| | | Let's set up The Cooler in a small Mississippi town today.
|  | | The Bruins were bumming after their dismal effort against USC. |
Let's put out a few rocking chairs. Let's bring the kinfolk together, and let's call out for some Robert Johnson, for some Elmore James, for some Muddy Waters.
I'm here to sing the blues, baby.
My team done left me.
See, I don't want to make this specifically about UCLA football. I want all ye people of The Cooler to put your mind in alignment with your team, your squad.
You know how it is. For whatever reason, you've got a squad. Maybe your old man rooted for the St. Louis Cardinals in the late '60s because Bob Gibson
was the king. Maybe when you were 10, you got Eric Dickerson's autograph when he was a Ram. Maybe the first time you got to third base with a chick was the
same day the Celtics won the '84 NBA title.
Whatever. You've got a squad.
Now I've got to ask you: What do you when your squad done left you? When your squad breaks your heart? When your squad knows you love it, and still does you wrong?
So put yourself in my Dixie cup. I give my heart and soul to UCLA football, and it responds by leaving me for another. I believe every day that it will come back, and yet I sit here, empty.
This is all a long way of saying that over the weekend, UCLA football went and showed me the most gutless, heartless, spineless performance in the history of the school. It went up against Darth Vader, against Clubber Lang -- against 'SC, in other words -- and X-rays showed no ticker. To say UCLA football laid down like dogs is an insult to our fine canine friends everywhere.
|
|
To say UCLA football laid down like dogs is an insult to our fine canine friends everywhere. |
|
|
|
You give your time, your cash, your best heckles in the name of a school, and it repays you with a subhuman performance of such profound gutlessness, you wind up staring at the bottom of a pint of a Guinness ... and calling for another.
My team done left me.
As Saturday afternoon wore into evening, the indignant/irate/morose cell phone calls poured in. Coz from Seattle at halftime, calling for Bob Toledo's head. Gib from New York City, trying to make sense of it all -- and while we spoke in heated, profane terms, 'SC scored again. Sully from L.A., laying it on the line, saying we'd known each other for 15 years, and our passion had always been repaid with some form of Bruin heroism. Now, he wondered, what were we to do? What happens when your team quits? What happens, God forbid, when the music you made with your squad just stops, people?
Unanswerable queries, people. Unanswerable queries.
All I know is, I told Sully my mantra from here on out: "Man," I said, "I just gotta stop caring about this crap."
T.C. in San Francisco went mute. We sat at the Irish pub Martin Macks on Haight Street, and did only what we could -- we called for another round. He
was so devastated, all he could say was, "I have no take on this, dude. I can't even think about it."
Our team done left us.
So listen to that Mississippi guitar. Hear that blues riff. Draw some moonshine from The Cooler, and think: There but for the grace of God, goes my squad.
A downcast List of Five, then:
1. Flutiemania: On life support
|  | | When he had the chance for more magic, Doug Flutie dropped the ball in Oakland. |
Speaking of music stopping -- is this it? Is Van Halen's "Jump" no longer the perpetual background music of a Doug Flutie magic moment? Has the year 2001 and all that it entails -- Jay-Z and Britney Spears -- finally murdered the thought that every time the Little Mullet Man got under center, it was another time, and you could hear The Police's "Every Breath You Take" on a radio station you thought was cool, and not a 2001 "easy-listening" station?
Flutie came to Oakland. He fraternized with the Raiders lunatics. He got the requisite vaccination afterward.
And then -- then! -- with a chance to pen another chapter, with the Coliseum rocking and the AFC West proving its mettle and a 31-24 Raiders lead in the
balance ... our guy fumbled the snap. He lost the pill. Raiders ball. Raiders win.
It has been a 17-year run of rabbits out of the hat with our guy Flutie. But on a local wrap-up show, I heard a talking head calling for Drew Brees to take over the Chargers. I didn't know how to process it. All I know is, just when Flutie walked off the field, disconsolate, the melancholy 1984 song "Missing You" by John Waite came on the radio -- and I had to tell my girl to change the easy-listening station to something else.
Sad days, people. Sad days.
2. Boxing: The lost art of completely disrespecting your foe
|  | | Lennox Lewis, right, laid out Hasim Rahman and then laid down the smack afterward. |
Lennox Lewis KO's Hasim Rahman -- and boxing is restored to its smack-talking glory. After Rahman spent months questioning Lewis' sexual preference, the dreadlocked Brit took out the 15-minutes-of-fame pretender and then came to the postfight press conference with this pearl: "Hasim Rahman -- the Buster Douglas of the 21st century."
Good stuff, man! I should get this guy to ghost-write a column. The beauty of boxing is its utter endorsement of verbal bombs, personal putdowns and riot-inciting disses. It's so raw, Oliver Stone couldn't even make a movie about boxing, because boxing already puts into reality all of Stone's superfluous nonsense. He'd have no flick. He'd have to go understated, like Bergman. That wouldn't be pretty.
This goes back to Joe Louis popping off: "He can run, but he can't hide." This goes back to Sugar Ray Robinson in pink Cadillacs, ruling the town. This
goes back to the Louisville Lip -- and by the way, are we all a little apprehensive/hopeful when it comes to Will Smith as Ali? Let's just plan for
the best, all right? The alternative would be too disappointing.
Final thought: Was Buster Douglas that epic of a character that he could command an entire century? Discuss in essay form.
3. NFL takes from a November weekend
I have a problem with the AFC Central. It seems like every week, all the AFC Central does is play against each other. If it's not Jags-Bengals, it's Ravens-Titans. If not, it's Browns-Steelers. Next up, in Week 11: Bengals-Ravens, to be played at Pittsburgh; Jags-Browns, to be played at Tennessee; Titans-Steelers, to be played at Jacksonville. Coming to a DirecTV Insanity Plan near you ...
|  | | Do Elvis Grbac and the Ravens ever play anyone from outside the AFC Central? |
Several weeks ago, I mentioned that Jeff Garcia's success with the Niners was a reflection of Bill Walsh's genius, and that Walsh was having a statue erected in his own garden. The statue would be of Walsh. Now, another Garcia Miracle suggests comparisons to Joe Montana, another Walsh pick. With the reminder, Walsh will call the Statue Man and have another statue erected. This one, also, will be of Walsh, as sort of a companion piece. Delightful, really ...
The shot of Martin Gramatica with his arm around his special teams coach, lamenting the presence of the upright that blocked his game-tying kick was straight-up Euro soccer: the pathos, the acting, the total inability to accept blame. Classic ...
The Lions will be on TV this Thanksgiving. The perfect time to put in your 25th anniversary "Rocky" DVD and see which family member is the first to pick out Frank Stallone in the garbage-can-on-fire street corner scene, when the hilariously unscary white guys are singing "Take Me Back." Just a thought ...
4. Jeff Gordon wins a NASCAR points title
I have no take on this. None. Really. I can try. I can say: Hey, I met Jeff Gordon a few times. I did a story on him when he came to Sears Point back in '96. I even shadowed him and met his hot wife.
And, uh ... uh ... hey, I guess he won some kind of points title or something, right? Hey, cool, man! Uh ... way to go, dude!
And that's about the end of my take. Sorry, gearheads. Wish I could hook you up.
5.Golf in Japan
|  | | Tiger Woods and David Duval had a "Single White Female" thing going on this weekend. |
Great event, that World Cup. But was anyone else bothered by the fact that Duval and Tiger dressed exactly alike? I mean, I know they're both Nike guys and the it was all planned out, but didn't this have a "Single White Female" look on the links or what? Couldn't one or the other drop a dime on a hotel call and hit the other with: "Yo, I'm going white sweater, brown pants, brown shoes today, you go black and grey"? Can't you imagine their embarrassment showing up at the locker room and getting verbally killed by the Malaysian team, or the Filipino team, which laughed its butt off at the Bobsey twins?
Besides, Ernie Els and Retief Goosen didn't need to dress alike. Those guys were for real. I told my boy over the weekend: Out of all those teams, the classiest of the bunch has to be the Big Easy and The Goose -- Tiger and Duval included. Sure enough, The Goose's 5-iron to 10 feet on the par-5 72nd hole was all business, baby. The Goose was on the loose! Fair play to the Afrikaans. They deserved it.
Wish the Bruins had showed half their heart.
Brian Murphy of the San Francisco Chronicle writes the "Weekend Water Cooler" every week for Page 2.
|
|
|
