And another thing...

Uniformly outrageous

Today's definition of "anal", boys and girls, is pronounced "Major League Baseball."

See what happened in New York last night?

Apparently the MLB fashion police have been getting their undergarments in a twist over Boston manager Terry Francona's choice of wardrobe lately. Francona, who has some circulation problems, has been wearing a navy pullover/windbreaker thing (think stylish garbage bag) over his uniform shirt. Occasionally he forgets about the uniform shirt part.

This is a serious issue, apparently, because it's mentioned in the collective bargaining agreement: all managers and players must wear a regulation uniform. So the chief MLB gendarme, Bob Watson, went down to the Boston dugout prior to the game to make sure Francona was wearing his uniform top. Francona showed him he was, so no problem.

Here's where it gets completely psycho.

In the second inning -- with Derek Jeter dancing around out there on second base, and Francona trying to figure out if Jeter was going to steal or not -- some genius decided Francona needed checking again. And so, IN THE MIDDLE OF THE INNING, an MLB resident security agent appeared in the Boston dugout and demanded to see Francona's jersey again.

"Unless that (expletive) RSA can keep Jeter close, he needs to stay out of the dugout," an understandably torqued Francona said later.

Amen. In fact, Francona should have had his bench players forcibly remove the guy. He had absolutely no business down there, and whoever sent him should be fired. Like, today.

No wonder Bud and the boys can't get a handle on perfomance enhancing drugs. They're too busy making sure everybody's collar's straight.

-- Ben Smith

 

A word from Mr. NCAA

MUNCIE -- It was opening night for college football Thursday, and to mark the occasion NCAA president Myles Brand turned up here for Ball State vs. Miami (O.) in newly renovated Scheumman Stadium.

Also to mark the occasion, he answered several questions that qualify as hardy perennials, among them his take on a playoff system for Division I-A football.

Brand all but rolled his eyes.

"I get this question everywhere I go," he said.

Then he set about answering it.

"It seems to me in the forseeable future we're not gonna see a major playoff," he went on. "The conference commissioners are really focusing on the regular season. They want to preserve that. They want to preserve the traditional rivalries."

"If we ever got to the plus-one (system), I don't think we ever will get beyond that."

Brand also said he doesn't expect any more seismic activity among the big conferences, as happened a couple of years ago when the Big East and Atlantic Coast Conferences shuffled schools back and forth.

"It's the natural course of events, teams moving," Brand said. "We're gonna see some of that, I think, but not a great deal. I don't see anything in the winds of a major realignment like we saw the last few years."

-- Ben Smith

Voice of, um, reason

I know I promised this would be a Vick-free zone from here on out, but I can't resist this one.

Have you heard who'd like to be Michael Vick's new best friend?

No, not Rin Tin Tin.

Ron Artest.

Yes, America's Role Model was quoted by the Associated Press that he was glad to see Vick express remorse for his bad acts, and would like to -- are you ready for this? -- "be there for him."

"I was touched that he took full responsiblity," said the man who was suspended for almost an entire NBA season after nearly starting a riot in Detroit, and who drove the Indiana Pacers insane until they finally got rid of him, and who most recently was in the news for allegedly smacking around his wife.  "I felt that was a real man. I know for a fact he'll come out a better person."

Artest went on to say that athletes "just gotta be more aware," and "at times things happen so fast in your  life, you just stay living that same lifestyle. You can't do it no more."

I know. Sometimes there really are no words.

-- Ben Smith 

Con-castic, Part Deux

The best comedy bit on TV these days is not Jon Stewart's "Your Moment of Zen" or Saturday Night Live's "Weekend Update." It's the latest Comcast ad.

Those wonderfully wacky folks who brought you 45 minutes of dead air in the middle of "The Closer" the other night (thus prompting a Joan Crawford-vs.-the-wire-hangers moment from devoted Kyra Sedgwick fans) have been running what amounts to an attack ad against the Big Ten, and it's a howler.

According to Concast, those tyrannical so-and-sos from the Big Ten want to make everyone pay for the Big Ten Network, while Concast is offering viewers a "choice."

Right. Actually, what the Big Ten wants is to put the Big Ten Network on basic expanded cable, where EVERYONE can see it. Whereas Concast's "choice" involves putting it on a sports tier so they can soak whoever wants it for far more dough than subscribers would be docked ($1.10 a month, I think it is) if the BTN goes on basic cable.

Choice, my eye. If Concast wants to REALLY stick up for their customers, as their ad implies they're doing, give us the "choice" without charging us extra for it.

Pork products will fly first.

-- Ben Smith    

Props for the Fort

This just in from FOB (Friend Of the Blog) Tony Mellencamp of Berne: Apparently there really are people out there who remember where they came from.

Mellencamp sends word that in ESPN the Magazine's Aug. 13 edition, ex-Wizard Torii Hunter gave a shout-out to Fort Wayne. The title of the item as "When I Knew I Could Flash The Leather," and Hunter responds by mentioning a play he made way back when in Memorial Stadium.

Don't know if it's the same play I remember -- there was much majestic glove work by Hunter that particular summer, as I recall -- but I wouldn't doubt it. I can't recall the precise circumstances, but I was in the pressbox one summer night when a batter smoked a screamer into the gap, and Hunter got on his horse to go after it. It looked hopeless, but somehow Hunter closed the distance and then laid out to make an astounding catch that swiped at least a sure double off the guy's plate.

I remember distinctly that when Hunter made the catch, we all howled, except for the beat writer from the Other Paper (Marlon Morgan was his name). Marlon simply whirled around, bolted out of his seat and fled to the back of the pressbox, grabbing his head in disbelief.

That was Torii Hunter.

-- Ben Smith

    

Lance after hours

OK, so I don't know what Lance Briggs was doing out at 3 o'clock in the rnorning, either. But I'll give him the same benefit of the doubt his coach, Lovie Smith, did the other day.

In case you missed it, Briggs stuffed his new $350,000 Lamborghini into an Eden Expressway bridge abutment in the skinny hours of Monday morning, then fled the scene. It was five hours before he finally called the police to, as they put it, "discuss the whereabouts of his car."

When questioned about it, Lovie bristled right up, telling the Chicago Tribune that "people are out those times of night without getting into any kinds of trouble."

Fine, I'll buy that. Why, I can think of all sorts of innocent reasons Briggs might have been out that late on, as they say, a school night:

1. It's a new car. Wouldn't you wait until traffic died down on the Eden to take it for a spin?

2. Have you ever SEEN a Lambo? I find it quite possible that Briggs really was calling about the whereabouts of his car. How do YOU know a Lambo can't go wandering around on its own, like that car David Hasselhoff used to drive?

3. OK, OK. So I can't think of a "3."

Except for the obvious, of course: He was out late because he wanted to be out late, and, because he's over 21, it was perfectly legal for him to do so. If not, you know, smart.

Automotive tip, Lance: Next time, stick to your namesake when you go shopping for transportation.

Briggs & Stratton, after all, makes some very nice riding models.

-- Ben Smith      

Bristol goes missing

NASCAR Post Ahead . . .

Today's winning entry in the Oh, Yeah, I Almost Forgot category is about the Nextel Cup race at Bristol on Saturday night, which I kind of caught part of at a friend's and then watched the last 100 laps or so when I got home.

I didn't miss much. For the second year in a row Bristol -- once the wildest, woolliest, flat-out best race of every year -- was about as wild and woolly as a knitting bee. Last year it was because no one wanted to make a mistake so close to the Chase; this time the culprit was a newly resurfaced track that enabled two- and three-wide racing instead of the customary single, hug-the-white-line groove.

The drivers loved it. But it made for a lousy show.

The multiple racing lanes eliminated the bumping and banging and rooting people out of the groove that used to make Bristol fun. Now it just looks like Honey-I-Shrunk-Fontana, 500 laps of cars going around and around and around without much contact or heat.

Never thought I'd see the day when NASCAR would turn Bristol into another of its annoying cookie-cutter loops. But it's done it.

And so another stake in the heart for a sport that started in the South and seems, albeit incrementally, to be goin' Dixie again.

-- Ben Smith

Mascots, mascots, mascots

I've often said (OK, I haven't, but I've thought it) that the sports world would be a lot more fun if there were more mascots around.

And, no, not just that Mark Cuban guy in Dallas, by far the best mascot in pro sports.

I'm talking the kind of mascots you only see in college sports for some reason, which is why I was thrilled to find a list of the top 25 college mascots compiled by Pete Fiutak of CollegeFootballNews.com.

No. 1 was Ralphie the Buffalo, Colorado's mascot, whom I actually met once. It was the 1990 Orange Bowl, Colorado vs. Notre Dame, and when I found out Ralphie was hanging around in an open pen outside the Colorado team hotel in Bal Harbour, I had to go see him (or her, I don't remember).

The quotes weren't much. But you couldn't beat the ambience, as long as you were packing a little Glade.

Not that I want to give anything away, but the best mascot story on the list is about Bevo, the Texas Longhorn. The first Bevo appeared around 1915, and it seems he was just a bit too wild to tame. Sentiment not being a trait much favored in Texas, the faithful broke out the A-1and ate him.

To which I can only add, at least it wasn't Army. The mascot there is a mule.

-- Ben Smith    

Role models, not

Today's Community Relations Award goes to members of the Delaware Thunder, a semi-professional football team based out of Muncie.

As reported to the Muncie Star-Press, Muncie Southside coach Mike Paul told police that players from the Thunder -- who were practicing on the South field -- broke into the high school team lockers this past weekend and stole football equipment. Paul believes two and perhaps more players were involved.

This only goes to show that no matter how bad you think things are where you live, it's always worse somewhere else.

I mean, it's true that indoor football in this town is 2-0 so far when it comes to giving us losers for owners. But as far as I know, nobody on the Freedom or Fusion has ever lifted a pair of shoulder pads from Bishop Dwenger or Snider.

The whole thing reminds me of that old Coke commercial, the one where Mean Joe Greene gives the kid his torn game jersey. I guess in the 2007 version, Joe would be taking the jersey away from the kid.

Progress. 

-- Ben Smith    

Black and white?

I promise, this is the absolute last time Michael Vick will be mentioned in this blog . . . but before we go Vick-free, a couple of observations:

* Lots of talk on the airwaves this morning about how much the tsunami of condemnation that's come down on Vick's head -- outsized, in my estimation -- is because he's rich, successful and, ahem, black.

Take this for what it's worth from a middle-aged white guy, but I don't think it has anything to do with race. I think it has to do with who's driving the outrage here -- namely, People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals, aka PETA.

That the outrage over Vick's dogfighting activities seems out of proportion to the crime shouldn't surprise anyone, considering PETA's role in all this. After all, they are the poster child for hysterical overreaction. Restrained, rational thought is simply not in their arsenal.

Although I have to say, in all the photos of the PETA protesters with their signs, I've yet to see a single black face.

* And speaking of things outlandish, where's Gene Upshaw? The Invisible Union Boss has been conspicuously silent in all of this, even as one of the people he gets paid millions to represent was banned from training camp before he'd been found guilty of anything. In fact, most of his public reaction has been to go along with commissioner Roger Goodell, like the poodle he is.

Upshaw's a disgrace. If I'm a player in the NFL, I take a good long look at how he's handled the Vick situation, and the contempt with which he's treated the retired players pushing for benefits to which they're more than due, and I start looking for a new union chief. This one's mailin' it in.

-- Ben Smith