A Disturbance in the Force

Editor's Note: the following commentary is extremely narrowly focused and highly, highly geeky. Oh, and way, way, too long. Get out now, while you still can.

Okay. You can't say you weren't warned.

The community of the Gheorghey suffered a grevious wound this week. The forces of stolid rectitude, self-righteousness and inflexible conservatism struck a resounding blow against freedom of expression, the abiding and brilliant creativity of youth, and diversity of thought, action, and being. The College of William and Mary's Board of Visitors declined to renew the contract of Gene Nichol, the President of the university.

We don't know Gene Nichol from Adam. He looks like Meat Loaf, which is, y'know, cool. He carries himself like a man living Rudyard Kipling's adage, "Take everything you like seriously, except yourselves." To my knowledge, none of us has ever spoken to him, or if we have, we were so under the influence that we don't recall the conversation. Our loss, likely.

Though his tenure began in July 2005, Nichol first came to our attention in a meaningful way in May 2006 when he took on the NCAA over their asinine decision to censure William and Mary for having feathers in its athletic logo.

While the vast majority of college presidents would have taken the conservative route, quietly acquiescing, Nichol chose to stand for his beliefs, writing publicly, "An interpretation that penalizes the College of William & Mary while embracing the depiction of a brave on horseback, in war paint, plunging a flaming spear into the turf at midfield, to the delight of 85,000 chanting, tomahawking fans, is, at best, enigmatic."

A college is about many things, but it is foremost about the students that imbue it with its color, texture, and vitality. Administrators (read: adults) tend to lose their sense of whimsy and wonder, ground down by time and the inexorable demands of the grown-up world. They "know better", imposing a paternalist worldview in the name of decorum and almighty endowment rather than striving to maintain an atmosphere where youth can test limits in the one place in our society where it is safe to do so. A place that teaches, and not only in the classroom.

Gene Nichol was not without fault - he admits himself in his eloquent farewell that he "...sometimes moved too swiftly, and perhaps paid insufficient attention to the processes and practices of a strong and complex university. A wiser leader would likely have done otherwise."

But whatever his failings, Nichol never, ever put the student community anywhere other than first - in fact, he erred on the side of the student without fail, and it became his undoing. I don't claim to know the inside baseball that led to the Board's ultimate decision, but I know the wellspring from which it began as a trickle before surging into an inevitable and damaging flood.

I love my alma mater deeply, but my personal worldview - this Gheorghian knee-jerk aversion to self-seriousness - was forged in many ways as a reaction to my time in Williamsburg. Or at the very least, reinforced by the College's staunch southern conservatism. As the Virginian-Pilot's Donald Luzzato, a W&M alum, notes today, "The trick is to get older without getting old, to become an adult without becoming a scold. I’d like to think that my own college behavior (and I have more to regret than many), along with the judicious application of a family I don’t deserve and the passing of plenty of years, molded me into the man I am now, a far better person than the kid I was 24 years ago." So very many of my fellow alums fail miserably the test implied by those wise words and did so even during their time as undergraduates.

My school is diminished today because of the actions of a handful of self-important regents. I deeply regret that I didn't speak up earlier - Gheorghe would have.

Oh, and if you're still reading this, the W&M hoops squad faces a hellish final stretch, going on the road to Wilmington and Towson this week before finishing with Drexel and VCU at home and Gheorghe Mason on the road. Win one for Nichol, boys.

Go Tribe. Hark upon the gale.

--------------------
Whitney:

I think Rob articulated the Gheorghe stance extraordinarily well. I'll try not to sully it with redundancy or verbosity. And I'll fail.

"Disappointing" is a term that's a bit heavy-handed for us skylarkers at G:TB, but it's exactly how I would characterize this unfortunate episode. You've only had to darken our blog's doorstep once or twice to see how we feel about The College of William & Mary. We appreciate its lofty academic reputation, lament its hard-knocks education, champion its sports teams, revel in the glorious memories of the years we spent on campus, and mostly wince at what has passed for recent updates from the 'Burg.

Perhaps it's the fact that somehow, against all chrono-logic, we identify more with the current students than with many of our fellow alums, but we've always been a fan of Gene Nichol. He's a presence on campus, not merely for his beefy frame, moptop haircut, and ill-chosen wardrobe. When we've seen him, he's been the eye of a small storm of students, parents, and alums. A linebacker in president's knickers, tackling injustices like they were ballcarriers. Bit of a bull in a china shop at times, but the healthiest dose of reality in a town that thrives on facade in some time.

By most accounts Gene Nichol's legacy should center around his movement to diversify the College. And what a backhand to his predecessors that is. It's eye-opening that we're in the 21st century and our public university was far whiter and richer in its enrollment and faculty than other such institutions when he took over. Even the presiding Rector acknowledged the tremendous strides the College owes to Gene Nichol in this regard. How ironic it would be if said Rector were to benefit from his progress in this area and become W&M's first African-American president when, according to a few in the know, he has undermined Gene Nichol repeatedly. In the meantime, everyone from Thomas Jefferson to George Jefferson should be pleased with what this president accomplished in an abbreviated tenure.

Instead, we're talking about a cross and a sex show (two great tastes that don't go great together). We at G:TB snidely joked whether they had enough real issues to worry about in the William & Mary community if these were the matters that had folks up in arms. Now it's not so hilarious, at least to one guy. Taking the cross out of a public college's chapel except during Christian ceremonies? I dunno, seems fair to me. Allowing the students to host some X-rated art show? Couldn't care less, and I have two daughters. These aren't pressing issues, people -- unless, I guess, you're trying to impose your extreme religious or partisan political views on this state school. And if you are . . . uh, can you . . . like . . . please not do that?

There's been a lot of talk about who the stakeholders in William & Mary should be, and whose opinion should sway the think tank known as the Board of Visitors. Certainly we alumni like to weigh in on the direction of the College (Exhibit A), with those who've stroked large checks using decidedly larger megaphones to do so. At least they've cared enough in the school's well-being to invest in it. Meanwhile, the Virginia General Assembly seems to enjoy using purse-strings as puppet-strings, manipulating the Board with preposterous threats bordering on misguided abuses of power. That brain trust doesn't seem to appreciate the irony of how they've wilted our alma mater's budget with the economic policy equivalent of falling down stairs (see Tax, Car) to the point where we approach privatization, then somehow they want more say in the direction of the College. The "How dare you, sir" blowhard bravado that emanates from 32-year-old ignorants like Delegate Frederick and his ilk just might be the nadir of the anti-Gheorghey vortex that swallowed up Gene Nichol. Somewhere in it all, the students' thoroughly ringing endorsements of President Nichol were cast aside as the triflings of children, as if anyone but the student body could be the greatest stakeholder in the school.

I think most of us will concede that Gene Nichol was not an ideal fit for The College of William & Mary, and in retrospect, he shouldn't have been tapped for the job and thrown to the wolves. He's a hard-charging defender of human and civil rights. W&M is a place for soft-spoken defenders of tradition. Presidents here quell controversies, they don't initiate or fuel them. We'll see a Pat Robertson protégé in that post before we see another guy like Gene Nichol. (Much to the delight of the bastion of Regent University grads in the General Assembly.) Give the people what they want, Ray sang, and it's time to let the outspoken other side have their guy.

The school will hire someone with less zeal for righting wrongs, less of a connection with the kids that attend class, and, because of how Gene Nichol was treated, less of a pedigree. (Rumor has it the Board is interviewing Jim Zorn.) A calm will be restored after a fiery few years. Rob and I will resume fixating on the quest for an NCAA tourney appearance for the woeful men's hoops team. And Gheorghe: The Blog will continue tilting at other windmills, taking up for the little guy, and cracking itself up with inside jokes about airline beverages and nicknames for co-eds.

Quick, Dirty

Since you apparently hate Steve Miller, we're moving on to a topic with more mass appeal. The Tribe heads to Boston (technically, they're already there) for a 1:00 tip today against Northeastern. The Huskies have been up and down this season, but they come into the game sporting a 3-game winning streak - a run that matches the Tribe's current 3-game upswing. W&M beat NU in Williamsburg earlier in the season but has their work cut out for them. The game is the first of 3 tough roadies for the Tribe - they play at Wilmington and Towson next week before getting Drexel at home. Says here they've gotta split the next 4 to have any chance of getting a first-round bye for the conference tourney, because it'll be tough for our boys to win their final 2 against VCU and Gheorghe Mason.

Bracketology is beginning to heat up around the interweb, with a group of 20 media types participating in a mock selection committee last week. As I was scouring the results, I wondered absently if I might see William and Mary in the mix, even as a wild-card CAA Tourney winner. I sat bolt upright at the thought - I can't remember ever once even looking for the Tribe's name in a mock bracket. The real thing is too much to contemplate.

The Pompatus (or Puppetutes) of Love

Alternate title: I finally figured out what the fuck Steve Miller was singing about, thanks to Bob Dylan.

Even more alternate: Greetings to the Deadspinners here to learn about William & Mary's basketball futility. Today we're talking obscure musical trivia - it's our blog, dammit, and you will listen to every word we say. Tribe hoops stuff is here, here, and here, and will be back at the top of this page by tomorrow morning.

I don't claim Whitneypedic knowledge of all things musical; that particular savantic trait will forever be the domain of my compadre. Nonetheless, I love music almost as much as I do sports. And Muppets.

While my musical tastes generally run to the progressive/alternative, I dig all kinds of tunes. As it relates to today's efforts in advanced time and space wasting, the Steve Miller Band has always been one of my favorite classic rock outfits. That makes them the tallest midgets, to be sure, but there's a certain wink-and-a-nod humor to their music that I like.

In some ways, that insouciance is captured neatly in 'The Joker', as Miller sings, "Some people call me Maurice/'Cause I speak of the pompatus of love". (Don't forget the catchy whaaamp, whaaaa guitar riff between the lines - it's a killer.) For years, in fact until two days ago, I just assumed that I was mishearing the line, and that the 'pompatus' my ears translated was actually another word. An actual word. (Brief digression here for a moment: yes, I am in fact aware of the "internet" and its power to solve mysteries and give information. I guess the mystery of 'pompatus' never burrowed deeply enough into my conscious mind to elicit any interest in knowing more.)

And so I found myself listening to the Bob Dylan Theme Time Radio Hour earlier this week as I gripped the wheel and stared alone into the distance during the evening rush hour. Dylan introduced a 1954 song by the Medallions, entitled 'The Letter', by extolling singer/songwriter Vernon Green's use of the invented words 'pizmotality' and 'puppetudes'. The song contains the lyric "Oh my darling, let me whisper/sweet words of pizmotality/and discuss the puppetutes of love". My little brain sizzled and snapped trying to put 2 and 2 together, and then I did remember that internet thingy.

As it turns out, Steve Miller's a student of musical history. In his song 'Enter Maurice', he turns the following phrase: "My dearest darling, come closer to Maurice/ so I can whisper sweet words of epistimology/in your ear and speak to you of the pompatus of love". 'Enter Maurice' (whaamp, whaaa) informed 'The Joker' (as did 'Space Cowboy' - seems Mr. Miller has a bit of a self-plagiarism issue. We've got that in common.)

Sure as the salmon flock to Capistrano, 'puppetutes' becomes 'pompatus' begets generations of confused music fans. And if I've saved even one of you from another day of feeling dumb when you hear 'The Joker', my humble pompatus to you. If you already knew everything I just typed, well, I never liked you all that much, anyway.

(All educational content gleaned from Wikipedia. Duh.)

Forgotten Gaylord?

G:TB loves movies. And G:TB really loves bad movies, the kinds that are so bad they'e eternally re-watchable. Classics like Tango and Cash, Roadhouse, Stone Cold, Big Trouble in Little China and Cobra. We know the lines, we know the stars and we enjoy laughing at everything and everyone in the movie.

These movies are great on cold winter days. You're brutally hung-over, yet you've turned the corner because you popped 3 Advils, drank a quart of Gatorade and threw down a heaping plate of greasy breakfast foods big enough to stagger an elephant. You drag yourself out to the couch, scan through a list of bad basketball games, and then settle into some classic Hollywood schlock, with periodic breaks where you grab the Sunday Sports section and adjourn to the toilet for 20 minutes.

Amongst the favorites in Casa de Rhymenocerous are the sports movies of my youth. Classics like Younglood, North Shore and Over the Top are always entertaining. These movies will bubble up in popular culture on occasion, mentioned by friends, or in widely read blogs. But one classic sports movie always seems to get swept under the rug.

I'm talking, of course, about American Anthem. Perhaps you've forgotten about the tension, the action, and the rise and fall of the protagonist. Or perhaps you've forgotten what Wayne Gretzky's wife looked like in tights twenty years ago. Either way, I hope you enjoy this refresher course on the movie.

The title: American Anthem

The players:

Star: Olympic Gold medalist Mitch Gaylord as mercurial gymnast Steve Tevere

Love interest: Famous 1980's hottie and Gretzky wife Janet Jones as Julie Lloyd.

Little brother: R.J. Williams as Mikey Tevere

The plot: Bad boy athlete broods over family tension and lost dreams and tries to look like he knows how to smoke a cigarette. Sexy female gymnast with the body of a supermodel inspires him. Sexy gymnast and bad boy try out for Olympics. Bad boy makes squad because he does an extra rotation on the horizontal bar. Sexy female gymnast makes squad because she does her floor routine to an unorthodox synth-fueled tune composed by her wheelchair-bound friend with a curly mullet. Little brother high-fives his biker friends who have accompanied him to the Olympic trials. Wheelchair-bound friend fist pumps the air because he is also there, but there alone because he looks generally creepy. Spunky little female gymnast does not make squad, but impresses the event's emcee so much that he says her name in a slow and over-annunciated fashion every chance he gets. We'll see you in Barcelona, Becky Cameron!

Anger management coping mechanisms of the characters:

Steve: He copes with his anger by looking angry, yelling at his father and working out on the makeshift gymnastics equipment he has wisely set up in the middle of a leafy forest. While working out, he often tries the most reckless move that a gymnast can ever attempt: Spinning a fourth time on the horizontal bar before dismounting. We know this to be the case because the film score gives us omenous tones during Tevere's rotations when he practices in the forest.

Julie: She copes with her anger towards her strict Bela Karolyi-esque coach by changing the music to her floor routine. To accomplish this feat, she enlists the help of Danny Squire, a wheelchair-bound friend who bears a disturbing resemblance to Eric Stoltz' Rocky Dennis character from the movie Mask. Danny is a superb mixmaster who compiles a hot track of fresh 1980's synth beats for Julie. It sounds like what you'd hear if you played Herbie Hancock's 1980's hit Rockit from a tape recorder...while that tape recorder was in a dryer running at full speed.

Mikey: He deals with his anger in two ways. First, he storms off from arguments, hops on a bike, rides through trails in his own yard, and heads towards a cliff that he doesn't realize is on his own back yard. Second, he seeks solace in the company of his friends. These friends, naturally, are adult male bikers that seem to enjoy the company of a young boy.

Things American Anthem teaches about The US Olympic Gymnastics Trials:

- You don't have to possess any visible upper body

strength to be an elite female gymast. Janet Jones showed that she and her adult figure could hang in there with the muscular, pre-pubescent girls, despite looking she just left the video shoot for David Lee Roth's "California Girls" video.

- The promoters of the US Olympic gymnastics trials like to make their events as exciting and visually entertaining as possible. To do this, they turn the lights low at the event, crank music and have spectacular light shows going off at all times.

- Bikers like to watch the US Olympic Gymanastics trials with 10 year old boys.

Life Lessons Learned from American Anthem:

- Never ever ride dirt bikes in your back yard unless you're absolutely sure there are no cliffs on your property.

- Bring your earplugs to the Olympic trials. And get there early because it will be packed.

- You don't have to be a Gaylord to be a champion! But if you are a Gaylord, and you are a champion, you can get a second wife like Valentina Agius in real life:

Swedish Chef Chronicles

In honor of my favorite Muppets character (and that's saying something – so many great fuzzy folks from which to choose: Gonzo, Fozzie, Statler & Waldorf, Animal, Beaker, Rolf, Snuffleupagus…I digress), this week’s Hoops Wednesday will be served smorgasbord-style.

The sporting public welcomes Dick Vitale back to the broadcast booth tonight, and where better than Tobacco Road to ease him quietly and innocuously back into the limelight. Should be a reserved affair in Chapel Hill, replete with dignified, understated honoraria. G:TB, for one, is glad to have him back, even as we'll now return to mocking the clown prince. In a tangentially related note, my oldest daughter has to undergo a medical procedure tomorrow (minor, not to worry) that requires us to deprive her of sleep. I'll be introducing her to the Duke/Carolina rivalry and fielding questions about why that man is screaming so much.

In our second item, we ponder the recently retired Bob Knight. It should come as no surprise that G:TB isn't in the habit of making contributions to Knight's legal fund. He's everything we despise: a bullying, self-aggrandizing dick. His supporters will claim that he was successful on balance and instilled discipline and a sense of right and wrong in his players. As Marge Schott is wont to recall, Hitler did some good things, too. And Mussolini made the trains run on time. Sometimes, the ends don't justify the means. Good riddance.

Moving on to a subject we know absolutely nothing about, G:TB is scratching its collective head today about the Shaq-to-Phoenix deal. The poster boy for immovable objects meets the standard-bearer for movement, pace, and spacing. That seems...odd.

Finally, and far more importantly, the surging William and Mary Tribe hosts the Flying Dutchmen (okay, Pride - Salesgenie.com called and told us that Dutchmen is derogatory) of Hofstra this evening. W&M's looking to go 9-3 in conference play, while Hofstra's struggling at 4-7. The Pride does have the CAA's top scorer and arguably best player in Antoine Agudio, but they're young and/or inexperienced just about everywhere else. Even at home, this one has trap written all over it. Fingernail biting to commence at 7:00

And with that, furpdemoergen, borpoogloergen, put the piggy in the ooven.

Bilas Comes in Peace

Anyone who tells you 1990's "I Come in Peace" was a Dolph Lundgren vehicle obviously didn't pay attention to the dynamic performance submitted by ex-Dookie and current ESPN analyst Jay Bilas**. Enjoy his work as alien cop Azeck - the fun starts at the 0:45 mark of the clip (or, since YouTube is messing with me, the -0:50 mark):

**G:TB realizes we're not breaking new ground here mentioning Jay's role in the movie. However, we're not sure people have actually seen him in action, and even though it's just a few seconds out of a trailer we thought it warranted viewing. It's a damn shame the loons on YouTube won't allow me to embed Jay's full dramatic scene.

Art Headed to the Museum

Art Monk was elected into the Pro Football Hall of Fame yesterday, and I heard about it last night, third-hand from a friend over some hurricanes and Abita Purple Hazes (Mardi Gras party.) After years of remaining attuned to Monk's plight as he was repeatedly passed over, how his happy news reached my ears was telling. I guess I'd given up hope that the folks with ballots would ever see Art Monk the way we Skins fans do.

The roundabout way I heard about it was also perfect for Art Monk -- quietly, without much fuss; a quick exchange of fives, an "awesome," a "hell yeah," and a "'bout friggin' time"; then it was back to the huddle around the crabcakes and beer. The conversational equivalent of the workmanlike 7-yard slant for a first down. Monk to a tee.

The Peter Kings of the world almost had me doubting myself and, in turn, Art Monk; with years of explanations why he wasn't premier enough for Canton, why he lacked the numbers that matter or elite status, their stance was prevailing among voters. As much as I rejected the notion that the guy who once held the all-time and single-season receptions titles -- in a run-first, run-second, pass-if-you-must offense -- wasn't worthy of such accolades, the simple fact that he wasn't getting in began to undermine my arguments to the contrary.

Art Monk wasn't flashy, and that worked against him -- even as it endeared him to the most loyal and longtime fans of the burgundy and gold. When we'd play football at recess (intermittently touch and tackle, depending upon the prior day's injuries and punishments), we'd pick players to be as we called plays like "everybody go deep." When a top selection was Ricky Thompson, Charlie Brown, or Alvin Garrett, knowing glances and grins would be exchanged between a few of us; Art Monk was always the pick, duh. Even as Gary Clark and Ricky Sanders stole headlines and highlights from him, Monk was central to the Redskins' success and an enormous fan favorite. He was a quiet guy, and that never helps a guy get votes from writers, either. You simply had to pay closer attention to see how integral a guy, how much of a leader he was. And we did.

It's been a tough case to make against those who didn't see every Washington game in the 80's and early 90's (back when we got Madden and Summerall almost every week). Monk missed the Super Bowl against Miami, didn't do much against the Broncos, and might be most famous in the win over the Bills for being the first-ever guy to have a Super Bowl TD called back because of replay. Doesn't change our opinion of him in the least. The Skins don't get to any of those title games without guys like Art Monk. He's diametrically opposed to Riggo in flair and sense of the spotlight, but he's right alongside him in on-field consistency, toughness, and performance down the stretch. Same goes for Darrell Green. These guys got it done. (I won't delve further into new HoFer Darrell Green's greatness here. This post is for Mr. Monk.)

Art Monk might not seem like a Fun Bunch kind of player, but the loved & hated touchdown celebration was actually conceived in the 1982-3 postseason as a tribute to him as he sat out with a broken ankle. (He wouldn't miss time after that for eons.) The plan was for the group to assemble after a caught TD and make a unified high-five in the playoff game against the Lions. Alvin Garrett got too excited after his first two touchdowns and simply forgot; when he scored his third, however, they finally got it right and saluted Monk. The Hall of Fame seems to have followed the pattern all the way, and I now give them credit.

3rd-and-9. 11-yard catch. Take a hit, hop up, back to the huddle.

The way it should be, and I'm not the only Redskins fan who's extremely fired up to see him finally get the call from the Hall. Congrats to Art Monk.

Just the Facts, Ma'am

Nothing fancy today - just creating a place for futile superfans to weigh in on this evening's William and Mary/UNC Wilmington matchup. The two enter the game tied for second in the CAA with 7-3 marks. The Seahawks have won 5 straight, including consecutive wins over Gheorghe Mason and Old Dominion. The Tribe shook off a tough loss to ODU, going on the road to beat James Madison and clinch a regular season sweep of the Dukes. That doesn't play real well at my house.

Wilmington's got some inside presence that will cause the Tribe some trouble, with the imposing 6'10" 265-lb Vlad Kuljanin coming off a 26-point, 25-board week and 6'9" Todd Hendley averaging 12.5 ppg. Freshman point Chad Tomko teams with stud T.J. Carter to give the 'Hawks a tough backcourt. As has been the case all season, the Tribe will go as far as their outside shooting takes them. W&M's made double-digit triples in three consecutive games, and six times this season - both school records. Nathan Mann dropped 19 on JMU and leads W&M with a .417 mark from outside, making 24 of his last 49. Laimis Kiselius is the reigning CAA Player of the Week.

UNCW has a top-flight offense, but struggles on defense, especially on the perimeter. W&M scores a lot less and defends a lot better. One of these unlikely squads remain no worse than one game out of first place in the conference after tonight's game. Litos says it'll be UNCW, and we like the way he thinks.

Lawrence Frank Must Go

It’s been over four years since Lawrence Frank took over the reins of a feisty and overachieving New Jersey Nets squad. A relative unknown, Frank’s strength was his educational pedigree in basketball. He worked under the legendary Bobby Knight at Indiana, and the (much less) legendary Brian Hill in Orlando. He was also a famed alumnus of New Jersey’s Teaneck High School, which features a disturbingly large amount of celebrity alumni. Among its graduates, the public school can note NBA Commish David Stern, Fed Reserve Chairman Paul Volcker, film critic Leonard Maltin, fashion designer Marc Jacobs and major leaguer Doug “I once had 200 hits in a season without using steroids” Glanville. It also graduated a Hungarian Pi Lam attorney from William & Mary with large nipples and a lot of armpit hair, but that may not be relevant to our story.

Most of the 6,000 Nets fans across the nation were unsure about the move. The challenge facing him was significant. And he looked like a little boy wearing his father’s suits. He was replacing the mediocre Byron Scott, who lost control of the team after leading them to back-to-back appearances in the NBA finals. There were some large egos to manage on the team. And Frank worked in the midst of the New York City media spotlight despite playing five miles outside of New York in the swamps of Jersey.

Amid these gloomy clouds overhead, the fans and media took to Frank quite quickly, as he led the team to a 13 game winning streak to start his tenure. They also loved his scrappy look. Positioned as a more photogenic version of Jeff Van Gundy (small, white, pasty, very energetic), he talked a good game to the media and displayed a passion on the sideline. The team bought into his philosophy, embracing a high-paced offensive style. However, Frank didn’t get much done that postseason. The Nets lost in the second round of the 2004 playoffs. After that season, Nets management let Kenyon Martin and his bad tattoos walk, deciding instead to focus on re-signing Richard Jefferson, Jason Collins and Jason Kidd.

Over the next two seasons, the Nets teams repeated similar patterns, despite the mid-season addition of Vince Carter in late 2004. They played slightly above average in the weak Eastern Conference and failed to make the conference finals either year. Frank never got a dependable rotation going for the team, leaning on the Big Three of Kidd, Carter and Jefferson. And he seemed wedded to the idea of Jason Collins as a starting big man in the NBA. He praised Collins’ ability to do the “little things” to earn minutes. However, these “little things” came at the expense of the “big things,” such as scoring, rebounding and blocking shots, things a reasonable person might find important in a starting center.

In fact, the (lack of a) rotation throughout Frank’s tenure has remained a mish-mash of has-beens and never-will-bes playing in irregular intervals. His rotation has occasionally featured such luminaries as Lamond Murray, Eddie House, Scott Padgett, Zoran Planinic, Brian Scalabrine, Brandon Armstrong, Darrell Armstrong, Jamaal Magloire, Tamar Slay and/or Antoine Wright. Fans wait with baited breath every time Kidd goes to the bench because the team has never learned to function without him.

The Nenad Krstic debacle further cements Frank’s cluelessness as a coach. Krstic was hurt last year, came back too soon this year, lost his starting job, flailed on the bench for a while, and then was finally shut down by the team. Frank seems intent on making Krstic into Jamie Feick v. 2.0 by playing him when there was clearly something wrong other than “rustiness.” Here’s the Jamie Feick recipe: Take one talented big man. Misjudge the severity of his injury. Mislead the media about the player’s recovery prospects. Let fester. The only thing missing in the parallel is the rebounding ability that Feick had and the disturbing molestation incident(s) that Feick faced as a youngster. Thankfully, the internet seems to be blocking that incident from coming back to light since Sports Illustrated did a story on it a few years ago.

But back to the topic. Frank doesn’t grasp the concept of a set rotation, even though two of his big dogs are well into their 30’s. He FINALLY gave up on the prospect of Jason Collins starting for the team this year. With no other options besides Malik Allen and the ghost of Jamaal Magloire, he inserted the young and talented tandem of Sean Williams and Josh Boone into the 4/5 slots. They have been putting up very good numbers since then. Also, much to the apparent surprise of Frank, more athletic big men have complimented Kidd’s fast-break game better than Collins and his large caboose.

The team has been mired in mediocrity all year. They are saddled with an overpaid Vince Carter (who will likely clamor to leave soon because Jefferson is stealing some of his shots), and an unhappy Jason Kidd (who is probably clamoring to leave because he’s had sex with every woman in a 25 mile radius of East Rutherford). They will still have Krstic, a mysteriously injured and still untested power forward that can score (but not rebound). And they will have some talented youngsters who, much like the Pi Lambda Phi pledge class of 1993, liked to steal and smoke pot in college .

Frank has lost this team; much like Byron Scott lost them over four years ago. They suffered through a couple terrible losing streaks already this year. They lost six straight in November after starting the year 4-1. They lost six of seven in December, and they lost nine in a row in January. Imbedded in the most recent nine-game losing streak were losses to the Knicks, Clippers, Kings and T-Wolves. Ouch. The team brought Kiki Vandeweghe in to run the basketball side of things this season, but the trade rumors circulating today are not inspiring. They may move Collins for Stromile Swift. Hard to get excited about that. And they may move Kidd and get a crap sandwich in return that consists of Jerry Stackhouse, Channing Frye, Jarrett Jack, draft picks and/or financial considerations. The Stackhouse move makes less sense than the measurements made by Frank’s tailor. The Nets are loaded at the 2/3 position. Bringing in another guy to take shots away from VC and make him sulk even more won’t help anything.

This team has gone from being a contender to being a sham under the watch of Little Lawrence Frank. They are about to blow the team up and start anew. They should continue the purge by axing the little man in the oversized suit.

A Gift to all our Redskins Readers

Kudos to BradyFan83, who continues to produce epic YouTubes. As a non-Skins fan living in this town, I got a real kick out of this clip:

[Kevin Mench-sized Cap Nod to The Big Lead on this]

Sh**ting Bricks

Last night's action on both the college and NBA hardwood produced some epically bad shooting performances. I mean, trainwrecks in the mold of Celebrity Rehab's Jeff Conaway (sorry for the tangent so soon into this, but if you have not caught the puddle that is Conaway on this show, well, just watch for five minutes. Kenickie is in baaaad shape). All right, back to the premise of this post. From the college ranks:

Georgetown 74, St. John's 42 - It was 27-3 twelve minutes into the game. The halftime score was 41-14. The Johnnies shot 10 for 47 from two (21%), an even more woeful 1 for 14 from three (7%). It was St. John's worst loss ever (even worse than when Mullin couldn't find the eight ball after the '83 Big East finals). I even found a candid of St Johns coach Norm Roberts after the game - it's off to the right.

Cincy 62, West Virginia 39 - Wow, nice work getting your boys ready to play Coach Huggins. I mean, there was probably no way to fire your guys up about this average, run-of-the-mill conference game, right? As Big Bill might say, SIMPLY ATROCIOUS shooting by WVU - they were 10 for 50 from two (20%) and an unbelievable 1 for 22 from three (5%). Not to be outdone by St. John's futility, this was the worst shooting night in the history of West Virginia basketball. Somewhere, Nancy Zimpher is smiling.

Bonus Bricks - Dennis' boy Rick Majerus and the Billikens managed to score under 40 points again last night - the fourth time this year they have done that. Dayton trounced them 63-36. St. Louis has now lost games this year by the comical counts of 81-40, 61-39 and, who can forget, 49-20. Well played fat man, well played.

But wait, there's more. Apparently, NBA clubs have completely forgotten how to shoot the ball as well (or as Jay Bilas repeatedly says, "Score the ball"):

Raptors 122, Wiz 83 - If Eddie Jordan knew he was gonna get this performance, he probably would've skipped the trip and let Randy Ayers coach this game. A night after a Gibbsian "hard-fought" win over these very same Raptors, the Wiz were indeed, in the words of DeShawn Stevenson, blown out of the water. Toronto made 13 of 18 three pointers and shot 57% from two. The Wizards meanwhile managed to shoot a ghastly 37% from two and 38% from three. Even Larry Hughes and his career 41% FG percentage found this shooting performance laughable.

76ers 112, Bucks 69 - The WTF game of the night. I knew both of these teams sucked something fierce, but losing by 43 to the 76ers Milwaukee? Come on. The Bucks were 27 for 71 from two in this game (38%), had five more turnovers than assists (19 to 15) and, from a look at the highlights, would've rather not taken the court at all. Hey, Larry Krystkowiak, this is the type of game that gets a guy canned real fast. Well, that and your stellar 23-42 record to start your career.

Timberwolves 87, Bulls 67 - I almost forgot about this doozy...so, you're playing the worst team in the NBA, a team that comes out at home and drops 8 points in the first quarter, and yet you still manage to lose by 16. These offensive juggernauts started a combined 0-for-18, and at the five minute mark in the first quarter the score was 3-2, thanks to a Justin Morneau moonshot into the baggie. Ah yes, shooting 23 for 69 (33%) from two and 3 for 18 (17%) from three might lead to that sort of collapse. You never like to read something like this from your coach after a game (Bulls very interim coach Jim Boylan): "They went into their own little worlds and were acting kind of childish at times instead of doing what we know we need to do against a team like this."

LeBatard, Dead

Keep your head on a swivel, Danny-boy. You don't say this and get out of the blogosphere alive:

Q: ugliest nba guy of all time.....Dennis Johnson? (fluflu, pensacola 1/28/08)
A: i see your dennis johnson and raise you one george muresan and one tyrone hill (Dan Le Batard 1/28/08)

Also, not for nothing, what the fuck is a 'fluflu'? If we find out, you're on the list, too, pal. Tyrone Hill, though...yeah, that's pretty much right.

(Hat tip to The Big Lead, who seemed to think it was funny. We're watching you, too.)

G:TB Insider's Look: The Redskins Hire a Coach

Gheorghe: The Blog has been proud to bring you cutting edge news, insight and poor-quality YouTubes for going on five years now. Today, we give you heretofore unseen video access to the Washington Redskins' current interviewing process as they look for the next victim of the Curse of Daniel-san Snyder. Watch the brilliance in action and thank us later.

Honestly, I'd rather have the good Inspector running this ship now. The look on Jarvis's face throughout the scene is the same pained look we Skins fans will be sporting for the next few years. And beyond.

Terrible, Horrible Homages

I was halfway through a jelly-filled when she walked into my office. Legs all the way to here, hair as black as Dean Keener's mood, and eyes colder than Eric Maynor's blood. It was the Pocohontas costume that really got me, though – me and Gabriel Byrne, suckers for cartoon babes.

“I don’t know where else to turn”, she whispered, her sweet-warm breath dissipating the bluish haze for the briefest of moments. (I don’t smoke, but I don’t dust much, either). “I took something from the Big Blue Beast, and he wants it back.”

(Dramatic music swells. A lightning crash is visible through the slits in the window blinds. An announcer’s voice is heard.)


Will our hero save the day?
Will the Big Blue Beast get revenge?
Will Litos continue to do his part?
Is it weird that I find cartoon women alluring?
Tune in tomorrow night in Williamsburg for all the answers.

Bite Me, Randy Newman: XLII

Keeping with our general editorial (and life) philosophy, the G:TB staff plans to spend very little time adding to the hype heap surrounding the Super Bowl, one of the great monuments to over-serious aggrandizement in modern culture. (Note: that doesn’t mean we won’t watch the game; it is, after all, football – and we love us some football) Our contribution to the fortnight of folderol will be much, ahem, smaller.

In this installment of Bite Me, Randy Newman, we celebrate the Lilliputian amongst the Brobdingnagian on the rosters of the Patriots and Giants. Kevin Faulk, Sinorice Moss, and Kevin Dockery may all measure a mere 5’8”, but their contributions to their respective teams’ success stand at least 5’10” in stocking feet.

Moss and Dockery, though undersung and overlooked by their mountainous teammates, both look spiffy in Giants costumes, and occasionally turn in a fine play or two. Moss caught 21 balls during the regular season, while Dockery got on the field in 14 games. Huzzah, indeed.

It is Faulk, though, to whom we doff our wee cap and celebrate most fervently. The diminutive change-of-pace back caught 47 passes during the Patriots’ romp through the regular season, and was a critical move-the-chains element of their offense. He played a significant role in their 21-12 AFC Championship win over the Chargers, snaring 8 balls for 82 yards. Tellingly, he also recorded 9 fair catches this season, proving that he understands the discretion/valor equation. Little dudes are almost unfailingly smart, in football as well as life. (Note – this last assertion is anecdotal, but sure seems to be true from where I sit. Down here.)

This corner of G:TB is pulling for the Patriots for a handful of reasons, though we’ve long since ceased rooting for the New England 11. Boston is our ancestral homestead, and a significant number of my tiny family members still call the city home. A Patriots win will please them no end and add to the current conventional wisdom regarding the Hub’s sporting primacy. So that’s cool. Also, the spectacle of 19-0 has a certain attraction – even as I’m generally inclined to root for the underdog, NFL perfection is an awe-inspiring feat. I’d like to be able to say that I saw it happen. And if we can’t root for selfish reasons, why root at all?

That said, history will never know what acclaim the little folks would have reaped had Darren Sproles and his 5’6” frame turned the corner on Junior Seau.

Dogs and Cats, Living in Sin

Ahh, the winter of 1997. I remember it well. Bill Clinton's attorneys were starting to worry about the President's sexual relations with that woman, Miss Lewinsky. Brett Favre led the Packers to their first Super Bowl victory in nearly 3 decades, beating Bill Parcells' Patriots. The Dow topped 7,000 for the first time in history. And the William and Mary Tribe men's basketball squad won 5 straight conference games (7, actually).

Now, 11 years later, Clinton's still talking about a woman, although he hasn't likely had sexual relations with this one at any point in recent memory, Favre's a few hours away from a possible rematch with the Patriots, the Dow's causing significant consternation after slipping below 13,000, and that very same Tribe has taken 5 straight CAA games for the first time since 1997.

As has been the case in every W&M game G:TB has seen this year, the Wrens didn't get high marks for artistic achievement, but they played hard-nosed defense and fought every possession in topping Towson by a 61-51 margin in front of 2,781 (including G:TB's Whitney) in Williamsburg. The win takes the Tribe to 9-8 on the season, and a remarkably unexpected 5-2 in the CAA, good for a tie for second in the conference.

A mid-week road trip to Drexel's Philly campus precedes next weekend's home tilt with the revenge-minded Monarchs of ODU. As long as Litos keeps picking against the Tribe, I like their chances. And, by that, I mean that it's highly likely that Cinderella loses a shoe this week.

Your only hockey clip of the year...

...so enjoy it. This is Rick Nash last night making the Phoenix Coyotes look silly. And yes, I am actually familiar with Mr. Nash's work. That makes the total number of NHL players I can name 14.

Father of the Year

Some 36-year-old donkey in Wisconsin was arrested Monday on tentative felony charges of causing mental harm to a child and false imprisonment. However, despite the big scary words in the previous sentence, Matthew Kowald was issued only a disorderly conduct citation for the incident. What caused all this ruckus you ask?

Well, apparently Mr. Kowald really wanted his 7-year-old son to don a Green Bay Packers sweatshirt for the Packers game against Seattle. The son, he did not so much want to do this. After threats of grounding got the elder Kowald nowhere, he took the next logical step (if you're Joan Crawford) and taped his kid up. From what I gathered, he taped him to a chair AND taped the shirt to him. Way to be thorough Matthew.

Apparently after an hour Kowald's wife had enough, and turned him in. I'm pretty sure the encore for Pack/Giants this week is Kid Kowald escaping from Houdini's Chinese Water Torture Cell.

After all was said and done, I really enjoyed this understatement from one of the cops:
"He wanted the juvenile to be a Packers fan, and I would suggest he went about it the wrong way."
_________________________________

Analysis from Gheorghe: The Blog’s resident Armchair Psychologist & Philosopher, Dr. Gheorghe:

Before you file away this episode under “Yet another inane installment of TJ’s News of the Mentally Impaired,” consider the deeper discussion of why this event took place. It’s tremendously sad to report, but it’s hardly a surprise: this is merely an extreme case of a pox that’s invaded our world, that of fathers and their increasingly skewed outlook on their sons or daughters. Insecurity is at an all-time high in adult males, despite this era of openly discussing our innermost problems and secrets in global forums. The supposed balance of wanting our children to resemble ourselves in appearance, action, and thought, while maintaining an over-arching sense of “what’s best” for them has begun to seriously lean in the wrong direction. Are we so uncomfortable in our own pale, pasty skins that we can’t rest until our progeny has emulated our very behaviors to a tee, presumably in some subconscious attempt to create a hip crowd out of our own offspring if we aren’t “cool” enough to fall in with an existing one? Or is it a more deep-rooted and time-tested fear, one of fathers unsure about matching DNA strands? The chances of speculation about our children’s biological tie (and, in turn about our mate’s love, honor and obeyance) are apparently diminished with every instance of the younger mimicking the elder, both in attire and outlook. Further, the father who cannot control his own son enough to coerce the Wisconsin-born-and-bred boy to root for the local juggernaut Green Bay Packers must undoubtedly be the softest, sorriest excuse for a father figure in the history of Lambeau Field, no? And such gnawing insecurity can only feed upon itself. The little boy inside the man is crying for acceptance and love, but the outer shell knows that any exposure of such an image will induce further humiliation. Conversely, the Greek school of thought (“the man inside the little boy”) . . . well, people, clearly it was simply time for a potshot at the Greeks what with those pictures of gay Athenians on motorbikes and moustaches floating around the blogosphere. (You know how they separate the men from the boys in Greece?) But I digress. What’s really deviant, what’s actually perverse and unacceptable in this society is the perpetuation of this self-afflicted perception that the father is a failure based on any behaviors of the son. I myself have been blessed with the good fortune of a father who has never felt this way and reiterates his rejection of this notion, vehemently protesting for all of you insecure fathers out there to hear, “Lo, tho’ my son may embarrass me, his entire family, and himself, tho’ he may bring shame on every soul who has come to know the boy, tho’ he may, at steady intervals, soil his family name and reputation as surely as he soils his underjohnnies, not one drop of that ignominy shall reflect upon me, the father. I am my own man and, at this point, only responsible for myself and only beholden to my God; as the words in my last will and testament reflect, I bequeath to him only my surname, my pity, and the brown liquor which he has already pilfered from my garage.” My fortune, however, is the exception rather than the rule in this society. And so, if there is but one lesson to take from this intellectually staggering slice of deep thinking, it’s this: what, dear friends, the fuck is it about Brett Favre that makes people do and say the stupidest fucking things ever conceived of? Dear Lord. Rooting for the guy must be more cerebrally toxic than huffing airplane glue. Cripes, people. Get a fucking grip.

Weakened Plans

The suddenly competent William & Mary men's basketball team takes on Towson at the TribeDome Saturday at 2pm. I will be doing my part (even carting a couple of chilluns to the Burg) to urge on the green and gold. Delly sandwiches at noon. Be there or be . . . someone with even the slightest vestige of a social life.

It's also on Comcast SportNet if you want to TiVo it for after you get back from your cocktail party/oyster roast/buddy's wedding/arraignment/stint in rehab/trip to Lowe's.

Up first for the Tribe cagers, however, is a date with the Huskies tonight. (Now that sentence really takes me back to the college days.) Tip-off's at 7 this evening.

Curt Schilling's Wife is Hunter, Trapper

Philanthropist, too - let's not forget that.

(Thanks to Mr. Irrelevant for the photo.)

Circle Jerk, Blog-style

Though he may not mean to, Dan Shanoff's conducting an interesting experiment in blogger/mainstream media information dynamics today. The background: the genius pottymouths at Kissing Suzy Kolber posted a just-plausible-enough "hearsay"-based item about the possibility of Tom Brady considering retirement after this season. KSK plays it straight, only tipping their chicanery in the 'tags' portion of the post.

Shanoff has written for ESPN.com in the past and is now employed by The Sporting News, so he's got an iota of big media cred. On his self-titled blog, he wonders aloud whether the mainstream sports media will pick up the Brady "story", couching it just enough to let the reader know that he knows, but not giving it away to anyone making a quick-click beeline to KSK.

I'm on the phone with Vegas to see whether I can bet on Colin Cowherd to "break" the news. And I'd say it's a better than 50/50 proposition that someone in the semi-serious media asks Brady about the issue during the runup to the AFC Championship.

Some Thoughts on Mustaches

The mustache has been creeping back into America’s consciousness of late, an event that could not make me happier. Perhaps, as the son of a Middle Eastern immigrant, I stand apart from the crowd in my hirsute jubilance. Do I (or, for that matter, Should I) feel incomplete as the son of a Persian man because I don’t sport upper-lip hair? Whatever the answer may be, I may have a lower social hurdle to overcome in the near future, for the mustache appears to be making a comeback (or, at the very least, a death rattle).

As a product of 1980’s pop culture, I was raised with images of alpha males like Tom Selleck, Ron Guidry, Charles Bronson, Keith Hernandez, Bobby Nystrom, Billy Martin, Ron Jeremy, Don Mattingly, Burt Reynolds, Joey Silviera, Goose Gossage and Hulk Hogan. Even the Hulkster’s first big rival was the mustachioed Iron Sheik! They represented the end-all be-all of tough guy cool. They drove fast cars, won World Series, had money, and/or banged Nina Hartley. I also envied Mr. T, but his look was a bit audacious for all but the most enterprising suburban 9 year-olds. It wasn't until I was older that I realized how much he looked like a cross between a gay genie and a seventh member of the Village People. Is that redundant?

(Brief aside: When I was a kid, my father tried to get me backstage at a WWF event in Asbury Park, NJ so we could meet the Iron Sheik. My father phonied up his Persian accent and convinced the security guard that we had traveled a great distance to meet the Sheik. The security guard bought our story, went backstage, and came back with….Salvatore Bellomo. That’s like trying to meet Mike Schmidt and getting Garth Iorg.)

In the last year, the sports world has shown us a ‘stache resurgence. Jason Giambi let it rip on his upper lip for a while last season and maintained the look because he was hitting fairly well with it. Just recently, Jason Kidd sported some hair up there. I wish I could complete the New York-area pro sports angle four ways with Jasons, but Jason Sehorn and Jason Blake are long gone from metropolitan area teams, and neither really seemed like the type.

We’ve even seen hipsters adopting the mustache these days. Johnny Depp is doing his own thing with it, but he may as well be a Frenchman these days, so we can discount him. Same for Sean Penn. Billy Crudup has occasionally sported a ‘stache since his stint as Russell Hammond in Almost Famous, as has co-star Jason Lee in his current performance as Earl. In the 1990’s, fellow William & Mary graduate Jason Ross, from Seven Mary Three, was an early adopter of the retro-handlebar mustache look, but that look is one that lies on a slippery slope. To wear a handlebar mustache is to risk being classified like the Sopranos’ own Johnny Cakes, inviting some unwanted attention (not that there’s anything wrong with that).

I am rooting for a mustache revival, not only for selfish reasons, but to redeem a generation of film idols, rock stars and professional athletes that established social norms for millions of American youngsters like myself in the 1980’s. For when we think of the decay of the mustache, we think of the ascension of the hair metal era. And that evokes painful memories that none of us want to revisit.

To read more, I recommend visiting the web site of the American Mustache Institute: http://www.americanmustacheinstitute.org/.

I also recommend you visit http://www.movember.org/ to read about a way to combine the cool of a ‘stache with philanthropy this Movember.

David Banks IS Tiny "Zeus" Lister Jr.

I mean, do I really need to say it? Night, night David...

And how about the Teddy Atlas audio in the clip? That guy is tremendous.

Help, I've Eaten My Offense and I'm Crapping My Trousers

Rick Majerus just lead his Saint Louis Billikens to an NCAA D-1 record 20 pts. Read that again to make sure you're interpreting it correctly. That's 20 points...by the entire team...for the game. I'm not exactly clear as to how a group of Division 1 basketball players can do this. But, I can tell you though, that putting up 7 in the first half is a great start.

I had the chance to meet Mr. Majerus at Five Star basketball camp in high school (Fun Factoid/Prank Gambling Nugget: a 6-pack to anyone who can guess the MVP of that week's camp. Hint: 6' 11" white guy, could play any position, and was maybe the biggest bust in Div-1 hoops history) and at the time he seemed like he really knew his stuff. Of course I was 16 and assumed any college basketball coach was a genius, so I could have had the proverbial wool over my eyes, but Jesus Christo hombre. Did the World Wide Leader leech the X's and O's right out of him or has the game passed him by?

Even still, whether he's still got it or not, I'm pretty sure I could throw together 10 guys right now that could score 25 against...George Washington (5-6 Overall)?! Pi-Lam '97 and '98 would have easily dropped 30. Shouldn't the college hoops parity encourage players to have more pride in their work?

This is unacceptable, Ricky.

Malik, can I write check?

The Rockets beat the Knicks last night, Isiah managed to get himself tossed, and Yao Ming did this to Malik Rose...

Futile Superfan Update

Huge one tonight in my home arena. The Wrens take on James Madison's Dukes in a battle for bragging rights at Casa Rob. My wife, a JMU alum, really doesn't care that much, but she likes the free stuff she keeps winning from me when W&M loses. I've also got a lunch bet on the line with a young whippersnapper in my office that went to JMU.

W&M's carrying a record of 5-8, 1-2 in the CAA. JMU is 9-4, 2-1 with a big win over VCU. The Dukes are favored by 1 in Vegas (that's a joke), Litos likes Madison by 4. Says here the Wrens won't stand for that kind of disrespect in their own building. Er, nest.

Goodbye, Mr. Gibbs

There's an AP report that our lord and savior his majesty the Joe Gibbs will be resigning as coach and team president of our beloved Washington Redskins. I think it's a perfect way, a perfect time for him to step down after rallying the troops the way he did this turbulent year. But I'm a tiny bit bummed. He is, after all, Joe Gibbs.

It didn't play out how we'd hoped, but I think I speak for all of us when I say . . . you were always better than Norv, Coach.

60 Minutes I'll Never Get Back

Infamous investigative reporter Mike Wallace sat down with Roger Clemens recently and conducted a candid, brutally exhaustive, and no-holds-barred interview that aired tonight on CBS's 60 Minutes.

No, not really. They sipped tea, talked about the old days, and shot the breeze at Rog's Ranch. Then they played Parcheesi. (Roger let Mike win.) Oh, and camera crews happened to record some of it.

A single version of Mike Wallace's biographic synopsis contains each of the following snippets of text:

• "hard-hitting investigative journalist"
• "grilled with provocative questions"
  
• "probing personality reporter"
• "the nervy Wallace"
• "hard edge lacking in most television talk"
• "pointed, even mischievous questions that made guests squirm"
• "framed in tight close-up, revealing the sweat elicited by Wallace's barbs and the show's harsh klieg lights"
• "Mike Malice"
• "the Terrible Torquemada of the TV Inquisition"
• "the abrasive, tough-guy reporter"
• "reputation as a bruising inquisitor who gave his subjects 'Mike fright'"
• "most familiar modus operandi: the ambush interview"
• "'make-'em-sweat' interviews"

There was nothing like a classic Mike Wallace interview . . . and tonight's airing was nothing like a classic Mike Wallace interview. By most accounts, he's lost his fastball.

WALLACE: And never anabolic steroids?
CLEMENS: Never.
WALLACE: Swear?
CLEMENS: Swear.
WALLACE: Pinky promise?

Clemens and Wallace interlock pinkies.

CLEMENS: Pinky promise. Cross my heart and hope for a free pass, stick a needle in my ass.
WALLACE: Well'p, good enough for me!

Cut to narration about Brian McNamee in a dubious manner.

Somewhere in a Denny's, Michael Moore weeps.

More stuff that made me cackle...

And if I have these needles and these steroids and all these drugs, what, where did I get ‘em? Where is the person out there gave ‘em to me? Please, please come forward.

Ah, yes. Memo to drug dealers: come forward, confess your crime, and face jail time; if you don't, I must be innocent. In a related plea, the writers at Gheorghe have never smoked banana peels or other illegal substances. If any such dealers would please come forward and proclaim their and our guilt to the world, please do. Otherwise, we're clean.

"My body never changed. If he's putting that stuff up in my body, if what he's saying which is totally false, if he's doing that to me, I should have a third ear coming out of my forehead. I should be pulling tractors with my teeth."

What?? How many ears is Jose Canseco sporting these days? I don't know much (can I get an amen?), but extra body parts growing out of one's face isn't a side effect of steroids or HGH, though it is a side effect of Levitra and Lipitor. (Can I digress for a moment? Was anyone listening during the commercial for Mirapex, a drug to combat "restless leg syndrome," when they said a side effect was compulsive gambling? Really?? Did I hear that right?? So my leg's no longer shaking, which is good. Of course, it's probably because my bookie's toughie knee-capped me.)

And Clemens' body has changed -- not quite to the drastic degree that the caricature known as Barry Bonds' did, but ask Bill Simmons or just visit Google images for a bevy of side-by-side photos showing an obvious trend towards lumpy suddenly halted by hard work, determination, and . . . B-12.

That's the tidbit that was leaked late last week -- that Rajah's defense has changed from "I did not provide Brian McNamee with any drugs to inject into my body" (a wiggle-room special to begin with) to "Yes, lidocaine and B-12." Most with knowledge in the field have laughed at the possibility that Clemens was injecting B-12 into himself. But that's his story.

Meanwhile, those of us who've lied to cover up a lie before think the entire thing is laughable. You can't bullshit a bullshitter, a veteran bullshitter once told me, and it's piling up down in Texas.

It went on in pointless fashion, with the obligatory misinformation about how steroids don't work and a nice red herring Vioxx sidetrack. We could continue to nitpick the finer points of what we presume is utter crap and bold-faced lying, but what would be the point? In fact, what was the point of this whole exercise? Why tap a 60 Minutes legend (who, by his own admission, is a pale shell of his former pitbull self) to interview him when the world already knows they're friends? That Wallace conducted what was, relatively speaking, a congenial puff piece of an interview when Clemens appears so plainly guilty made the entire segment a thoroughly futile affair. This was where I think we really saw the kid gloves:

WALLACE: How about a lie detector test?
CLEMENS: Some say they're good. Some say they're not. Do whatever. I mean—
WALLACE: So as far as you're concerned you would conceivably?
CLEMENS: Yeah. I don't know if they're good or bad.
WALLACE: Were you to pass a lie detector test, would that help prove that you're telling the truth and help restore?
CLEMENS: Would it?
WALLACE: I don't know.
CLEMENS: I don't either.

To go from the initial question, one with serious potential, into this pathetic group shrug-'n'-smile, is very telling. Here's how "the Terrible Torquemada of the TV Inquisition" of yesteryear would've handled that exchange:

WALLACE: How about a lie detector test?
CLEMENS: Some say they're good. Some say they're not. Do whatever. I mean—
WALLACE: So is that a yes, I'll take it or a no, I refuse?
CLEMENS: Yeah. I don't know if they're good or bad.
WALLACE: That doesn't sound like the confidence of an innocent man.
CLEMENS: What good would it do? There are so many people who have decided I'm guilty until proven innocent-
WALLACE: So if this were one sure-fire means of restoring the faith, why wouldn't you be on the phone right now setting up an appointment?
CLEMENS: But I don't know if they're good or bad.
WALLACE: Oh, if you're guilty, they're decidedly bad.

Cut to CBS crew pulling a polygraph out of their van and bringing it to Clemens.

(Side Note: In high school I did my senior speech on the validity of the polygraph, and a good portion of my quotes came from a 60 Minutes segment on the subject from 1986 in which they tore the lie detector's reliability apart; maybe that's why Mike Wallace was so reluctant to attack Roger's shaky answer to the question?)

But there really was no point to it. In Clemens' defense, there is no way he can prove his innocence. If he's guiltless, he's screwed. But what does engaging in soft-toss with Mike Wallace get you? And the session with reporters tomorrow? What can it possibly accomplish?

Oh, I know the answer to that one. A date with Congress. According to several affiliated folks, if Clemens had kept his quiet, he wouldn't have been called to testify under oath. Now that he's insinuated that the Mitchell Report is erroneous, they have to hear him out. Under oath. Did we mention it's going to be under oath? Now there are three possible outcomes:

1. He doesn't show. Guilt is presumed.

2. He pulls a McGwire and pleads the 5th. Guilt is presumed.

3. He denies wrongdoing. Perjury investigation commences, indictment looms.

All because he felt the need to get on the telly, play the victim, bemoan the sad, unfair state of this country's treatment of its superstars, and simply perpetuate the marathon of brazen dishonesty in steroid use -- one that doesn't begin or end with Roger Clemens, just stars him in the current episode. With every proclamation of his innocence, there will be more bloodlust in the heart of the public. Clemens is a tough Texan, though; he may see this thing to the end in ways people from Andy Pettite to Marion Jones couldn't stomach.

Roger Clemens didn't need or want any of this. He just wanted to retire and ride off into the sunset until his curtain call in Cooperstown to pick up his placque, make a speech, and fail to thank anyone. Now he has some serious crap to address, and he's brought much of it on himself.

And tonight's waste of 20 minutes of my time did nothing to sway me from the notion that it couldn't happen to a better guy. Enjoy, Rajah.

[Worth mentioning: I may just be bitter that watching this segment led directly to my inadvertently sticking around to witness Andy Rooney's corpse deliver a xenophobic, grotesquely unfunny assault on the diversity of surnames among the presidential candidates. "Did you ever notice how much better this country was when it was mostly white Anglo-Saxon Protestants?" Screw you, Roger, if only for that.]

Wrenpage

What you see there is a photograph of downtown(ish) Norfolk, VA (pop: 238,832), home to one of the G:TB editorial staff. It's also home to the Ted Constant Convocation Center, the near-campus home of the Old Dominion hoops squad. Coincidentally, the Ted, as it's affectionately known (Norfolkers are known more for their bridge/tunnel thingy than their originality, it seems) also hosted last night's CAA tilt between the aforementioned Monarchs and the William & Mary Fighting Wrens.

In what looked very much like a rematch of the 1966 Kentucky/Texas Western NCAA final, at least in terms of the teams' respective pigmentation, the Wrens went into the Ted and pulled off a wholly unexpected 70-61 victory. CAA: LAMM's Michael Litos predicted a "trampling", and felt sorry for us in advance. And despite the fact that Wheelhouse Jerry thinks we're Futile Superfans, we really couldn't find any objective (or even subjective) reason to disagree with that prognostication.

W&M's win was their first in the 6-year history of ODU's splendid building and, if nothing else, demonstrated that extreme effort can, every once in a while, carry the day in the face of a relatively overwhelming talent differential. We'll bask in the glow of this one for a while, because even the most delusional of the Futile Superfans has to look at the W&M rotation and wonder how they'll squeak out more than 4 wins in conference play. After David Schneider, Danny Sumner, and Laimis Kisielius, things tail off precipitously.

Wonder if Whitney's regretting not making the mile-and-a-half trip from his house to the Ted now?

Hail Storm Brewing

Here at Gheorghe: The Blog we're gearing up for the big game tomorrow. No, I'm not referring to the W&M/ODU men's basketball game that our CAA-lovin' chum MGL predicted as a "trampling." Rob has already chastised me for not planning to make the two-mile trek over to the Ted Constant Center to watch my alma mater take a beating. But as I explained, I'll either be drinking my sorrows away or out on the town hooting and hollering to celebrate the result of the real "big game."

The Redskins are in the playoffs. Defies all logic, if you paid attention this year.

Tomorrow afternoon, 4:30 EST, 1:30 PST. RIP ST. Washington at Seattle. Skins at Hawks. Game on.

I'd gush further, but . . . well, I already did over at the Wheelhouse. Here is the three-headed dog from hell's take on this showdown, as reprinted with permission from the AP and Geoff. I reiterate only to keep the Redskin excitement free-flowing, just in case the oddsmakers are right and this is it for our '07 season.

Rob's Short Brief Take:
Tadd Fujikawa Underdog Memorial: Washington @ Seattle (-3.5)
Who dares stand before destiny’s hordes? You, limp-wristed Shaun Alexander? You, shiny-pated Matt Hasselbeck and your Muppetesque voice? You, rotund Craig Stadler wannabe Mike Holmgren? You, Lieutenant Weinberg? Nay, lads, nobody wearing that particularly fey shade of tealy gray and lime green will stop the marauding Washington Redskins this year.

TJ's Polynesian Wisdom:
Hottest (some might say second-hottest) team in football entering the playoffs against an uninspiring club that might have an slightly-banged up QB behind center. However, the Seahawks are something ridiculous like 20-4 at home since the start of the 2005 season (sorry, for some reason my research staff joined the writer's guild strike). The numerous Skins fans who read this drivel don't want to hear it, but Seattle wins, narrowly. In fact, playoff game in Seattle, probably coming down to a late field goal... hmmm, is backup-turned-starter Todd Collins the holder? The Gnomes Know: Redskins.

Whitney's Purportedly Whiskey-Fueled Rambling:
There's really only one game this weekend, as far as several of us are concerned. It's something of a miracle that the Washington Redskins are even playing ball in these here playoffs -- not necessarily in the burning bush (sorry to bring that up, Greg) kind of miracle or even the Guido Sarducci ("and I heard one of 'em was a card trick") way, but in the NFL Laws of Probability kind of miracle. As you might have heard, this team was full-on headed for 6-10 not long ago. It was a lock. And now...

I've said this to a couple of my cronies already, but what our leader and savior Joe Gibbs has accomplished in the last four weeks will be massively overhyped but cannot be overstated. I, and most of my offensively (to Native Americans) garbed brethren and sistren, were ready to issue the team a free pass for lying down and fading out of the 2007 football season after Sean Taylor's death. That they have demonstrated the antithesis of such a collapse has been an unforeseeable, stunning, and -- if you bleed gold along with the burgundy that most folks bleed -- stirring conclusion.

"Conclusion" is perhaps premature, but I think it accurately depicts my frame of mind. Everything from here on out is gravy. I am going the John Kerry flip-flopping route of taking back my whiny rants of why Gibbs 2.0 is a bust. I/we were not wrong on the fallible X's and O's that this administration has employed, nor so as to some bumbling in-game decisions. Where I think we have erred, however, is to assess the even-keeled, grandfatherly demeanor of Joe Gibbs as some sort of milquetoasty softness and a failure to address concerns in a stern, serious manner. The transformation of this club from underachieving, frustrating also-rans to executing, focused, driven players on a mission seemingly begins and ends with a coach who thrives in dire circumstances. Forgive the melodrama of such a reference, but like Patton, who was Albert Einstein during wartime and Rudi Stein during peacetime, Coach Joe seems to click it on most completely (and perhaps only) when things are headed off the rails. If the game "passed him by" during his time away, so be it. The guy is a leader of men, and the interim between Gibbs tenures was utterly marred with tacticians and engineers who couldn't claim such a title.

You may not want a soft-spoken grandfather type keeping boys-will-be boys in line during your routine NFL season. But when a teammate's lying in state, the calm tones of a near-sage and a man you know cares about the well-being of this team and every single person employed by it is the quintessential figurehead. It's as if we suffered through the slog of the past couple of seasons, questioning the man all the way, for this. "Just happy to be here" is a frame of mind seriously detrimental to clubs' chances of moving on in the postseason, so I hope the Skins' aren't stride-for-stride with my thinking. I have a feeling they aren't. Though I'll be just fine with this season's story no matter the result in Seattle tomorrow afternoon, I've got to believe the Washington Redskins will be bursting at the seams and ready to play. There are only a few folks who could motivate me to perform at my optimal level. One was my grandfather; another has to be that cordial old guy in the "R" cap pacing the Reskins sideline. I cannot wait for kickoff. REDSKINS

Fight on, fight on, 'til you have won, sons of Washington. We fans rather think we've earned it.

(Sorry, Teejay; I'm sure if the Jets were in the playoffs, we'd dedicate this space to saluting Eric Mangini... or something.)

Because I Know (at least 5 of) You Care

Plenty of beak to beak action in Williamsburg tonight as The Fighting Wrens host the Fightin' Blue Hens of Delaware, kicking off W&M's conference schedule in earnest (they were drummed by VCU a few weeks ago, and salved their wounds by thumping the likes of North Florida, Montreat and Fairfield). Our heroes currently stand at 4-7, with an RPI* ranking nearing Whitney's weight at 260.

Delaware enters the game with a matching 4-7 mark, but carries semi-decent wins over Boston University, Vermont, Albany, and conference foe Towson. CAA: LAMM's Michael Litos likes the Hens to peck the Wrens, but that's just more evidence of his clear anti-W&M bias. Or, more likely, points to the fact that he actually knows what he's talking about, as opposed to our fly-by-night operation.

* - Check out Litos' diatribe against the lightly-publicized but completely bogus change to the RPI formula that reveals the NCAA's bias. Not shocking, to be sure, but still, wauugh.