I’ve been reading the sports blogs this morning. People are actually saying that LeBron is playing badly on purpose, or out of sheer apathy. I refuse to believe someone like him would want to lose, or to throw a game because his contract’s up and he wants to leave, possibly to play for the Knicks. In fact, I believe just the opposite: LeBron wants a championship in Cleveland so other teams will fight for him. (Why would he leave though, when Cleveland can pay him the most? Guess it could be more about the wanderlust than the wampum…)

Still, it was depressing. As I got ready for bed, I thought, “Cripes! It’s just basketball. Get over it.” I’m thinking it’s a bit more than that. It’s pulling for a city, not just a team. A city whose river caught on fire one day back in the 70s, and has never lived it down. A city that’s come this close to winning championships before (Indians in the late 90s, Browns in the late 80s), but never quite grabbed the ring. A Rust Belt city whose people deserve a championship. My goodness, I wax poetic this morning. I love me.

Anyway.

Did you know they had to construct a database to keep track of all the NFL players who’ve been arrested? That made me laugh.

What did not make me laugh: Men Who Stare at Goats. OK, I laughed a couple of times.

Gonna be a Weird Wednesday. Hope you enjoy yours!

FO

• Two weeks before a show, one of my leads comes down with a serious illness.
• Blizzard-like weather cancels important rehearsals.
• Both of our cars die in the same week.
• Last night’s NBA Eastern Conference Semifinals game.

And did I mention last night’s NBA Eastern Conference Semifinals game? Shoulda seen it coming, when LeBron had like 11 points in the entire first half. Was it his elbow injury? Was the MVP pregame ceremony a jinx? Regardless, the nagging, sinking feeling returned:

The Cavs can’t win without him. Or at least they can’t win it all.

When’s the last Cleveland win with LeBron on the bench? March 2010, when they beat San Antonio. But their record this season without James: 1-9. The numbers tell the tale, as they will at the game Friday night in Boston, some of which I hope to see on TV in my Missouri hotel room.

I know that one day, Cleveland sports might bring home a championship. I’m just not sure it’ll be this year.

Blarg.

Photo credit: Gregory Shamus/NBAE/Getty Images

The Chinese women’s gymnastics team from the 2000 Olympic Games was stripped of their bronze medal yesterday, after the IOC confirmed that Dong Fangxiao, pictured here, was not the minimum age of 16 when she competed (she was only 14). The bronze instead went to the USA team.

Yabbut…what about 2008? I yammered on about this very issue, after I watched the Chinese “women” take the gold medal, with the USA coming in second. Click over to that post and look closely at the photo of the Chinese team. If all those girls are 16, I am Mary on a donkey.

This is not to say that the US hasn’t had its share of cheaters in the Olympics. Rather, it is to ponder why the IOC would swiftly rule on a happenstance case (the error wasn’t realized until Fangxiao recently applied to be a team official and listed her birthdate on the paperwork, and someone put two and two together and got 14), and not the more obvious violation of just two years ago? Who knows…maybe they are, and maybe they will act — it’ll just likely take another ten years.

Image credit: Shanghaiist.com

As fantastic as LeBron is, and as many times as he’s saved the day in the past, it wasn’t enough. But I have to admit, although I’m not a hardcore basketball fan, he is awfully fun to watch.

I thought they might actually pull off a last-second miracle, like they did in the Orlando game a year ago. Remember that? But it wasn’t to be. Carp.

I’ll never get those two hours back.

FO

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Of course she did, dear.

And so it goes: another pro athlete arrested for stupid behavior that threatens an otherwise entitled and charmed life. Some people can’t see how fortunate they are. The man is blessed with tackling talent that eventually gives him an embarrassment of riches. After retirement from the NFL, he is paid handsomely to hang around the sidelines and give his opinion on stuff. Difficult job.

It’s a cruel statement, “You can take the boy out of the ghetto, but you can’t take the ghetto out of the boy.” Yet it’s been proven over and over again in pro sports — especially the NBA and NFL. Fortunately, these jokers seem to be in the minority; most pro athletes make it through their careers without spending a single night in jail. Imagine that.

And then there’s the ubiquitous shirking of any blame whatsoever. Why do they do this so consistently? Because they get away with it so frequently. Why take the blame when you can successfully point the finger at someone or something else? Sapp will plead innocent, even if they send him to jail (which they won’t). It’s *always* somebody else’s fault. And even though the truth — either hard or circumstantial — will stare the judges right in the face, they will slap little Warren with an earth-shattering punishment by fining him and sending him back to his “job” on the NFL network for seven figures, so, you know, we can repeat this scenario in five years or so and go through the same process with the same result.

And the sad part is, it’s not limited to pro sports. But don’t get me started on that. I’m actually in a good mood today.

One word describes my reaction: speechless.

It was one of the more bizarre (yet completely entertaining) bio programs I’ve ever seen. It was produced by NFL Films. You have to watch it. No, really, I mean it. You have to.

As a 30-some-year football fan, I was surprised that I’d never heard of him. I’d seen the name “Corcoran” now and again, but apparently never thought anything of it or bothered to inquire. The Thriller’s first comment upon seeing footage of Corcoran later in life: “He’s a dead ringer for Gene Simmons!” Imagine my delight at finding out in later research that one of Jim’s famous escapades in Las Vegas involved his impersonating the KISS singer. Heh.

Honestly. You just have to read it to believe it. Then catch the NFL Network TV show. If you thought Joe Namath was a boisterous, self-absorbed, womanizing self-promoter, this guy will change your perspective forever. Like someone said in the TV special: “Jim was the ‘off-Broadway’ version of Joe Namath.” Very good assessment. Corcoran, for me, redefined “bizarre.” He was indeed Joe Namath — but with a raging personality disorder thrown in. Amazing. Truly, you have to read his story to get the gist. I’m shocked that even YouTube has nothing on him — no wonder many people hadn’t heard of him. But he is worth checking out, believe it. Wow.

FO

Yes, I’ll admit it. I am happy because the St*****s didn’t make the playoffs. It’s like Dallas being sick of hearing about the “1996 curse” — I am sick of hearing about Pittsburgh winning. It’s time to let someone else. I wish it were the Browns and not the Ravens & Bengals, but…at least it’s not Them.

It’s all good, however. I’m sure the Pittsburgh players and coaches are great guys, and let’s face it, everyone wants to win. But it’s the Browns’ turn to do well. At least in my lifetime.

It snowed overnight. Very pretty outside. But no delay. Methinks my superintendent is having a bit of schadenfreude this day.

Big Ben got his chimes rung eight times by the Cleveland defense. That can’t have felt good on a night when the wind chills were way below zero.

Ouch

Hey look ou...nevermind.

Whaddya know? QB's on the turf again and it ain't Quinn

Josh Cribbs finally got his win, and he wasn’t ashamed to say how much he relished it:

They’re going to hear that bus’s engine all the way back. That’s a lonely ride. I’ve ridden that ride for five years now. It’s time for them to hear that engine all the way home while they look at the stat sheet.”

I was like, “Oh yeah, I hear ya” until I read his next quote, referring to Cleveland’s many Pittsburgh fans:

I hope people go to work and kick those Steelers fans.”

Hmm. Not so good. Comments like that tend to draw the accidental elbow to the head, spear to the ribs, or the slightly over-enthusiastic body slam on a tackle next time.

No matter. I’ll take this win because it’s about time they beat Pittsburgh — even a Pittsburgh going through an extraordinarily (and uncharacteristically) rough season.

Yay for da good guys. OK, now I want to go back to bed.

Blarg.

Photo credit: clevelandbrowns.com

Posted yesterday by sportswriter Tim Povtak, the article’s title was “Shaq Simply Can’t Handle Howard,” to wit:

O’Neal’s belief — and insistence — that he won’t need any double-team help to manage [Dwight] Howard around the basket when his Cavs play the [Orlando] Magic on national television Wednesday, is a fantasy.”

Love it.

Of course, as we all know now, Shaquille O’Neal “handled” Howard pretty well last night — or at least well enough to get the guy in foul trouble in the first couple of minutes. But, oh yeah:

At age 23, Howard could play a double-header on the same day and still have more spring in his step and agility on the court than Shaq today. That’s not to minimize the great career of O’Neal, but it’s a fact of life.”

Right. Forgot about that.

The truth is — and I can’t believe it escaped Mr. Povtak so cleanly — that anything can happen in sports. Yes, basketball is a “young man’s game,” as he wrote. But sports journalism needs to be a smart man’s game. Apparently he missed the memo that said, “If you don’t want to look like an idiot tomorrow, don’t go all Joe Namath today.” Turns out, after reading the comments (some of which are quite amusing), the guy used to be a beat writer for the Magic. Well now…who knew?

I look at this as a life lesson about the dangers of chicken counting. Or maybe it’s that I’ve been a Cleveland sports fan for so long, I know better than to predict anything remotely resembling a walk-off win (or any kind of win, for that matter).

Speaking of the Cavs…my v-jazz ensemble is singing the national anthem at their game against the Suns on Wednesday, 2 December. I predict we will………have fun.

FO

My high school football team needs a win this Friday. A shot of morale always does a body good. The coach is a stand-up guy, and the kids work hard. Go Trojans!

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Eric Mangini is still monkeying around and not announcing his choice for quarterback for the opening game, much to the distraction of the players, and the eternal annoyance of the fans.

Ya know…I wonder. I read somewhere that his indecision makes it appear as if he doesn’t like either guy, which can’t do a whole lot for morale in the locker room or on the field or in the front office. What’s the holdup? Why can’t you pick one? Everyone with a brain knows Quinn has less streakiness and more athleticism; pick him, fuh cripesake. Quit foolin around. Everyone thinks you’re a chump who actually believes he’s fooling the Vikings.

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I hate the St****rs. I mean, I really do. I hate Ben Roehtheeslehbklejhgwlehtkbeener, and I don’t even know him. He could be the Lord come to town on a pony and I wouldn’t care. As long as he wears the absolute undisputed butt-ugliest uniform ever foisted upon a team in the history of pro sports, I hate him.

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Speaking of ugly uniforms — Oregon wins the Olympic gold medal.

Ooo, them duck feathers is scaaaaary.

See, we had this extra fabric lying around, and...

Sorry guys, but the Uniroyal tire-tread look kind of gives the wrong impression.

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Peyton Manning is a really good actor. Seriously.

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Peyton Manning’s brother is a really rich man. Seriously.

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PS – The Slap Chop really works. Seriously.

PPS – HAPPY BIRTHDAY (a day late) to RtB fiends Bando and Stein! I remember my twenties. Um, wait…no I don’t. (Love to you both!)

FO

Photo credits: Getty Images; Sports Illustrated

Well, #1 Son had to get his truck ready to go. He leaves tonight for his first-ever solo haul, and Mama Fink is proud. He needed some prep work done on what will be his full-time office and part-time home from here on out, so he and I — along with Jake — went to the truck yard to get it all ready to fly.

Here is the beast

~

That is one excited toddler who loves his daddy

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The bottom of those help-you-up bars were way above my head

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Making sure everything works

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Bedroom reading light, check

~

Our little hard worker - it was a drink of water and lights out

Then, there was some school work done. Then, this. You don’t say.

Today, I’m having coffee with a friend from high school. Brad (the guy on the left) was my lab partner in chemistry class, and we were in other school functions together. He is now a managing director for the company named in the photo.

It’ll be great to catch up. And since he’s on my Facebook friend list, I can leave the 10-lb. Jake/Justin photo album at home. Always a good thing.

Happy Sunday, fiends. Your Fink hearts you.

Philadelphia sports fans, it is said, would boo a cancer patient. They threw snowballs at Santa Claus during a game in 1968. They cheered when the Dallas Cowboys’ Michael Irvin injured his neck and had to be carried off the field in 1999. They behaved so badly that a courtroom was set up at old Veterans Stadium to handle arrests.

But the City of Brotherly Love is where [quarterback Michael] Vick will make his comeback attempt.

Now fiends. Everybody knows that Michael Vick did a very bad thing. He did his time, he’s paying his debts, and hopefully he has learned something about compassion for animals. However, I still maintain that compared to some other athletes, he got an unusually harsh sentence. Would that mere humans received as much aggressive defense as dogs. (If you like, refer to a past rant on that subject.)

So, I ax you: Does Vick deserve a second chance? Or is it fitting that the mighty should fall once in awhile? I covet your articulate and compendious responses.

I think he’s going to get, if nothing else, a huge lesson in “I can’t let them get me down.” Still, if he doesn’t produce for the Eagles, everybody’s gonna look bad.

Fink out.

I can hear LeBron in Mike Brown’s office tomorrow: You have GOT to get me some help out there.

I read in the Plain Dealer this morning that James, for the first time in his NBA career, refused to talk to reporters after a game. He also didn’t shake hands with a single Orlando player at the end. I didn’t see that particular scene because I couldn’t bear to watch the last 3 minutes.

NBA.com called it “a dream deferred.” I call it a nightmare which will continue until and unless the Cavaliers either get LBJ some support, or watch him sign with another team — which he might do anyway, regardless of the “I’m not looking to go anywhere else” catch-all, non-committal, meaningless statement.

Blah. Depressing. But hey, why get all sad-faced about the Cavs when I can talk about the Indians and their stellar season thus far?

Mercy.

Happy Sunday, fiends.

Fink, sore loser

Photo credit: Getty Images

The faithful sheep

After blowing a 20-point lead (again), it looked like the same old same-old. I was just a little sleepy, so I gave up after the 3rd quarter, when the lead was bouncing back and forth and the Cavs appeared poised to do what they always do.

Imagine my surprise this morning…

Of course, the question on every Cavs fan’s mind is, “Can they win in Orlando tomorrow night?” My question is, not surprisingly: “By how many points will they lose this time: one, two or ten?”

Cynical? Who, me?

Remember, motor mouth (but admittedly funny guy) Charles Barkley picked the Magic to win the Finals. There are people who’d like nothing more than to prove him — and everyone else with eyes and a brain — wrong. My guess right now? Barkley’s right. Orlando is the better team. All but two of the Cavs’ losses in the regular season were on the road, so tomorrow’s game in Orlando might be painful.

I know, I know, basketball fiends. History doesn’t matter in the playoffs. Well, I beg to differ. But…we’ll see about all that tomorrow night, now won’t we.

Graduation this weekend, then singing at a memorial service on Monday night. (BFF Kay lost her dad on Memorial Day. He was a sweet guy; I loved him.)

So, TGIF, I guess. Meh.

Photo credits: cavs.com, Getty Images

Let’s see here. How shall I describe the latest felonious behavior of yet another in a long line of pro athletes who have too much cash and not enough gray matter? Hmmm. How about bizarre. Or you can come up with your own adjectives; I’m sure you will after reading the tale:

This is a Freightliner truck. Its cab is designed to hold four people. It was behind the wheel of this kind of truck that Miami Dolphins DE Randy Starks was found in Miami early Sunday morning, inching down Ocean Drive, in the company of not three other people (which would have maxed out the seating capacity), but thirteen — one of whom was sitting on Starks’s lap while he drove.

OK wait.

How do you cram 13 people in a truck cab designed for four? I’m still trying to wrap my reptilian brain around that little nugget, although according to the CNN report, police didn’t say whether or not Einstein was pulling a trailer. And furthermore – why a Freightliner truck?

Hey, I know. A party truck. Pull the trailer to a designated spot; park, party, binge/purge, repeat. Still doesn’t explain why the tags weren’t registered to that particular vehicle. Yikes.

Anyway, Starks was arrested because he refused to stop when police chased him down in bumper-to-bumper traffic on foot, banging on the windows and commanding him to get out. (I can only imagine what that looked like.) One officer almost got pancaked between the creepaway truck and another car. Delicious.

Starks posted the pocket-change bail ($10K) and walked. Now what do you want to bet: I say he gets the customary hand slap and sent back to the practice facility. A slick lawyer will show up in court and wave a wand and say a pretty speech, and brother will dance off, scot-free. Because just like Manny Ramirez had no earthly clue that he was taking female fertility drugs, I’m sure Mr. Starks’s defense attorney will argue that li’l Randy had no idea that police officers were hanging off — and banging on — his truck’s doors, yelling at him to stop, and besides, if some fool cop didn’t want to get smashed, he shoulda got the **** out the way. Sheesh.

Somewhere, Ray Lewis is laughing.

Fink out.

Image credit: TheAutoChannel.com; Miami Beach Police Department