Awaking from Slumber

I thought December was supposed to be a slow month in the workplace. I haven't had a chance to breathe since 12/1, let alone post pithy thoughts about sports. And while I was gone:

1. The BCS went to hell. Go USC and Geaux LSU! Split national championships are neat! As far as I'm concerned, the Delaware Blue Hens are the national champions.

2. My Boston Red Sox managed to turn the off-season into a more interesting story than the regular season with their pursuit of Alex Rodriguez. I'm so very torn on this deal. I love Nomar Garciaparra more than a heterosexual man should love another man, and the acquisition of ARod would signal the end of Nomar's days in Boston. That would cause me no small amount of dismay and disappointment. On the other hand, Alex Rodriguez may go down as one of the three best players in the history of Major League Baseball, and how can you not want a guy that fits that description on your team?

3. There was more than a little dust circling around my living room last night as I watched Brett Favre put up a monster first half against the Oakland Raiders just two days after his father passed away. Favre threw for 311 yards and 4 touchdowns in the first half against Oakland, all the while fighting emotions that I can only imagine. Every now and again we get affirmation of why we love sports. Last night was one of those times.

More to come.

Gheorghe: The Encounter

It seems only fitting I can post on this blog, as I have met the man of the hour, though briefly and ages ago. Few can appreciate the joy of a chance encounter with the man-child Gheorghe, but the reader(s) of this blog may. As I exited a New York City Italian restaurant, bloated and stinking of red wine, I began walking towards our next watering hole. As I reached the intersection, I inquired of the group I'm with as to whether the lamp post across the street was moving towards us. The Walk signal is flashing - time to hustle before Akbar runs me down in his cab - as the street lamp came closer, I realize it is none other than My Giant. Thinking quickly, I tap him on his waist (almost head high mind you) and say, straight-faced, "Hey Gheorghe, you, Little Italy, ironic huh?" His 5'4" interpreter simply looked at me, shrugged his shoulders, and moved on, Big George curiously looking over his shoulder at me. And thus ended my brush with ghreatness.

Tryptophantastic

A few rambling, barely coherent bits while recovering from a Thanksgiving spent eating too much turkey and drinking too much bourbon:

1. That sound you hear is my uncontrollable giggling over the Red Sox' acquisition of Curt Shilling. It's almost as if Game 7 of the 2003 ALCS didn't happen. Almost.

2. I'm shocked, just shocked, that Florida and Florida State players got into a donnybrook after their epic game. Why doesn't Bobby Bowden take more grief from the media for running a program with absolutely no integrity, on or off the field?

3. Barring an upset victory by Oregon State over USC and some bizarre computer machinations, looks like the BCS is going to fall into a barrel of horsecrap and come up smelling like perfume - again.

4. How many games do the Tampa Bay Buccaneers have to lose before John Gruden and Warren Sapp stop appearing six times a week on all major sports programs? Seriously, has a 5-7 also-ran ever had this much love from mainstream media outlets?

5. Chaminade!

6. Loved the creamsicle unis the Miami Dolphins sported against the Redskins last Sunday. Hated the fact that the Skins blew yet another 4th quarter lead. And then did it again this week against the Saints. 3 straight final stanza collapses by the worst team LDS' (that's Little Danny Starfucker) money can buy. But, hey, we got to see the 70th Anniversary uniforms again yesterday, so I'm sure merchandise revenues went up.