--it was just a deviated septum!"

"Oh, honey, that's wonderful!" the mother exclaimed.  "Now we can go shopping for scented candles and potpourri again."

"Okay, it's over," I said.  "Can we switch back to the game now?"

"Let's see what's on the House and Garden Channel."

Copryight 2007, Con Chapman

BOSTON.  May 12, 2006, is a day which will live in infamy in the history of the Boston Celtics.  On that rainy Friday, the team announced that it had ended its holdout and would join the rest of the NBA in the twenty-first--actually, make that the twentieth--century, and hire dancing girls to entertain fans.

Red Auerbach, who coached the team to eight straight championships between 1959 and 1966 and nine overall, was the last obstacle to the team's decision to abandon its Puritanical attitude towards bare midriffs and shaking bootys on the parquet floor.  "I've always been against it," he said, "and I'm still against it." 

Rich Gotham, the Celtics' Executive Vice President for Sales and Marketing, tried to smooth things over by telling reporters "We always call [Auerbach] and ask what he thinks."  Just like you used to ask your parents if it was okay to get a head start on responsible drinking by having a beer when you were sixteen.

When Red broke into the NBA in 1949 as coach of the Tri-Cities Blackhawks (three cities later, the Atlanta Hawks), there were no such things as dancing girls, or EVP's of Sales and Marketing.

Red's resistance was worn down, or ignored, and so on Saturday, June 10th, tryouts will be held at the Celtics' training facility in Waltham, Mass., for roster spots with the dance troupe that the marketing gurus have creatively dubbed the "Celtics Dancers".  Apparently the name "Shamrockettes" raised legal issues.

Red said he had "nothing against the concept, but there should be a little tradition involved."  So here's a suggestion--let the girls dance, but make them wear a badge of shame.  After all, if sex isn't forbidden or at least a little furtive, is it really any fun?

Did you honestly want to see Ward and June Cleaver in the same bed on "Leave it to Beaver"?

Boston has been known as a city where eroticism has been frowned on since the days of the Pilgrims.  When Hester Prynne got knocked up by Arthur Dimmesdale in Nathaniel Hawthorne's "The Scarlet Letter", she received the first team-logo gear in American history, a patch of fabric bearing the letter "A" for "Adultery" that she had to wear on her breast.

 The phrase "Banned in Boston" became widely-known as a result of efforts by the New England Watch and Ward Society to keep burlesque shows and other fleshy entertainments out of town.   The designation became the literary equivalent of the Good Housekeeping Seal of Approval in reverse--if your book, film, etc. wasn't racy enough to earn the ban, it probably wasn't worth buying.

So when the Celtics Dancers hit the floor for their first timeout--full or 20-second--this fall, let them each wear a letter (or maybe a number) to signify their particular preference or specialty.  When your kids ask what they mean, tell them it's kinda like Sesame Street.

For years Bostonians have been telling out-of-towners that they should eat at Durgin Park, a frisbee toss from the statue of Red Auerbach in the fashionable Quincy Market area.  The restaurant's slogan was "Your grandfather and perhaps your great-grandfather dined with us too!"  What they don't tell you is that your male ancestors also flirted with your waitress, who is eligible for Social Security and wears support hose.  It's kind of a local hoax we play.

When Hooters tried to open up a restaurant across the street from the Celtics' home court a few years ago, the mammary-themed eating chain drew protestors known historically in Boston as "bluestockings"--that is, high-minded types who butt in whenever a moral outrage is about to occur.

Where the hell were they when Rick Pitino traded Chauncey Billups?

Copyright 2006, Con Chapman

GREENSBORO, North Carolina.  NCAA officials today smoothed Duke University's road to the Final Four by awarding the Blue Devils the overall no. 1 seed  shortly before tipoff in its ACC tournament final against Boston College.  Duke was also given first, second and third round byes in an effort to ensure that they reach the finals of "March Madness".

Myles Brand, NCAA President, said the decision was made to maximize television ratings of the national championship game, which have lagged in recently years with the Monday night success of The WB's "7th Heaven" and TNT's "Wanted".  "There's just something about Duke in the Final Four," Brand explained.  "If they're not in it, I probably wouldn't watch myself."

Other schools have complained about favoritism towards Duke in the past.  "Shane [Battier] got all the calls," said Gilbert Arenas, who played for Arizona in the 2001 championship game against Duke.  "One of the refs asked for his autograph, and another asked me to take his picture" with the Duke star. 

Duke haters have created web sites such as TruthaboutDuke.com, and conspiracy theorists blame the school, founded on tobacco wealth, for the spread of lung cancer and the clubbing of baby seals.

Under the package offered by the NCAA, each Duke player will receive a Rolex watch if the team wins its Elite Eight matchup, and a Cadillac Escalade if they advance to the finals.  Various other prizes, including the Nobel Prize in medicine and the Pulitzer Prize for outstanding musical composition, would be divvied up among the players if they are crowned national champions.

Head coach Mike Krzyzewski was offered $40 million to switch to the NBA's Los Angeles Lakers in 2004 but decided to stick with the school where he has won three national titles.  "I was told that Kobe Bryant swears in the huddle," he said at the time.  "As a coach of impressionable young men, that's my job." 

Krzyzewski, known for his sideline temper, is affectionately referred to as "Coach K" on Duke's web site because the school's sports information department is afraid of misspelling his last name.

Copyright 2006, Con Chapman