NFL: If Jim Zorn can teach Jason Campbell to throw left-handed, then his hiring makes sense.

NHL: Sadly, if you ask me what's been going on in hockey lately, I'll say players are purse-snatching, Sidney Crosby's still injured and some guy almost got decapitated by another player's skate. That's about it.

NBA: Word is the Knicks are shopping Zach Randolph and Eddie Curry. They should send them to the Lakers for an autographed copy of "Fletch Lives," and send Gregg Popovich a wheel of Jarlsberg cheese, to enjoy with his whine.

NBA 2: Watched "Little Children" with Kate Winslet yesterday. Steve Nash should have won an Oscar for his role as the child molester.

Golf: "A tradition unlike any other...January commercials for April's Masters."

Books: Read my brief review of Deadspin editor Will Leitch's new book: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/bn-review/spotlight
.asp?z=y&cds2Pid=17617&linkid=1111344

Sportswriting: I think it's official: Bill Simmons has completely crossed over. When he first arrived at ESPN early this decade, he provided a unique perspective -- the fan's perspective. It was something of a public trust. We could relate to him (or, I could anyway) because he rooted for teams that sucked. Now his teams are all successful and (this is the capper) he actually planned to spend the Super Bowl after-party hanging out with Brady and Gisele, whom he knows through mutual friends. Um, what? Who can relate to this? Sorry, Bill, but you've lost the public trust. ESPN needs to start over here. They need to replace Simmons with a writer whose teams mostly suck and who'll never get invited to hang out with celebrities. In short, they need to replace him with me. And then, as soon as Vanderbilt wins a bowl game (which should happen in the next 10-25 years), they should replace me with someone else. Say, a sportswriter from Cleveland or Seattle?

NASCAR: This is only the 50th running of the Daytona 500? Perhaps by the 75th I'll understand the attraction.

MLB: My question is not for Roger Clemens or Brian McNamee, but for Clemens's wife, Debbie. If it's true that McNamee injected her with HGH, it stands to reason that she knows that McNamee injected her husband as well, and that her husband will be lying to Congress. If he does that, he might be facing jail time, which will not only ruin the family's reputation, but make holiday plans a bit dicey for the foreseeable future. Given that, I'd love to know," What advice, Debbie, do you have for your husband in advance of tomorrow's hearing?" Really, if she knows he's lying, and she knows the consequences, then what's that say about her?

Apropos of nothing (?): God makes 'em and he matches 'em.

College hoops: I wrote about this a few weeks ago in my blog, and zero commenters were good enough to leave their thoughts, but does anyone really expect Memphis, a team that shoots under 60 percent from the foul line collectively, to go undefeated this season? That's like expecting a football team to go undefeated when it can't make field goals from more than 45 yards. Eventually, your weaknesses are going to be exposed.

Earlier in the year, when Kobe Steak had his shot blocked by Manu Ginobli, and  immediately followed through and whacked Ginobili in the face, the NBA suspended him for one game, and rightly so, because my naked eye told me he meant to whack him. But now a similar situation has arisen, but this time my naked eye tells me that Kobe didn't mean to whack Marko Jaric of the Timberwolves. I place myself in Bryant's situation and he looks like he's trying to box out in mid air, and keep Jaric away from the ball, which, to anyone who's played basketball, is actually a normal reaction. Nevertheless, he's been suspended for tonight's game versus the Bucks. The victim of his own track record? Probably.

Excerpts from Bode Miller’s next press conference – further proof that he’s willing to say what most of us are thinking (?)

• "I can’t believe nobody has killed O.J. Simpson yet. I mean, where is HIS Mark David Chapman?"

• "I think Serena Williams has mastered the Kentucky Tuck. She’s built like a man, bro."

• "Lindsay Lohan and A.J. Soprano are the same person. Have you ever seen them in the same place? Yeah, didn’t think so."

• "I think I’d like to party with John Daly’s wife. Guess I’ll hafta wait till she’s outta prison."

• "Everyone knows Kobe Bryant was guilty. He could score 150 points and he’s still a ####."

• "Dude, Michelle Wie is totally hot. Is she legal? Well, she should be."

• "Bro, of course they're pushing Lindsey Jacobellis on you, saying she's hot. It's marketing, dude. She and Gretchen (Bleiler) are the only snowboarders who wouldn't beat you in a hotdog-eating contest."

• "No, I don't like the French either."

• "Isn't that Shroud or something in Turin? Yeah, I'm gonna bring that back, wrap it around my shoulders. Forget that other jazz."

• "Shaun Alexander, yeah he's soft. I've seen bongs take harder hits and remain upright."

• "I had a couple pulls this morning. What's your point?"

• "No, dude, racecar driving is NOT a sport. Maybe if they drove drunk."

• "Who do I think's gonna win? The Steelers, bro. I may be dumb, but I ain't stupid."

         My relationship with basketball has run hot and cold. When I was younger, it was my favorite sport, both to watch and to play. I’d shoot jumpers for hours on end, alone, just me, the ball and a 10-foot rim. The presence of a net, be it cotton or chain link, was no consideration, because I’d happily chase those makes that didn’t go swish.

          Meanwhile, the fate of the Georgetown basketball team had a profound effect on my life. I attended John Thompson’s basketball camp for many years, and half my family graduated from Georgetown, so any Hoya defeat cast a pall over the homestead. When that unnamed school in Philadelphia beat Pat Ewing and Co. in 1985, I truly thought my life had ended. Luckily, fate intervened, and I remained alive to witness the Red Sox’ World Series collapse in 1986.

After that second heart-imploding experience, I developed a particular contempt for Mets fans who went to Villanova -- a demographic that is larger than you might expect.

Nowadays, however, my contempt for those fans seems like a distant memory. After many years wincing at the mere mention of his name, I now hope that Rollie Massimino has retired to some low-humidity climate, where he’s healthy and happy. (OK, maybe just healthy.) My point is I don’t hate anyone in basketball anymore. And that lack of hate stems from a disheartening development: I fell out of love with the game.

          In the somewhat irrational world of sports, hate is the yang to the yin of love. I hate the Yankees because I love the Red Sox. I love the Steelers and so hate the Patriots. If hate seems like too strong a word, well, you’ve never ground your teeth during a Notre Dame-Boston College football game, or considered whether Yankee fans have sold their souls at the crossroads, along with Robert Johnson, Jimmy Page, and Carson Daly.

          Unfortunately, when it comes to basketball, there’s no longer any give and take. I fell out of love with the game…and out of hate.

Mind you, this wasn’t a sudden plunge, attributable to one particular player, team or incident. Rather, it was a steady decline, attributable to two gradual developments: The deterioration of my own basketball ability and the evolution of the present-day game.

I broke my leg when I was a sophomore in high school, and never rehabbed it properly. Thereafter, my interests shifted to reading and writing. And believe me, that was no loss to the basketball world.

But basketball, at all levels, has suffered since I first fell in love with the game.

Nowadays high school players go straight to the pros, and yet have no concept of the game’s fundamentals; college rivalries have no time to develop because players leave early; and the pro game revolves around clearing out one side of the court, and then taking your man off the dribble.

          As recently as college I would argue vehemently that professional basketball players were the best athletes in the world, that the combination of requisite skills – strength, speed, stamina, hand-eye coordination, jumping ability, proficiency at both ends of the court (so long as your name isn’t Rodman) – separated basketball from other professional sports.  And I still believe that. Nowadays, however, you won’t catch me arguing about it, because these skills are only exhibited in rare spurts. When half the players are standing around the court, waiting for Kobe Bryant to take Rip Hamilton off the dribble, then I’m no longer marveling. I’m yawning. And I don’t argue about sports that put to me sleep.

          One of the reasons that basketball bores me is the absence of rivalries, particularly in college basketball. Where are the Ewing-Mullin matchups, the Georgetown-Syracuse hackfests? They’re nowhere, of course, because no one stays around long enough to hate each other. Sure, you can say that you root for the school, and not the player. But how boring is that? Besides, how much love or hate can a guy engender in one or two years, before he ships off to the pros? I pay attention to the names of college basketball players like I paid attention to the names of my substitute teachers.

          There was a time when I loved Georgetown basketball, while hating their rivals. Ewing, Reggie Williams, Charles Smith, Alonzo Mourning, Dikembe Mutumbo. Those guys played four years of college ball, and I followed their careers like a day trader tracking the NASDAQ. Heck, even Allen Iverson hung around college for two years, which was long enough for plenty of St. John’s and Syracuse fans to hate him. And, in turn, for me to hate them for hating him. It was lovely.

But the state of basketball has changed forever. Players go after the money as soon as they can, and I can’t really blame them. At the same time, can you blame a fan for falling out of love…and out of hate? Nowadays, I don’t love or hate anything about basketball. I’ve become the worst thing of all – largely indifferent.