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Q: When's Geno coming back, moron? Did I mention you're a moron? Moron. A: So you miss Geno already, do ya? So do I. Geno returns from his vacation* at the end of July. I bet if we stick together, and show some understanding (I'm right, you're not), we can make it through this sick little experiment. Cool? Cool. Now, onward and upward ...
* Vacation, in Geno's case, is strangely defined as covering good-walks-spoiled in dusty armpit states while filing Pulsecards viewed by a smaller audience than made-for-Lifetime movies. ***
This is going to sound harsh, especially to fans who much prefer how it used to be, when there was -- or so I hear -- loyalty, teamwork, dedication, sacrifice and cornrow-free heads and tattoo-free bodies. But I'm saying it anyway: Sentiment is for suckers. Or, if you prefer: Dwell too long on how it used to be and you're gonna miss out on how it is. And how it is, is, well, pretty swell. You don't like today's Major League Baseball, with its "competitive imbalance" and its "free-agent frenzy" and its "greedy players" and "showboating histrionics?" (I have no idea who I'm quoting, by the way.) Bub, quit chasing history and catch Barry Bonds chasing 40 in mid-June, the Cubs and the Twins chasing first place (and each other's pitching this weekend); Ichiro chasing 257; the Mariners chasing .700; and Bud Selig chasing his tail as the world catches on that the sky up there ain't falling -- that it is, in fact, staying put. The NBA bugs you out? Get with the program, man: Next season we'll see Kobe aiming for three rings by 23; AI fending off Vince, Tracy, KG and at least six other under-car-rental-age stars for his MVP crown; the Heat with Zo back; the Magic with Hill back (and maybe CWebb too); and the Wiz with MJ and Chuckles and Ewing, oh my! Plus, as an extra bonus surprise, you get the official raising of the L.A. Clippers. This is way bigger than Atlantis. The NHL's lettin' you down? No it isn't. Bourque. Don't like Major League Soccer? Agreed. Let's move on. College basketball's been cheated by early defections? Let me explain something: The Duke team you're gonna witness next season may be about as good as it gets. Jason Williams is the game's best player. Chris Duhon may be second. Dahntay Jones may be third. Carlos Boozer, Mike Dunleavy: Top 10. Casey Sanders: A really nice guy. It pains me to say this, by the way, because I hate Dook. But it's true. Don't miss it. That bears repeating, but it neatly summarizes what I'm getting at: Don't miss it. Recently, a national sports columnist wrote a drippy ode to the NBA of yore. (Not that yore. We're talking the days of MJ, Bird and Magic.) This column was a sickly sentimental recasting of Don McLean's sickly sentimental song, "American Pie." I feel bad for this columnist, blinded, as he is, to the wonders of today's NBA. Even worse, he tries to make others feel bad for enjoying what he can't. There's really a lot to like. Anyhow, after reading this column, I realized how much I hate that Don McLean song, and so what I did was look up the lyrics to the song's antithesis, a song that served as a wake-up call to old fogies who can't catch on to what it is. It needs no introduction, and it needs no recasting.
People try to put us d-down (Talkin' 'bout my generation)
Am I snotty enough, as saucy Pete surely was, to suggest my generation is better that my dad's generation? Darn tootin' I am. No, not everything about sports is better -- the quality of uniform design, for one, has rapidly deteriorated since the glory days of mile-wide waistbands and powder-blue color schemes -- but the quality of play has necessarily improved. Sports, after all, travels on a one-way street toward progress. Today's athletes are better trained -- more advanced equipment, more knowledgeable tutors, more refined methods. And there are more of them -- scouts sniff out talent all over the globe, and many important walls (Asia, Australia) have broken down. You wanna argue otherwise -- that baseball 15 years ago, for instance, was better than baseball is now? The burden of proof is on you. ***
Mailbag: Vote Yes for Moron I got letters. Some of them were nice letters, for which I say, thank you. Others are nasty, brutish letters, for which, I say, congratulations, your 15 kilobytes of fame begin now ...
48.7% of the people can't be wrong. You ARE a moron ... the weakest link ... a s---head ... etc.
I think I get your drift.
It's Matt Karchner, not Mark. You probably don't need to hear this, but that mistake in your first column makes you look like an idiot. Lay it on.
You forgot to mention one thing: resiliency. Cannot Sammy be Allen Iverson and the Cubbies be the 76ers? Sammy is as good as Allen is good, that's true. But who's our Matt Geiger? I'm thinking Matt Stairs.
Don't diss Kerry Wood. That boy could quite possibly be the second-best pitcher in baseball. He's flat-out scary. I specifically didn't mention Kerry in my column because he is one of the few Cubs I can imagine still being a useful ballplayer in, say, two years, or, even, two months.
If the Cubs make it to the postseason, stay away from Wrigley. Given your last experience, do us all that favor. Since witnessing the Cubs sweep in the Mets in a glorious midsummer series in 1989, I estimate the Cubs' record in my presence to be 2-19. That's no joke. You want a war story? Ask me about Opening Day, 1996.
I liked your crack on Jay Leno. He is not funny. The cheese emanates from his big jaw like the whiz out of hot, juicy Philly cheesesteaks. Potent analogy. Anyhow, late-night TV hosts, in order of preference: Conan, Dave. End of list.
How on earth can you call yourself a Cubs fan when you aren't basking in the glory of a great season but instead are thinking of how they could screw it up? How pessimistic am I about the Cubs chances this year? I don't see the glass as half-empty. I simply don't see the glass.
The Summer Replacement is a senior reporter for ESPN The Magazine. E-mail your suggestions and scorn to scott.burton@espnmag.com. |
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Summer Replacement: Reality bites
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