Don’t Mess with the Ozzie.

Today, the fellas over a “PTI” were debating on whether or not Delmon Young (aka the minor-league bat throwing guy) was deliberatly thrown at as he got plunked in his first plate appearance. Kornheiser (who has made two straight apperances on the show! Woot!) said absolutley, and Wilbon said Young leaned into it. Apparently, Wilbon forgot that Young was facing the White Sox. You know, the team that’s led by Ozzie Guillen, who is to the Pale Hose as Reggie Dunlap was to the Charlestown Chiefs. In fact, Guillen is the closest thing to Paul Newman’s legendary “Slap Shot” character that we have in professional sports. Both of them said outlandish things in the media that completely go over the boundaries of good taste, baited their players into playing on the edge, and punished those who did not abide by their questionable tactics. The only thing Guillen needs to do now to make the circle complete is to convince Ken Williams to trade for the Molina brothers and make them wear horn-rimmed glasses upon their arrival.

(Holy crap, that was a tangent. Let me reel this mess back in.)

Anyway, it’s obvious that Guillen doesn’t like to make nice with the enemy, as constantly evidenced by his passion to instruct his pitchers to go after hitters. However, deep down inside, Guillen is an old school manager, just like he was an old school shortstop when he played (solid, reliable defense and little pop in his bat — you know, how most shortstops used to be). You have to believe that he was itching to send this Young punk a message on behalf of the big leagues; a not-so-gentle reminder that a crappy attitude and an unchecked temper will not fly up at the top. Based on that mindset, I’m convinced that a lot of other managers would have shared Ozzie’s thoughts regarding the possibility of putting Young in his place, but I doubt that any other manager would follow through with such an idea. That is, except Ozzie, because he’s nuts. Of course, that’s assuming he actually did order it to happen. Which he had to, because he’s Ozzie Guillen. So there.

Yet Another Reason Why You Should Have Your Fantasy Draft Late

Domanick Davis may not even make the Houston Texans’ 53 man roster. That massive “ker-thump” you just heard was 40% of the city of Houston getting hit by the city’s light rail system after throwing themselves in its path. Okay, they probably just stepped off the curb to accomplish this feat. They more than likely just suffered a nasty injury. Oh, screw it. The point is that Texans fans should be pissed.

In fact, I’m pissed off on their behalf. Wasn’t the fact that the Texans had Davis at running back one of the main reasons they used to justify selecting Mario Williams in the draft instead of Reggie Bush? Now Davis may not even be on the team? Are you kidding me? I still haven’t fully recovered from them selecting Williams instead of Bush. The biggest issue facing the Texans during the off-season (other than the fact that they possess an offensive line that couldn’t block a tackling dummy) was the fact that they’ve always sucked, they were going to continue to suck this year, and they needed to get somebody fun to watch as to make the fans forget that the team does indeed suck. The selection of Williams failed to address this troubling concept, and the fact that the team is even thinking of chopping Davis further makes the pick as unforgivable as it was irresponsible.

Way back in April, after the draft, I predicted that the Williams pick would lock the Texans into a solid decade of horrendous, losing football. Now that their one quasi-legitimate excuse to not draft whom they should have is apparently going to be jettisoned, let’s just say I’m feeling pretty damn smart right about now.

Big Scare for Big Papi.

As much as I’d hate to give anything relating to the Red Sox credit, I have to give the team props for making David Ortiz go back to Boston and check out his irregular heartbeat. You know Big Papi has to hate the fact that this pesky little heart palipitation that could kill him is getting in the way of helping a team that desparately needs him. And I’m sure that there was a at least a granule of desire to keep him around, especially since Manny Ramirez seems to be drifting deeper into his own little world (I think we’ve gotten past the point of “Manny being Manny” and are now into “Manny being Syd Barrett” country). But thankfully, they did the right thing, and hopefully he’ll get patched up and healthy. The twin specters of the hearts that used to beat inside Len Bias and Reggie Lewis still hang over the city like a stubborn winter blizzard; if something happened to Ortiz, it would practically be teleological proof that God does indeed hate Boston.

Of course, I’m sure Red Sox Nation will still find a way to complain about Big Papi’s absence in the midst of all their bitching about missing the playoffs, despite the potential for him plopping dead in the batter’s box. Go and enjoy your World Series win, you bunch of clods.

Heeeeeeeeeeere’s Carson.

So much for wondering whether Carson Palmer was battle ready or not.

Even though pre-season is by and large a meaningless exercise for fans, there are some exhibition situations that warrant attention. Obviously, Palmer and his reconstructed knee was the biggest of these situations, just because there were so many scary potentials swirling about it. You heard the same questions all week: Will he be gun shy? How sturdy is the knee? Did he come back too soon? After last night, the questions seem to be “No,” “Very,” and “It doesn’t look like it.” Truth be told, if Palmer would have trotted out there and gone 8-15 for 90 yards and a touchdown, his outing would have been heralded as a success. However, the fact that he went 9-14 for 140 yards and three scores against the Packers’ first unit makes his case transcend into slight phenomenon. This guy’s knee is being held together by ligaments from a deceased 15-year old girl, and he promptly went out there and shredded a defense like he was recovering from a knee bruise.

I’ve tried to think of an equivalent to what Palmer accomplished by doing what he did tonight, and nothing else from the other two and a half major sports comes to mind. The closest thing I could come up with was Buffalo Sabres goalie Clint Malarchuk returning to play goalie a week after his jugular vein got sliced in the goal crease. But even that injury, as gruesome as it was, didn’t cause potentially catastrophic damage to the parts of the body that he used to compete. Palmer’s injury absolutely did, and the damage was so great, there was concern that we may not have seen him this year, or worse yet, his career may be over. I think it’s safe to say that it isn’t.

But now that everyone knows Palmer didn’t lose a thing because of the injury, the smart thing to do would be to sit him out of next week’s game, allow him to concentrate on further strengthening the leg, and have him ready to go on September 10th. It’s obvious that he’s in game shape both mentally and physically; why risk injury in a game that means nothing?

Jeff George Will Not Go Away.

Good grief. Jeff George is back in football, thanks to the Oakland Raiders. Why does this keep happening? This guy hasn’t thrown a pass in over five years, and he still is a massive tool, yet he’s returned. I realize that both of those aforementioned qualities make him a perfect fit for the Raiders, and he has about as much chance of actually getting into a game as I do, but they’ve signed this reclamation project before and got crappy results. Sure, he had three monster years where he threw over 3700 yards, but the guy has always been a loser. I mean, is a 46-78 career record supposed to make to make me stand up and say “Yay,” or something? ‘Cause it isn’t working. And don’t get me started about what kind of world-class jerk this guy has always been. I’ve always contended that if he didn’t play in the NFL, he would be the dude that would be at the Toby Keith concert, engulfed in the spirit of 17 Bud Lights, and just praying to the Duke boys that someone would look at him funny. Frankly, there’s still time for this.

My point is, the guy doesn’t deserve to walk onto another professional gridiron in a uniform ever again. I don’t care if he can still zip the ball 60 yards down the field without breaking a sweat, or that people are going to be excited that he’s back in the league (for example, I’m sure Jason Whitlock has taken enough time out from calling everybody racists to tend to his George-induced boner). The truth is, he simply doesn’t deserve to be the guy that keeps a younger, nicer guy from getting a chance to make a team. The man has had several chances, and he’s blown them all. His number should be up. I’m sure it will in the very near future, but that doesnt’ take care of the problem at hand today. I’m just glad that his signing didn’t cost somebody like Fat Quarterback a roster spot. Then I would have had to throw down on someone.

Today on a Special Episode of Sports Blab…

At this time, I’d like to take a break from the usual snark and sarcasm that festoons this site by linking a story regarding Jason McElwain, the young autistic man who gained all kinds of attention by living his dream of playing in a high school basketball game, and then turing that dream into a perfect movie script by dropping 20 points in four minutes. It was a wonderful thing to behold, but it left me wondering where J-Mac (as his friends call him) would end up after he graduated high school.

Well, it pleased me to no end to see that J-Mac is a member of the Indianapolis Colts’ equipment staff, and that he has continued to be a beacon of hope to the many children who suffer from autism, as well as their parents. J-Mac’s success means a lot to me, since I have a dear friend whose eldest boy suffers from the affliction. If J-Mac can bring more interest and devotion to the cause of finding a cure for autism, then he stands to bring a joy to the world that would make his six three-pointers pale in comparison. At the very least, it is my hope that he brings us one step closer to making autism something you would read about in a medical history book.

Wait a Minute, Rice.

It’s no secret that Jerry Rice was the greatest wide receiver the NFL has ever seen, or that he was one of his generation’s most beloved athletes. Indeed, despite my loathing of the 49ers, I absolutely felt privileged to watch him play with such gracefulness and skill throughout his tenure there. However, it’s also no secret that he hung on a little too long like a lot of athletes with an abundance of competitive fire do, and his years with the Raiders and Seahawks, as well as his attempt at being a Bronco, is kind of an embarrassing blemish on his otherwise sparkling career. Granted, it wasn’t as bad as Joe Namath as a Ram or Johnny Unitas as a Charger, but it was still bad in its own right.

But it happened, and as such, Rice’s career ended with that failed crack at making the Denver Broncos in an oddly numbered uniform. That’s it, period. And that is why it irritated me to see him do one of those stupid one-day contract signings with the 49ers so he could “retire” with the team that everybody should associate him with.

There are a lot of stupid things in sports. Pink team baseball caps, for example. Not even a WNBA team incorporates pink in their color scheme. Why is there a need to sew an Angels’ logo on a pink cap? Why do people need to buy them? This is why I hate society. But from a contractual standpoint, there is nothing stupider than the practice of signing a player for one day so they could retire as a member of that team. It’s been going on for several years now (I think it all started with Thurman Thomas re-signing with the Bills so he could do his retirement speech in Buffalo), and it hasn’t gotten any easier to accept. In fact, it just makes a player not only look foolish, but it makes them look hypocritical. Take the whole Rice thing, for example. Granted, one of the main reasons he split San Francisco was that they didn’t want to pay him Jerry Rice money. Truth be told, that was understandable – Rice was already in his late 30’s, and his level of skill had dipped to the point where a young Terrell Owens was the dominant receiver on the team. But if Rice loved the organization as much as he said to during his “official” retirement speech, why wouldn’t he have done every possible thing in his power to work out a deal to stay there or just retire? I don’t really want to hear the whole “you would go across the Bay Area for more money” argument, either. There are two reasons why I don’t like that angle. First off, Rice still had enough endorsement deal revenue flowing in that a pay cut from the 49ers would have been far from crippling. Secondly, let’s not forget that the team he played for was the Raiders, the official team of hellraisers, gangbangers, criminals, the Altamont concert, the Church of Satan, and “The View.” Okay, so I made some of that last stuff up, but you get the point. How could a nice guy like Rice be so desperate as to allow himself to be associated with a team chock full of symbolic evil and vileness like the Raiders? (Sadly, even though I don’t want to admit it, deep down inside, I know the answer is still cash. Money doesn’t just talk; it comes equipped with its own bullhorn, which is why you see things like Stryper and Slayer touring together. I wish I was making that up, by the way.)

I know Rice wanted to come back and retire as a member of the team that made him famous. I also know he had to pull this stunt this year because the league wouldn’t let him do it last year after the Broncos released him, because the 49er roster was too full for him to sign. That’s nice and all, but it doesn’t work for me. You didn’t end your career as a 49er, so don’t pretend like you did. You ended it as a Seahawk (after asking the team to un-retire the great Steve Largent’s number for you, even). Actually, if you really want to get technical, you ended it as a Bronco after three pre-season games. Besides, you did “Dancing with the Stars” this past spring. Not only were you away from the NFL for a whole year, but you did the samba alongside George Hamilton and Stacey Kiebler in the interim, for crying out loud. You want us to actually accept the fact that you officially retired as a 49er after that stuff? Sorry, Jerry. You were one of the greatest football players I’ve ever seen, but I’m afraid that I’m going to have to reject you totally.

Hopefully, Namath and Unitas won’t get the urge to call up the Jets and Colts with any bright ideas.

One More Oops to Add

Last month, I said the Detroit Tigers were for real, and pretty much implied that the division title was a forgone conclusion, mainly due to their great starting pitching and just enough timely hitting. Now, all that prediction does is provide further proof that I am indeed a moron.

As I look at the AL Central standings, I notice that the Minnesota Twins — the same Twins franchise whose red hot play this summer I deemed worthless because it wouldn’t amount to anything except frustration — has leapt past the White Sox and are a mere 4 games back of Detroit. The Tigers, meanwhile, are a less than robust 5-13 in their last 18 games and facing a sweep by the Indians. What’s worse, the two attributes that I praised the Tigers for have started to fall apart. Simply stated, Detroit’s arms look fatigued, and the offense is striking out way too much, thus making my assertion of the team’s greatness premature and short-sighted. I mean, they have looked bad of late; bad enough to somehow miss the playoffs if Minnesota continues to play well and either Sox gets it together next month.

While I don’t think they are going to spiral out of the post-season, I will say this: They stand at about a 50% chance of not winning the division. Their only saving grace is that they only have one series each against the Twins and White Sox, and they have ample playing time with Kansas City, Baltimore, and Seattle on the schedule. But I’m not guaranteeing anything either way. I don’t want to look like too much of an idiot. Again.

Oops.

Don’t have much time to post something today (I’m actually going to enjoy the outdoors). However, I have time to admit to being an idiot when it comes to baseball. Throughout the last six months, I have said the following.

*The New York Yankees will finish third in the AL East because their pitching sucks really, really bad.
*The Toronto Blue Jays will win the World Series.
*The Atlanta Braves will find a way to pull it together and make the playoffs.
*The Minnesota Twins are done. The only thing their red hot summer streak will do is leave them with a desire to be in the National League when it may have mattered.
*The Houston Astros will make a run at the pennant, just like last year when they got off to the slow start.
*The Cincinnati Reds will be done by August.
*The race between the A’s and the Angels will be the most exciting divisional battle in baseball.

So what has happened? None of the above, that’s what. I assure you, I’m normally don’t look this stupid. But despite all of this, I can at least take comfort in knowing that I still come out looking way smarter than Skip Bayless.

Let Me Count the Ways

Confession time: You may recall a few weeks back when I said that every Friday I was going to be posting something pertinent to the NFL in preparation for opening weekend? Well, I miscalculated how many weeks there were between that week and the second week in September. My bad.

So as I realized this Tuesday (don’t ask me why it took me that long to figure out there was a hitch in the giddy-up, my only defense would be to tell you that I’m a grade-A sack of crap), I stared down my options: I can either abandon the NFL for one week, or I could pull something out of my butt to post. Because I care about you, O reader, I chose the latter, even going so far as to lovingly run it under cold water to remove…um…residuals from it. Let’s just move on. In fact, let’s just forget that I ever wrote that last thing.