Lets just talk for a moment, sports aside. Lets say that you were caught running a deep-rooted drug cartel out of your lovely little two bedroom apartment and were promptly evicted from your place.

What once was a comforting roof amid a family-friendly neighborhood is now nothing more than a lost memory, a remnant of your old ways.

With no house and a tattered record, an aunt, cousin, or good buddy goes out of their way to welcome you into their home and try to help you get back on your feet. They don't owe you anything, especially given what you did to get put on the streets, but they offer you a hand out of love.

They give you a room, a warm bed to sleep in, food to eat, and don't make you pay rent. You get to save some money while you find a new place that will extend a lease to a wayward soul with a criminal record.

How grateful would you be for that friend or relative? Pretty thankful, right?

During your free stay at their home, you would probably run some errands, make the trips to the grocery store, take care of the dishes after dinner, maybe even throw in a load of laundry or two while you are playing with the dog.

You would do many things to pull your weight and give thanks for probably the biggest favor you will ever receive. We agree on that, don't we?

Which brings me to my point about all the hoopla surrounding Manny Ramirez's Minor League Comedy Tour, one that began Tuesday evening in Albuquerque, New Mexico.

The biggest story - or disturbance, depending on your opinion - regarding Ramirez's "rehab" assignment is the fact that he is even being allowed to play ten games in the minor leagues prior to the culmination of his 50-game suspension.

Is it right? Is it fair? Why does he get to play in a Los Angeles Dodger sponsored affiliate before he can play for the Dodgers? If he is suspended by Major League Baseball, why is he allowed to play for a team that sends a cut of its revenues to MLB before his suspension is over? Why should he be given the luxury of getting into game shape before he sits out his 50 games? On, and on, and on ...

Personally, I really don't care. The only guys that really matter to me are the men who are currently wearing the uniform of a Major League club. And, of course, the clean prospects who are working their way up to the big leagues.

But the other guys? The users? I'm not really that interested in what they do while they are suspended. Go rock climb in Rome. Doesn't matter to me.

Is there something fundamentally askew with the MLB rule that allows Manny to play in these minor league games? Yes, there absolutely is. It's like putting a six-year-old on a thirty-minute time out, but letting him play after twenty minutes of solitude because he didn't kick and scream in the corner.

It's a ridiculous rule. It's so asinine that I'm not going to work myself up thinking about it.

But what I do have a problem with, is how Ramirez spent his Tuesday evening with the Albuquerque Isotopes. Ramirez didn't play a game with the Isotopes or spend an evening with the fans.

No, Manny played four innings, got his two at-bats in, and then was gone quicker than he came. After playing his four innings, Ramirez was out the back door, signing a couple autographs before hopping in a car and bolting from the media before the end of the game.

I don't care if Manny Ramirez says one word to the media while in Albuquerque. Hell, I wouldn't.

But what Manny certainly ought to be doing, is sticking around for the duration of the ball game, and then some.

He should have played his four innings, and then hung out with the other minor leaguers for the last five. He should have spent those five innings talking with the hitters, giving them two hours of total access to ask any question a kid would want to ask about hitting to one of the greatest hitters to ever play the game.

He should have spent the other five innings coaching. He should have paid attention to the other minor leaguers' at-bats, and then talked to them about pitch sequence and approach when they came back in the dug out.

He should have had steaks and beers delivered to the clubhouse after the game - on his dime - and sat around with the rest of the guys telling them what life is like in the big leagues.

For all of Ramirez's faults, he has a reputation of being a tireless worker. He should have sat around with the boys, enjoying a rib eye, explaining to them exactly what it takes to not only get to the big leagues, but also stick there.

He should have talked to them about all the fun you have in The Show, but also the professionalism and dedication it takes to taking care of your body and being ready to perform.

You don't think those minor league players would have been hanging on every story and every line? That would have been like Bring Your Dad To School Day in the second grade. Those words would have actually made a difference.

You could argue that Manny should have gotten to the ballpark early, and stayed late to sign autographs for all of the fans that want them. That would have been a nice gesture, but I'm not going to say that he has to do that. Hey, if he wants to say thanks to the people who pay his salary and support him, that's up to him.

But it's not up to him to give his time to his current teammates. He owes that to them. He's walking into their yard, taking the at-bats and outfield reps from a young kid who could use them to develop and chase a dream, all while he is suspended for testing positive.

In my opinion, the biggest travesty with steroid users is not that they cheated the game.

What doesn't sit well with me is that there are hundreds of minor league players who are working like hell to get to the major leagues and would give anything to have a job in the big leagues, but don't get it because there are cheaters who are keeping their job through artificial enhancements. That's the biggest disgrace of it all.

Steroid users don't cheat baseball; they cheat minor leaguers out of an opportunity.

Manny owes time and humility to these kids who are blindfolded and are trying to find their way to the top. Manny could have a profound impact on the future of some of these players, and it is now his duty to contribute to their success by offering his knowledge and experience.

Shoulda, coulda, woulda ...

What are some of those old sayings about being thankful, making an impact, and giving back?

Yeah, well lets see it. There's still time.

Teddy Mitrosilis is a staff writer for Around The Majors. He also writes for Bleacher Report. You can reach him at tm4000@yahoo.com.

I thought time only flies when you are having fun, but apparently that beauty of an adage isn't entirely true.

As it turns out, time also flies when you don't care. Seriously.

The Los Angeles Times reports that Manny Ramirez is tentatively scheduled to join the Dodgers' Triple A affiliate in Albuquerque, New Mexico, next Tuesday for the beginning of a four-game series. According to the report, Ramirez will then play a three-game series with Los Angeles' Single A Inland Empire club before being set to rejoin the Dodgers July 3 in San Diego.

Over the last two years, I have developed a conveniently dark, comfy place for baseball's steroid users in my heart, one that is more suited for REM than RBI.

True, I have to confront sleep apnea in my personal defense cocoon, but at least I don't have to pay any attention to reports (Mitchell), lists (the infamous 102 remaining names), and prescriptions (pick one).

So, naturally, I dealt with this week's New York Times report claiming Sammy Sosa tested positive in 2003 for performance-enhancers - wow, a shocker - the same way I have handled Manny's absence from Los Angeles.

"Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz ... "

And let me tell you something. If you haven't tried this tactic, you are missing out. It's great!

Sure, it is going to be fun to see Ramirez back in the lineup and his dreds frolicking through the leftfield air as he skips and turns and twists and hopscotch's his way to a fly ball, but only because he is an entertaining baseball player, not because he is coming back from a suspension.

Heck, I may even make my way down to San Diego to watch it all happen. You never know.

Manny has been relegated to this type of minimal importance in my baseball life, and I'm better for it. Why? Because I actually got to open my eyes to the rest of the Dodgers roster in his absence, and follow some guys that are truly entertaining to watch, without being pricked with a dirty needle.

Since Manny got bounced by Commissioner Selig's drug testing policy in early May, the Dodgers have the best record in the National League (23-15) and have increased their lead in the National League West from 6.5 games to 9 games over the second-place San Francisco Giants.

How has it happen?

Lets just call it a collective effort.

And for the record, all stats from here on out are from May 7th to the present, or what I like to refer as Great Lent for the Dodgers - i.e. their official fast from Lord Manny. Okay, here we go ...

Orlando Hudson still looks like the best signing the Dodgers made last off-season, gobbling up any ground ball hit to second base and strolling the dugout like he's continuously connected to a special Red Bull IV drip. He's hitting .284, and continues to find himself on base and in the middle of seemingly every late-inning rally.

He has grown on me thicker than Jonathan Broxton's sideburns, and has become my favorite Dodgers player to watch.

I thought Dodgers GM Ned Colletti over-valued Casey Blake at last year's trade deadline, giving up a potential star in catcher Carlos Santana as part of the package sent to the Cleveland Indians, but I have it to give it to Colletti for pulling the trigger at the deadline and for Blake pulling the trigger at the plate.

Blake is hitting .364 with 5 homers and 1.020 OPS, and the Dodgers aren't nearly the same club without him.

If you haven't noticed him, don't feel bad. The only thing that really stands out about him is his beard. But that's a good thing. For once, Hollywood is putting substance above style.

James Loney? He's hitting .285 and playing a solid first base, although his .384 SLG is disappointing. The Dodgers have expected more power than that from him, but hitting coach Don Mattingly still believes it is going to come for Loney, so that's good enough for me.

Matt Kemp is teasing all of L.A. with his .338 batting average and .391 OBP while roaming centerfield. Kemp is the Dodgers' version of Adam Jones, but he just hasn't broken out yet with such flair.

See all the fun we are having sans Manny? And that's just the hitters.

(I didn't forget Andre Ethier or Rafael Furcal; it's just that their bats have been tanning in Malibu during Manny's absence.)

Chad Billingsley and Randy Wolf have been the stucco of the Dodgers pitching staff that leads the National League in ERA (3.57). Hiroki Kuroda is working himself back into the mix after missing more than a month with a left oblique strain.

Clayton Kershaw continues to take steps forward in his development, while Ramon Troncoso and Ronald Belisario do the heavy lifting in the bullpen leading up to Broxton in the ninth inning.

Earlier in the season, I openly wondered whether the pitching staff could hold up, or would the mirrors eventually shatter into a million pieces. Still early it is, but the pitching staff has exceeded my expectations.

And that's the beautiful thing about finding the necessity to move on from fallen stars and fake heroes. Your world is opened up to good players who can entertain in their own right, and the emotional burden is nil.

That doesn't mean not caring as a fan whether your team wins or loses. It means being able to eat dinner and sleep comfortably after your team is cold-cocked by the PED. You wake up fresh the next morning, ready for another ballgame.

My dad mentioned to me the other night that Manny may come back and just go on a tear because the Dodgers have taken the pressure off him by winning in his absence. Manny is not coming back to a house full of smoke and looking to be the extinguisher. 

I hope he comes back and goes on a tear, simply because he has cheated the fans out of 50 games of fun and his teammates out of 50 games of production.

"But, really," I said to my dad, "Manny could come back and hit 40 homers, and I wouldn't really care, or he could come back and stink, and I wouldn't really care. It's the same to me."

And that's only because the fan in me has moved on to bigger and better things.

I want Manny to come back, shut up, and hit. I'm not interested in fake press conferences and vague answers. Answer with the bat.

That way he will fit in with the rest of his teammates, who have been winners in the wake of his destruction.

But, either way, I won't be coherent during the circus that accompanies his arrival. The Dodgers, and the game, can do without it.

Just wake me up when Manny starts putting balls in the gaps.

Teddy Mitrosilis is a staff writer for Around The Majors. He also writes for Bleacher Report. You can reach him at tm4000@yahoo.com.

The Los Angeles Angels have spent the first two and half months of the season living life in a washing machine, carelessly tossed and turned, flipped and churned, before wading through the suds to find what's left.

How the Angels avoided what seemed to be an inevitable drowning is beyond me, but they've done it and here they are as we welcome the afternoon of June.

If there has been a team in the big leagues that has dealt with more than the Angels in such a short period of time, please, show me.

More than 60 games into the season, and the shocking tragedy of Nick Adenhart's passing is still fresh in many minds, his jersey hanging in the dugout during each game, his patch still front and center on the uniform, and his photo still gracing the outfield wall at Angel Stadium.

That nightmare will never take a redeye to oblivion, but at least there seems to be some closure within the Angels clubhouse.

There is no nuclear bomb that could have hit the ball club with greater force than that grave news, but it seems as if time has naturally downsized the baggage from a crowded U-Haul to a simple carry-on. That's the view from the outside, anyway.

And now it's back to baseball, where the bob and weave of any given season has produced a plethora of difficulties for manager Mike Scioscia, from the starting rotation to the bullpen to the lineup.

Jim Leyland is doing quite a job in Detroit considering his circumstances, but nobody has done the job that Scioscia has. Scioscia should be a lock for A.L. Manager of the Year.

The Angels were a favorite to run away with the American League West prior to the opening of the season, assuming they were at full health.

But extended absences from John Lackey and Ervin Santana, the nonexistence of Kelvim Escobar, and a bullpen that has quickly fallen from among the best to living with the worst in baseball, has opened up the division to the free-swinging Texas Rangers and surprising Seattle Mariners.

If we have learned anything from the Angels' recent string of playoff runs, it is that they can always rely on their depth of starting pitching and dynamic bullpen.

But that was the old Angels; this year's team is reinventing itself every week.

The bullpen was still supposed to be a major strength with Scot Shields, Jose Arredondo, and newly signed closer Brian Fuentes.

As we talk today, Scot Shields is done for the season, taking his 6.62 ERA to the disabled list and undergoing knee surgery to correct an injury that was initially reported as patella tendinitis.

Jose Arredondo, the heir apparent to Fuentes for the closer's job, appeared in 25 games, posted a 5.55 ERA, and is back in the minor leagues learning the importance of fastball command.

And, of course, Fuentes was supposed to be solid. And he has been. But solid isn't good enough when you are taking over for cult hero Frankie Rodriguez, who set the single-season saves record and then took his high-wire act to Citi Field after signing a three-year deal with the New York Mets last winter.

Fuentes has 17 saves - and a 4.64 ERA - but he lacks the presence that great closers always have. K-Rod was billed as an uncertainty during his time with the Angels, but at least a heavy dose of confidence came with the unknown.

Fuentes isn't any more of a sure thing than Rodriguez was, and he stands on the mound like he is in the middle of an arboretum. "Sweet ... a bunch of plants. So, what's for lunch?"

I don't think the Angels accounted for the swagger and attitude that Frankie not only brought to the ninth inning, but also brought to the entire bullpen.

As a middle reliever, I imagine you feel a little more sense of urgency to do your job when you know you have a closer, the leader of the bullpen, who carries extremely high standards and brings a certain level of respect and intimidation to the mound.

The attacking attitude is infectious, and it begins to rub off on even your lefty specialist. You can picture K-Rod lighting up the clubhouse if the bullpen wasn't getting it done. He wouldn't stand for that.

Fuentes? He's a good pitcher, an All-Star caliber reliever, but I don't know. The Angels bullpen used to be a dominant one, an intimidating foe in the later innings. Currently, it's just an apathetic bunch.

Pair that with a lineup that ranks 8th in the American League in runs scored, and has seen Howie Kendrick - a guy that some scouts were predicting would contend for the batting title in the spring - hit .231 before being demoted to the minor leagues to work it out, and I still haven't figure out how or why the Angels are here.

But, I guess we don't need to know, we just need to recognize their presence in the race, and the fact that there indeed are some glimmers of hope beaming through what has been a profuse thunderstorm thus far.

Lackey has a 6.10 ERA, but he pitched seven strong innings Monday night in San Francisco, striking out 10, and will only continue to pitch better as he settles into the season after missing the first month with arm issues. Don't forget, Lackey is in a walk year - he will be a free agent this winter - and that usually bodes well for performance.

Jered Weaver (7-2, 2.08 ERA) and Joe Saunders (7-4, 3.66 ERA) have been outstanding at the front of the rotation, one that has been overhauled with unknown names and faces, until now.

Ervin Santana is back from an elbow strain, although he missed his last start on Tuesday evening, and should be a contributor in the coming months as long as he is healthy, which we presume he is or else the Angels wouldn't be taking any chances with him.

Escobar made one start, realized that his arm couldn't take the workload of 100+ pitches, and now is headed to the bullpen. He hasn't made an appearance, but he has big stuff and moxie that will be gladly welcomed at the back end of the pen.

And we must not forget Torii Hunter, who has held the entire lineup together in the absence of Kendrick and Guerrero, hitting .319 with 16 home runs and is begging for another run-producer to join him. Juan Rivera is heating up, so maybe he will be that guy.

But that's the thing about this club; they are totally different than any model we could have expected.

I mean Sean O'Sullivan, Matt Palmer, and Shane Loux are three coveted arms in the mix. Who are they? My point exactly.

Regardless, this collective group has done a job to be proud of and they are lurking right at the top of the division, ready to claim once again what has been habitually theirs for the better part of this decade.

If nothing else, it just proves that good things do happen to good people who persevere.

Mike Scioscia and his club, bearing the splintered cross of tragedy, are a testament to that.

Teddy Mitrosilis is a staff writer for Around The Majors. He also writes for Bleacher Report. You can reach him at tm4000@yahoo.com.

I understand the bar room appeal of the All-Time Great debate, the competitive banter between equally-enthusiastic fans who believe that their guy - who, to them, is THE guy -- is the best we've ever seen.

I get it. It's fun. It's intoxicating. It's the sporting world's version of a romantic, late night heart-to-heart. I swear to you, I am not above these kinds of things.

And so when the Los Angeles Lakers completed their knock out punch of the Orlando Magic Sunday evening, winning the franchises' 15th NBA title in five games, we became even more vulnerable to two of the NBA's best "who's better" debates, one involving Phil Jackson, the other Kobe Bryant.

Celtics fans will go to their grave inhaling from Red Auerbach's cigar, proclaiming he of the famous tobacco fetish is superior to any other NBA coach in history. Auerbach, with nine titles to his name, now sits one championship behind Jackson, who celebrated his 10th Sunday by donning a custom made yellow championship hat with the roman numeral X on the front and his initials on the back.

You could argue that one is "better" than the other, but that argument is silly. How do you compare eras that are decades apart? The league has changed, players have changed, and different factors come into play.

Subjective debates have no finish line, but that is what everyone continually searches for. Sorry, it's not there.

Which brings us to Bryant, who finally has a ring for his pinkie after winning his fourth title in Los Angeles. With Bryant at four championships, the Bryant vs. Jordan debate has more fuel than ever before, and that one, friends, will never go away. Ever. I'm convinced.

Michael Jordan is regarded as the best basketball player ever to walk the planet, and he has six championships, five MVP awards, ten All-NBA First Team selections, nine All-Defensive First Team honors, ten scoring titles, and six NBA Finals MVP awards to prove it.

Okay, that speaks for itself.

Many people will say that Bryant will never be Jordan, even if he wins two more titles, and that's fine because different people have different memories and perceptions of players and how they dominated the league during their time. That bias comes with being a fan.

Kobe Bryant will never be Michael Jordan, in your eyes. So ... who cares?

And that's my point.

Why do we insist on having these debates? Why do we have to force a player to be somebody he is or isn't, regardless of what is true? Why are we mesmerized by the molds of legends who have been here and done it, to the point that we want to inject their DNA into one of today's stars?

Most importantly, why can't we be satisfied with great players simply being their great selves?

I have never really understood the logic between comparing players, not because I think it is foolish, but because of my tastes and preferences of being a sports fan. I like to take it all in and appreciate great players equally. I usually don't take the time to pit one player against another, but rather allow myself to become mesmerized in the moment. I find that more enjoyable.

When I think of Jordan, I don't think of his farewell tour through Washington, where he was barely better than average on any given night. I don't want to think of His Airness and remember tired legs and mild explosiveness.

When I think of Jordan, I still envision that one swift flick of the wrist at the top of the key in Utah. That will forever be his crowning moment, in my opinion, the perfect splash to an unprecedented career.

For me, Bryant's career has been completely different for two major reasons. First, I believe he has had more help thus far in his career than Jordan ever had. Sure, Pippen is an all-time great, but is that more helpful to a scorer like Jordan than having the most dominant big man in the game, like Shaq? I don't think so.

I don't think a wing complements a scorer quite like a dominant center does. A great wing paired with a great scorer is like hot chocolate chip cookies washed down with a perspiring glass of ice water. Definitely good, certainly refreshing.

But a great scorer paired with a great center is like those same cookies but with a frosty glass of milk. It just fits a little bit better, if not cradling up to perfection.

Second, Kobe has dealt with pressures and expectations that I don't think Jordan ever did, at least not to the same extent. Since the day Kobe stepped foot in Los Angeles, he was billed as the "Next Michael Jordan," the heaviest of burdens to carry.

Since the day Jordan landed in Chicago, he was billed to be the next ... what? Anything? I think Jordan was the first of his kind, a physical guard who didn't play basketball by the fundamental book (yet could execute anything on the court) and brought a sense of showmanship to his position, highlight reel plays that were more common from acrobatic forwards.

Dr. J, Oscar Robertson, and many greats came before Jordan, but he wasn't forced into a preconceived mold like Kobe was. Jordan was allowed to make his own mark without living up to the standard of a legend. In that sense, Jordan was able to freely construct his own legend.

We want to peg LeBron James as the next Jordan only because he is an absurdly talented guy and has accomplished a career's worth before even reaching his mid-20s.

But LeBron is nothing like Jordan, or Kobe, or anyone else. For better or worse, LeBron can only be LeBron. We have never seen a player as physical, graceful, and powerful as LeBron. Bodies that big aren't supposed to move with that much force and speed.

And while we are here, Dwight Howard isn't the next Bill Russell, either. Calm down, and let him be Dwight Howard, which could be greater than anything we previously imagined.

Ultimately, we are doing a player a disservice by putting these labels and comparisons on them. Young players, as great as they may be, don't deserve to be compared to past legends, nor should they have to deal with those expectations.

Furthermore, every player deserves the opportunity to make their own name and leave their own imprint. A player should be allowed to leave a legacy on his terms, not on his predecessor's.

And what we do in the process is cheat ourselves as fans out of potential greatness. Why even put limits on talents like Kobe, Howard, and LeBron?

Are we afraid that they may one day become so good and accomplish so much that their careers trump those of our childhood heroes?

Are we afraid of new faces rewriting history with disregard to former champions?

I don't know, but what I do know is that by comparing Player A vs. Player B, we place artificial barriers on our sports.

In essence, we are saying that we have already seen the best that will ever grace the court. That may be true, but do we really want to believe that, and stand by that?

Not me, I want to hang on to that 0.1% chance that we may one day watch a player who is so unimaginably amazing that he makes us forget of the past icons that we adore. I want to hang onto that small mysterious slice of the unknown.

The only way to be sure that we don't miss anything special is to appreciate every player we have for who he is, and forget who we may want him to be.

Just don't be the one too hung over on comparisons to see the light. 

Teddy Mitrosilis writes for Bleacher Report. You can reach him at tm4000@yahoo.com.

Remember all of the pre-draft cries about lack of experience, a potentially unstable left knee, the he's-just-not-quite-ready-for-prime-time label that's carelessly used when talent evaluators and execs have no better way to prove that a college player shouldn't make the jump to the professional game?

Well, my gosh, here's $1,000 and an O.J. that says Mark Sanchez couldn't be happier with his decision to go against the grain, and the advice of his nationally-acclaimed coach, and leave USC after his junior season to enter the NFL Draft.

We don't need to mention the university's seemingly abundant moral shortcomings to see how well this move worked out for Sanchez, but they certainly put the frosting on his green and white J-E-T-S cake.

Florham Park, New Jersey, the site of Jets minicamp, is more than a few Hail Mary's from Los Angeles and the campus of Southern California, and who would have thought Sanchez, who was a favorite among Hollywood hot shots during his time in L.A., would find heaven and liberation wrapped all in one when he stepped out of his comfortable place amidst campus frenzy ?

Sanchez isn't taking any backseat to the media attention as he prepares to compete with Kellen Clemens for the Jets starting quarterback job when camp opens in August, as New York provides its own stratosphere of flash bulbs and microphones.

But when we all thought his biggest media hurdles were ahead of him, its now clear that they would have been much worse staying in Los Angeles.

We won't know this for sure, of course, until Sanchez takes the field in the Meadowlands and begins hurling spirals in his new regalia. It all depends on the success of the Jets given the criticism-cauldron nature of Manhattan.

There were never questions regarding Sanchez's character - that remains impeccable, by all accounts - and that was a large reason why Jets general manager Mike Tannenbaum decided to go forth with his draft day audible and trade up to the fifth spot in the draft and select Sanchez.

On Wednesday, Sanchez drowned any possible notions of prima donnaitis by signing a five-year deal worth approximately $50 million, $28 million guaranteed, and could potentially be worth up to $60 million if Sanchez reaches all incentives.

There will be no ridiculous holdouts or pompous public feuds between player and team. All there to do now is play football, exactly how Sanchez wants it.

And that's where we will truly see the answered prayer of Sanchez, who didn't leave USC with the most distinguished college career, by any means. He had a solid junior season and a great Rose Bowl performance to hang his chinstrap on.

For USC, though, it's about everything but playing ball.

One of the most prestigious American universities now operates in a cesspool of fraud and dishonesty.

One of the most opulent athletic departments is now the perfect illustration of irrepressible avarice and moral indifference.

And one of the most tradition-rich collegiate sports programs now confirms The Next Big Thing on the gridiron or hardwood is far more important than protecting the virtuous standards of academia.

Heritage Hall has been turned into Hinky Hall.

What a grand plan to attract the attention of mothers and fathers who would have to write approximately $200,000 in checks if their child is to obtain four years of a USC education.

Would any of these previous sentences look great in big bold cardinal and gold print on the front of a campus brochure? Didn't think so. Guess reality isn't always as sparkling as a BCS National Championship trophy.

These stories of risky business and cutting corners are present in the underbelly of thousands of schools in the United States, not just USC. But if you want all the glamour and fame during the good times, you are going to have to wear the pink tutu that comes with the embarrassment of the bad times.

This isn't just an athletic department thing, a coach thing, a player thing, an agent thing. This is a university thing.

Nobody stops the lies because the lies lead to millions of dollars and great television contracts.

The lies lead to endless publicity and promotion.

The lies lead to bloated bank accounts and softer pillows for administration.

But, please, lets leave it to Master P, Young Buck, DJ Quik, et al., to preach, "If it don't it make dollars, it don't make sense."

We often forget that athletic programs lick the university's table clean, not the other way around.

Sure, in this era of big business that is major collegiate sports, we would be ignorant to argue that a university would be the same without its sports teams. Taking away athletic programs would be taking away irreplaceable streams of revenue while substantially damaging campus life. That much is undeniably true.

BUT ... lets remember something in the aftermath of these scandals.

Without basketball and football, there would still be a University of Southern California (albeit, admittedly, a severely shrunken and less prosperous version, but a standing institution nonetheless).

Without USC, there is no beautiful Galen Center, iconic L.A. Coliseum, Heisman Trophy winning Trojan running back named Bush, or any of these figures making news for the wrong reasons.

So, yes, Tim Floyd is at fault for running a squeaky basketball program before bolting to his Mississippi cottage due to the idea of having to face allegations regarding the supposed $1,000 or so that made its way from his fingertips to the palms of O.J. Mayo's coddlers.

Pete Carroll is at fault for not being more aware of Reggie Bush's family allegedly accepting free rent and other gifts from certain conniving prospective agents.

Mayo and Bush are at fault because, after all, it is their careers and they must learn to take responsibility for their name.

USC Athletic Director Mike Garrett is at fault for blindfolding himself and kissing the feet of Carroll and Floyd in return for high-profile bowl games and March Madness appearances.

And university President Steven B. Sample is at fault for merely sitting at the top of this mess and allowing his university to be defamed by the actions of his employees.

Fair or unfair, this is a tsunami that drenches from the very top of the university all the way down. This is the most daunting full-court press USC can face, and it is up to the university as a whole, not just the athletic department, to repair its image.

It won't be easy. This isn't fourth down territory for USC. This is fifth, sixth, seventh, and eighth down territory for the Trojans because all future athletes will be unfairly marked with the negative connotations that suddenly accompany being a Trojan.

An 18-year-old will have to prove that he or she didn't except any free money or benefits, rather than be given the benefit of the doubt and the privacy that an amateur athlete should be entitled to. How disgusting is that?

And many thought that Mark Sanchez would be better off returning for his senior season, leading the Trojans to victory at Ohio State, and winning a National Championship before heading to the draft with a legitimate case to be the first quarterback chosen instead of Sam Bradford or Colt McCoy.

Ha!

The bright lights of Manhattan never seemed so comfortable from afar.

Teddy Mitrosilis writes for Bleacher Report. You can reach him at tm4000@yahoo.com.