Category: Sports

Let the Eagles Soar.

In other sports news, the Superbowl is set: New England v. Philly. I usually root for the AFC, but I’m over the Pats at this point, and Boston already had the Red Sox win in October…any more sports mojo for New England and Bostonians will become absolutely insufferable. So, with that in mind, I’m pulling for the underdogs, Donovan McNabb and the Eagles. (Take that, Rush.)

Dark Globe.

A weekend of playoff football (ugh, so close, Jets) has fed into the Golden Globe awards which, I must say, have been pretty disappointing this year. I root for both Clive Owen and Natalie Portman in general, but Closer was a lousy film, and I would have much preferred to see some love for Eternal Sunshine at some point in the evening, even if Sideways and The Aviator are deserving in their own way. (I have yet to see Million Dollar Baby or Ray, but would be very surprised if they turned out better than Charlie Kaufman’s magnum opus.) Ah well, perhaps this’ll help Jim Carrey beat the Golden Globe curse.

The Great Black Hope.

Before the story of the Hurricane, there was another man the authorities came to blame…and he was the Champion of the World. Unforgivable Blackness: The Rise and Fall of Jack Johnson, Ken Burns’ new documentary on the much-maligned Progressive Era boxer, premieres this Monday and Tuesday on PBS.

The Juice is Loose.

What?!? Barry Bonds and Jason Giambi used steroids?! Man, I’ve been thinking all this time that they both just subscribed to a rigorous neck-thickening regimen. (Next thing you’ll be telling me there’s no WMDs in Iraq.) Well, I guess odds were that at least a few members of the medicated 44% in America would play baseball.

Basketbrawl.

So, while I was at home this weekend, Ron Artest et al completely lost it (to say nothing of my two home college-football teams.) Clearly, Artest, Stephen Jackson, and Jermaine O’Neil should never have broken that inviolate line between the court and the bleachers of (rude, inebriated, schmuckish, asking-for-it) Piston fans…but we already knew Artest was a terminal head case. Now, he’s gone for the year, and, for once, I have to say I concur with the crashing-down of David Stern’s iron fist. This cannot happen again.

That being said, while I thought it was interesting to see normally sports-agnostic sites like Drudge suddenly take on the mantle of shocked-and-appalled basketball enthusiasts, I can’t say I see the fracas in Detroit as the end of the NBA, or of Western Civilization in general, for that matter. Then again, I wasn’t all that perturbed by last week’s MNF intro either, so perhaps I’m just a reflection of the sad consequences of a too-permissive society.

Perhaps the strangest fact of that night in Detroit? Rasheed Wallace didn’t get in any trouble (although he’s now making up for lost time.) Ah well, in happier NBA news, at least the no-D-playing, .500 Knickerbockers are inexplicably in first in the awful, awful Atlantic right now.

The Curse Reversed.

Well, we’re through the looking glass now, folks. After 86 years of trying, the Red Sox have won the Series! The sweep was a bit anti-climactic after the surprising Yankee-beating last week, but, still, an awesome feat nonetheless. Just think of all those terminally depressed Sox fans out there, who now have to find a new locus for their discontent. (By the way, Dubya, Massachusetts is coming for you next.)