Haven't posted much this week. Well, I have, but it's one of those weeks where you hit post and everything vanishes. I know, a smarter person would save their work. But you save things of great intrinsic value. Me saving one of my blog entries is like carefully preserving a Snickers wrapper.

The sad part is, some of the entries were probably the most brilliant sports writing of this century. (You'll have to trust me on that). I also revealed who was really behind the Kennedy assassination, where Amelia Earhardt's plane went down, and who D.B. Cooper was. It was all in the notes. If I don't write stuff down it's gone.

So, let's see what has accumulated in the sports attic this week. Oops, step over that. It's what's left of Barry Bonds reputation. It's small, but you can trip over it. He did. There is Roger Clemens' credibility. You can't? Wait a minute, it's that little small package over there in the corner. Right about where the flashlight, no, wait a minute. Sorry, that's Pedro Martinez' love of animals.

The whimpering noise over in the corner? Don't mind that. It's just Michael Vick. He's had some trouble adjusting to his new environment.

(CRASH). "Belichick! Dang it. I warned you about those film cans. How many rolls of film of Tony Dungy holding a clipboard up to his face does one person need? And what's this one with the Zodiac symbol on it? You're going to have to rent a storage building for this junk. Look at this, "2007 Giants Playbook-Property of Eli Manning". Lot of good that did you. I know, I know, you'll clean up.

"Goodale. How many times do I have to tell you. Sweeping things under the rug IS NOT cleaning. Capice? And pick up all those bills off the floor. The next time you and PacMan Jones invite strippers up here maybe you'll think about how much work it was to clean up afterwards."

There's alot of busted up stuff here I don't really need. "Hi Sid, how's the ankle? You were a hockey player, am I right?" Speaking of hockey, that's Dominick Hasek in the corner holding his groin. The guy puts a bullet to the brain of my roto hockey team every year, but still I just can't get rid of the guy. That's Kerry Woods' arm. Every year it falls off, I put it back on, it falls off. Duct tape. Got to keep lot's of duct tape. Maybe that's Prior's arm? Doesn't matter. Anyway, put it over there next to the 1908 Cubs World Championship banner.

Here's a bunch of college stuff. Some contracts signed by Rich Rodriquez. Worthless. He must have written those in disappearing ink. You can barely see it now, but there is a spot on the floor where Les Miles bled maize and blue. Give him credit, he got right in there with some yellow paint and now you can't see it. Almost like it was never there.

That big steamer chest over by the door is where we planned to keep O.J. Mayo's college accomplishments. Right now we're storing them in that gym bag. I hope you'll excuse the mess in this section. Bob Knight tore the place up pretty bad before he left. See that folding chair stuck in the ceiling. I'm leaving it right there. Darn, I'm going to miss that guy.

This month my big idea was moving things around. Saves no space, but you feel like you're doing something. There's Jason Kidd. Moving him turned out to be really difficult. You wouldn't believe the amount of baggage he had. And Shaq. Don't get me started. Just the weight of all those rings, and Kobe Bryant's standing there the whole time at the foot of the stairs begging me to put him somewhere else.

Well, that's about all there is to see here. There's a used book section, but nobody wants to see that. "Howard Cosell's Guide To Charm", "Patience, the Most Important Virtue" by Steinbrenner, "Tanya Harding on Sportsmanship", and "Soccer Will Be America's Pastime by 1989" by D. Luded Euro. Sell you the whole box for $1.

I'll start writing again soon. I found the Bronze Spicy Chicken final 8 award I won in the "Next Great Sportswriter" contest. I keep it next to my autographed photo of Dirk Novitski (wait a minute, this is obviously a fake, he spelled his name 'Nowitzki').

You can see yourself out. Payton Manning and the soccer houligans were talking quietly when I walked by and wouldn't make eye contact, and Isiah Thomas keeps trying to chat up Danica Patrick.

That can't be good.