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.

The 2007 Gheorghe List: Top 10 Movies

We're bored, we're broke, and we're back. Like every other Tom, Dick, and Harry, we're celebrating the impending new year with our look back at 2007's best. Without further ado, here are G:TB's Top 10 movies of 2007*, in no particular order:

(* - Important note: we did not actually see any movies that were released in 2007, owing to a combination of laziness, preference for dining and/or drinking out over the cinema, and the rising cost of babysitters. This list is compiled from television advertisements and online trailers.)

I Am Legend. We're suckers for end of times fables. Also, we'd like to be able to hit a golf ball off a building into Manhattan traffic.

No Country for Old Men. This was a terrific book, so we assume that it was an equally compelling film. Anton Chigurh is a bad mother shutyourmouth.

Ratatouille. We went to college with Patton Oswalt. Didn't know him, but have friends that did. Additionally, we're huge cartoon rat fans.

Smokin' Aces. Lots of stuff blowing up and bullets flying everywhere as allegory for the uncertainty of modern living. A neoclassical gem. Has Piven in it, too.

Black Snake Moan. Sam Jackson ties a scantily clad Christina Ricci to a radiator? Sign me up. Um, rather, a deeply felt meditation on the interplay between class, sex and race in the American South. Sign me up.

300. Part videogame, part war porn, all shiny and pretty.

Knocked Up. Seth Rogen, Everyman Hero.

Ocean's Thirteen. G:TB loves a good caper. And Clooney and Pitt together again? Mmwah.

The Jane Austen Book Club. Just kidding.

I Think I Love My Wife. Don't we all. Also, just kidding. Again.

The Kingdom. Boom! Bang! Pow!

Next up, G:TB's slighly more serious and better researched look at the 2007's best music.

Mele Kalikimaka

...is Gheorghe's way to say Merry Christmas, a very merry Christmas, to you. As the great Bing Crosby sang (in between backhanding his children), Mele Kalikimaka is the thing to say on a bright Hawaiian Christmas Day. Rob, here's hoping after all these years you finally got that Red Ryder Carbine-Action Two-Hundred-Shot Range Model Air Rifle.

Math is Hard

G:TB is generally concerned with the critical topics of our time, like ensuring that TJ gets enough beauty sleep and merrily skewering people far more famous than us. But every once in a while we come across a nugget of real-world import that strikes our fancy. Ruminate on this:

You save more fuel switching from a 15 to 18 mpg car than switching from a 50 to 100 mpg car.

Don't believe it? Check out the math here. This is really reassuring. We don't have to go get that Prius now when our Durango shuffles off this mortal sparkplug. We can get by with another SUV that gets thismuch better mileage and still look Al Gore in the eye.

"Yeah They Come To Snuff The Rooster"

Yeah Here Come The Rooster...
You Know He Ain't Gonna Die...

Sure, I'm in Hawaii so I have nothing to bitch about, but let's just say I have an observation of annoyance. Does that work for you? Does that even make sense? This is the little asshat that wakes me up every morning at 7:25am. I hate him so very very much (even more than James Rome and Skippy Bayless)

Get Well Soon, Baybee

The snarkosphere is in full throat this morning over yesterday’s announcement that Dick Vitale will be sidelined until at least February with a vocal cord ailment. Notwithstanding the irony of his malady, G:TB’s a little bit saddened by the turn of events.

We’re not particularly enamored of Dickie V and his shtick; frankly, we’re Bill Raftery guys. Vitale long ago jumped the shark, morphing from passionate hoops aficionado to shameless coach-stroking caricature. While we love college basketball, we admit that watching Vitale’s telecasts is a bit of a struggle.

Like nearly everything in our popular culture that reaches (and exceeds) the saturation point, backlash is inevitable. See Spears, Britney among many, many others. It’s easy for those of us in the blogosphere to merrily blast away at the icons of our age, and we suppose it makes us all feel just a little bit superior in some small way. But when we see With Leather (one of our favorites, generally speaking) post a headline that reads “I Hope It’s Cancer” in reference to Vitale’s illness, well, y’know, there are some bridges too far.

I don’t particularly like Dick Vitale’s game-calling anymore. I don’t enjoy the larger-than-the-game personality cult nonsense. But I’ll tell you this: I envy the man’s passion. Would that we could all enjoy our jobs as much as he clearly does his. Maybe that enjoyment would temper the knee-jerk need to tear down those that seem to be beating us on the “hey, life is great” scale.

------------------------------------------------------

Addendum: MGL's got a neat and personal Dickie V. story over at CAA:LAMM that underscores the passion side of the ledger.

Aloha from the Garden Isle

Roger, Over

(Formerly entitled "What's Our Vector, Victor?")

So the Mitchell Report, dismissed many moons ago as an impotent, meaningless investigation, has the baseball world turned on its ear today. Good for it.

The fans among us who take baseball a little too seriously -- not as just another channel to flip to between "Deal or No Deal" and "Quilting with the Stars" but as summertime fabric more intrinsic than madras cotton or boardshorts polyblend -- have been bemoaning the steroids skew at various volume levels for quite some time. That MLB finally, at long last, implemented a policy with some teeth was a start. Somewhere in the collective gut of the sport's most avid sentimental stakeholders, however, there continued to be a gnawing feeling every time an extended press conference was held to honor a (seemingly) steroid-addled player who'd just broken an age-old record or reached some lofty milestone.

We all have to blame the Cerberean beast that is baseball's front office, the player's union, and the owners for paving the way for just another concern to become this widespread plague on the game. And only the purest and least grounded among us can honestly condemn any baseball player of the last twenty years for falling prey to the temptation of performance-enhancing drugs. That said, there was still something unsettling about watching athletes accept accolades with big smiles, then fire glowering "How dare you, sir?" retorts to even the faintest suggestion of their use of illegal supplements -- when we all sort of knew deep down that it was probably an enormous, disgusting lie. Now that we know better, it takes every bit of internal strength not to fall into high-horse condescension and hypocritical aspersion casting.

I'm not sure I have enough of that internal strength.

The greatest revelation in the Mitchell Report is inarguably paragraph after paragraph of damning testimony about William Roger Clemens. The Rocket and his reputation, if not his Hall of Fame chances, suffered a serious kick in the ass yesterday, and if you believe the text of the report, that's a spot where he's undoubtedly already sore from syringe stickings.

[As an aside, I should have prefaced this post with one point. Obviously there could be misinformation in the Mitchell Report, but rather than make me follow the ESPN suit of attaching disclaimers at every possible turn ("allegedly he allegedly injected alleged steroids into his alleged buttocks"), I'm going with my opinion that most of what was printed is fact. We at Gheorghe will not be afraid to issue public apologies where they are warranted at a later date -- that's how we do things here.]

So Clemens gets tagged with perhaps the most damaging of the investigation's findings. And if you've followed his career on and off the field even a little bit, you'd have to say that his reflexive rebuttal was utterly predictable. Stern denial, an attempt to cast shadows on the other guy, even using the word "slander" to depict what's happening to him, and a clear portrayal of himself as the victim. At this point, you almost can't blame him. Like Bonds, he's way too far down that road to offer a mea culpa. Only someone of sinewy strong moral character could rebound from this extended misstep, and I'm reasonably sure he's not that guy.

Do yourself a favor: go back and re-read Bill Simmons' worthy piece from 6 or 7 years ago entitled "Is Clemens the Antichrist?" I've busted SportGuy's chops a bit over the years, but this a biased but brilliant article (one that had to have ESPN thinking, "That's precisely why we brought him on board") that offers a whole lot of fan's insight into who Roger Clemens really is. From what I think I know about Roger Clemens -- after rooting against him in October 1986 to watching college buddy Rob urge him on in the '88 and '90 playoffs to following along closely in the Cape summers of '91 and '93 to watching him bean Mike Piazza and the ensuing bat-throwing jackassery to reading the SportsGuy's take on him to just being a baseball fan and following the career of one of its biggest stars -- I simply cannot imagine who outside of Clemens' family and close friends actually believes one word of his denial. If you do, I tend to think you're not paying attention.

Roger, meet Barry. Barry, welcome Roger to the club. You two are peas in a pod from here on out.We're going to find out how much water the accusation of racism behind the public's hammering of Barry Bonds really holds. Roger Clemens deserves no less vilification than Barry; he's an unapologetic, self-serving prick by most accounts, and now he's a fellow cheater by at least one account. That's the thing about controversies like this: when you're an asshole for 20 years, it only takes one strand of purported evidence -- not even the kind that would hold up in any court of law -- for the masses to buy into it.

A lot of folks felt like Mark McGwire was one of the "good guys," the type of fellow that wouldn't betray the institution of baseball and its fans like that. That's why we went along with the preposterous notion that a bit of weight-lifting and some legal GNC supplements morphed him from that beanpole of 1987 into that gargantuan comic book beast of 1998. McGwire did Bonds & Clemens no favors. After his undoing before Congress, we felt burned and stupid, and a real cynicism crept into our heads. Plus, if SuperMac was doing it, instinctively we're sure that less savory characters in the game are doing the same thing, right? If a personality as enjoyable as McGwire was cast aside by Hall voters and general fans of the sport alike, what chance does a player who's largely disliked have?

As Simmons chronicles, Roger Clemens was slipping into an out-of-shape, vague facsimile of his former All-Star self in the early to mid-90's. DL stints were more frequent, his stats were ordinary, and there was reason for concern for the future. Then, after leaving the Sox, like Bonds -- and maybe even to a greater degree -- the Rocket had the parabola that soon became a wave with a serious late-career uptick. His numbers shot through the roof, the awards and acclaim came rushing back, and we're left with two concurrent thoughts:

1. It'd be hard to blame him but so much -- even the most selfless among us has an ego and a desire for increased financial comfort.
2. It seems to fit the pattern for performance-enhancing drug users. He probably did it.

If only there were an injectable form of "crunch time proficiency" or "shining in the clutch," it would've been even more drastic. As it was . . . not so much, Rajah. Oh, he still has his remarkable stats. Of course, another famous Clemens said that the three kinds of lies were "lies, damn lies, and statistics"; for this Clemens, I guess you can now put all three together to conclude his legacy.

It's almost a recipe for a tragic figure, except that as an unsympathetic one, Clemens doesn't qualify. Michael Eisner's best screenwriters could actually build a story around Mark McGwire: he's starting to fade from the stardom of that 49-HR rookie season, getting hurt more, going through a tough divorce, and the deadly combination of intense pressure and the utter availability of the easy way out appears . . . so he sells his soul, never to reclaim it until now, after the bombshell of the Mitchell Report, he comes out, tells all, and tearily begs forgiveness not from baseball's caretakers, they themselves culpable (if not sinister) forces, but by the legions of baseball's truest fans -- people who search, often in vain, for a humanity 'twixt the lines, both of the boxscore and the chalk. Fade to black, that's a wrap.

There's no such script for Clemens. We the writers can't possibly develop that character into one who resonates. As with Bonds, it's partly the fault of genes or upbringing -- he just isn't that likable a guy, which isn't his fault. The adulation of the fans and the millions upon millions of bucks don't help shrink swelled heads, either. But somewhere in everyone is the ability to give back, to offer gestures of gratitude and humility and think about the guy on the other side of things, and Roger Clemens seems incapable or unwilling to go to these lengths. Rajah, if you're wondering why you're getting the same bitter treatment that Barry Bonds got, don't. Just go on denying it and play out the lame string exactly as your harshest critics would have predicted.

All of this -- and it's gone on a bit, I apologize -- is to explain why this one-man jury has already, not 24 hours into post-Mitchell America, come back with a seemingly snap judgment of Guilty On All Charges for Roger Clemens. And done so almost gleefully. We talk about "karma" ad infinitum around here -- hell, we can't get through a VCU-W&M hoops game recap without invoking its use -- but this is a Family Size serving of its retribution. You're gonna starve the lion, you'd better keep the cage locked, and Brian McNamee just opened the cage while Roger wasn't looking. And I'll admit that I can't help feeling satisfied with the result, as inappropriate as it may be at this early juncture.

Better to Burn Out...the Demise of the G:TBCS

G:TB HQ has been inundated with calls and emails wondering what happened last weekend in the first round of the G:TBCS. We'd like to tell you - we really would. But just as we were set to go live with the first round results, we received a phone call from the 860. The voice on the other end of the line was muffled in an attempt to disguise the caller's identity, but we recorded the following exchange:

Caller: Is this G:TB?

G:TB: Yes. Who's this?

Caller: Nevermind who this is. Just consider me a voice of caution. It's not in your best interest to continue with your little playoff.

G:TB: Whatever.

Caller: It'd be a shame if something happened to your website. We know people. Just ask The Big Lead.

G:TB: Cowherd? Is that you, you douchebag?

We heard a few barely audible curses and then the line went dead. Within minutes, the phone rang again and the soft, sexy, and yet completely professional and exceedingly rational voice of Leanne Schreiber offered a rueful apology for anything that theoretically may or may nor have transpired in the preceding 10 minutes. Ms. Schreiber also pointed us to ESPN's College Football Playoff applet, which in addition to being really addictive and perhaps the best thing ESPN.com has ever done (after playing with it for a bit, imagine how much fun that would be on the field), also renders our little playoff absurdly redundant and Luddite.

In the end, the real culprit (in addition to the bullyboys at tWWL) is a complete lack of caring. We went from fully vimmed vigor regarding the stupid system to complete apathy in the space of 3 days. And, that, my friends, is the fault of the BCS. The only remaining game that matters in college football is still 26 days away. College hoops is on hiatus now, the NFL only plays one game on Saturday this weekend, and nobody cares about the NBA and NHL. The next 2 weeks are a sports dead zone. We'd still be talking about last week's games and making plans to spend all day Saturday stuffing our faces and getting grossly inebriated if there was a playoff. Instead, we're chasing Bobby Petrino's slime trail and digging through Les Miles' trash. A pox on all the NCAA's houses.

Colonial-oscopy

It's an utterly predictable turn of events, just like when my alma mater's football program went south just about the time I moved close by and re-dedicated myself to going to games and supporting them. Now that Gheorghe: The Blog has aggressively posited itself as a champion of Colonial Athletic Association basketball, the CAA has, for the moment, ceased to be anything worth following.

Here is the latest iteration of ESPN.com's "Mid-Major Top 10":
1. Xavier
2. Dayton
3. Butler
4. Saint Mary's
5. Rhode Island
6. BYU
7. Sam Houston State
8. Creighton
9. UNLV
10. Kent State

The absence of any CAA programs is eye-catching, especially when you consider what George Mason was doing over Thanksgiving. Eye-catching but not unwarranted.

Rob proclaimed last week that the CAA would only be getting one team into the NCAA tournament. (It's far too early for such a definitive statement, but that's what our little buddy does. Early and definitive. Much more preferable to after the fact and vague.) I, however, maintain that there's still plenty of time for the conference to re-establish itself as a mid-major power. Okay, maybe not "plenty" of time, but there's time.

That said, it has to start now if we're going to be acutely interested in the last few contests of early March and inexplicably hanging on Clark Kellogg's every word around Selection Sunday. The next ten days or so feature a docket of regional match-ups between Colonial clubs and schools either above or below CAA level (Northeastern vs. BC; VCU vs. Longwood). The conference has fared decently thus far against programs of superior stature; its shortcomings, however, have been in the category of "bad losses." For every win over K-State, there have been two or three defeats to the likes of VMI, St. Francis, or Toledo. This week's going to feature many more games that the CAAers should win than should lose; how they squash these lesser squads will tell us whether the January 2 kick-off of full-on intra-conference play is just the commencement of an exhibition or really the making of a case for inclusion.

Stay tuned.

That's an Unfortunate Choice of Words

From CNN.com this morning, the following headline:

Scott Baio, Backstreet Boy get married

They've since changed it to read:

Scott Baio gets married, Backstreet Boy, too

But the damage was done, my friends, the damage was done.

I'm not certain which is the most interesting element of the story: the fact that Scott Baio and an unnamed Backstreet Boy are noteworthy enough to rate front-"page" mention on CNN.com, or the recognition that we've got a subversive smarty-pants writing headlines for the news behemoth.

Ebirt Dog

The College of William & Mary Tribe has removed the two feathers from its athletic logos in accordance with the ruling from the think tank known as the NCAA. The snipping of the two feathers is uncannily symbolic of the emasculation of the college and its sports insignia. Myles Brand took us to get "tutored," as a Gary Larson dog once mocked, and what's left of the Tribe logo is as docile and sleepy as a fixed pup. Enjoy the results at right.

William & Mary replaces logo to remove feathers

Associated Press
© December 7, 2007

WILLIAMSBURG

The College of William and Mary has a new logo that sheds the two feathers that made the NCAA deem its previous athletic logo offensive because of its stereotypical reference to American Indians.

The logo revealed Thursday updates the college's familiar "W&M" monogram and uses the school's more traditional colors of green and gold instead of the more recent green and yellow. The logo, in four similar designs, will be used not just by the athletic department but on business cards, stationary and other items.

In 2004, the NCAA began reviewing American Indian-themed mascots, nicknames and logos used by more than 30 schools to see if they could be considered "hostile and abusive."

Last year, the NCAA ruled that William and Mary could keep its Tribe nickname but could not display its athletic logo with feathers at NCAA championship events or host NCAA tournament games where the logo would be shown.

After the school lost an appeal, it turned to a committee including faculty, staff, students and alumni to develop a new design.

"The passing months have given us no greater esteem for the NCAA's misguided decision to prohibit the feathers in our past logo," President Gene R. Nichol said in a statement. But he said he was pleased with the new design.

The committee found that in addition to the athletic logo, there were 12 different marks registered as symbols representing the college, said Sam Sadler, vice president for student affairs and committee chairman.

Its goal was to comply with the NCAA ruling and pick a design that could bring consistency to the symbols, Sadler said.

The committee reviewed roughly 600 designs but kept coming back to one already in use: a "W" and "M" separated by an ampersand.

The committee enlisted Phoenix Design Works, a New York company with experience in designing school logos, for help in updating that design. Committee member Connie Desaulniers, a 1975 W&M graduate and noted Williamsburg artist, drew the smaller ampersand that is incorporated in the new design.

Hiring Phoenix cost about $7,000, paid for by private funds, school spokesman Brian Whitson said. He said he did not have an estimate for what it will cost to incorporate the new design across campus."

Gheorghe Quotes the Classics, Vol. 3

"Take everything you like seriously, except yourselves." - Rudyard Kipling

Teejay posts YouTubes when he can't think of anything else. Me, I find quotes to justify my laziness. We all know what Whitney does, but everyone seems to be afraid to mention it in public.

And Now for Something Completely Futile and Stupid: The G:TBCS

Like the salmon predictably return to Capistrano, the hue and cry comes from all corners of the blogosphere, no less plaintive for its annual repetition. The powers that be have delivered unto us a “national championship” game featuring the Ohio State Buckeyes and the Louisiana State Tigers, fine teams both. And, as has been the case for the past eight years, the United States of America, the world’s foremost meritocracy, settles the collegiate championship of its most emblematic and favorite sport by... well, hell, you know how they do it. You’re not a moron. Unless you think the BCS is a good way to crown a champion, in which case you’re probably not qualified to operate that computer in front of you. In fact, get the hell out of here. Go read Drudge or play in traffic or something. We don’t want your idiocy rubbing off on us.

We will not be making an argument in favor of a college football playoff system. The argument is self-evident. We’ve made it ad nauseum in weeks, months, and years past. We’re tired of heralding evolution to a bunch of creationists who don’t return our calls.

No, we won’t be making the argument. Instead of beating them, we’ll join them by putting on our own mythical national championship, making travel arrangements, lining the fields, turning on the lights and playing the games ourselves. If a contrived combination of computers, coaches (see Dan Steinberg’s outrageous outing of the asinine element of this portion of the process here), and “experts” is good enough for the NCAA, then a contrived combination of beer-addled, sophomoric, work-avoiding bloggers is also good enough for you.

Ladies and Gentlemen, we give you the G:TBCS – a 16-team, single-elimination tournament beginning this Friday, December 7th and culminating with a New Year’s Eve humdinger in the Big Easy.

We’ll make the selection process simple, so as not to confuse certain people from Indianapolis. The BCS Top 16 qualify, because it’s a whole lot easier and more defensible to keep the Brigham Youngs, Central Floridas, and Directional Michigans of the world out of the tournament than it is to select LSU over Oklahoma over Georgia over USC for a one-game shot at a title. (What, the Cougars are bitter? Cry me a river. Go beat Tulsa and UCLA and give us a call.) Seeding has been slightly modified to keep conference foes from squaring off in the first round, but generally kept intact. We didn’t want to hurt Mike Slive’s feelings.

Opening round games will be contested at the higher seed’s home stadium. The final seven games will be played at the sites of major bowls (Cotton, Gator, Citrus, Fiesta, Orange, Rose, and Sugar). If your bowl is named for a company, you don’t get to play. ESPN won’t televise the games because they’re scared of the NCAA, so we’ve got Kevin Smith producing the telecasts for us on our own podcast network (G:TP).

Without further ado, the committee is pleased to reveal the following matchups for the inaugural G:TBCS tournament:

Round 1 – December 7, 2007

Cotton Bowl Region
#16 Tennessee @ #1 Ohio State, 7:00 EST
Right off the bat, a chance for the Big 10 champions to justify their lofty perch against the SEC’s 4th-best team.

#9 West Virginia @ #8 Kansas, 10:00 EST
Can the upstart Jayhawks shake off their Border War bed-wetting? Has Rich Rodriguez stopped crying?

Round 1 – December 8, 2007

Gator Bowl Region
#14 Boston College @ #5 Georgia, 12:00 EST
Much-touted Bulldogs take on overachieving Eagles between the hedges.

#12 Florida @ #4 Oklahoma, 8:00 EST
On paper, the best game of the first round – a whole shit-ton of ath-a-leets flying around the field. We can’t wait to watch this one.

Fiesta Bowl Region
#13 Illinois @ #3 Virginia Tech, 6:00 EST
Hokies looking for another shot at LSU. Nobody’s really sure why. Meanwhile, America readies for the possibility of one of the greatest back-stories imaginable.

#11 Arizona State @ #6 Missouri, 2:00 EST
Two vastly overrated squads square off for a trip to the final of the tournament’s weakest region. Lest you cite this as an argument against the tourney format, I commend to you the NCAA Men’s Basketball Tournament first round.

Citrus Bowl Region
#15 Clemson @ #2 LSU, 4:00 EST
Tiger against Tiger, Death Valley against Death Valley, one really good team against Clemson.

#10 Hawaii @ #7 Southern California, 10:00 EST
Cinderella Warriors channeling Harbaugh against heavily favored (and controversially seeded) Trojans.


Quarterfinals – December 14, 2007
Cotton Bowl Region: 16/1 Winner vs. 9/8 Winner @ Dallas, TX 12:00 EST

Quarterfinals – December 15, 2007
Gator Bowl Region: 14/5 Winner vs. 12/4 Winner @ Jacksonville, FL 8:00 EST
Fiesta Bowl Region: 11/6 Winner vs. 13/3 Winner @ Glendale, AZ 4:30 EST
Citrus Bowl Region: 10/7 Winner vs. 15/2 Winner @ Orlando, FL 8:30 EST

Semifinals – December 22, 2007
Cotton Bowl Winner vs. Gator Bowl Winner @ Miami, FL 5:00 EST
Fiesta Bowl Winner vs. Citrus Winner @ Pasadena, CA 8:30 EST

Championship Game – December 31, 2007
Cotton/Gator Winner vs. Fiesta/Citrus Winner @ New Orleans, LA 8:30 EST

Stay tuned for pregame festivities, filmed live on Friday morning from G:TBCS headquarters -- that's G:TBCSHQ to you -- in Leesfolkington, VA. (Have I mentioned that our sponsor is AT&T?) We may not have Erin Andrews, but Teejay looks pretty spiffy in a housecoat.

Finally, a championship of the people, by the people, for the people. Enjoy, people.