And another thing...

Bombs away at Wimby

It was novelist and sportswriting icon Dan Jenkins who once puckishly referred to Wimbledon officials as "wing commanders."

Never knew how true that was until now.

Now, it seems, the wing commanders have succumbed to their military instincts. Under siege by carpet-bombing pigeons who've apparently confused the open-air media restaurant with Saddam's Baghdad, Wimbledon has called in snipers (OK, so they call them "marksmen") to wage war on the enemy.

And so the Battle of Britain is joined again. Or Thirty Seconds Over Tokyo. Or Thirty Seconds Over The Poor Sot From The Daily Mail.

Supposedly Wimbledon has routinely employed two hawks to chase off the pigeons in the past. But it's not working this time (rumor has it the 2008 model pigeons are equipped with upgraded guidance and detection systems). And so it's time to bring in the big guns, literally.

Naturally the animal rights activists are all up in arms over this, no pun intended. As for me, I wonder what all the fuss is.  I mean, it IS the media restaurant. Pigeons strafing it with you-know-what seems oddly metaphorical to me.

On a similar note, "volley" has now taken on a whole new meaning at the All-England Club.

-- Ben Smith

Dissin' sportswriters

OK, maybe I'm being too sensitive here ("You?" you're saying now). Maybe I'm reading something into this that isn't there.

But I was reading Eugene Robinson's column on Tiger Woods on our editorial page Monday, and immediately he starts off with a familiar bit of condescension: "It's easy to make fun of the pretentious verbiage that's used to inflate sporting events ..."

After which, of course, Robinson parodies a few cliches every competent sportswriter I know would sacrifice a limb before using -- "The thrill of victory, the agony of defeat," and "the heart of a champion," and, as Robinson rather scathingly puts it, "Blah, blah, blah."

Well. Right back at ya, Eugene. Blah, blah, blah.

Same old nonsense from a so-called "serious journalist," re-cycling a tired, hackneyed cliche himself about sportswriters and the work they do. Maybe it's just jealousy, seeing how sports is generally the No. 1 thing that sells every paper in the country, including Eugene's. Or maybe it's just plain ignorance about how much the way we cover sports has changed over the years.

The days when you could call sports "the toy department" are long behind us. Even on the college level -- and in some respects the high school level -- sports is big business now. And we cover it accordingly.

And as far as "pretentious verbiage" ... well, you don't need to go to the sports page to find that. Check out some of the election coverage out there.

OK, enough inside baseball. Go on with your lives, citizens.

-- Ben Smith 

       

Pssst. (Cubs rule).

I hesitate to bring this up, knowing the way Cubs fans think ... but didn't they look like a World Series club to you over the weekend?

Three games, three spankings of the rival White Sox -- two of which were no contest. I've read several pieces by people I know to be sober and not given to fantasy that this Cubs team is different, and I'm starting to believe it. Maybe there really is something to that whole 100 years thing.

(All you Cubs fans out there, feel free now to scream "Jinx!" and begin beating me briskly about the head and neck. I'll understand. Success is a hard nut to swallow).

-- Ben Smith 

Sorry, Glasgow

Sometimes in the cultural exchange we are all a bit ham-handed.

And so I plead guilty by proxy to dropping the ball last week in my column on DaMarcus Beasley.

In it, I relayed Beasley's description of Glasgow as being divided along religious lines in their soccer allegiances -- Protestants tended to side with Beasley's Rangers, Catholics with Celtic.

Let me interject here that it's true what they say about the Internet. It really is everywhere.

And so almost immediately I began getting e-mails from Scotland scolding me for unfairness. Apparently Celtic is NOT a sectarian club, or so its supporters have told me. Apparently it is not the strictly Catholic stronghold Beasley characterized it to be.

And so ... apologies are in order. My only defense is ignorance. Which, of course, is no defense at all.

-- Ben Smith   

Apocalypse now

If you're familiar with Sports Illustrated, you know the magazine carries a weekly feature called This Week's Sign of the Apocalypse -- aka, some sporting outrage or other too crass to be believed.

I think I know what this week's will be.

According to Brazilian authorities, soccer icon Pele was robbed at gunpoint by a gang of delinquents near the city of Santos on June 13.  Considering Pele is an officially designated national treasure in Brazil, this is akin to lifting the Pope's wallet in Vatican City.

(OK, so not quite. But close, really close).

So I guess now we have the answer to that old rhetorical question, "Is nothing sacred?"

The answer is no. Nothing is.

-- Ben Smith

Speed gracer

Kudos to Dan Wheldon. Not only did he the Iowa Corn Indy 250 (can't wait for the Kansas Wheat Indy 300) today, but he's donating all his winnings to victims of Iowa's recent tornadoes and floods.

Who says all professional athletes live in a bubble?

-- Ben Smith

Adam Jones update

Bad news for followers of the Blob (or at least for the Blobber). Adam "Pacman" Jones wants to bury the "Pacman" part.

"It's time for a change, man," he said.

Well, crud.  I suppose this means we have to put away "Bugsy," "Machine Gun" and "The Teflon Don," too.

Suddenly life just isn't as much fun anymore.

-- Ben Smith

And the Oscar goes to ...

... Cristiano Ronaldo of Portugal, for that acting job he got away with against Germany in Euro 2008 the other day.

(Yes, I know it's soccer. Yes, I know you hate soccer. But like I always say, it's my Blob. And the exit signs are all well marked).

Anyway ... did you catch this guy's act the other day?

First he trips over his own feet and falls down. Then the camera zooms in on him clearly looking to see if the ref's watching. Then, after five seconds or so, he suddenly grabs his shin and starts rolling around on the ground grimacing.

Last time I saw acting this over-the-top, William Shatner was screaming "KAAAAHHHN!" in "Star Trek: The Wrath of Kahn."

And of course, the dopey ref fell for it, yellow-carding the German player closest to Ronaldo when he went down.

Puh-leeeze. Why can't soccer be like hockey, where obvious dives draw two minutes in the box? In my opinion, it was Ronaldo who should have been yellow-carded for, I don't know, delay of game or something. Or faking an injury. Or just being a lousy actor.

And the rest of the world wonders why Americans can't take soccer seriously. This is why.

-- Ben Smith      

Delayed screen(ing)

This just in: As has been rumored for months, the Big Ten Network and Comcast have reached an agreement that will bring the BTN to expanded basic cable for one year beginning Aug. 15, in states with Big Ten schools.

Like you, I'll miss wedging into a bar full of Purdue fans (or IU fans) on nights when the Boilers or Hoosiers were playing. I mean, the comfort of your own living room is SO overrated, right?

Like you, too, I feel compelled to say something to the BTN and Comcast folks.

Yo, fellas. Now was that so hard?

-- Ben Smith

More Tiger

I'm with Michael Rosenberg. I think Tiger dominates golf even in his absence.

Every tournament now will be an exercise in "Yeah, but Tiger wasn't here."  Whoever wins the British Open will hear it. Whoever wins the PGA will hear it. Whoever wins whatever tournament Tiger would have entered from now to the end of the season will hear it.

And the guy who wins the FedEx points championship?

He'll REALLY hear it.

You hear a lot of Tiger backlash these days from people who claim they're sick of hearing Tiger, Tiger, Tiger all the time. They wonder why no one ever talks about any of the other players.

My answer: Because the other players couldn't even beat a one-legged Tiger last weekend. You want us to start talking about them? Tell them to step up and beat the guy.

Oh, wait, I forgot. Now they can't.

-- Ben Smith