Good to see the Lakers come through with a 6-0 mark on their just-completed 11-day roadie. Especially since Andrew Bynum went down with a freak knee injury early into the trip, and they finished by beating the Celtics in the second game of a back-to-back, and beating the previously home-perfect Cavs in a nationally televised game on Sunday.

It was particularly gratifying that the players who really stepped up were the ones who disappeared so pathetically in last year’s Final: Pau Gasol and, especially, Lamar Odom. I don’t know what got into Odom, in particular, but whatever it is, they should bottle it and feed it to the rest of the squad.

True, the Lakers needed some luck and some favorable calls, but every team needs those. With all those moving picks the Celtics set, just f’rinstance, they have some nerve blaming their one-point loss on a no-call to Derek Fisher. As for the Cavs’ game, it’s almost impossible to determine whether the misfires in the second half were due to tightened Lakers’ defense or to just plain going cold. Probably a bit of both, but I’m not in a hurry to herald the Lakers’ acquisition of defensive mojo until I see them clamp down on opposing offenses regularly.

Still, an outstanding road trip and 2 stellar wins. Even had Kobe Bean Bryant been in good health for the Cavs’ game, props should still have gone to the 2 big guys. Nonetheless, the fact that he was so weakened and dehydrated by “flu-like symptoms” that he was retching in the toilet before the game, and required IVs at half-time and after the game, make his otherwise ordinary numbers (19 points on 8-17 from the field, 3-3 FTs, 0-2 from beyond the arc, 3 boards, 2 assists and 1 steal) pretty impressive from where I sit.

Heck, I can barely drag my sorry behind in to the office when I’ve got the flu, let alone play 35 minutes in a sport that’s not merely physically demanding, but aerobically demanding, while taking the primary responsibility for guarding Mr. Crab-Dribble. True, the whole team chipped in to contribute to LeBron James’s 5-20 shooting night, but The Kobester was the initial defender in most instances. And to top it off, his ridiculous rainbow shot over James in the waning minutes, to stave off a Cavs’ comeback, would have been impressive at any time. That it came when he’d already logged 30-some minutes in his weakened condition puts it up there with some of his other miracles.

Which is why I take great issue with noted Kobe-hater Charley Rosen, who, after acknowledging that Kobe’s energy was severely impacted by his illness, weakness and dehydration, still claims, “However, once a player steps onto the court, he forfeits any otherwise relevant medical excuses.”

Oh, please. This isn’t about excuses. Heck, the Lakers won, for Pete’s sake. But context, in sports as in life, is everything. It makes a huge difference in evaluating someone’s performance to know whether he was healthy or not. It just does.

Michael Jordan played well in Game 5 of the 1997 NBA Finals, but he’d had better games. He shot below 50 percent and, frankly, didn’t have the kind of defensive presence for which he was known. Not that his stats were bad — I mean, the guy did score 38 and made a huge clutch three-pointer with 25 seconds to play in a 90-88 Bulls win. But anyone looking at his stat line from that game could be excused for being underwhelmed, since it wasn’t a “vintage” Jordan line, although most players would gladly settle for 7 boards, 5 assists, a steal and a block to go with 38 points.

What made his performance memorable was that he, like Number 24, played while weakened by a miserable flu that had him hurling his innards before game time and left him weak and dehydrated throughout the game. That’s certainly what I and many others remember. Don’t try to tell me that we should just ignore the physical handicap under which Jordan accomplished his performance.

Kobe’s 19 points on 8 of 17 from the field, plus 3 boards, 2 assists and 1 steal in a non-Finals game doesn’t quite have the same cachet, but in its own way, it was impressive. Especially because he played solid defense against the thus-far consensus league MVP, and made a crucial circus shot to stanch the bleeding.

I don’t have much feeling about the players the Lakers acquired in exchange for Vlad “The Impaler” Radmanovic. Adam Morrison may have some upside, despite his spotty showing pre-knee injury, and his timid play after rehab. I don’t know anything about Mr. Brown. But this is an “addition by subtraction” in the vein of the trade that sent Brian Cook (and Mo Evans) to Orlando and brought the Lakers back Trevor Ariza.

Even had Ariza not proven to be the revelation he’s been, that trade would have been a positive just because it got rid of Cook. Ditto for this trade, except substitute “Borat” for Cook.

I’m not suggesting that Morrison is or ever will be as important a piece as Ariza’s become. For one thing, Morrison has yet to prove that he can play defense against anybody with more mobility than a fire hydrant. But the Lakers do get some medium-term cap luxury tax relief from the trade, which was probably the main motivation. Almost as importantly in the short run, they don’t have to put up with Radmanovic’s aggravating laissez-faire defense, brain-dead decision-making and movement without the ball, and generally unprofessional attitude.

Not that he’s evil. Many of his fellow Lakers teammates apparently liked him. Of course, Cook was tight with a few of the Lakers, too. But pro basketball isn’t a Miss America competition. There are no extra points for congeniality. Cook’s problem wasn’t his likeability; it was that he was a waste of money as a basketball player.

As a basketball player, Vlad Rad just isn’t someone a winning team really wants, in my opinion — certainly not as a starter, and maybe not even as a role-player — despite his ability to shoot the three-ball and to help with “floor spacing.” The Lakers especially don’t need him because, unlike Ariza, who actually told the coaches that he’d prefer coming off the bench with the second team, Vlad Rad could never be happy in that kind of role, or adjust to inconsistent minutes.

I think all we need to know about him as a basketball player is that he’s happy to be on the Bobcats rather than the Lakers — well, happy until noted grouch Larry Brown tears him a new one — because he has a chance for more minutes and better stats with less accountability. A player who’d rather have more personally satisfying stats with a losing team than be a valued role player on a winner is someone who should ALWAYS be on losing teams, since that’s where they belong.

I understand that players in general don’t get rewarded at contract time for their intangible contributions to winning. Because the public and even GMs are so stat-conscious, it makes good economic sense for a player to be more concerned with how his stats look in a box score than with how he’s actually played. That’s fine for the player, as long as he doesn’t really mind losing all the time. Such players talk about wanting to “play for a winner,” but they’re not willing to do it if it means adjusting their game. There’s always a market for such “stat men,” but that market, in general, shouldn’t include teams that expect to challenge for championships.

God, there’s enough mealymouthed hypocrisy surrounding the revelation that even A-Rod took steroids to fill all the Great Lakes, with millions of gallons to spare for the Aral Sea. The hypocrisy starts, but most assuredly doesn’t end, with A-Rod, who’s on tape from an interview with Katie Couric a few years ago, not only denying that he ever used performance-enhancing substances, but boasting that he never needed them, and that anyone who uses them is a disgrace to the great game of baseball. Now, he’s suddenly contrite? Everybody’s sorry when they get caught — not because of what they did, but because they got caught. He gets no points whatsoever from me for “coming clean” soon after he was outed.

Not that he did, in fact, “come clean.” His formulaic “apology,” bolstered by his Wally Cleaver interview attire of blue crew-neck pullover and button-down Brooks Brothers shirt, presumably obtained from the Desilu Studios prop room, was a palpable crock from the start, a fill-in-the-blanks template from the Big Book of Non-Apology Apologies apparently issued to every athlete along with his uniform.

I mean, really. “I was young and stupid.” A “young and stupid” person maybe takes a bong hit or two at a party. Maybe he drives once or twice with a blood alcohol content over the legal limit. Maybe he gets into a bar fight. Maybe he has unprotected sex with a groupie. He doesn’t stick hypodermics loaded with prescription meds into his butt regularly over a period of 3 years. (That’s if we believe his story. For all we know he’d done it since high school.)

But every athlete spouts such claptrap when he gets caught. What makes A-Rod particularly deserving of derision and scorn is that, like his former teammate Rafi Palmeiro, he publicly and arrogantly proclaimed his virtue, knowing it was a lie. Sanctimonious cheaters are, simply, worse than those who simply cheat without all the sanctimony.

By way of example, take all those bible-thumping, holier-than-thou hypocrite Republican politicians who pummeled Slick Willie so mercilessly for his extramarital indiscretions, and piously espoused “family values” and “old-fashioned notions of morality,” and then turned out to have had affairs of their own, or to have visited high-priced hookers who put them in diapers and allowed them to suck toes, or whatever. They’re absolutely more reprehensible than people who merely cheated on their loved ones without the false, public attestations of piety. It’s not right to cheat, to be sure; but it’s worse when the cheater has not only pretended to be above such behavior, but actively condemned the same behavior in others.

But A-Rod needn’t bear the shame alone. How about MLB, which cannot but have known of rampant steroid use for years, and did nothing? How about Bud Selig, who gets paid $18 Million per year to do — well, I don’t really know what he’s paid to do except pretend there’s no problem other than player greed, and to keep Pete Rose banned for life from baseball? How about the Players’ Union, which is supposed to represent and protect the players, and couldn’t even be bothered to make sure that all confidential test results were destroyed, so that some bent government or court person would never have had the results to leak? How about the sports media types, who damned well knew for years what was going on, but for various reasons insisted on framing the debate about increased home run production around a mythical “juiced ball” instead of actual juiced players? And how about the government and the Federal Court which absolutely had no authorization to make the test results public in this way?

And how, most of all, about Rangers’ owner Tom Hicks, who claims to feel “betrayed” by A-Rod’s steroid use, and demanded a personal apology to himself and all Rangers’ fans. Oh, really? Hicks, after all, benefited handsomely from signing steroid users who hit lots of home runs. Forget about A-Rod for a second, although A-Rod’s presence — and his prodigious stats — probably brought Hicks more money, directly and indirectly, than Hicks ever paid him. The Rangers clubhouse was a hotbed of ‘roid use. Juan Gonzalez, Rafi Palmeiro and Pudge Rodriguez come immediately to mind. Hicks never had a clue about any of them? And we’re supposed to believe that? Is Hicks now going to give back all the money the fans and the electronic media poured into his coffers because it was “tainted”? Hardly.

I’m not defending any steroid use. I’m on record as hating such cheating. And not just because cheating is bad in some absolute, moral sense. This kind of cheating, in particular, makes it impossible to compare records across generations and unfairly inflates the records of more recent players at the expense of even the greatest players of prior eras. It also puts modern players who refused to cheat at a distinct and entirely unfair competitive disadvantage.

But of course that assumes that there are any modern players who DIDN’T cheat. I assume there were, but at this point, it’s impossible to tell. Just because someone wasn’t named in the Mitchell Report, or isn’t on the “confidential” list of 104 players who tested positive in 2003, doesn’t mean he didn’t, or doesn’t, cheat.

I’ve given up trying to guess which players during the “steroid era” were or weren’t clean — although I suspect that’s a good drinking game, for those alcoholically inclined. In fact, if there’s one semi-good thing that’s come out of the A-Rod revelations, it’s that we can no longer assume that players who have “the look” — you know, sudden gains of 35 pounds of rippling muscle, back acne, anger management problems — are the only ones juicing. A-Rod is to baseball what ingénue, girl-next-door looking actresses are to the porn industry, or baby-faced, frat-boy looking actors cast as serial killers are to the mainstream movie biz — a stereotype-buster, cast against type. If a guy that looks like him juiced, anybody could have.

Since it’s now obviously impossible to tell just from looking at a player’s physique whether or not he’s been juicing, it’s time to stop assuming that any player is innocent. And it’s high time, too, to stop pretending that now that we have testing, the so-called “Steroid Era” in baseball is over. Until I have proof of the negative, just for example, I’ll never believe that Albert Pujols is, or ever was, clean. The fact that he’s never tested positive for banned substances (as far as we’ve been informed, at any rate) merely means, to me, that baseball players, like NFL football players, have become a lot more sophisticated at beating the tests. Unless anyone really still believes that the NFL’s stern drug policy has actually stopped players from using performance-enhancers.

Since I now believe that everyone’s a guilty cheater until proven innocent, I don’t really care about all the cheating. It’s a level playing field of infamy, sort of like a country run by criminal cartels. If everyone’s a criminal, then the definition of crime has to change. Let players put whatever crap they want into their bodies. If it negatively affects their health, tough noogies. If they die young, at least their juicing let them earn large salaries, and they may leave behind a nice estate. They may even die young enough so that their cougar widows can use the inheritance money to find a nice boy-toy, so it’s win-win for everyone. If a few of the athletes go berserk and commit murder-suicide, well, that’s the price a free society pays, eh? I’ve made my peace with the culture of cheating in sports. Intellectually, if not viscerally.

The worst thing, for me, is that Jose Canseco, whose morals are lower than an earthworm’s belly, is the one who winds up vindicated, like a lotus growing above the muck. The guy’s a pathological scumsucker, in all things EXCEPT his revelations of drug use. Damn. I guess it’s like the premise of that old TV series, “It Takes a Thief.” If you really want to catch criminals, or beat them at their own game, employ a criminal against them.

So let me get this straight Brett Favre. You created your own Wisconsin reality show by announcing your retirement after an NFC-Final loss to the Giants, then waiting until the Packers had irrevocably committed to Aaron Rodgers before imperiously announcing your “unretirement.” You self-absorbedly tried to shame the Packers into allowing you to QB the Vikings, who were in their division, and turned down a cash offer of $20 million to stay retired. Then, you joined the Jets, basked in the accolades when they started 8-3, and tried to deflect as much as possible of the blame when they finished 1-4, and missed the playoffs while you, personally, threw a ton more interceptions than TD passes.

Here’s what I take from the psychodrama. Favre is a solipsistic drama queen of the first order, under his thin veneer of gritty competitor who just wants to win. (If he REALLY wanted to win so much, maybe he could have tried to throw fewer interceptions. But of course, what he actually wanted to do was win while being the star in the klieg lights.) The Vikings made the playoffs without him; the Jets missed the postseason with him. No matter how much the Jets paid him, it wasn’t nearly as much as he’d have made by taking Green Bay’s offer to stay retired. Had Favre stayed retired, he’d be remembered for having led the Pack to a wonderful record in his final season. Now, he’ll be remembered as just another superstar who stayed on just that little bit too long. Gee, fan adulation plus $20 million versus near-universal contempt and derision from his own teammates plus a tad more than $12 million. Who wouldn’t have gone to the Jets, had he to do it over again?

Interesting to learn that Elgin Baylor is now suing the Clippers, Donald Sterling, General Counsel Andy Roeser, and, for good measure, the NBA, for race and age discrimination. I don’t see it, myself.

Mind you, I hold no brief for The Donald, whose bizarre and parsimonious ownership decisions are legendary. But give me a break. If anything, Sterling kept Baylor around, at a decent salary, for at least a decade longer than most owners have kept even successful GMs. That’s 22 years or so of mostly atrocious personnel decisions.

Any casual fan in L.A. can recite a litany of misguided, high draft picks apparently orchestrated by Baylor: Benoit Benjamin; Danny Ferry (who became a decent role-player down the pike); Joe Wolf; Michael Olowokandi; Bo Kimble — God, the list is endless. Anyone else would have been fired years earlier.

Baylor’s longevity despite the pathetic drafting, and the team’s equally pathetic record of just making the playoffs — let alone having a winning record — in only two of those 20-plus years, suggests that, if anything, Sterling bent over backwards NOT to appear racist.

Let’s be clear, though, that Sterling has been successfully accused of racially discriminatory behavior before. In 2006, he was sued — and lost — in Federal court in Los Angeles, on charges that his real estate company had a policy of not renting to African-American applicants in Beverly Hills, and refusing to rent to anyone but Koreans in Koreatown, which, despite its name, has a substantial population of people of other ethnicities. In 2003, the L.A.-based Housing Rights Center sued him for trying to chase out non-Korean tenants,– and especially African-American and Latino tenants — at apartment buildings in the Koreatown area. Not only did it win, but it was awarded almost $5 Million in attorney fees and costs. So it’s not as if Donald “T for Terrific” Sterling, as Doug Krikorian used to call him, has ever been an angel in these matters.

But by all outward appearances, Baylor, with a few sparse and short-lived exceptions that gave Clippers fans glimmers of false hope, was an unremitting disaster as GM for a period longer than some of the Clips’ players have been alive.

It’s not just that all of the aforementioned draft picks, and many more, were busts. Lots of other teams have crapped out drafted crap with high draft picks, although few, if any, had so many high lottery picks, over so many years, to screw up. MJ drafted Kwame Brown No. 1, after all, and just traded his latest mistake — Adam Morrison, drafted as No. 3 a few years ago — to the Lakers. The Warriors have their own sad history, including Chris Washburn. The Sixers drafted Shawn Bradley. The well-respected Joe Dumars took Darko Milicic. The Celts had lots and lots of bad choices until their recent return to glory — via trades. The Lakers have had their fair share of clunkers, although, because they were successful, few of those clunkers were chosen early in the First Round.

The big difference is that most GMs who drafted badly for a period of years, AND who failed to deliver winners, lost their jobs. Baylor just kept having his contract extended.

Mind you, white or black, it can’t have been any picnic working for Sterling and being his whipping-boy all those years. And, in fairness, who knows whether the Clippers’ personnel mistakes were all Baylor’s? It might well be that Sterling is the one who made most of the bad decisions and kept Baylor around because, like Presidential press officers, he was willing to take the fall. When Ron Harper referred to being a Clipper as like being in jail, I suspect he was talking about Sterling, not Elgin. But if Baylor was just being a good soldier, he still knew what he was doing.

Baylor may have a point in claiming he was underpaid all those years relative to others in comparable positions with other clubs. But gee, whiz, didn’t he know that 5 years ago? 10 years ago? 20 years ago? We have something called the Internet, on which it’s pretty easy to find information about compensation other GMs around the league are getting. It’s just not credible to me that he suddenly discovered this disparity after he was fired.

And, anyway, billionaire though he is, Sterling has been known for years as a pennypinching cheapskate. It’s not a stunning new revelation.

Of course, that cuts both ways. What, exactly, has Mike Dunleavy done to be worth 20 to 30 times as much per annum as Baylor was being paid? It can’t have escaped anyone’s notice that the two men have radically different skin pigmentation.

Baylor’s best argument may be a variation of “Battered Wife Syndrome,” where people in abusive relationships are so used to the abuse that they assume they deserve it, and only realize their mistake when they’re free of the situation. Maybe it took the firing last summer to finally make Baylor wake up.

Let’s say, just for the sake of argument, that Roberto Alomar actually had HIV infection and has AIDS, as alleged in a lawsuit recently filed by his ex-girlfriend, one Ilya Dall (if that’s her real name, and not her stripper stage name). There have been rumors for years that Alomar is, if not gay, then at least bisexual. If he has AIDS, there’ll be more than a few whispers that he got HIV/AIDS via unprotected homosexual sex.

Personally, I don’t care whether a person is heterosexual, homosexual or bisexual, and I certainly don’t care how a person has contracted HIV/AIDS. The virus and the disease are a scourge — albeit now treatable — and nobody deserves them, regardless of sexual orientation. Those who call the disease God’s punishment for immoral behavior are simply ignorant or sick. And, let’s face it, it’s possible to get it in a variety of ways: from unprotected homosexual sex; from unprotected heterosexual sex; from unsterilized syringes containing the virus; from contaminated blood used for IVs.

Nonetheless, I’ll bet dollars to doughnuts that if Alomar has it, a lot of people will whisper — or maybe shout — that he got it from sodomy. When Earvin “Magic” Johnson got HIV, nobody that I can recall even suggested that he got it from such activities. Or maybe my memory is just playing tricks. If it’s accurate, why not? Because people like Magic better than they like Robby? Because it’s still not all right for our greatest sports heroes to be seen as other than lusty heterosexuals? Just asking.

Please send comments and criticism — especially criticism — to thonglaw@sprynet.com, where it will be dealt with appropriately.

The real “tragedy” — or maybe the main benefit — of the Arizona Cardinals’ punching their ticket to the Super Bowl is that it’ll probably cause mass apoplexy among the NFL “chatterati.” Those are the former NFL players, and non-athlete talking heads, who profess profound knowledge of the sport. Before the playoffs, to a man, they insisted that the Cards had zero chance of winning even a single game, because “you have to play hard every game,” “can’t turn the switch off and on,” “need momentum going into the playoffs,” or whatever hackneyed clichés work for them.

Apparently, they’re wrong. It IS possible to look for several weeks like sludge at the bottom of a septic tank, get blown out in embarrassing fashion just a few weeks before the playoffs, lose 4 of your last 6 games, limp into the playoffs with an 8-8 record that was probably worse than it looked, and still win against the better teams that surged into the playoffs. Who knew?

Not the “experts,” many of whom are outstanding at telling you what’s actually happening on the field, or can unravel in intricate detail the minutiae of a play that’s just been run, but are no better than thee and me at predicting who’s going to beat whom. Indeed, as we learn every March, when the secretary who makes her picks based on how cute the teams’ mascots are, they’re not necessarily better than the most casual of fans.

No matter. As we’ve learned from the political media on the networks, where expert after expert failed miserably to call the shots on Iraq, the financial markets, and other really important events, being a pundit means never, ever, ever, ever having to say you’re sorry. Heck, William Kristol has yet to be right about ANYTHING, and the New York Times actually hired that hack to be a columnist.

I, like everyone else living outside Arizona, assume the Cards will get crushed by the Steelers in the big game. But nothing would surprise me at this stage. Well, nothing except, maybe, Matt Leinart being called into service and winning the thing in spectacular fashion.

Interesting that there’s been next to no public uproar about Dwyane Wade, one of the darlings of the sports media, whose comeback this season with his team of plucky underdogs is one of the feelgood NBA story lines of the year. No, I don’t mean uproar about his play, which has been excellent and deserves the pub. I’m referring, of course, to the publicly aired accusations of his wife, Siohvaughn, filed in the divorce proceedings that D-Wade initiated last year.

In those filings, the soon-to-be former Mrs. Wade accuses D-Whistle — ironically named a “Father of the Year” by the National Father’s Day Committee in 2007 — of essentially abandoning his children, who are alternately afraid of and don’t even recognize him. The more explosive revelation is that, allegedly, D-Wade gave her an unspecified STD, which he presumably contracted from one of his many extramarital excursions.

I don’t know if those accusations are true. People in divorce proceedings often make explosive claims — child abuse being one of the most common ones these days — either to gain advantage in custody issues, or property division in states that aren’t 100 percent “no-fault,” or just to hurt the other party. Sometimes they’re true; often they’re false. Arguably, Paul McCartney’s ex got a few million extra by virtue of some of the bizarre claims she made about him. For all I know, if Wade’s wife has an STD, she got it from her own extramarital activities.

But that’s not the point. The point is that the media have an investment in preserving and burnishing the Wade destined-for-sainthood story arc they’ve created and nurtured: unheralded product of a Midwestern mid-major; burst into prominence in his Junior year; married high-school sweetheart; went to Miami where he immediately became a leader and, unlike that evil Kobe, was able to work with Shaq well enough to win an NBA championship. Humble despite his outlandish athleticism, leadership and accomplishments; well-grounded family man loyal to his first love; playful man-child, as shown by his phone commercials with Charles Barkley — these are the memes that infuse the myth of D-Wade sold to the public. Serial philandering, hearty partying, and transmission of an STD to the mother of one’s children, don’t fit into the narrative, and are therefore being ignored — certainly, ignored on a national stage.

I don’t know if the allegations are true or not. I DO know that pretty much everyone in the media “knew” the Eagle, Colorado allegations against Kobe were true and convicted him in the Court of Public Opinion even as he was being exonerated, after a fashion, in the real court, the one that counted. What’s stopping a similar rush to judgment here, I suspect, is that the media and image-makers actually like D-Wade, and have always had been a bit cold to The Kobester — who’d returned the favor — even when he was the league’s poster boy.

Some people are just Teflon. Wade may well be one of those chosen few. Shaq O’Neal may be another. Shaq has had ugly separations from every single NBA team he’s been on, has trashed them vituperatively, and yet, somehow, it’s never been his fault. Or, if it has been his fault, who cares? Talk about serial philandering, read up on some of the details of his now-resolved divorce proceedings. But it’s OK, because the story on Shaq is that “he’s just a big kid,” and any petulance, pettiness, backstabbing or treachery is instantly cleansed and excused.

Heck, even Magic Johnson, beloved of all in Lakerland despite his abominable talk show of years past, which should have been more than enough to take the bloom off the rose, has a few skeletons in his closet. Yes, it was big news globally when he announced that he had contracted HIV — and, oh, by the way, had given it to the woman who became his wife. But nobody expressed anything but sympathy for him, or (publicly, at least) asked the tough questions about how he got it — or whether he continued to have unprotected sex after contracting the virus.

Magic has many fine qualities. He’s gregarious and outgoing. Obviously, he was an all-time great basketball player. He invests in businesses that cater to and create jobs for the African-American community. He apparently has something of a social conscience. He’s obviously an accomplished capitalist. He’s become somewhat of a public face of HIV/AIDS, and has helped “humanize” that dreaded condition, so that society has become more accepting of people who have the virus, and even the disease. He’s living proof that HIV doesn’t have to be a short-term death sentence. Is that enough? Apparently, when you’re Magic Johnson, it is, and nothing like giving your wife-to-be the HIV virus and (scurrilous rumormongers suggest) unprotected sex even after being diagnosed HIV-positive can be allowed to deface the edifice that the media have erected.

Michael Jordan, Julius Erving, and countless other top, revered professional athletes have their own repugnant personal secrets — which are no longer secret. Just last month, Charles Barkley was arrested for DUI, and the story came out that he’s an inveterate lush, has had many stops for driving drunk, and tried to weasel out of the collar by whining that he was on his way to enjoy some of the world’s best extramarital oral gratification. Yet, none of those revelations have tarnished their images much.

Yeah, I know Sir Charles is on an extended “leave of absence,” but nobody really cares. In Jordan’s case, what has REALLY tarnished his image wasn’t the sordid Karla Knafel affair, or the suggestions of an over-the-top gambling problem, but rather the pathetic job he did as a basketball executive in Washington and, so far, at Charlotte. Once again, when the media have a major investment in hagiography, they’re reluctant to strip away the curtain.

Not so for one Kobe Bean Bryant. He cheated on his wife, and allegedly assaulted a hotel employee sexually. I understand, of course, that an accusation of rape, followed by a grand jury indictment, isn’t some trivial peccadillo that can be laughed off or swept easily under the rug. But you’d think it might make SOME difference that the criminal case fell apart in spectacular fashion, and pretty clearly showed itself to be the product of a politician’s overweening ambition and thirst for publicity, and a gold-digger’s hunger for Benjamins.

Nope. Although he’s regained some luster, Kobe — who, let it be remembered, has never been accused of transmitting an STD, and who, from all outward appearances, appears actually to interact well with his daughters — has never recovered his “cred” with either the media or the public. At least, not with the American public.

This isn’t a call to join in a Kobe pity party. Frankly, I don’t care whether people like or hate any athlete. Some people are rubber, some are glue. The media love to protect and defend some celebrities, and to throw darts at others. Fair or unfair, who cares? Even pro athletes who are hated are making plenty of money, and can find plenty of people to stroke their egos, either for a price or just for the privilege of being allowed to star****.

But I do care that the media conspire to construct false public personas of sports idols — virtual Potemkin Villages of fake biography — and then do their damnedest to assure that even contradictory evidence doesn’t tarnish them irrevocably. Unless they have reason to dislike the athlete, in which case, it’s open season.

I, for one, could easily live happily without having to endure more of the treacly pap about athletes who are solid family men, or devoted to their religion, or fun-loving children in men’s bodies, beloved by all, or all the other non-sports related sob-sistering that passes for sports “journalism” these days. Especially if those bogus images cover up harsher realities. We all could. And not just with athletes, either. Politicians, actors, music stars and other public figures are equally, and unfairly, protected by carefully constructed, fake public information designed to make us think of them as the impossibly near-perfect people they’re not.

Speaking of which, I see where noted red-ass Jeff Kent has, to the sorrow of very few in the Dodgers family, announced his retirement. Talk about an athlete who was “godded up” by a media determined to make a silk purse of a sow’s ear. Only on a team that featured Barry Bonds, the superstar athlete that everybody loved to hate, could Kent manage to be perceived as a warm and cuddly, positive presence.

B. Bonds, incidentally, was an equal-opportunity target. Pretty much EVERYONE he played with, regardless of race, creed or color, despised him. So it’s no surprise that Kent detested Bonds, even though he pretty much owed his MVP to the fact that he was batting behind Bonds. But it’s of more than passing interest that Kent throughout his career seemed incapable of positive interaction with ANY of his African-American or Latin teammates.

Not that you need to be a role model to be Hall of Fame-worthy. Ty Cobb and Steve Carlton are two nasty characters with impressive accomplishments who come to mind immediately. Just don’t try to tell me that Kent was/is a great human being as well as — statistically at least, for several years — a great player. I’ll accept creeps getting honors if their play deserves it, but please, media types — this means you, Bill Plaschke et al. — stop turning sports into a Miss America competition. All I care about in a beauty contest is how good the contestants look in swimsuits. The talent and Q&A competitions are there for the same reason that Playboy has articles — to provide plausible deniability for testosterone-crazed men and teens. Sports “journalism” really, really doesn’t anything but the sports equivalent of the swimsuit competition.

In truth — at least based on publicly available information — Kent’s been roundly detested by his teammates at every stop in his 18-year career. It’s no state secret that his constant carping and criticism intimidated a lot of the younger Dodgers, and that the team didn’t start its late-season surge last year, even after the acquisition of Manny Ramirez, until Kent was out injured for an extended period. Coincidence? I think not.

And for all those who’ve decided that Kent deserves to be in the Hall of Fame just because he’s hit 351 home runs over an 18-year career, please, you’re killing me. He did have one transcendent MVP season in San Francisco, and has had a few other pretty good years at the plate. But just to put matters in perspective, he was batting behind Barry Bonds during his best years — years when Bonds was on base half the time, which meant that Kent saw a lot of fast balls to hit. Even then, his career OPS is under .900 — not exactly the stuff of which legends are made. And he was an absolute hog on ice in every other aspect of the game. No speed or range. Indifferent base runner. Sieve on defense. So-so arm. We should expect just a little more, defensively, from a second-baseman. Joe Morgan should refuse to attend another induction ceremony, if Jeff Kent ever joins him in the Hall.

Regarding Mr. Kent’s shocking rush of manufactured humility and accessibility, and that endearing rush of tears now that he’s retiring, can anyone take it seriously? Apparently so, including our noted, now-national radio talking heads, Petros “P Daddy” Papadakis and Matt “Money” Smith, who aren’t dumb by a long shot, and who’ve got their fair share of justifiable cynicism, except, apparently, when they score a sought-after interview. They practically gushed over how “sincere” Kent was when they interviewed him soon after the retirement presser.

Oh, puh-leeze. “Sincerity” is an imponderable at the best of times. All they can say with any confidence is that Kent finally managed to play to the hilt the part of a person exuding “sincerity.” It’s like the famous Hollywood saying: The most important quality is sincerity — if you can fake that, you’ve got it made. We should never, ever allow public statements and posturing to override the evidence of our own eyes, ears, and brains. Which, in Kent’s case, is that the door couldn’t hit him fast enough on his way out.

While we’re on the subject of objectionable human beings, how about Mark McGwire’s own brother writing a tell-all book about Mark’s steroid use, and justifying this breach of confidence as an expression of love for his brother. Love for the potential book advance fee, more likely. With brothers like that, who needs enemies?

Another season, another Yao Ming injury, eh? A knee, this time — nice break from the monotony of broken metatarsals and tibiae. No offense to Mr. Yao. I like what I know of his personality, and he’s certainly become one of the NBA’s dominant centers — when healthy.

And there’s the rub. It sure seems to me that the big problem with the Houston “brains trust” is that, every season, they fall into the trap of assuming that THIS year, they’ll have Yao and T-Mac on the court for most of the season and the playoffs. Each year, as with Charlie Brown trying vainly to kick a field goal with Lucy holding that ball, their optimism is cruelly dashed. Since the result is almost foreordained you’d kind of think that, smart guys as they are, they might, just once, factor in the likelihood — nay, the near-certainty — of these injuries when making their personnel decisions.

Have I recently stepped without my knowledge into the Bizarro World of DC Comics’ fame? That’s the planet named “Htrae” (“Earth” spelled backwards), ruled by the Bizarro Code of “Us do opposite of all Earthly things! Us hate beauty! Us love ugliness! Is big crime to make anything perfect on Bizarro World!”

I thought that must be what happened when I read that Dan Reeves — yes, DAN REEVES — is interviewing for the job of offensive coordinator of the ‘49ers. Reeves certainly has a decent resume AS A HEAD COACH. After all, he took the Broncos to 3 Super Bowls and the Falcons to 1, although let the record reflect that his teams lost all 4. Let the record also reflect that special last-quarter heroics by one John Elway made two of those appearance possible. Just ask any Cleveland Browns fan.

Given that he was one of the all-time greatest QBs, I tend to defer to the judgment of the aforementioned Mr. Elway regarding the offensive “chops” of Mr. Reeves, Since Elway has publicly stated that he believed he’d have had at least 1, and probably 2, Super Bowl rings but for the stifling effect of Mr. Reeves’s primitive, antediluvian schemes and conservative play calling, I think I know what kind of reference Mr. Teeth would provide, if asked.

Of course, the great, supremely self-assured ones like Elway always believe that they should have won every game. But anyone who saw the stodgy, unimaginative Broncos’ offense of the Reeves years — Three Amigos notwithstanding — has to admit there’s at least some substance to Elway’s beef. That anyone in his right mind would even think of interviewing the conservative, unimaginative Reeves to be an offensive coordinator in today’s NFL boggles my mind. It really is an “old boys club” — stress on the “old” — isn’t it?

I’m shocked, shocked by the revelations in Joe Torre’s new “tell-all” book about the Bronx Zoo. Not at the revelations themselves. None of them is any great state secret.

It’s no great secret, for example, that Brian Cashman appeared to withdraw his previously unrelenting support for Torre at the end. I would only note that the Yankees paid Torre a salary higher than any other manager in the game was making, for one purpose only: to get the Yanks to, and win, the World Series. Given that the Yanks didn’t accomplish either goal during Torre’s last 4 seasons at the helm, it wasn’t entirely out of line for the Yanks to “insult” Torre by making some of the monstrous salary they offered him contingent on results.

It’s also no secret that A-Rod realized that Derek Jeter is the leader of the Yankees, whatever his personal stats might be, and that also understood that in order to have any chance of being accepted as a Yankee, he had to kiss Jeter’s behind and do his best to emulate him. Whether that constitutes a “Single White Female” type obsession, as the book coyly suggests, is another matter.

I also suspect that the book doesn’t put the whole “fixation” into historical context. The beginning of the end for A-Rod’s image as a baseball hero, in my opinion, came with that infamous 2001 Esquire interview, in which he said he’d been a buddy of Jeter’s, then ingenuously intimated that Jeter was overrated, uttering such nuggets as: “Jeter’s been blessed with great talent around him”; “he’s never had to lead”; and “You go into New York, you wanna stop Bernie [Williams] and [Paul] O’Neill. You never say, ‘Don’t let Derek beat you.’ He’s never your concern.” That’s one of many interviews regarding which A-Rod undoubtedly wishes he could have a “do-over.” His relationship with Jeter never recovered. In that historical context, maybe it’s understandable why A-Rod, having poisoned the well so thoroughly, felt his best course once he joined the Yankees was to toady obsequiously to Jeter.

It’s also no great secret that A-Rod has some serious self-image and confidence issues, and that he’s been resented by teammates at both Texas and The Zoo, who regard him as “A-Fraud,” both because he tends to choke when his skills are most needed, and because he comes across in interviews as a phony. This isn’t some special, new revelation by Torre.

I will say, however, that if Torre really wants to float the “A-Rod’s teammates consider him insincere and a phony” claptrap, he’ll have to indict every player, coach, and manager. EVERY one of those people — including Torre himself — is insincere and phony in dealing with the media. What sets A-Rod apart is that (a) he’s actually often — to his detriment — MORE honest with the media than others, but (b) he seems constitutionally incapable of making himself SEEM sincere, which is, after all, the whole point of the exercise. If Torre really wanted to criticize A-Rod, he should have written that teammates hate A-Rod, not because he’s not “sincere,” but because he’s just no good at faking “sincerity,” which is what it’s all about because he’s just not all that good at faking sincerity. Which brings us to Jeff Kent’s farewell address, already discussed.

Let the record also reflect that, for all his insecurities, foibles and peccadilloes, A-Rod did manage to win two AL MVP awards while Torre was coaching him. And let the record also reflect that A-Rod, selfish, narcissistic bastard though he may be, volunteered to learn how to play Third Base so that Jeter, clearly his inferior in the field at that position — it’s not even a close call — and declining in speed and skills annually, could continue to remain in his comfort zone.

What shocks me, rather, is why Torre did the book in the first place. What could he possibly hope to gain from this diatribe, other than, maybe, some book sales? Even if everything in the book is true, and not just self-serving “I managed good but boy did they play bad” Leo Durocher-style self-promotion, so what? It turned out that almost everything Jose Canseco said in his book about steroids was also true, and Canseco is now reduced to boxing against Danny Bonaduce to raise a few shekels.

Not that Torre’s likely to need any tag days, but it seems to me that by publishing this book, he’s certainly reduced the number of possibilities he might have for future employment, the need for which may come sooner rather than later, once the Man-Ramless Dodgers return to their losing, boring ways. Let’s just say that Mr. Torre’s Teflon coating now appears to be sporting a few scratches.

Greater love hath no man than to sacrifice his urine for his team? Disgraced former Mets’ clubhouse attendant Kurt Radomski, who seemingly procured ‘roids for everyone along the Eastern seaboard with back acne and rage problems, now has revealed that he took a urine test or two for Dwight Gooden, back when the drug-addicted pitcher was failing those tests with regularity, no matter how hard he studied for them. No word whether, like Jerry Seinfeld’s mother taking a urine test for Elaine Benes in one of the better “Seinfeld” episodes, the testing company reported that Gooden was menopausal — or white.

“Sugar” Shane Mosley gave a pretty good accounting of himself last Saturday night against Antonio “The Tijuana Tornado” Margarito, proving once again that many athletes are at their best when their life outside their sport is in chaos and disarray. The ring was a refuge for Mosley. Or so it seemed.

The most telling blow of the night, though, was probably landed by Mosley’s trainer, Nazim Richardson, who observed the pre-fight hand wrapping and spotted a substance on Margarito’s wraps that, when moistened, turns them into blocks of concrete. (I exaggerate for effect, but then again, I’m not on the receiving end.) Aside from maybe losing focus when the cheating was discovered, it sure seems that Margarito also lost a lot of punching power. Strange, huh? Makes one wonder how much of Margarito’s previous win over Cotto was Margarito, and how much was his wraps — unless one believes that this is the first time in his career that Margarito’s camp has attempted to perpetrate such fraud.

Kind of reminds me of the much-ballyhooed 2001 Bernard Hopkins - Felix Trinidad bout, where Hopkins’s camp exposed Tito as “Cheato.” And not by accident, either, since the Hopkins cornerman who discovered the similarly illegal wrapping of Trinidad’s hands was — the very same Nazim Richardson.

Hopkins probably would have won the fight anyway, but he might have taken a career-threatening pounding in the process. Remember, Trinidad was one of the few fighters who not only didn’t lose punching power as he ascended in weight class, but actually, incredibly, got more powerful. He’d battered Fernando Vargas so badly that Vargas was thereafter a dead man walking as far as ever again being an effective boxer was concerned. Without the benefit of “one first iron, the other one steel,” though, he couldn’t do squat against Hopkins.

Richardson modestly sought to deflect praise for his crucial contribution: “When you have a good game plan and a very good athlete it’s easy. He turned his pressure style against him.” True dat. But as Mike Tyson once sagely observed: “Everybody’s got a good plan ‘til they get hit.” Mosley’s plan was just fine against hits (few thought they may have been) from gloves not loaded with cement. It’s not clear how well the plan would have worked had the original wrappings been allowed to remain. Seems to me that if I were any boxer on the planet, I’d move heaven and earth to make sure that I had Nazim Richardson representing my interests at the wrapping ceremony.

I find it interesting that the coach of the Dallas high school girls team that beat its opponent 100-0 has been fired after the result became a national cause celebre. I don’t know how I feel about it, actually.

I’m not particularly happy that he had his girls pressing and launching threes to the bitter end, mind you. And it didn’t help matters any that the girls who were subjected to such humiliation were from a special school for girls with learning disabilities.

But there’s blame enough to go around, there, I think. This was a league game. What were the school officials of the losing team’s school thinking of when they allowed their charges to play in a league where such humiliations are possible?

If the idea was that the learning-disabled girls should be mainstreamed, not coddled, well, 100-0 scores may well come with the territory. True, the opposing coach could and should have had his players hold onto the ball more. He most certainly could have told them not to keep pressing or launching threes. But such unfortunate stuff happens. And, by all accounts, the girls on the losing team took the loss in stride, and haven’t been scarred for life.

My main beef with the whole uproar, though, is that this game was hardly the first girls’ contest where the winner wins by 100 points or so. Far from it. Blowouts like that are a regular occurrence in girls’ basketball.

A few years ago, just f’rinstance, a girl named Epiphanny Prince scored 113 points in her high school’s 137-32 win over Brandeis High School. I don’t recall anyone expressing a lot of sympathy for the Brandeis team, and the emotional scarring they got when Prince’s team kept running up the score of a game long since decided, just so she could get the record. Heck, no. Quite the contrary. Her coach, in fact, said after the game: “At the half, we thought she had a chance to break the record so we just let her go.”

Ah, I begin to divine the principle. If all you’re doing is beating a hapless opponent by 100 points, it’s evil and the coach should be fired — after being tarred, feathered and run out of town on a rail. But if you’re crushing an overmatched opponent by a c-note, and it’s all in pursuit of an individual scoring record for one of your players then, heck, everything’s just hunky-dory, and it’s in the very best tradition of American sports.

Like Hell it is. In some ways, it’s worse. Oh, and by the way, while Brandeis High obviously scored 32 more points than the hapless girls of Dallas Academy, they also gave up 37 more, so it was worse based on simple arithmetic.

You may remember Ms. Prince, since she went on to become a key player on the Rutgers women’s team that lost to Tennessee in the women’s NCAA Final Four in 2006, then were called “nappy headed ho’s” by Don Imus. I guess Ms. Prince is somewhat of an expert on emotional devastation at the hands of others, since she claimed she and her teammates had been “scarred for life” by Imus’s crude comments. Too bad she couldn’t have realized that her own crass pursuit of a meaningless high school scoring record might have “scarred” some other young women for life.

Closer to home, Cheryl Miller, later a beloved USC All-American, NCAA champ, Olympic gold medalist, and respected basketball sideline reporter for TNT, scored 105 points in 1982 for Riverside Poly against Riverside Norte Vista. I’m sure the ladies of Norte Vista were absolutely overjoyed to have been forced to become the Washington Generals to Miller’s team’s Globetrotters. In a pig’s eye.

The most egregious humiliation, though, in my opinion, was inflicted by Lisa Leslie, then at Morningside High, against South Torrance High, when she scored 101 IN THE FIRST HALF. For some strange reason, the South Torrance girls didn’t take kindly to being used as punching bags, and had the effrontery to refuse to take the floor for the second half, despite entreaties by the Morningside coach — obviously a regular prince of a fellow — and Leslie herself to come back out so she could score another 100 and set a record no one could match. Funny, but I just can’t recall a whole lot of outrage after that archetypal display of crassness and contempt.

So please, ladies and gentlemen of the media. Don’t be wringing your collective hands about the heartlessness and inhumanity of the coach of Dallas Covenant School, unless you’re prepared to be evenhanded in your umbrage, and dump on Epiphanny Prince, Cheryl Miller, Lisa Leslie, and their high school coaches just as lustily as on that poor benighted schmuck down in Dallas.

Please send comments and criticism — especially criticism — to thonglaw@sprynet.com, where it will be dealt with appropriately.

Now that Tony Dungy has retired, his greatness as a coach will start getting a tad overstated, before revisionism sets in and his “legacy” is taken to the woodshed. Everything and everybody looks better in the rear-view mirror. Of course, everything and everyone also looks SMALLER in that mirror. Which is why, as time passes, even the legitimately, eternally great athletes and sports figures of the past are diminished.

Dungy isn’t one of those immortals. He lost too many playoff games ever to be considered in that category. But neither does he deserve the retrospective downgrading that’s sure to be coming his way.

He certainly hasn’t been a bad head coach. Far from it. In fact, for the most part, he’s been close to incredible, except in the playoffs, where the main “incredibility” has been how often his teams lose to lesser opposition. Mind you, Jeff Fisher’s and Marty Schottenheimer’s teams — and for many years, Bill Cowher’s — have for all but a handful of seasons had the same kind of postseason underachievement. The difference is that Dungy’s gotten more of a pass for that than those worthies.

And it’s not because of politically correct reverse racism, either. I’m sure all three of those other coaches are fine human beings. It’s just that Dungy is really special. Dumping on him profanely, the way talk show callers love to do with most players and coaches, is as obviously inappropriate as, I don’t know, Photoshopping Mother Teresa’s head on a porn star’s body — and no, I don’t mean Ron Jeremy’s. Because he’s so obviously upright, and treats his players, opponents, the press, and pretty much everybody with respect, it’s hard to take real zinger shots at him.

There’s a lot in his coaching record to admire. Forget the ridiculous string of seasons at Indy with 12 wins or more — in this period of league “parity.” The record is hardly to be sneezed at, but he’s had the benefit of one of the all-time great regular-season QBs, and lots of good players, put in place by Bill Polian, who’s no slouch at running an organization. So, outstanding as it was, his W-L record with the Colts was only to be expected. Of course, there’s a big difference between HAVING talent and WINNING with it, but that’s a distinction that seems to escape most people.

It’s his performance at Tampa Bay, in his first head-coaching gig, though, that really impresses me. Just because Jon Gruden came along and won the Super Bowl first time out of the gate with the same players with whom Dungy had fallen short time after time, people forget just what an impressive job Dungy did to turn around the Bucs and set the table for Gruden.

Given that Mr. Gruden has never again approached that kind of success, and in fact has only been back to the playoffs twice since 2002, losing in the wild card game both times, maybe there should be a bit more appreciation of Dungy’s accomplishment. Heck, take away Gruden’s Super Bowl year, when the Bucs went 12-4, and he’s had a dreadful 45-51 record there. Sure, all tends to be forgiven when a team wins a Super Bowl, but 45-51 — including this year’s inexcusable meltdown — is a fair indication of what the Tampa job was like before Dungy turned things around.

No hyperbole there. From the 1982 season, when they failed or refused to re-sign Doug Williams, until Dungy took over in 1996, the Bucs suffered through 14 straight losing seasons, including 12 with 10 or more losses. It was the Sargasso Sea, the Bermuda Triangle, the innermost circle of Hell — choose your own metaphor — for coaching jobs. All Dungy did was go 54-42 in his six seasons — 48-32 after 1996. True, his last season was 9-7, just like Gruden’s last couple.

I originally wrote that the difference was that Gruden’s contributions have been appreciated, and he seems to be in no danger of being fired. Naturally, events overtook me, and Gruden was — deservedly — fired, along with GM Bill Allen. I’m not overjoyed at Gruden’s and Allen’s misfortune, but it’s good to know that the Glazers, who own the Bucs, are equal-opportunity churls and a-holes.

The big knock on Dungy has always been that his teams just didn’t win in the playoffs. He was 2-4 at Tampa, and only 7-6 with the Colts’ juggernaut, and leaves with a combined career playoff record below .500. I can rationalize justify the record at Tampa, given the dreck Dungy started with. But no one can defend the postseason record. It is what it is, and what it is, isn’t pretty.

Some of the onus surely falls on the broad, but sloping shoulders of Peyton Manning, who for all his skills, intelligence, and leadership has exactly as many Super Bowl rings as his less-accomplished younger brother, and who, in the Super Bowl year, was appallingly inefficient. But Dungy has to be assigned some of the blame. It’s not just that he’s had only one Super Bowl winner in 13 years. It’s how many times his teams have lost first-round games they were favored to win.

One could make excuses. Losing to the Patriots when they were the best team in the league, or the Eagles when they were the NFC’s best team, isn’t necessarily anyone’s fault. But even against those teams when they were at their best, the Colts, or the Bucs, as the case may be, had their chances. Winners capitalize on those chances; losers don’t.

The criticism is fair. But it’s a shame that Dungy’s great and enviable achievements — not just as the highest-profile and most successful African-American coach ever, but as a coach of any color — shouldn’t be diminished by being reduced to the one-line caption of “couldn’t win the money games.” There’s been a lot more substance to his career than that. In the end, though, fairly or not, coaches are judged in large measure by two things: Super Bowl wins, and playoff record. Dungy, a sure Hall of Famer, has the former but not the latter.

I don’t have any idea what Mark Sanchez’s pro potential is. I’m pretty sure, though, that his draft potential is unlikely ever to be higher, no matter what logic and statistics a dyspeptic Pete Carroll posted on his website.

It’s true that Sanchez has had only one full season as a starting QB, and that he had only a couple of “signature” games as a starter. He probably could have benefited in many ways from another year of college ball. But, heck, he’s already been at USC for 4 years, and will have his degree this spring. It’s not as if he’s leaving as an underclassman. Had he stayed another year, his academic activities would have been as big a joke as Matt Leinart’s: ballroom dancing, basket-weaving and — in Leinart’s case, anyway — coed impregnation.

True, Peyton Manning got his Bachelor’s in 3 years, and earned a Master’s degree when he stayed for his senior year — so it’s possible to major in more than just “eligibility” in that extra year — but even Manning stayed in school only 4 years. Carson Palmer did stay a 5th year, and benefited mightily, winning a Heisman and going high in the draft, after having been a disappointment and an underachiever the previous 4 years — not necessarily through any fault of his own. But Palmer was a special case. He really needed that 5th year because of the crappy and inconsistent coaching he’d been receiving amidst the turmoil of the pre-Carroll years, which pretty obviously retarded his development.

And in Palmer’s 5th year, he was tutored by Norm Chow, who increased his skills and draft prospects exponentially. Who knows who the Hell would be guiding Sanchez in HIS 5th year? At this moment, it’s not even clear that USC has an offensive coordinator, since its coordinator-designate, who hasn’t yet run a practice on campus, is actually considering a couple of NFL offers.

Even more importantly — far more importantly — there are other high-profile, highly touted QBs around who are also expected to go high in the draft. As it happens, three of them who might have taken money out of Sanchez’s pocket — Colt McCoy, Sam Bradford, and even Tim Tebow — all decided to defer their decision for another year. Had Sanchez waited, who knows where he’d have been selected next year, with all that competition? It’s safe to say that, with fewer high-profile QBs in this year’s draft, he stands a better chance of being picked high and getting a nice little nest-egg.

Sure, solid college QBs like Chase Daniel and Pat White will also be in this year’s draft, but, great as they’ve been in college, they’re both considered small for NFL QBs, and also have skill-sets more associated with college spread offenses than with pro requirements. Sanchez is taller and heavier than those two, and has a bigger arm. Not that I believe size and arm strength are the be-all and end-all for consideration, but scouts and personnel directors do. So, all in all, it sure seems like a smart financial decision for Sanchez, despite Pete Carroll’s hissy fit.

It’s not clear to me that Greg Oden, who had as many personal fouls as boards against the Lakers the last time they played (4 each), and pretty much disgraced himself last night against the less-than-imposing Nets with one stinkin’ rebound to go with 2 points and 1 block, is a bust — yet. But it does seem abundantly evident that he’s not the second coming of Bill Walton in Rip City, either, except in the frequency of his injuries. He’s on a career arc to develop into something better than Kwame Brown or Eddy Curry and worse than, say, Andrew Bogut — a serviceable big man who defends and rebounds adequately, passes adequately out of the post, and has no offensive moves to speak of.

He’s someone who should have a long, decent and remunerative NBA career as long as the knees hold up because, as they say, “you can’t teach tall.” After all, Dan Gadzuric is still in the league, isn’t he? But when a No. 1 draft pick big man isn’t good enough to edge Joel Pryzbilla out of the starting lineup, it’s not unfair to start using the “bust” word before his first season is half over. The Blazers need more rebounding and toughness, and they’re not getting it from Oden.

That’s why I’m intrigued by the rumors that the Blazers, Clippers and Knicks have been talking about a three-way deal that would send Marcus Camby to New York, David Lee to the Blazers, and some forgettable loser to the Clippers.

That last was a bit harsh, I know, but Clipperland is pretty much where every promising career goes to die, or at least to hibernate. Actually, the publicly available information a week or so ago was that the trade would also send former Knick Channing Frye back to the Knicks, and former Clipper Q. Richardson, now a Knick, back to L.A. Q-Rich isn’t a bum, but unless he’s surrounded by Amare Stoudamire, the younger Joe Johnson and the pre-injury Shawn Marion, and being fed by Steve Nash in a frenetically uptempo style, he most certainly is not what the Clippers need. And to give up Camby, flawed and incomplete though his game is, to wind up with Richardson? I rest my case.

If all the Blazers had to give up was Frye, essentially straight-up for Lee, that would be a steal ranking below — but not all that far below — Pau Gasol for his brother, Kwame Brown and J-Crit. Or, maybe more accurately, on the level of B. Cook for Trevor Ariza. Not gonna happen, though — despite concerns about Lee’s potential restricted free agent deal next year impacting any ability to clear space for the LeBron James pipe dream — now that Lee’s exploded on offense with the return of Jared Jeffries to play center, while still averaging over 10 boards a game. Still, Portland can dream, can’t it?

At least this dream is a bit more pleasant than the looming nightmare that Darius Miles might play 2 more NBA games this season, and screw Portland’s cap space for years. I still don’t quite understand how that works. Miles was examined by LEAGUE doctors, and deemed to have a career-ending injury, allowing the Blazers to buy out his albatross of a contract and remove it from their salary cap rolls. Now that other doctors have decided that maybe the injury wasn’t quite so final, and Memphis signed Miles just to screw with Portland, Portland not only is on the hook for a luxury tax payment, in addition to all the money it paid that incompetent coach-killer just to be rid of him? ‘T’ain’t fair, I tell you. Either the Portland management team isn’t as smart as it’s been cracked up to be — would the Spurs ever have wound up in this situation? — or the NBA salary rules need a major overhaul.

Speaking of Frye, given how little he’s contributing to Portland, having previously contributed only marginally more to the Knicks, it’s easy to forget that he was taken 8th in the 2005 draft, 2 spots ahead of Andrew Bynum. Despite Bynum’s lack of consistency, and his distressingly low rebounding totals lately, I don’t think anybody would take Frye over Bynum right now were there a do-over, to put it delicately.

Lakers’ fans love to hate Bynum, whose development is either stalled or retrogressing after tall the pre-injury promise he showed last season. And it’s true, Bynum’s still got a lot of growing up to do, doesn’t always use his size and bulk to best advantage, and keeps making the same irritating mistakes over and over. But would any team in the league rather have Raymond Felton (taken 5th), Martell Webster (6th), Charlie Villanueva (7th), Frye, or Ike Diogu (9th) instead over even the flawed Bynum we see on the court right now? Marvin Williams (2nd)? Toss-up at best.

Heck, although Andrew Bogut, drafted No.1, came into the league more developed, and is at this point a better-rounded center than Bynum, and certainly a better rebounder — though Bynum averages more points and blocks per game — I’d bet that plenty of teams would rather have Bynum than Bogut, all other things being equal.

The only unequivocally “better” draft picks than Bynum in 2005 were Chris Paul (4th) and Deron Williams (3rd). Just in case anybody’s keeping score. The much-derided judgment of The Kupcake/Jim Buss is starting to look better and better.

The intrigue around LaDainian Tomlinson, who may soon be an ex-Charger, gets thicker and juicier, doesn’t it? The Chargers put out word, before the playoff loss to Pittsburgh, that LT was sidelined with a “groin strain.” LT, for his part, has confirmed that it wasn’t just a “strain,” but a far more severe detachment of a tendon that connects one of his muscles to his pubic bone, saying, “If it was a strain I’d be able to play with it, trust me. A lot of guys have strains.” Now that we know what LT’s injury really was, the fact that he played in the Colts’ game at all — and actually managed to rush for a TD before coming out — shows that he’s not a prima donna, sitting out with the proverbial “hangnail.”

I understand why clubs don’t like to publicize the seriousness and extent of their players’ injuries. But it seems to me that if they’re going to play cute, and underplay the seriousness of a player’s injury, it’s only fair that they should have his back, and not leave him to twist slowly, slowly in the wind, as ignorant sports talk show hosts and mouth but underinformed callers bash the injured player as a quitter, a pantywaist, or worse.

Yet, Chargers’ management, never known as “player-friendly” even on its best days, did exactly that: lie about the extent of LT’s injury and allow — even invite — unfair criticism of his ability to play with pain. And not for the first time, either. When LT sat out most of last season’s AFC Championship game against New England with a knee ligament injury so bad that it appeared to linger into this season — so bad that Norv Turner admitted that he knew LT couldn’t have returned — the Chargers persisted in characterizing the problem as a mere “sore knee.”

I’m no great fan of LT, and I certainly have no inside information. But I agree with Petros Papadakis, who’s been there at the college level, that anybody who gets as many carries as LT, game-in, game-out and year-in, year-out, regularly plays with pain and wouldn’t sit out unless the “pain” was abnormally great, or his condition threatened worse injury. He shouldn’t have to prove his toughness to the great unwashed. And he certainly shouldn’t have to do it because his team deliberately and callously underplayed the severity of his injuries. But, as always in pro sports, “loyalty” extends only one way — from players to management — and is rarely reciprocated.

Please send comments and criticism — especially criticism — to thonglaw@sprynet.com, where it will be dealt with appropriately.

Jason Whitlock had another provocative column last week on foxsports.com, headlined “NFL Truths: It’s all about character.” In it, he takes to task organizations that draft, and trade, based solely on perceived talent, and ignore “character” issues. His none-too-surprising conclusion: “The lesson from this entire NFL season is embarrassingly obvious and cliche: Good and bad character are difference-makers.” He hammered at that theme some more on Monday, when he subbed for Jim Rome on KLAC.

There’s obviously some truth to that old saw. Nothing can undermine a coach, or tear apart a locker room, like bad character players — especially bad-character guys whose talent or natural charisma draws teammates to him. But it’s really not that simple.

In the first place, what does “character” mean, anyway? If it means fire in the belly, hard-driving work ethic, will to win, hatred of defeat, tolerance of pain, and on-field smarts, I’ll buy it. The only problems with those qualities, is that a lot of really, really bad people also have them. There are a lot of really tough, fearless, hard-working, never-say-die narcissistic a-holes and sociopaths out there.

Ray Lewis is a tough player and a leader on the field and, presumably, in the locker room. He proved that all season, and certainly didn’t disappoint against the Dolphins last Sunday. Just don’t go to any club where he and his posse are hanging out around Super Bowl time, unless you’re wearing heavy armor. Or at least that’s the advice the two dead guys for whose murder he was arrested several years ago should have heeded.

Lewis ultimately pleaded to lesser charges of obstructing justice, so I guess he’s not a murderer, just a guy who likes to pal around with murderers. But his utter lack of remorse over the murders of two people — a young barber and an aspiring artist not known to be gang-affiliated — and his general attitude throughout that sordid process, strongly suggest that “character” means something different in football than it means in the rest of society.

I hate to pound on Nick Saban again, but whatever excellence he has as a college football coach is counterbalanced by his vile lack of honesty and inability to fulfill his agreements. He’s had a lot of success, despite his own appalling “character.” I’m sure he tells recruits and their parents that “character” is paramount to him, and I’m sure it is. He just doesn’t factor in his own. Not a lot of dry eyes outside the state of Alabama when the “plucky” Utes boatraced his Tide team in the Sugar Bowl.

Also, too, as Sarah Palin likes to say, what about all those high-“character” guys who play on losing teams, or on winning teams that just fall short? If character is the “difference maker,” does that mean that only the winningest winners have it? This is a variation on the penchant of athletes and coaches to credit prayer and the intervention of The Almighty for their victories and successes, which merely begs the question whether they just didn’t pray hard enough before every game they lost, and/or whether their opponents are, by contrast, minions of Beelzebub.

After all, Tony Dungy has been a prayerful man and by all accounts a man who doesn’t just preach, but performs, good works. He’s been an outstanding NFL head coach. Nonetheless, his teams have won a grand total of 1 Super Bowl, while the NFL’s Prince of Darkness, Belichick, of whom more, later, has won 3 as a head coach, and has 2 other rings as the Igor to Bill Parcells’s Dr. Frankenstein. So, Belichick and Parcells have more character than Dungy?

Last Saturday, Dungy’s Colts lost yet another playoff game they coulda’, shoulda’ won. Did he and his players on all those other good teams lack “character” every year but one? Remember, Peyton Manning, the quintessential “high-character” guy has been on Dungy’s Colts for a lot of years. Unfortunately, Manning’s surfeit of “character” doesn’t seem to translate to stellar performances when it’s one-and-done. Indeed, some uncharitable souls, including myself, believe he chokes in big games in the postseason.

Not that he doesn’t burn to win; not that he doesn’t practice and prepare obsessively; not that he’s unwilling to play with pain. He gets high scores on all those “tests” of “character.” He just happens to choke in “money” games. On the other hand, his team this year wouldn’t have had the chance to see him choke, had he not performed at a preternatural level in the regular season.

Heck, the Giants beat the Patriots last Super Bowl, with such “character” guys as Plaxico Burress. Was it simply the case that Burress’s lack of “character” was canceled out by some of the Pats’ own players, like, say, Randy Moss, or was the balance upset by the king of detestable “characters,” Bill Belichick — who, perversely, is renowned for insisting on “high-character” players?

What about the Pats’ Randy Moss, who’s generally regarded as a “high-character” player now? Folks in Oakland and Minnesota, who knew him when, might beg to differ.

Voltaire, I believe, is the one who said that God fights on the side of the big battalions. In football terms, God fights on the side of the teams with the best talent at key positions, the best coaching, the best preparation, the best game plans, the better match-ups, and the fewest key injuries. A “high-character” guy who can’t run, can’t jump, and/or is weaker than his opposite numbers, may or may not be able to compensate for the disparity of talent in certain situations, but a team built solely on “character” and not on the other things that make a football player effective is likely to be left in the dust by the lower-“character” teams with better personnel.

Sure, you can’t predict winners, or successful players, simply by relying on the “measurables.” The Cowboys are Exhibit A for the proposition that boatloads of talent on paper don’t guarantee success on the field. Exhibit B may well be the Redskins, who paid a huge amount for a former Pro Bowl player bitten by the acting bug, Jeremy Taylor, and thereby helped the surprising Miami Dolphins achieve a remarkable comeback, while themselves falling into the pit of unmet expectations. Exhibit C probably is the Jets, who spent and spent and spent in the offseason for proven talent — and not just on Brett Favre, either. They ultimately exited the stage with both a whimper and a bang — the bang being the end of Eric Mangini’s head coaching job, and the whimper, perhaps, the ignominious end to Brett Favre’s career.

Character, shmaracter. Favre had plenty of “character” when he won one Super Bowl, went to another, and almost beat the Giants last postseason, didn’t he? Apparently, he only lost his “character” when he presided over a season-ending losing streak of epic proportions, in which his interception-to-TD ratio looked like Lehman Brothers last financial statement. So, does “character” determine results, or does it only become evident AFTER the returns are in?

It sure looks from my armchair as if Favre proves that “good” and “bad” character can coexist in the same damn player! (It also seems that he was the world’s biggest idiot not to take the Packers up on their offer of $25 Million to stay retired, but that’s a discussion for another time.)

So, while “character” may “count,” the teams that have won, and won consistently, sure seem to have more good players at more positions — and better coaching and management — than the teams that failed. Call me naïve.

It stinks big-time that a team that finished with an 11-5 record is out of the NFL playoffs, while two 8-8 teams (both of which won last weekend, incidentally) and one 9-7 outfit got in. But when the 11-5 team is the New England Patriots, coached by Bill Belichick, it’s just chickens come home to roost. Who, other than a “chowderhead,” could possibly be unhappy that the Pats got screwed?

Still, the Pats’ record this year may have been Belichick’s best-ever coaching job. The guy has some skills, no doubt. It’s just that his general schmuckiness tends to overshadow them.

And, getting back to the “character” issue, is it fair for all the high-character players on that team to suffer due to the karmic payback that Belichick invited? Was it fair that the sailors on the boat where Jonah stowed himself just before being swallowed by the “great fish” almost died because Jonah had seriously pissed off God?

We hear all the time that if your number’s up, it’s up, and that’s all well and good. But what if the number that’s up happens to belong to the guy standing next to you, and you’re just “collateral damage”? Anyone remember the poor guy in Monty Python’s “The Meaning of Life” who DIDN’T eat the salmon mousse, but wound up in the afterlife anyway, along with all the ones who did? So, Mr. Whitlock, one “bad-character” player is enough to ruin the fate of multiple good-character teammates?

I see where Bill Simmons, outstanding sportswriter and raconteur, and irrationally biased Celtics-lover and Lakers-hater (although the latter is virtually a given if the former is true) has written off the Christmas Day Lakers’ win over the Green Machine as essentially meaningless. I have to take issue with the reasoning that got him there. I mean, come ON, blaming the refs for the outcome because they gave the Lakers a 15-8 advantage in free throws — ZERO to Kobe, who deserved a few — while whitewashing the pro-Celtics free throw disparity in last season’s Finals?

But I have to agree with his conclusion. 92-83, at home, in a regular-season game on Christmas Day 2008 is “redemption” for losing last year’s Finals in 6 games, losing Game 4 at home despite an 18-point halftime lead, and losing Game 6 on the road by a deceptively CLOSE 40 points like — well, I have not idea like what. Nice that the Lakers won the game, but there’s no comparability or proportionality.

I remember sometime site contributor Damon Baldwin, an unrelentingly enthusiastic Raiders fan, taking me to task for daring to suggest that the Raiders’ regular-season win over the Pats the season after that heartbreaking, highway-robbery “Tuck” Rule playoff loss in Tom Brady’s first Super Bowl season didn’t quite even the score. I was perhaps a trifle more rudely dismissive of his Rai-duhs than I should have been — they were a pretty good team, back then — but I remain unrepentant about the conclusion.

Not that the regular-season win wasn’t welcome and important in its own right. But, unless it’s the win that knocks the hated rival out of a postseason berth, or gets team seeking “revenge” into the postseason, NO regular-season win properly compensates for a devastating playoff loss that prevents a team from going to a Super Bowl — as the Raiders might well have done had the refs not blown that “tuck” call. And I’m in surprising solidarity with Simmons that the Lakers’ Xmas Day win, heartening and welcome as it was, doesn’t begin to compensate for what the Celts did to the Lakers — and what the Lakers did to themselves — in last year’s Finals.

I’m writing this after the Texas-Ohio State Fiesta Bowl game and before Florida plays Oklahoma for the mythical “National Championship.” But even if Oklahoma beats Florida, I don’t think my conclusion is likely to change. The game was exciting, in its own way — or at least the finish, aided by a questionable call, was exciting. But based on what I saw last night, neither team was likely to beat USC on a neutral field.

In fact, we already know that Ohio State couldn’t beat USC at the L.A. Coliseum, with Beanie Wells unable to play. The final score might have been a bit less embarrassing to Ohio State had they played the game in Columbus with a full complement of players. But nobody who saw that game could doubt that Ohio State would have emerged the loser, wherever or whenever the game was played. Well, who knows what might have happened had the game been played on frozen tundra with a wind-chill of -30 degrees, but otherwise, case closed.

Colt McCoy said that Ohio State’s defense, which the Trojans went through, in Patton’s immortal phrase, “like crap through a goose,” was the best one the Longhorns had faced all season. He may have just been trying to be “politically correct,” to justify the close score and his own offense’s struggles in the game, but I suspect he was telling the truth. If so, that pretty much confirms what our own Jon Castro has been saying for a while: they play mediocre defense in the Big 12, so the top teams’ vaunted offensive statistics are inflated.

Assuming that Florida beats Oklahoma, as I expect, the question then arises whether the SEC, as Jon also contends, is overrated. The fact that Florida lost at home by a single point to Ole Miss does suggest that BOTH the top team in the SEC, and the top team in the Pac-10, which lost an away game it really had no business losing, have some warts.

But it’s not clear to me that Florida’s one-point home loss to Mississippi is substantially worse than USC’s loss in Corvallis. It turns out that both Ole Miss and Oregon State (when it had its top rusher healthy) were much better teams this year than anyone thought they’d be. Mississippi had 4 losses, true, and the losses at home to South Carolina and Vanderbilt were particularly embarrassing. And, frankly, their 23-21 away win over Arkansas, which lost to Texas (in Austin) 52-10 (but “held” Florida, in Fayetteville, to a “mere” 38 points), doesn’t give me a lot of reassurance.

Still, they did kick ass at LSU, barely lost at Alabama, and pummeled Texas Tech in their bowl game. Of course, Texas Tech had been leading a charmed life for most of the season, and they do come from the no-defense conference, but all in all, Mississippi was a lot better this season than they’d been at any time since Eli Manning left.

Certainly, what Utah did to Alabama is some evidence in favor of the “overrated league” conclusion. But Utah and other WAC teams also beat the Pac-10 teams they faced — except for Arizona’s bowl game win over BYU. Heck, Utah beat Oregon State (barely, and playing in Utah, but still . . . ), which beat USC. Does that make USC overrated? Or the WAC, which lost 3 of 5 bowl games — with the non-Utah win being a squeaker by Colorado State over an unimpressive Fresno State squad — underrated?

The point is that comparisons based on anything other than actual on-field competition, while fun, are impossible. As Colin Cowherd suggests, in the absence of any playoff system, bowl games are basically beauty contests. I happen to agree that the USC team of November, December and January deserved a chance to play some team other than Penn State in a bowl game, and, had it received that opportunity, would have more than held its own against any of the teams ranked above it. But we’ll never know.

We’ll especially not know because Oregon State lost to Oregon at the end of the season, dooming USC to yet another Rose Bowl. So, the real villain in this whole melodrama is Oregon State, which early in the season deprived USC of a chance to play for the national championship, and late in the season deprived USC of a chance to prove definitively that the Big 12’s offenses couldn’t beat its defense — or, for that matter, that the Big 12’s defenses would be as capable of stopping SC’s offense as the Maginot Line was of halting the German invasion in WWI.

Every time I see a running back who’s smaller than conventional wisdom says running backs should be, dominate at the NFL level, I have to wonder why the conventional wisdom got to be, well, “conventional.” The latest example is Darren Sproles, listed at 5’6” and 181 pounds, who merely accounted for 328 all-purpose yards and the game-winning TD in the Chargers’ “upset” of the Colts last Sunday. (I out “upset” in quotation marks because, really, is any victory over the Colts in a playoff game ever a true “upset”?) Heck, Ladainian Tomlinson himself is only 5’10”.

The great Jim Brown, the gold standard of running backs, for my money, is 6’2”. Eric Dickerson is 6’3”. Marcus Allen, who’d have challenged for the all-time mark had Al Davis not hated him so, was 6’1”, as was O.J. Simpson. Franco Harris was 6’2”. But a lot of the great running backs have been under 6 feet — some considerably under. Here are just a few: Earl Campbell - 5’11”; Terrell Davis - 5’11”; Emmitt Smith - 5’9”; Tony Dorsett - 5’11”; Walter Payton - 5’10”; Thurman Thomas - 5’10”; Barry Sanders - all of 5’8”.

The point isn’t that “smaller” running backs are better or more effective — although one theory of why USC lost to Oregon State was that the small stature of Jacquizz Rodgers, who’s listed at 5’6” and torched the Trojans’ defense for 186 rushing yards, enabled him to hide from the linebackers until after he’d hit the hole. The point is, instead, that NFL teams shouldn’t be afraid to draft, or play, a running back just because he’s a little shorter than what the computer says he should be.

And don’t even get me started about the NFL’s obsession that QBs should be 6’2” or above. It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy, because QBs who are shorter than that generally aren’t drafted — at least, not to play quarterback. But I’ve never bought the rationales advanced for such height discrimination.

One rationale that I love is that shorter QBs won’t be able to see over oncoming rushers, or their own blockers. Sounds plausible, until you realize that in order to see “over” linemen who are well over 6 feet tall themselves, a QB would have to be 7 feet tall or so himself. Who’s the last 7-foot QB who played in the NFL? He hasn’t been born yet. As far as I can tell, QB’s, no matter what their height, “see” through the gaps between players, not over their heads. But everyone still repeats this old saw as if it had been handed down from God on Mt. Sinai.

So ingrained is this belief that coaches willfully refuse to change it even when events on the field prove them wrong. A case in point, I will maintain until my (hopefully, far-off) dying day, is the way Doug Flutie was treated when he came into the league. He wasn’t drafted high coming out of college — mainly because he’s 5’9” in shoes with heels — but performed pretty well for a couple of USFL seasons.

I can understand why the first NFL team for which he suited up, the 1986 Bears team a year removed from Super Bowl success, didn’t give him much of a shot and then dumped him. Jim McMahon hated Flutie from the git-go because the Bears had jettisoned McMahon’s best friend on the team to open a spot for Flutie; the other QBs, who in fairness were awful, treated the addition of Flutie as an implicit affront to their own abilities; and, let’s face it, Flutie didn’t do all that well, to put it charitably, when he was thrown in against a good Redskins team in that season’s playoffs.

But I think that the Patriots, with whom he signed after that season — or, perhaps more accurately, Raymond Berry, an all-time great pass-catcher but a so-so coach — really hosed him. Some say it was because he crossed the picket lines in the 1987 strike. He did, after all, QB the team to a 21-7 win against the Oilers in the last “replacement” game before the strike was officially settled. All I know is that he outplayed both Tony Eason and Steve “Touchless” Grogan whenever Berry had to, grudgingly, put him on the field, but that those two always got the benefits of any doubts — and there were many doubts.

Flutie led the Pats to a come-from-behind win off the bench in Game 5 of the next season, and was the QB, mainly because of injuries to the more favored passers, for the next 9 games. He won 7 of them. With the team needing just one win in its last 2 games to make the playoffs, Berry benched Flutie, inserted Eason — who basically hadn’t played all season — and the Pats missed the playoffs when Eason couldn’t get the job done. Flutie may not have had the most prepossessing stats around, but he did go 9-4 as a starter for the Patriots.

And, oh, yeah, in 1998, after the Bills started 1-3, he was allowed to be the Bills’ starting QB when Rob Johnson, a USC alum, was injured in the fifth game. All he did in his first start was pass for 2 TDs and lead a 4th-Quarter comeback against the Colts. The next week, he scored the winning TD against the Jaguars on a naked bootleg just as time expired. All told, he was 8-3 as a starter that season, made the Pro Bowl, and led the team into the playoffs, where Miami beat them.

The following season, he “merely” led the Bills to a 10-5 record. His reward was to have Coach Wade Phillips (‘nuff said) decide that the Bills really, really needed bigger, far less mobile, and consistent loser Rob Johnson under center. Showing his usual lack of acumen, Phillips benched Flutie for the last regular-season game, and for the playoff game against the Titans, and relegated Flutie to the bench for the next season.

I can’t blame Johnson for the bizarre “Music City Miracle” ending of that game — some Flutie enthusiasts suggest it was karmic payback for Phillips’s brain-dead personnel decision — but I’ve always believed that Flutie’s mobility and resourcefulness would have had the Bills ahead by enough that no miracle ending would be possible.

Thus was born the infamous “Curse of Doug Flutie” that has (deservedly) dogged Wade Phillips ever since. Just as a side-note, Phillips refused to learn from his mistakes, and kept Flutie’s posterior on the pines the next season, allowing him into games only after the outcome had been determined, or when Johnson was injured — which wasn’t exactly an uncommon occurrence.

For the record, the Bills finished the 2000 season 8-8, and have never even approached 10 wins in a season since that fateful benching. In fact, they haven’t even made the playoffs. Also just for the record, Phillips doggedly stuck with Johnson as he went 4-7, and only put Flutie in after Johnson went down. Doing the arithmetic, Flutie led the team to a 4-1 record in the games HE started. But Phillips made the correct decision, because Johnson had a better NFL body, right? NOT.

Flutie’s final F.U. to the organization — a bittersweet reminder of what could have been had they kept faith with him — occurred in the final game of that season, when he led the Bills to a 42-23 win over the Seahawks on the strength of 20 of 25 pass completions (80%) for 366 yards, 14.6 yards per attempt, 3 TDs, 0 interceptions, and a perfect 158.3 passer rating. As far as I’m aware, no Buffalo QB has had a better game since that one.

Am I suggesting that Flutie was a Hall of Famer in the making unjustly denied greatness by the blinkered prejudices of the coaching fraternity? Of course not. He never would have been a Joe Montana, John Elway, Tom Brady, Peyton Manning, Steve Young, Troy Aikman, or even a Dan Marino or Jim Kelly.

But there are plenty of NFL QBs who also would never be confused with the above luminaries, who’ve had a lot more support from their organizations, and who’ve produced a lot less than Flutie did when he got his chances. Heck, Super Bowls have been won by the likes of Trent Dilfer, Brad Johnson, and Mark Rypien, who also never reminded anyone of the aforementioned greats. Indeed, Jim McMahon, Flutie’s tormentor in Chicago, wasn’t all that great himself, winning his only Super Bowl mainly because of the team’s monster defense.

So I certainly do think that Flutie could have had a nice little career as a starter, winning more games than he lost, with some reasonable playoff success, had he been given a fair shot. When circumstances forced coaches to play him, he won games. Despite winning, he was nonetheless benched by those coaches as soon as they could conjure up excuses to do so, and kept there even as his replacements kept losing games. And I believe that the main reason he was never given a fair shot is because coaches everywhere are so mesmerized by numbers like height, weight, etc., that they could never accept the possibility that a smaller-than-normal QB could lead a team, even when the results prove otherwise.

The prejudice applies beyond height issues. Joe Montana is 6’2” and Tom Brady is 6’4”. Yet, would Montana have been Montana (or, for that matter, would Jerry Rice have been Jerry Rice) in any system other than the Niners’, under any coach but Walsh or one of his epigones? Would Brady have become Brady under any coach but Belichick? Remember, neither was particularly well-regarded coming out of college. Montana, “Comeback Kid” though he’d been at Notre Dame, wasn’t considered real pro material, and didn’t go until Walsh took him late in the Third Round. Not only did Brady last until the 199th pick, because no one thought he’d be any good, but the Pats actually drafted two other players AHEAD of him in Round 6!

It’s easy, in hindsight, to suggest that they’d have risen to the top in any system. But the reality is that there are a lot of inflexible, unimaginative — okay, stupid and pigheaded — personnel people in the NFL unable or unwilling to look outside their specifications lists, and even more coaches unable or unwilling to accommodate different talents. Would Montana have even started, let alone lasted in the league, had, say, the aforementioned Wade Phillips been his coach? Would Brady have ever had the chance to impregnate one super model and become engaged to another, had he gone to Dallas, or Kansa City, or . . . well, you get the idea.

Please send comments and criticism — especially criticism — to thonglaw@sprynet.com, where it will be dealt with appropriately.

I may have been a trifle hasty in joining the deafening chorus condemning Auburn’s decision to hire Caucasian Gene Chizik over African-American Turner Gill as mainly a racist one. (For the record, I “misremembered” when I wrote that Gill wasn’t even interviewed for the job. He was, in fact, given a token interview before being told that the university was pursuing other options.)

Anyhoo, Jason Whitlock, who’s fast becoming the sports version of Thomas Sowell, had a well-reasoned piece in foxsports.com last week that’s cause me to rethink my hasty reaction a tad. His point isn’t that racism might not have played a part in the decision — there’s more than a whiff of that, no matter how they spin it.

Whitlock’s big point is that Turner Gill is extremely lucky that he didn’t get the job, because it was a setup for failure. Not just because it’s probably a crappy situation. What African-American college coach gets his first big-time head-coaching gig at a program that’s not troubled? And yes, that includes Karl Dorrell at UCLA. The reason it was a setup for failure is that there’s simply no question that had he landed the gig, Gill would never have had the full backing of the administration and the booster network necessary to lay a foundation, to allow for the inevitable learning curve, and to forgive neophyte mistakes.

I’m not sure I’m 100 percent sold by Whitlock’s argument, but I do agree that what’s needed IS NOT for a lot more African-American coaches to get head coaching jobs at which they’ll fail — not necessarily because of any personal shortcomings, but because of the situation. What’s needed instead is for one African-American coach to get the right job, and make such a success of it that hidebound administrators and ADs won’t be so afraid to give the second, third and fourth qualified African-American coaches shots at jobs with a future.

Amazingly enough, the African-American D-1 head coach with the best career winning percentage is . . . wait for it . . . the much (and justly) maligned, aforementioned Karl Dorell, who went 35-27. The higher-profile, far more respected Ty Willingham and Dennis Green were 76-88 and 26-63, respectively. If Dorell, of all people, is the current “gold standard,” it’s no wonder that ADs, who are conservative sheep, are hesitant to hire more African-American head coaches. Their day will come, and it’s up to the media and the talking heads to keep the ADs’ feet to the fire, but the day will come sooner once the right African-American head coach is put in the right situation.

Heck, it wasn’t that long ago that people dismissed the idea that African-Americans could succeed as NBA head coaches. Now that Lenny Wilkens, Al Attles, K.C. Jones, Doc Rivers — and, I guess, player-coach Bill Russell — have won NBA championships, African-Americans are hired and fired on their perceived merits, not to make statements. The same is true, to a lesser extent, for the NFL, although the recent travails of Romeo Crennel, Lovey Smith and a few others haven’t helped matters. It’s still the case, unfortunately, that Caucasian hacks — and Hacketts — get cut a lot more slack.

Wasn’t it predictable? When Plaxico Burress got into trouble for his unlicensed firearm incident, I vented about how ridiculous it is that pro athletes, who’re making lots of money and have troops of hangers-on, can’t get it together sufficiently to have one of their minions assure that licenses and registrations are valid and up-to-date. Naturally, we’re now hearing that Burress’s stupidity and carelessness extended to his wheels. He recently rear-ended some poor woman while driving his $140,000 Mercedes — so what else is new? — and, wouldn’t you know it?, turned out to have let his liability insurance lapse 3 days earlier. Plus ça change, plus c’est la meme chose.

That brings to mind yet another of my pet peeves: athletes who apparently can afford such simple luxuries as multiple million-dollar homes, cars that cost six figures, suits that cost 4 and 5 figures, bling that costs who knows what?, but can’t be bothered to pick up a tab or leave a tip. I’m not suggesting that they have to go out of their way to be generous tippers, but how about paying their own freight, or leaving tips in the same proportion that normal people do? Is that really asking too much?

Apparently so. For every story about how Kobe during last year’s playoffs picked up the tab for an expensive team dinner during every round of the playoffs, or about quarterbacks buying each of their linemen a Rolex as a gesture of appreciation, there’s something like this, as reported by Peter (I Make Up Rumors) Vecsey:
“Almost a year later, hotel people out here are still badmouthing Mike Bibby for insisting on ordering everything not on the menu for his party of hangers-on (‘I want fried chicken just the way my mother makes it . . .’) and then trying to sign Ron Artest’s name and room to a $330 bill. Precluded from doing so by the waiter, Bibby sniffed the waiter with a sneer, leaving no gratuity. This obnoxious behavior occurred a couple days before the Kings traded him to the Hawks.”

Or this gem, about the new face of the NBA, King James: He allegedly hosted a few friends late last season at a Cleveland restaurant called “XO Prime Steaks,” keeping the waiter there until about 4 a.m., running up an $800+ tab for food and drinks — and then left a $10 tip. My guess is that he was so P.O.’d that they expected a big star to pay anything — after all, the restaurant enjoyed the pleasure of his ineffable company, which is priceless — that he deliberately stiffed the waiter.

Of course, I don’t know what he is or isn’t really like, and the restaurant’s story — put out after a couple of condemnatory reports — was that it was all an innocent mistake, and that he returned the next day to leave a generous tip. I’m not so sure. If the story is true, believe me, LBJ is far from the only big-name, richer-than-Croesus star athlete (or entertainer) who rarely leaves anything but his fingerprints behind at restaurants.

Barack Obama, by the way — who’s worth a lot less than LBJ — tipped $18 on a $2 beer tab at a joint in Raleigh, NC, around the same time last year, during the Democratic Primary campaign. Of course, Obama was running for public office, and LBJ isn’t, but still . . . .

While I’m on the subject of pet peeves, is it really, really too difficult for American sports media types to learn some of the basics about foreign names — in particular, Chinese names? It’s not as if there are so many Chinese players in the NBA that anyone should be overwhelmed. First, everyone insisted on referring to Yao Ming as if his given name is “Yao” and surname “Ming,” when of course it’s the other way around. There’s really no need for us to look like total hayseeds by never learning that in Chinese culture (and other East Asian cultures, too) the surname comes FIRST, and then the “given” name. That’s why Chairman Mao was always known as, well, “Chairman Mao,” not “Chairman Tsetung.”

It’s not as if there are lots of Yis and Yaos in the league, so they have to use the given names to avoid confusion. And, just by the by, even if that were the case, the people who typeset box scores seem have no problems distinguishing players with the same surname, even if they’re playing against each other. Like, say, I don’t know, the brothers Gasol who played against each other Monday night, an d were identified in the box scores as “Gasol, P,” and “Gasol, M.” Not exactly rocket science.

So I just have to grit my teeth when I read — as I did just yesterday — box scores showing how many points and boards some Nets’ player named “Jianlian” got. Is it really, really too much to ask that he be referred to as “Yi,” just as Kevin Garnett shows up as “Garnett”?

Speaking of those Nets, how’s that J-Kidd for Devin Harris trade working out for you so far, Mark Cuban? Thought so.

I like the fact that the Yankees are willing to spend serious money to give their fans the most competitive team they can. True, they may not always spend their millions wisely — boy, is that an understatement — but the passion to win is evident and welcome. But really, if I’m the ownership of Tampa, Minnesota or Milwaukee, all three of which made the playoffs with total payrolls that might not even cover A-Rod’s tab for Kabalah Water, I’m laughing. Especially when, because of the luxury tax, the Yanks will have to fork over $26 Million-plus, some of which will go to help Tampa and Minnesota keep the Yanks out of the playoffs again.

If there’s any question that Boston is better-managed than the Yankees, by the way, the luxury tax seals the deal. Boston has a payroll second only to New York’s, yet, because of canny planning, owes not a shekel in luxury tax. And the Sox have beat the Yanks like a drum lately, to boot.

My criticism of the Yankees’ financial profligacy DOES NOT extend to their reported deal with Mark Teixeira. I’m sure they’re overpaying for him — that’s a given with a high-profile Scott Boras client. In fact, if the reports are true, he’ll be the second-highest paid player ever, behind only another former Boras client and new teammate, A-Rod.

I’ve dumped on A-Rod for being less than he can be, at times when his team needs him most, but he’s still consistently one of the top producers in baseball, year-in, year-out. If Teixeira is “merely” as consistently good as A-Rod, he may well be “worth” the money, whatever ‘worth” means in that context. And Teixeira, in case we’ve forgotten, was the only consistent Angels’ hitter in their most recent postseason drubbing at the hands of the Sawx. All singles, true enough, but at least he was laying wood on the ball.

Otherwise, Teixeira looks like a reasonable investment. He’s not a drama queen and has no obvious steroid, drug or lifestyle issues. If he doesn’t quite have the pop that the Giambino had, he still swings a pretty big stick, is as constant as the evening star, to paraphrase The Bard, and is for sure going to be the Yanks’ best First Baseman defensively since Tino Martinez. I don’t know that he’ll put asses in seats, but it’s New York, for Pete’s sake. The asses are attracted to the seats regardless. Whether he can handle the inevitable boos is the only imponderable I can see.

Speaking of asses in seats, if there were any doubt that PGA players should stop badmouthing Tiger Woods, and instead be sending a percentage of their winnings to the charities of his choice, the fate of the PGA in Tiger’s post-U.S. Open absence should put the lie to that. There have still been a lot of highly talented golfers competing, and there have been a lot of good story lines, but nobody’s been interested enough to watch the tournaments. Viewership is down, sponsors are bailing left and right, and sales of equipment and gear are in the toilet. Sure, a lot of that has to do with the economy, but it says here that a lot of it also has to do with the fact that most people don’t even know the Tour is going on unless Tiger’s striding down the 18th fairway in contention on Sundays.

What’s that they say in poker, the winners tell jokes, the losers yell “Shut up and deal.” Rod Marinelli, for sure, isn’t telling, or taking, any jokes. Not after his Lions have gone 0-15, with a really good chance to become the first team ever to go 0-16. How anyone in a normal, rational frame of mind could possibly misconstrue a columnist’s question whether Marinelli’s daughter wished she’d married a better defensive coordinator as an attack on Marinelli’s daughter?

Obviously, it was a lame-assed attempt at a humorous attack on the guy she married — who, by the way, is about as inept as it gets, judging by the results we’ve seen. Nice spin job by Marinelli, by the way, attempting to divert attention from the fact that, well, the guy his daughter married really does kind of suck. Who knows, maybe bad judgment does run in the Marinelli family?

Happy Christmakwanzannukah, everybody.

Please send comments and criticism — especially criticism — to thonglaw@sprynet.com, where it will be dealt with appropriately.

I know that MLB scouts are now scouring the world for athletes who may be able to be developed into baseball prospects. They’re even going to places that have never been, and never will be, hotbeds of the sport. As witness the fact that the Pittsburgh Pirates recently signed two 20-year-olds from India who’ve never played baseball, but won some Indian reality TV contest called “Million Dollar Arm,” to free agent contracts. Sounds crazy, but as we’ve seen from the Monopoly money thrown at free agent pitchers of modest achievements and dubious durability, there are never enough good arms to go around.

So, in my own attempt at world peace and ecumenism, may I suggest that some MLB team give a tryout to the Iraqi news reporter who threw not one, but two shoes at outgoing President Dubya at a photo-op, goodbye tour presser last weekend. As anyone who’s seen the video of the incident can attest, those shoes were coming in with some serious velocity, and pretty much on target. Anyone who can throw a shoe like that can probably throw a baseball, too.

Of course, he may be in jail for a few years. And who knows how good his velocity or accuracy will be after a few sessions of “enhanced interrogation techniques” in some hellhole? But it’s worth a shot.

On the other side of that exchange, I think that Foxsports.com’s Mark Kriegel probably wasn’t the only person wondering whether Oscar de la Hoya might’ve had a better chance against “Pacman” Pacquiao if he could’ve slipped a few punches the way 60-plus Dubya dodged those shoes.

I have no clue whether Turner Gill is or is not ready to take center stage as the head coach at a high-profile D-1 football program — like, say, Auburn, which didn’t even bother interviewing him. I DO know that he’s done everything he’s supposed to have done since he took over a Buffalo program that ranked in the bottom few in D-1, and improved the record every year until, this year, his team went 8-5, won the MAC championship and was invited to a bowl game. Not the greatest record, maybe, but it looks pretty OK next to that of, say, Gene Chizik, who actually DID get the gig — he of the flashy 5-19 record at Iowa State, including 2-10 this year, with the only two wins coming against North Dakota State and Kent State. Of course, Buffalo lost to Kent State, so maybe that was the deciding factor.

I’m not 100% certain that the reason Chizik got the job, and that Gill wasn’t even considered, is that, as Sir Charles said, the former is Caucasian and the latter isn’t — but I’m pretty sure. The only reason my certainty isn’t 100%, is that Auburn in particular really, really likes coaches who come from the “Auburn family,” and Chizik was after all the defensive coordinator of the 13-0 team and a couple of other good teams — teams that, I believe, never lost to ‘Bama.

It’s not a trivial issue. I thought Terry Bowden did a pretty decent job as the Tigers’ head coach when he took over a program devastated by NCAA sanctions and not-bowl-eligible in 1993. All he did was go 11-0 that season, and then run the undefeated games string to 20-0-1, which remains the longest undefeated streak in Auburn’s history. He won 2 bowl games after the team became bowl-eligible, and lost one. Although I can’t really argue with his firing when his team started 1-5 in 1998 (after having gone 10-3 the previous season), talk was that he was always on a short leash, and resented by rabid Auburn boosters because he was an “outsider.” This, despite the success he had with a program so toxic no one wanted to touch it.

But at the end of the day, I don’t see how race couldn’t have factored into the process. Sure, success as a head coach in the MAC — especially 8-5 success — doesn’t necessarily translate to success at a big-time program; but surely FAILURE of monumental proportions as head coach in one of the top conferences, like the Big 12, DOES translate to lowered expectations at the next job.

Will this be a banner year for NBA head coach firings? Reggie Theus became the sixth one let go this season, after Sacramento decided to “go in a different direction.” I don’t think Theus was the greatest coach in the league, but he showed last year that he had some ability. The problem with Sacramento, as with a number of teams that have axed their coaches this season, is either that they have mediocre players, period, or that they have some players with talent, but there’s been no real thought to putting together a roster that makes sense, or that jibes with a coach’s own style and, dare I say it?, “philosophy.”

Injuries are never an excuse, I guess, but it sure didn’t help Theus that the best player on his roster, Guard Kevin Martin, has been sidelined by injury for much of the season; just as it didn’t help Eddie Jordan that Gilbert Arenas still hasn’t played, and that Brendan Haywood has been out for a long spell. Of course, it also hasn’t helped Jerry Sloan that he doesn’t have Carlos Boozer and that the Jazz were missing Deron Williams for a lot of games, or Gregg Popovich that every significant starter other than Tim Duncan has missed a lot of games. The difference is that those two great coaches have job security, while more junior members of the fraternity are only as secure as their past ten games.

Don’t even get me started on the Raptors and Sam Mitchell. It’s probably unfortunate for the Raptors that Mitchell won Coach of the Year and couldn’t be fired after Colangelo, Jr., came on board, because word on the street was that Colangelo was just itching to fire Mitchell last year, so he could bring in Mike D’Antoni this season. Since the Knicks are playing surprisingly well under D’Antoni so far, maybe that would have been a successful hire. But, D’Antoni or no D’Antoni, who’s going to win consistently with wasted draft picks like Andrea Bargnani, who apparently was required by immigration laws to leave his testicles in escrow back in Europe?

I mean, I love Chris Bosh, but he’s not that strong, and given his slim body frame, last summer’s Olympics probably took a bigger toll on him than on some of his Team USA teammates. Unfortunately, he has to play a lot of center because, who the heck else do they have? I do get frustrated with Andrew Bynum from time to time, even though I realize he’s still a young whelp, but has anyone seen just how pathetically Jermaine O’Neal, for whom AB came within a whisker of being traded, has performed in the post for the Raptors? Thank God Mitch Kupcake didn’t listen to Kobe’s whining and pull the trigger on that deal — and thank God that Larry Bird, for reasons not entirely clear, overvalued J.O. so ridiculously.

I also love Jose Calderon, and, sometimes, Jorge Garbajosa. But one look at the rest of the roster young Colangelo has put together, and it’s a wonder that Mitchell managed even to keep the team’s record respectable while he was there.

Getting back to coaches and their firings, though, it does seem that a common thread isn’t just that the coaches weren’t winning, but that they were getting paid a lot of Benjamins for not winning. Nobody comes to a game to watch a coach prance around on the sidelines, and I’m guessing that some of the thinking was that the teams that fired those coaches can lose just as well with guys on the sidelines getting paid a third or less of what the firees were making for filling out those Armani and Zegna suits.

The theory for years has been that no player’s going to respect a coach earning less than the last player on the bench. But as it turns out, a lot of players don’t even respect coaches making $10 million a season. Why waste the money if the coach can’t get the job done? Baseball’s already realized this, which is why, with only a few exceptions like Tony LaRussa and Joe Torre, baseball managers don’t get paid like their NBA or NFL counterparts.

What is with Francisco Rodriguez? No sooner does he get a munificent multi-year contract from the Mets, than he thinks the way to earn it is to start mouthing off like a New Yorker. Instead of being appreciative of the Angels for giving him the opportunity to eventually become a multi-decamillionaire, he insisted on burning his L.A. bridges on the way out. The model for that, in my opinion, was David Eckstein, the feisty little former Angels’ shortstop, who told the press that he was actually grateful to the Angels, even though they wouldn’t pay him what he wanted, because he wouldn’t be a Major Leaguer, or a millionaire, had they not given him a chance and nurtured him along. No bridges burned there. Not K-Rod’s style, though.

Then, instead of uttering the usual platitudes about how he wants to fit in and help the Mets to the postseason, he brashly guarantees that they’re now the “team to beat” — in a division that, just by the way, contains the team that just won the World Series. I sense that K-Rod is starting to write checks with his mouth that his ass won’t be able to cash, as they say on the street.

First, no matter what personnel they assemble, the Mets always seem to find some way to choke at the end of the season. And, second, well, just how much better are they with K-Rod (and, to be fair, J.J. Putz and Sean Green)? My gut feeling is, not a whole heckuva lot, actually, since they’ve also lost some setup guys who could really eat up innings, as well as Billy Wagner, who was infuriating and blew a bunch of save opportunities (7 of 34 last season), but was still another live arm. So, while K-Rod is probably going to be a welcome addition to the Mets’ bullpen — and he’d better be, for that kind of money — I’m pretty sure the Mets will find some other way to finish next season the way they finished the last one — playing golf. And, just for perspective, K-Rod’s record-setting 62 saves came in 69 save opportunities, which means that he blew as many opportunities as the much-maligned Wagner last season, albeit in a lot more appearances.

Although the polls haven’t yet closed, is there any question — at least so far — that the Nuggets got the better of the Billups for AI swap? On a one-to-one basis, at any rate. The fact that Detroit sent Antonio McDyess to Denver as part of that trade, then got McDyess back for cheap after Denver bought him out, certainly goes into the plus column for the Pistons. But Billups has certainly done a lot more to help the Nuggets, who’re currently 16-4 since the trade, than AI’s done for Detroit.

I understand that Detroit (allegedly) traded for AI because of some belief that their playoff losses the past couple of years have been because of a lack of offensive explosiveness and a dearth of players who can create their own shots, and that trades have to be judged after the season, not during it. But the way Denver was going, it wouldn’t even have been a playoff contender with AI instead of Billups, while Detroit may find that, because of AI, they face much tougher opposition in the first couple of rounds as a 6th or 7th seed, than they’ve been used to as a 2nd or 3rd seed.

It’s amazing enough that three teams in the NBA this year are still playing .800 ball or better. What’s even more incredible is that one of those three is Cleveland. They were crap last year, even though, let’s admit it, they played the Celtics a lot tougher than the Lakers did. That’s because, although they had no offensive flow or élan whatsoever, they always played hard-nosed, swarming defense that kept scores low and gave them chances to win in the playoffs. The obvious difference this year is that they’ve improved by leaps and bounds offensively, while still taking care of business on defense.

I could be catty and claim that their record reflects the fact that they haven’t played many good teams, and have lost to those they’ve faced. But the same applies to the Lakers. A 20-4 record is a 20-4 record. And, unlike the Lakers, they’re not letting the stumblebum teams stay in games.

But look at the Cavs’ roster. Not only is it largely the same as the one they closed last season with, but some key players have only gotten older and slower. Ben Wallace was already in decline last season. He’s not any better this year. Wally Mxsptlk is still a conscienceless shooter who’s slow and plays no D, except that now he’s even slower. Delonte West is back after a useless half-season with the Sonics, but his stats aren’t any better now than they were the first time he was with the Cavs.

Nope, seems to me there are only two reasons for this incredible advance. The first is that LeBron James is, in fact, playing at a higher level since his return from the Olympics. He was already near-MVP good offensively, but he’s better all-around now. True, his points, rebounds and assists per game are all down, but his field goal percentage is up (even as his three-point average descends to a number that challenges the latest Federal Reserve rate) and his free-throw percentage is above .800 for the first time in forever. He’s also playing 5 fewer minutes per game.

The biggest change is in his defense, though. He’s not taking possessions off on the defensive end. In fact, he’s not just playing hard, but doing it against the opposition’s best players. Whether he can keep this up all season and through the playoffs remains to be seen, but so far, he’s been the real deal.

Even that shouldn’t be enough to explain the Cavs’ current record. The only other explanation I can find is that they added Guard Mo Williams in the offseason. Williams actually had better numbers when he was with Milwaukee, but then again, he wasn’t playing in many games that meant anything. He’s made a huge difference to the Cavs’ overall offensive flow. He’s no Chris Paul, but apparently he’s more than good enough for the situation he’s in — especially given that the other point guard is Eric Snow, who was OK 30 pounds ago, but is now twice the man, and half the player, that he used to be. If Snow is within 15 pounds of his listed weight of 205, I’ll eat a few slices of pizza, the way Hot Plate Williams used to do on the Clippers’ bench during games.

Speaking of point guards, I really, really believe that Chicago super-rookie Derrick Rose cut his left forearm so badly that he needed 10 stitches while eating an apple. His story, spoken with an ingenuous, straight face, is that he was using a kitchen knife to cut an apple that he was eating in bed, got up to get a drink of water, and flopped down on the bed, forgetting he’d left the knife there. Yep, sure. Ranks right up there with Wade Boggs’s pulling a muscle in his back while putting on cowboy boots; Jeff Kent’s separating a shoulder due to a fall from his RV while washing it; or Latrell Sprewell breaking his hand tripping and falling off his (now repossessed) yacht). The one thing all those explanations have in common is that they were all BS.

Please. It’s like a woman claiming she got pregnant from sitting on a toilet seat. I guess that’s possible, as long as there’s another human being of the opposite sex between the women and the toilet seat. Personally, I don’t care what Rose did to get the injury. I do, though, care a great deal that athletes think everyone’s as dumb and gullible as they are.

I say this, mind you, knowing that I’m a total klutz, and that I absolutely could throw out my back putting on or taking off a pair of boots, or cut myself shaving — with an electric shaver. But those guys are superior athletes. No way things like that happen to them.

Please send comments and criticism — especially criticism — to thonglaw@sprynet.com, where it will be dealt with appropriately.

Gotta love that NHL. NHL players pummel each other into bloody goo, hit each other, legally, with force and malicious intent that would land them in the slammer off the ice, curse worse than sailors, construction workers, or participants in a Comedy Central roast, spit, hawk loogies, moon the fans, God knows what, and no problem. In fact, the only time the league really acts to suspend players for “conduct unbecoming” is when goons like Marty McSorley or Todd Bertuzzi hit unsuspecting opponents from behind and nearly kill them. Even then, it’s only if the incident is ugly enough to inspire local prosecutors to bring criminal assault charges. I’ve always thought that the league wouldn’t do Jack Squat even in the extreme cases if the specter of criminal liability weren’t looming.

Even though it’s allegedly tried to cut down on brawling, and ethnic slurs, the NHL isn’t really known for doing a whole lot to rein in the excesses of its players. Hockey is, after all, a man’s game, heavy on the testosterone, and the number of fans drawn to smooth skating, clever passing, dazzling stick work and brilliant shooting pales in comparison to those drawn to the prospect of violence and the smell of blood. Not quite MMA with skates, but close enough for government work.

Just for the record, I’m totally down with the campaign to decrease racial or ethnic taunting. Players can call it “gamesmanship,” but that kind of behavior has no place even in a Neanderthalic sports culture. Trash talking is fine, but some topics really are, and should be, off-limits.

On the other hand, I have no problem with fighting in hockey, as long as the players don’t use sticks or skates. I believe there’s truth in the received wisdom that it’s a safety-valve and allows the players to “police themselves.” If fighting were outlawed, I’m convinced to a moral certainty that really dangerous things like spearing and kicking skates would proliferate. Plus, most fans love it, and at this point, anything the league can do to retain or maybe even grow market share should be welcome. Unfortunately, the NHL powers that be seem determined to make the sport as bland and corporate as possible.

Which brings us to the league’s latest attempt to polish turds. The Dallas Stars’ Sean Avery, a league gadfly, all-around pain in the rear, and trash-talker and s**t-stirrer extraordinaire, was initially suspended indefinitely (since reduced to 6 games) for telling members of the media in Calgary, after a morning skate, that he found it interesting and inexplicable that so many NHL players are satisfied with his “sloppy seconds.” He was presumably referring to Elisha Cuthbert, who’s now “dating” Calgary defenseman Dion Phaneuf, and also “dated” the Canadiens’ Mike Komisarek after she and Avery broke up, and, to a lesser extent, SI swimsuit model Rachel Hunter, who’s now “dating” the Kings’ Jarrett Stoll.

Most people believe, as I do, that the crude, smartass remark was mainly intended to inflame Phaneuf, a member of the Stars’ opponent for that night, and put him off his game. It’s his M.O., of a piece with his earlier remark about the Flames franchise player Jarome Iginla being so boring that nobody cares about him, and suggesting that the league should do more to promote its villains. Like, I suppose, Mr. Avery, who’s such a villain that even his own teammates in Los Angeles and Dallas have hated him almost as much as have opponents. He’s an equal-opportunity crap artist that way.

Avery does things like that all the time. He loves to make opponents hate him, believing (often correctly) that it makes them less effective. An added side-benefit is that, as far as Avery’s concerned, notoriety is as good as fame, as long as they spell his name right. He’s a very good and effective player, although hardly a superstar, yet, devout narcissist that he is, he’s one of the few players in the league, if not the only one, to employ his own personal publicist.

I’m happy just on general principle that he’s been suspended. But I’m irked beyond patience that the league is punishing him for all the wrong reasons — just as it incenses me that O.J. Simpson may get a disproportionately severe prison sentence in Nevada to punish him, not for his criminal stupidity in that state, but for the fact that he was acquitted of murder in Los Angeles. That’s retribution, and all well and good, but not justice.

Not to defend Avery’s public comment. It’s a misogynistic insult of the worst kind to the aforementioned two former paramours. It’d be offensive even if the former GFs were Brittany Spears and Paris Hilton, who’ve been through more hands than a Dodger Stadium hot dog on its way to someone in the middle of a row. Avery should have apologized to those women. But not to Dion Phaneuf; not to his team; not to the league; not to the public. Stupidity, crudity and gross insensitivity aren’t felonies — yet. And don’t tell me that hockey players don’t say a lot worse things to each other — when reporters aren’t present.

I mean, really. THIS is the issue on which the NHL has decided to take a stand? There’s nothing else out there that demands Gary Bettman’s attention? I’m reminded of the climactic scene in that classic sports movie, “Slap Shot,” where the ice is full of players pounding the poop out of each other and turning the white surface red, when Michael Ontkean decides to stage his own protest of the violence by stripping down to his jock strap and sashaying around the rink with provocative gestures. Naturally, the most violent and least evolved sasquatch out there — I think it’s the human hairball, “Oglethorpe” — is utterly outraged by this repugnant breach of hockey decorum.

What is this, “Casablanca,” where Captain Reynaud is “shocked, shocked, to find that gambling has been going on” at Rick’s Café Américain? This is even worse than convicting Al Capone on tax-evasion charges because they couldn’t nail him for murder, extortion, arson, prostitution, or even spitting on the sidewalk. Or, as noted, punishing O.J. disproportionately because he got away with murder somewhere else.

What irks me even more, is that the NHL also forced Avery to accept an evaluation for that universal, useless and irrelevant but politically correct panacea for all behavioral issues, “anger management training,” which is a money-maker for charlatans in the pop-psychology business, but generally useless for those on the giving or receiving end of the “anger.” Heck, why not go for prefrontal lobotomies or electroconvulsive shock treatment? Avery’s problem isn’t a lack of “anger management”; it’s that he’s an inveterate and confirmed a-hole. I don’t know what the appropriate treatment for that is, but it surely isn’t “anger management therapy.”

Every parent has been asked at one time or another by a child why, if there is a God, He (or She) lets bad things happen to good people. There’s no real answer, other than faith. The real vexing question, I think, is why, if there’s a God, He or She lets good things happen to really, really bad people. In the sports context, I’m thinking right now of Nick Saban. If there’s a God, how come Alabama is doing so well with that guy as its coach? There’s some justice in the world, as Florida just kept ‘Bama from reaching the National Championship game, but it’s still in a top BCS bowl. Just asking. Feel free to substitute your own “bad guys making good” examples.

There was a lot written this past “Rivalry Week” about the continuing, but largely tacit, animosity between Norm Chow and Pete Carroll, his former head coach, and soon-to-be Washington head coach Steve Sarkisian, once a Chow protégé. None of them has been publicly forthcoming about the break-up, and I have no idea who was in the right. Most likely, everybody and nobody. But it’s a great story, in a Greek tragedy meets tabloid news kind of way.

It certainly seems to an outsider like me that Chow got out of Dodge when he correctly perceived that there was an effort to marginalize him, either because Carroll was irked at the individual praise Chow was getting for the Trojans’ offense, or, as Bill Plaschke suggested in Friday’s L.A. Times, because Carroll didn’t want the offense so linked with Chow that it would hurt recruiting if Chow left.

But there’s no need to rewrite history, as Plaschke did, when he wrote that Chow, seeing the handwriting on the wall, left to become offensive coordinator for the Tennessee Titans. That’s true, of course. He did go to Tennessee. In the interim, however, he interviewed for the head coaching job at Stanford, and, rumor has it, certain that he’d landed the gig, started trying to lure recruits away from USC. If true, it certainly doesn’t put Chow in the best light.

I do know that USC has done better than all right since Chow’s departure. How could it not, given the wealth and depth of primo talent it has? But at USC’s level, success is measured in championships, and one is left to wonder whether they might not have a couple more had Carroll tried to keep Chow happy.

Chow isn’t God, and as we know the Trojans lost a few games they maybe should have won when he was up in the booth designing and calling plays. Even so, there’s a reasonable argument that their signature losses could have been wins had Chow been the strategist and play-caller. I can’t prove it, but I strongly suspect that he’d have called a better play than the 4th-down stinker that either Carroll, Kiffin or Sarkisian — or all of them together — called in the 41-38 loss to Texas; and I also suspect he’d have found a way for SC to score more than 9 points against the Bruins in ought-six. That’s two National Championships right there, by my count.

(For purposes of full disclosure, Jon Castro has reminded me that the Trojans had 3 key defensive players out with injuries in the Texas game. Absolutely true. I still contend that USC would have won that game if it had Chow, instead of the three-headed, bumbling monster, calling the offensive plays.)

Yeah, I know Chow’s offense hasn’t dazzled at UCLA this season. But look at what he’s had to work with. A surfeit of chicken guano is never the ingredient for a great chicken salad, even if the chef is Wolfgang Puck or Joachim Splichal.

We’ll never know if Kevin Craft actually is as bad as he’s looked. Like Jeff Garcia in his last seasons with the ‘Niners, he’s been playing behind an O-line with more holes than Emmenthaler cheese and more leaks than the Titanic. He’s not in the running for any football honors, but I hear that the guys who run the “Jackass” TV show and movie franchise have offered him a gig, since there’s nothing anyone on that show does that’s more dangerous than standing under center for UCLA this year.

As for Chow’s comparatively disappointing stats at Tennessee, I have two words that provide an almost complete explanation: Vince Young. Tennessee ownership was understandably committed to its First-Round draft pick, and that draft pick was equally committed to ignoring Chow’s offensive schemes, and to rejecting any attempts to teach him technique. That was a daisy chain made to order for disaster to Chow.

There are many reasons for Tennessee’s perceived offensive resurgence this season, but the two biggest, I think, are the addition by subtraction that resulted when Kerry Collins, who barely played last season, replaced Young, and that the Titans have a runner — rookie Chris Johnson, who’s averaging 4.7 yards per carry and has over 1,000 yards rushing after 13 games — that they lacked last season. The biggest difference between last years and this isn’t that the passing game is better. In fact, isn’t appreciably better statistically, although Justin Gage is averaging a tad more per reception. It’s a mere 24th in the league right now, and wasn’t much worse, if at all, last year. Of course, it’s 3rd in rushing this season, and, of course, it’s Chow’s fault that he didn’t have Chris Johnson or that the offensive line last year was a sieve.

The passing game, just by the way,

Statistics don’t tell the whole story, of course, but the fact is that this year’s 12-1 Titans aren’t that much more prepossessing than last year’s edition that went “only” 10-6. They’re 17th in the league in total offense after 13 games (18th after 12 games); last season they were 21st. They average 332 yards per game this year (up from 325 per game after 12 games); last year it was 311. They have 230 First Downs this season in 12 games, which translates to 283 for 16 games. Last season, under Chow’s “horrible” offense, they had 26 more.

True, they had more trouble scoring points last season. Maybe that was because of Chow’s schemes, notwithstanding the lack of a consistent outside running threat and the problems created by Young’s incompetence. Or maybe it was because they fumbled 32 times, losing 17, while, so far, they’ve fumbled all of 14 times, losing 7. Or maybe it was because Collins, who isn’t Peyton Manning or Tom Brady, but runs the offense efficiently, and makes fewer mistakes on a bad day than Young did at his best, has thrown for 11 TDs with only 6 interceptions this year, while Vince Young was a turnover machine, throwing for the 9 TDs in 3 more games, but with 17 interceptions. Or maybe it was because their O-line sucked last season, and has played well this year. Chow’s fault or not? As “Faux” News likes to say, you decide.

I can’t really disagree with Jon Castro that the Lakers’ commitment to defense, and for that matter their ability to put any commitment into practice even if they had it, is still AWOL — especially because I take the same position. It’s not as if their performance on their 3-game road trip against 3 teams with injury problems and losing records has done anything but reinforce that impression. They are about the shakiest 17-2 team I can recall. Oops, make that 17-3 after their stinker against the Queens on Tuesday. But I can’t agree that they’d be better off with the names Jon suggested: Kenyon Martin and Ron Artest.

Martin looks tough, talks tough and acts tough, but he doesn’t necessarily PLAY all that tough — certainly not against people his own size — and in any case doesn’t consistently play the kind of defense the Lakers need under any circumstances. People accept that he plays tough defense because he says he does, because he blocks shots, and because nobody else on the Nuggets does. I have to agree with Charley Rosen that when he’s on defense, he’s often TOO intent on trying to block shots, and not as interested in using his strong body to win the battle for position under the boards.

Many people confuse blocks, steals and even rebounds with good defense. Although many players who block a lot of shots or get a lot of steals are also good defenders, that’s not necessarily always true — especially when the player is the sort who gambles on getting blocks or steals because those are stats that are measured, and not only leaves himself out of effective defensive position, but puts extra pressure on teammates who have to cover for him. K-Mart isn’t the only offender. Our own Kobe Bryant is guilty of that all too frequently.

Artest authentically IS tough. He’s still a hard-nosed, outstanding on-ball defender and a hard-working, high-energy player. Unfortunately, he’s not quite as accomplished at or effective in the team concept of defense. Worse, although his offensive game isn’t bad, it’s not nearly as evolved or well-rounded as he believes it is. He tends to pout if he perceives he isn’t getting enough plays run for him. The Lakers already have enough of those types.

I don’t think the Lakers need either player. I DO think they need a major infusion of toughness from somewhere, though. They don’t need a star, just a solid role player, like James Posey and P.J. Brown were for Boston last season. Who that player is, or if they could even get him, whoever he is, I have no idea.

As unprepossessing as the Lakers’ defense has been, though, just imagine how much worse off they’d be defensively had they not suckered Orlando into taking Brian Cook off their hands in exchange for Trevor Ariza. Ariza couldn’t shoot worth a lick last season, and he was kind of stuck behind Rashard Lewis in any case, so it’s understandable that the Magic considered him expendable. But for B. Cook and Reggie Evans?

Whatever flaws Ariza’s game had or has, no one can accuse him of lacking energy or commitment. By contrast, no one ever accused B. Cook on his best day of having either quality. The Magic are already looking to pawn Cook off on some other unsuspecting team that believes it needs a near-7-footer who hangs around the three-point arc and shoots only from the outside. Not a bad deal by the oft-maligned “Kupcake.” Oh, and by the way, Ariza’s shooting is a lot better this season.

Good to see that Kevin McHale has been required to coach the T-Wolves now that Randy Wittman and his 4-15 record have been axed. Guys responsible for so many years of consistent mismanagement and bumbling deserve some punishment, and what punishment could be more fitting than to have to coach the rabble he put together?

Indeed, it’s hard to remember any good decisions McHale’s ever made, since he’s made so very, very many bad ones. The whole Joe Smith debacle, that resulted in Minnesota’s losing its First-Round draft picks for 5 whole years, should have given us some inkling. He must have made a few good decisions, I guess, since the Wolves did make the Western Conference Finals in 2004, and were perennial one-and-out fixtures in the playoffs during fixtures in the bottom, but darned if I can remember them.

Just wondering, whom would McHale rather be coaching, and counting on to help him win games, Kevin Love, or O.J. Mayo, whom McHale drafted and then sent to Memphis in exchange for Love? I’m guessing that McHale the coach kind of wishes that McHale the team VP had a do-over on that deal.

Not that Love is a total disaster. His stats are OK, I guess: 8.9 points per game, 6.6 boards, 1.1 assists. He shoots free throws well. But he’s oil-tanker slow on defense, has limited lift, and is managing a stunningly bad 42% from the floor. His physical limitations weren’t a big drawback in college, where he unquestionably was a more effective player than Mayo; but college is college and the NBA is the NBA and rarely do the twain meet. Love’s had a couple of promising games, and is starting to see more minutes, so the jury’s still out; but thus far, he’s not having the kind of year a Lottery pick is supposed to have.

And he certainly pales by comparison with Mayo, who’s averaging just over 20 points, 4.6 boards, 2.3 dimes and 1.3 steals. Mayo’s own shooting percentage is just barely better than Love’s, but he does play a different position. A percentage in the low ‘40’s is inexcusable for a big man who wants to be taken seriously.

Mind you, statistical analysis is always iffy, and is especially dicey when it’s applied to players from losing teams. But I still kind of think McHale would prefer to be coaching Mayo.

Interesting what stat nerds will come up with. A guy named Jay Jaffe pointed out on si.com that K-Rod’s save record, in and of itself, is kind of meaningless. Not that it isn’t an impressive accomplishment to make the saves when the opportunities present themselves, but the fact that K-Rod made so many saves is due in large measure to the fact that he had so many more save opportunities than other closers. Or, as Jaffe put it, “The saves record itself simply isn’t terribly impressive. It’s a function of circumstance, namely the need for close ballgames. The Angels, with an excellent pitching staff but only a so-so offense, were ideally suited to providing Rodriguez with more save opportunities than your average team by playing close games; of their 100 wins, 71 were in games decided by three runs or less.”

That’s obviously true, now that it’s been pointed out to me, and makes me wonder about other statistical records, like homers, RBIs and the like. I think all of them have to be analyzed in context.

Not that K-Rod has to apologize for having set the record. He was still one of the top 3 relievers in the game this year by other sabermetric measures. Even had he not set or approached the saves record, he was still overcoats better than anyone the Mets, who just signed him, had. The irony, however, is that he may have been even more impressive in 2007 and 2006, when he didn’t set any records — and didn’t even come close to setting records.

Of course, sabermetrics are all well and good, but they aren’t the universal solvent. Even the greatest relievers blow important games — and I’m not even talking about Dennis Eckersley in 1988. Mariano Rivera is about as good as it’s been for the past 10-plus years, whether judged by sabermetrics or by the evidence of my own eyes. But even he’s blown some big opportunities at exactly the wrong time. Indeed, I blame him for the plague of Curt Schilling BS and bafflegab we’ve had to endure for the past few years. Had Rivera not committed that crucial error in Game 7 of the 2001 World Series, the Yanks would have won the Series. Had the Yanks won, Schilling wouldn’t have been the Series MVP and, who knows?, maybe he wouldn’t have wound up being the hero for Boston. Darn you, Rivera!

So, sabermetrics, shmabermetrics. Relievers still have to play them one opportunity at a time, and there’s no nerdly stat that can predict which opportunities they’ll blow. Or that can predict how long a pitcher with K-Rod’s violent, herky-jerk motion will stay healthy and effective.

I’ve always had a love-hate relationship with stat nerds. They sometimes come up with interesting insights that help me see the game in a different way. But, damn it, the game is, and should be, played by real people on fields or in arenas. It’s more than just numbers. If it’s just about numbers, my preferred numbers game of choice is the vital stats of female porn stars.

This past Presidential election, however, changed my attitude a bit. Far and away the best polling information and insight was fivethirtyeight.com, run by “reformed” baseball stat nerd Nate Silver, whose other incarnation was and is as a writer, analyst and partner at Baseball Prospectus, where — full circle here — the aforementioned Jay Jaffe writes. Nobody, but nobody, did a better predictive job, and Silver did it using techniques gained from baseball stat “nerdery.” So there’s some real-world value to all that, after all.

Please send comments and criticism — especially criticism — to thonglaw@sprynet.com, where it will be dealt with appropriately.

More proof that I should never, ever be relied on as a sports prognosticator: no sooner had I finished and posted a piece praising the Atlanta Hawks, then sporting a perfect 6-0 record, than they tripped over their egos and proceeded to drop 5 straight. I never thought they’d go 82-0, but I kind of assumed they wouldn’t succumb to the rare air of success and immediately go into a tailspin.

They remind me of cartoon characters like Wile E Coyote, who’s always running off a cliff but continues to stand on the thin air. Then he looks down, sees the chasm below, and immediately plummets. As long as the Hawks didn’t KNOW they were supposed to be good, they were. When reality set in, and they looked down, they face-planted. . . . splat.

They’ve recovered somewhat, and still look to be a solid, talent-laden, playoff-bound team. But not a top seed. Not this year, and maybe not ever.

What I take from it all is that although this kind of idle speculation helps sports talk show hosts fill countless hours of air time on slow news weeks, it’s insane to project either monumental success or abject failure from incomplete data. Eight straight wins or even 8 straight losses early in an 82-game season isn’t enough of a data sampling for any kind of prognostication. I mean, c’mon. Half the teams in the NBA are “on pace for” an 82-win season after Game 1, every year. It’s meaningless. Doesn’t stop people from talking about it endlessly, but it’s meaningless — even more meaningless than fantasy sports leagues.

Nor, by the way, are even record-setting streaks in the middle of a season predictive. The year the Angels won their only World Series, the Athletics went on an ungodly 20-game win streak that had observers thinking World Championship. As we know, the Angels managed to hang in their rear-view mirror throughout that streak, and were the ones playing the best ball when the playoffs rolled around, while the Athletics couldn’t even get past Minnesota. And let’s not forget last season’s Rockets and their second-best-ever 22-win streak last season. All THAT got them was the opportunity for another First-Round exit.

For the sake of my argument, I’m conveniently and unfairly ignoring Yao Ming’s annual season-ending foot in jury — this one coming with 10 games to go. But that shows that win streaks in and of themselves don’t provide any assurance of future performance. There are lots of things that have to be factored in — such as, in the Rockets’ case, the near-certainty that Yao will be injured and unavailable by the end of the season. Or the almost equal certainty that Tracy McGrady will go down for an extended period. Oops, there he goes again.

And don’t even get me started about how even 18-game win streaks and undefeated regular seasons in the NFL don’t assure a Super Bowl win . . . .

Speaking of teams that need to face reality — your Los Angeles Lakers. They started out 7-0, including back-to-backs on the road against Dallas and New Orleans, and brain-dead Lakers honks were talking about 82-0, or at least equaling or surpassing the Bulls’ 72-10 all-time record. (For the record, and for laughs, they’re still “on pace for” a 76-win season.) It would have been impolite to prick the balloon by pointing out the embarrassing facts that (a) they’d played only 2 teams with winning records; (b) in all but one of those games, they started slower than my old Dodge Dart in a Canadian winter; and (c) no matter what the quality of the opposition, they managed to fart around enough to keep their opponents in all but one of those 7 games.

And that’s forgetting just how fragile a lot of the Lakers’ players are. To expect them to be able to play with energy and determination for even 70 of the 82 regular-season games is a pipe-dream.

So I wasn’t all that surprised that they lost their next game. What disturbed me was that it was a HOME game, against a far-from-prepossessing Detroit team that went out 2 nights later and lost to the Suns by 18 points, managed a whopping 70 points in losing to the Celtics, and even managed to lose to the Timberwolves by 26 — conjure with that image for a while! — at home.

The insults to the injury were that Kwame Brown — Kwame effing BROWN — outscored and outrebounded the Next Big Thing, Andrew Bynum, and that the Lakers’ alleged newfound toughness and commitment to defense evaporated faster and more completely than Fred Thompson’s Presidential campaign. The Lakers let the Pistons score 106 points, for Pete’s sake. By contrast, the Lakers’ eminence grise, the big, bad Celtics, have held the Pistons to 76 points — 30 fewer — in a game played in Detroit, and to 70 in Boston.

I’d like to say it was a fluke, but the Lakers’ subsequent performance, a home win against the Bulls, didn’t quiet any doubts. Yeah, they won, but they allowed the Bulls to score 109 points, and played matador defense. Ditto for their more recent home win against a Sacramento Kings team missing three key players, but was still allowed to score 108.

So much for winning the NBA championship in the first few weeks of the season, as the blinkered, pig-ignorant Lakers faithful believed. Until they prove otherwise, the Lakers are still talented, still very deep, still solidly in the championship mix — I mean, despite my negativity they are, after all, 14-1 and sporting the NBA’s best record as of this writing (which is just before their road game against the Pacers) — but STILL softer than the current stock market. Even Jerry Buss has stated publicly that we won’t really know about this team until it’s been on one of those long road trips in the dead of winter.

I’m tired of hearing the minions of USC faithful bemoan their fate. (To his credit, Pete Carroll has generally been upbeat, and has acknowledged that it’s his and his team’s own fault.) It’s unfortunate that there’s no NCAA D-1 football playoff that would allow them to atone for the embarrassing loss to Oregon State that put them out of the BCS Championship calculus, but I don’t recall any great cry from these parts for a playoff when, just for example, Auburn went undefeated and was still unable to play for a national championship. Of course not, ‘cause the Trojans did. Sour, sour grapes.

Not that there shouldn’t be some kind of playoff system. Any system where a team can win the mythical poll-voters’ National Championship without even winning its own league — right, Texas Longhorns? — has to have its head up its fundament.

The Trojans WOULD be in the championship picture, despite the universally acknowledged weakness of the Pac-10 this year, had they simply taken care of business and won all the games they were supposed to win. Whose fault was that loss, exactly? Yeah, Oregon State was and is well-coached, and came up with an outstanding game plan that worked to perfection. But we’re talking about a team that had lost 3 games before USC hit town, including a conference loss to Stanford, and out-of-conference losses to Utah and Penn State. Sorry, all damage to USC’s championship hopes was self-inflicted.

And not for the first time. Despite a talent stockpile that’s the envy of just about every other program, the Trojans always manage to lose at least 1 game a season to lesser opposition and, not infrequently, 2. Either the talent isn’t as good as it’s cracked up to be; or the talent is all body, no brain and/or no heart; or, as I strongly suspect, the coaches who are supposed to prepare their youthful charges to play at or near their peak every game aren’t always bringing their own A-games.

Not to overreact, mind you. USC’s run under Coach Carroll would be the envy of just about every other program. Who else is in the Trojans’ class for sustained excellence during the same period? Texas, probably, although they stumbled last season (10-3); Florida under Urban Meyer, maybe, although they, too, stumbled — nay, tumbled — last season (9-4, including an ugly Gator Bowl loss to, ugh, Michigan); Ohio State, maybe, except that they crap out in their bowl games; LSU, I guess, though they’ve been pretty ordinary at 7-4 this year, with bad losses to Florida and Georgia, a close loss to ‘Bama, and an inexplicable not-even-close loss to Ole Miss — which, to be fair, also upset Florida and hung tough against Alabama, and is more than just bowl-eligible. Oklahoma’s had a few pretty good years, including this one, but they do have trouble with Texas, don’t they? Anyway, it’s a short list, with a high barrier to entry and pretty strict standards.

When a program is at that level, it’s allowed to lose to primo opponents — although not too often — but is expected to be able to beat the mediocre ones, as they say, like a drum. That’s what USC fails to do, more than those other programs.

I know, I know, Carroll’s never lost in November, and the Trojans always get better as the season goes along — except maybe when a barely .500 UCLA team beats them and prevents their appearance in a National Championship game. And they do tend to win their bowl games. But that’s not quite the big deal it might appear to be, since the wins seem to come against Big Ten teams, which have been perfect patsies in the big bowl games; when the Trojans had a chance to make a statement against a flawed Texas team in a National Championship contest IN THEIR HOME TOWN, they couldn’t close the deal.

So but me no buts. Coach Carroll is one helluva recruiter and deal-closer, and his Trojans deserve to be praised as one of the most consistent top programs of the past couple of decades. But they, and their head coach, are still overrated by the special standards that have to apply at that level.

Although, if we really want to talk about “overrated,” how’s about Charlie Weis, who’d gladly swap records with Coach Carroll? It’s not his team’s record that’s overrated — 6-6, and yet another blowout loss to USC, isn’t anything to crow about. It’s the coach himself. He came in blowing a lot of smoke about how he was going to lead the Domers back to glory, because, after all, he was a genius, had a Super Bowl coaching pedigree, and was an epigone of the great Bill Belichick, so the Irish were going to have — I believe this is a direct quote — “a decided schematic advantage.”

The thought was that he was going to be able to recruit like a mother, since he had all those pro credentials, and therefore (in theory) knew how to get his players to the “next level.” How’s that been working out for you so far, Charlie? Not too many pros coming out of South Bend these days, despite three straight (allegedly) top-5 to top-10 recruiting classes. Either the players he’s been recruiting are all a lot less than they’ve been cracked up to be, but inflated because the national recruiting services always pump up Notre Dame — this is Colin Cowherd’s theory — or Weis isn’t quite the molder of men he’s touted himself to be.

Oh, yeah, and about that “decided schematic advantage”? ND almost lost to Navy, and DID manage to lose to hopeless, hapless Syracuse, after Weis grandiosely declared that he was going to take over the play-calling duties. Oops.

It’s not just that El Corpulento — the final nail, I think , in the stereotype of the “jolly fat man” — hasn’t transferred that well from the pro to the college game. He’s hardly the first. Just ask Dave Wannstedt, Bill Callahan, or UCLA’s own Karl Dorrell. There are enough differences between the two games that make such maladjustment more than a rarity. And, although Weis has a couple of Super Bowl rings that he likes to show people, the reality is it’s not all that clear how much he, personally, deserved them. I mean, Paul Hackett — a name no true USC fan can ever say without spitting — probably has one from his time with the 1984 ‘Niners, where he was promoted as the coach who “developed” Joe Montana as a QB. Slight gap between “cause” and “effect” there, I’m guessing.

I see that the Washington Wiz just fired coach Eddie Jordan after his team’s execrable 1-10 start to this season, coming off three straight First-Round playoff losses. Interesting how chickens come home to roost. Jordan, after all, was one of Byron Scott’s former assistants with the Nets when Scott was unceremoniously fired after a so-so start, coming off two straight trips to the NBA Finals. That “so-so” start, just by the way, was 22-20, which, although I’m no math whiz, sure seems a lot better than 1-10.

Scott has resolutely refused to point fingers, and many believe that the prime and immediate cause of his firing was a locker-room shouting match between him and J-Kidd after a blowout loss. In between bouts of domestic abuse and some of the best point guard play in the NBA for a fair number of years, Kidd was known as a consummate egoist and backstabber, who engaged in power plays against any coach he couldn’t control, and pushed to get coaches who’d be more amenable to letting him have his own way. Like current Nets’ coach Lawrence Frank, who may be quite competent, but who owed his elevation to head coach to Kidd’s endorsement — and treated Kidd accordingly.

But Kidd wasn’t the only one who greased the skids for Scott in NJ. He had some henchmen, including Frank, who’s rumored to have supplied some of the anonymous background “information” that led to the media’s characterization of Scott as a lazy, out of touch, irrelevant and clueless figurehead — a rah-rah guy who couldn’t be bothered to watch game film or read scouting reports, while the assistants were the ones who were really responsible for any success the Nets had (and none of the failures).

There’s no hard evidence that Jordan, the head assistant during Scott’s tenure, stuck in his own shiv, though it’s certainly no secret that he and Kidd were tight. Jordan was hyped — perhaps even self-promoted — as the real “brains” behind the version of the Princeton Offense that the Nets used with some success for a few years under Scott. He rode that hype all the way to his job with the Wiz, where he was far from the worst coach there’s ever been, but didn’t exactly set the NBA world on fire, either.

All of the criticism of Scott may well have been true, and may still be true. Nonetheless, facts are facts, and they can be troublesome things that get in the way of theories. The undeniable fact is that the Nets team Scott had taken over had posted the third-worst record IN THE NBA the previous season, and within 2 years he had them at 52-30 (Nets’ franchise best-ever NBA record) and in the NBA Finals. He had a few bad records with the Hornets — not surprising, given the gooey, feculent mess he stepped into — but even when his teams went 38-44 and 39-43 just before their 56-26 breakout of last season, they had a reputation for being undermanned but scrappy and hard-working. Heck, he was voted Coach of the Year after his 38-44 season in recognition of just what a monumental achievement it had been just to get back to the outskirts of genteel mediocrity.

True, it hasn’t hurt Scott that for the past couple of years he’s had Chris Paul, who’s been far better than anyone thought he’d be, and that David West has blossomed into a premier player. No one can win without players. But it sure doesn’t seem like Scott’s been just a potted plant in his new job. He surely has SOMETHING to do with whatever success the team’s had. It can’t just be about the assistants.

Meanwhile, “genius” Jordan, with a roster that has more talent “on paper” although it looks like a bagel with a big hole in the middle, has managed records of 45-37 and a loss to the Pistons in the 2006 Eastern Conference semis, and then 42-40, 41-41and 43-39 and First-Round losses the past three seasons to their “kryptonite,” the Cavs. Not a terrible “body of work,” but not exactly deserving of the “genius” accolades or of a long rope, either. Especially when you consider that, had the Wiz played in the West, they wouldn’t even have qualified for the playoffs in 2 of those years. Think Jordan will be applying for a job in New Orleans any time soon?

Chris Erskine had an interesting column in the L.A. Times a couple of Sundays ago on his nominees for the “All-Ego” Sports Team. I can’t really fault his choices — among them Al Davis, Barry Bonds, Charlie Weis, Mark Cuban, Jim Rome, the two football “Bills” (Belichick and Parcells), and a host of other “un”worthies. But what, exactly, was the point? Like Diogenes’s fruitless quest in ancient Athens to find an honest man, the tougher task would have been compiling a list of star athletes and athletic figures who AREN’T narcissistic possessors of bloated egos. News flash: Erskine’s next columns will discuss the stunning news that water is wet and that bears relieve themselves in forested settings.

I’m certainly not pleased at how top athletes, coaches, agents, announcers and their ilk bask in the glow of their own perceived greatness, but why should it be such a shock to anyone that they do? We seem to accept that kind of mind-set from music, film and media stars, politicians, and captains of industry. Has there been any athlete, ever, more in love with himself or more convinced of the perfumed nature of his excrement, with less reason, than Donald Trump — who’s about to default on a $51-Million interest payment — or any of the top execs of the Wall Street firms that recently collapsed?

So it’s hardly surprising that the world of athletics should have a surfeit of egoists. And, while I’m sure there are a few — a very, very few — who are comparatively level-headed about it all, I’m also convinced, as Colin Cowherd says repeatedly, that if we knew the real story on any popular athlete, we’d cringe.

Or maybe not. After all, what counts these days is celebrity, not character. When society rewards pond scum Joey Buttafuoco, Amy Fisher (the “Long Island Lolita”) and their worthless ilk, or fawns over “celebutards” who are more famous for being famous than for actually accomplishing anything, I don’t want to hear about spoiled, bad-role-model athletes. At least some of the people on Erskine’s list — in fact, a lot of then people on his list — produced against tough competition, in endeavors where they actually keep score and play defense. What contributions, exactly, have all those other “famous” people made, other than pedophilia, attempted murder, public displays of genitalia, boorish, loutish behavior, and the like? As far as I can determine, their sole “value” to society is that they provide jobs for paparazzi, tabloid publications, gossipmongers and other parasites who feed off society’s dung heaps.

Notwithstanding, feel free to talk all you want about Plaxico Burress and his stupid, self-inflicted gunshot wound. I’ve said before, and I reiterate: forget about the morality of carrying around unlicensed loaded weapons or driving cares with expired plates; concentrate instead on the combination of stupidity and penurious behavior. With all the money those top athletes are making, it’s utterly inexcusable that they don’t pay a few bucks of it for “go-fers” who can make sure that the licenses and insurance for their tricked-out vehicles, and their own driver’s licenses — are current and in force, and ditto for any weapons they feel obligated to carry. Better still, maybe they could pay just a few bucks more, and have people with valid driver’s licenses drive them around in licensed, insured vehicles, and bonded bodyguards to obviate the perceived need to pack their own heat. But they just won’t do it. Millions for bling and flash, but not a penny for prudence. But what the Hell do I know? I’ve never walked so much as a yard in their shoes.

Please send comments and criticism — especially criticism — to thonglaw@sprynet.com, where it will be dealt with appropriately.

Stop the presses.  Move over “Greased Lightning” and Willy T. Ribbs.  You’ve got company.

For those ignorant of the accomplishments of those two gentlemen, let the record reflect that Wendell Scott was the first African-American to win a NASCAR race.  I wouldn’t have known that — heck, I have trouble knowing who any of the CAUCASIAN NASCAR luminaries are — except for the fact that I’m a Richard Pryor fan, and he starred in an otherwise forgettable 1977 biopic about Mr. Scott called “Greased Lightning,” which I watched because, hey, Richard Pryor was in it. 

Willy T. Ribbs — as aptly surnamed an individual as anyone who’s competed in a sport that treats barbecue almost as reverently as it does cars and speed — was merely the winningest African-American competitor in any motorsport.  Not that that’s saying a lot.  In some ways being the winningest African-American in a sport that has so few is like being the world’s tallest midget.  But by all accounts Ribbs was pretty good. 

He raced in IndyCar circuits, including CART, the Indy Racing League and even a couple of Indy 500’s.  He was the first black man of any nationality to race Formula One.  He came along before the heyday of NASCAR, but I suspect that the fit wouldn’t have been good anyway, since he’s been quoted referring to NASCAR (not without some grain of truth, I think) as “Neck-car.” 

Ribbs did have a semi-significant impact on NASCAR, though not intentionally and not directly because of his race.  According to his Wikipedia entry, a Winston Cup car owner entered him to drive a car in the 1978 World 600 at the Charlotte track, but after he “skipped two practice sessions and was arrested for evading police when he drove the wrong way down a one way street,” the owner replaced him with some guy named Dale Earnhardt (Sr., not Jr.), of whom you may have heard a thing or two.    Mind you, given stock-car racing’s NASCAR’s roots in the moonshine-transportation industry we know so well from “The Dukes of Hazard,” I’m guessing that getting arrested for evading police after driving the wrong way down a one-way street would have gotten most drivers back then a standing ovation, not a suspension, as long as their skin was the right complexion. 

But anyway, why am I dredging up this ancient history?  ‘Cause a 23-year-old black man (a Brit, not an American), Lewis Hamilton, has just won the most coveted single title in Formula One circles, the World Driving Championship.  In only his second year in Formula 1 racing, no less. He won 9 of the 35 F1 races he entered, and had 22 “podium finishes,” en route to this year’s championship.  Last season, as a “rookie,” he finished second overall by a single point.

The achievements of black athletes should be no great surprise by now.  But motorsports in general have been somewhat hostile to non-Caucasians.  And Formula 1, in particular, with its aura of polo, gentlemen’s clubs and money, wouldn’t have been my first guess as the circuit that saw this stunning breakthrough. 

Given that this is a Presidential election year in the U.S., take note that Mr. Hamilton, like Barack Obama, is the product of a marriage between a Caucasian mother and a black father; that he didn’t get where he is via “affirmative action”; and that, like black soccer players, he’s endured his share of vile racial taunts and epithets on the circuit.  Is he an “agent of change”?  Is he “the one” (or, as John McCain called him, “That One”?  We should all stay tuned.

Speaking of matters of color, please color me “perplexed.”  What is Detroit’s upside in 86ing Chauncey Billups, still one of the premier all-around point guards in the league, and Antonio McDyess, who’s not exactly washed up — or wasn’t in Game 4 of last season’s Eastern Conference Final, anyway, when he scored 21 and snared 16 boards to help the Pistons even that series — for an exciting, competitive, but oh-so-seriously flawed chucker like Allen Iverson? 

Well, maybe they didn’t really trade McDyess.  In the loony world of NBA trades in the salary-cap era, McDyess was thrown in to help make the salaries match, since AI earns more this year that McDyess and Billups combined.  Indeed, Denver bought out McDyess and his final playing destination may well be — you guessed it — Detroit, at a reduced salary.  Always fun to see a player traded for himself. 

I understand that changes had to be made to the Pistons, who’ve underachieved and disappointed in the postseason for the past 4 years.  Sure, they managed to win it all against an utterly dysfunctional (and injured) Lakers team in 2004, and have reached the Eastern Conference Final 4 straight years.  But they’ve lost the last 3 straight, and have performed worse in each successive Conference Final.   And even getting to that stage was a lesser achievement than it would seem to be at first blush, since there are fewer good teams in the East than in the West, even now.  They never really had to play anybody until the Eastern Final. 

The Pistons have had an enviable regular season record although the Pistons have perhaps the best overall regular season record the past 4-5 years, their weaknesses have been exposed cruelly in the playoffs.  Among those weaknesses are:  a lesser commitment to defense than they had when they were coached — and driven to distraction — by that neurotic genius, Larry Brown; no real inside play to speak of, once Ben Wallace went downhill seemingly overnight and the other Wallace, Rasheed, decided to play as if he were 5’11” instead of 6’11”; no real team speed; and no real “go-to” guys on offense. 

Rip Hamilton is a fine player OFF THE BALL, and gives opposing defenders fits with his constant movement.  But neither he nor, seemingly, anyone else on the team can get his own shot  without lots and lots of screens.  He’s sure not going to see the ball where he wants it MORE often, now that AI is responsible for its distribution. 

Tayshaun Prince was deemed sufficiently accomplished to play for Team USA in this year’s Olympics.  He’s a consummate role player, and a better-than-good defender, whose length always seems to give Kobe trouble.  Every so often, he can stop and pop from outside.  He’s effective when his team needs his offense, but he doesn’t need the ball all the time to be effective.  But he’s not much of a rebounder, is easily muscled off his mark, and he isn’t all that consistent a shooter.  And did I say he’s a role-player, albeit a very, very good one?

I like Rodney Stuckey’s physical skills and potential.  But anyone who believes that playing with/behind Billups has been holding him back from stardom has, as they say, another think coming.  The only thing Stuckey will learn more of from seeing AI strut his stuff in place of Billups is what NOT to do to run a team. 

Still, it all starts and ends with Rasheed Wallace, who, were he so inclined, certainly could be a dominant power forward, if not a center.  But the self-indulgent, narcissistic Rash-weed doesn’t like the scrum inside, and is ever more content to stay far away from the basket and shoot from outside, and to loaf on defense.  He’s actually a decent shooter from distance, but the result is that he shoots only about 43% from the floor, instead of the 50%-plus that any near-7-footer should be averaging, and is always out of position for offensive rebounds and second-chance plays. 

Does an NBA team with designs on a championship really want to have its sole significant inside presence — unless you count Kwame Brown, which no one who saw him play for the Wizards and the Lakers will ever do — voluntarily and selfishly remove himself from the place where he’s most valuable to the team?  To ask the question is to answer it.  If a team has to rely on Kwame “Scissorhands” Brown and Jason Maxiell to do what Wallace could and should do so much better, it’s not going anywhere.

As if Wallace’s self-indulgent play weren’t bad enough, he’s an even worse leader.  That’s bad for the Pistons because, unfortunately, he’s probably the most influential player on the team, now that Billups is gonzo.  Wallace’s attitude hurts his team even worse than his half-assed play.     He’s a world-class pouter and head-case.  He had one “bright, shining moment” during his half-season in the Pistons’ championship year, when his respect for Larry Brown and his realization that the gravy train would be consigned to the roundhouse permanently unless he straightened out, caused him to clean up his act long enough for a while.  Even then, had Karl Malone been healthy during the Finals, Wallace would have vanished in 2004 the same way he has every playoffs since. 

Despite his talents — and, some say, considerable intelligence — Wallace refuses to accept coaching; is now reaping the consistent and dubious “benefit” of his perpetual childish and erratic on-court behavior over the years that hasn’t endeared him to the people who hand out foul calls; and always seems to melt down emotionally at the most inopportune times.   And THIS is the guy whom Dumars put in charge of the Pistons’ locker room by trading away Billups? 

Billups, while obviously given far too much credit for whatever success the Pistons have had, was still crucial to the Pistons’ ability to compete.  He’s lost a step or two, and seems more injury prone now than he used to be.  But he was and remains a smart player, a pass-first ball distributor, a stalwart defender, a decent shooter when he has to be, generally unafraid to take shots in clutch situations, and, most importantly, an adult and authoritative voice in the locker room.  What, AI of all people is going to keep Wallace in check?  It is to laugh.      

So, now, the Pistons have a “point guard” in name only, who’s justly known for being physically tough and a fearless competitor, but equally notorious for gumming up every offense he’s ever run — except, ironically, that one magical year when he bought into Larry Brown’s program.  AI certainly has skills, and he’s still quick.  But he’s not as quick as he used to be, and he hasn’t replaced his inevitable physical decline with increased “smarts” to compensate.  He scores a lot of points because he’s a conscienceless volume shooter, but he’s not all that consistent. 

Not only can’t he defend nearly as well as Billups, but he doesn’t even make any pretense of trying.  Does anyone truly believe the Pistons haven’t suffered a net defensive loss with the swap?

As for offensive flow, Iverson’s averaged a tad over 6 assists per game over his career, and his assist totals over the past 3-4 years have been about the same as Billups’s, so it’s a wash in that department, right?  Nope, just shows how misleading stats can be.  Billups actually tries to run an offense and get his teammates involved; AI doesn’t.  Sure, he gets assists, but his passes come, not as part of any cogent offensive plan, but only when he gets into trouble.  And, unfortunately, there’s no stat of which I’m aware for making the initial entry pass that results in a basket one or two plays removed.  Billups makes those passes; AI doesn’t, because he basically won’t pass unless it can show up on the stat sheet.  His “pass only when the shot isn’t available” mentality certainly can gum up an offense — especially since his teammates rely on off-the-ball movement to get open for intelligent passes within the offensive flow.  Not bloody likely to happen often, now.

I have a great deal of respect for Joe Dumars’s abilities as a GM.  Who wouldn’t, given how well the Pistons have done for so many years under his “rule”?  But c’mon.  Who can seriously believe him when he says he got AI because the Pistons lacked a go-to guy who can create offense?  The fact is that Billups’s best years are probably behind him, and it probably made little financial sense to tie up a lot of money in a long-term contract extension for him.  Meanwhile, although AI has a monster contract, it expires after the season, leaving the Pistons room to go after top free agents, like LeBron James.  As if LBJ includes Detroit among the teams on his wish list. 

I understand the financial issues.  I just don’t like anybody — not even the estimable Mr. Dumars — peeing on my back and telling me it’s raining. 

Speaking of icky bodily functions, what was rising young star Alexander Semin thinking when he ripped the NHL’s designated darling, Sid Crosby, in an interview with Puckdaddy.com?  May be he was inebriated by his sudden success, since he was leading the league in points when he eructed about Crosby.

For the record, Semin said the following:

“What’s so special about [Crosby]? I don’t see anything special there. Yes, he does skate well, has a good head, good pass. But there’s nothing else. Even if you compare him to Patrick Kane from Chicago. [Kane] is a much more interesting player. The way he moves, his deking abilities, his thinking on the ice and his anticipation of the play is so superb.”

Naturally he, his coach and his owner attributed the words to “bad translation.”  Yeah, right.  Just like politicians claim that their exact words, when repeated, were “taken out of context.”  I don’t buy it for a second. 

For reasons I can’t quite understand, the younger Russian players have always been savagely critical of Kid Sid.  Maybe not Sid’s Russian teammates, like Evgeni Malkin.  They seem to understand the leadership and skills he brings to a team that, lest we forget, did reach the Stanley Cup Finals last season while Semin’s Washington Capitals, even with league scoring leader and leading Crosby-hater Alex Ovechkin, didn’t do squat.  But the young stars like Ovechkin, Semin and Atlanta’s Ilya Kovalchuk are as red-faced irate about Crosby’s success and public image as John McCain was about that upstart, Barack Obama.   

Admittedly, Crosby did get overly upset about the no-calls and dirty hits he was taking during his rookie season — as an 18-year-old, mind you — and got a lot of penalties for his retaliation.  He may be a bit of a whiner.  But just to put matters in perspective, Wayne Gretzky, arguably the greatest hockey player or all time, and inarguably the face of the NHL in his era, was known outside Edmonton as “Whine” Gretzky because of the way he was always jawing at the officials.  And the equally great Mario Lemieux did his share of pissing and moaning.  So, while Crosby’s complaining may be irritating, it sure doesn’t detract from his greatness. 

This is only Crosby’s 4^th season in the NHL, and he’s still only, and barely, 21.  He’s already taken his team to a Cup Final, become the youngest ever to reach 100 points in a season, won a Hart Trophy as MVP, a Lester B. Pearson Trophy as best player in the regular season, and an Art Ross Trophy for most points in the regular season.  He’s been a “plus” in the plus/minus stat every year except his rookie year, when he was a mere -1 on a team that went 22-46 and gave up 316 goals.  He’s physically fearless, and doesn’t shy away from contact, either on the receiving or the “giving” end.  And he’s the unquestioned captain of his team.  It’s a big deal to wear the “C” in the NHL.        

No player can escape criticism.  Just listen to sports talk radio, and you’ll hear the “Jeff From Tarzanas” of this world tell you that Kobe Bryant isn’t just a horrible human being, but not really all that much of a player, that Tom Brady and Eli Manning suck as QBs, and, well, you know the drill.  But rational people can still hate great players and acknowledge that they’ve got game.  For all his flaws and faults, Crosby is a great player.  For Semin to flatulate on about him as he did suggests an irrationality fueled by jealousy.   And, oh, yeah, just by the way, Crosby has closed the points gap on Semin, and is now a mere 3 points behind him in the scoring race.  What’ll Semin be saying when all he can see is Crosby’s backside, as Kid Sid passes him in the scoring race?

 Also, just for the record, saying Semin went a bit overboard about Crosby doesn’t mean that he was wrong about Patrick Kane, who has the misfortune to play for the perpetually mismanaged and undermanned Chicago Blackhawks.  Kane, only 19 and in his second year, has talent to burn, and is currently just a point behind Crosby in the points race.  And Chicago is off of a surprising 7-3-3 start.  But just to put matters into perspective, while Kane got 21 goals and 51 assists as an 18-year-old rookie last year, Crosby went for 39 and 63 when HE was 18.  It’s no insult to Kane to say he hasn’t shown he’s a Crosby yet; but it certainly is an insult to Crosby to imply that he’s a lesser player than Kane — who, by the way, is a winger, not a center, which does make a difference. As a matter of fact, Semin, Ovechkin and Kovalchuk are all wingers, too.  Hmmm.

I can’t quit without a shout-out to the Atlanta Hawks, 2008-09 edition.  I thought they’d for sure take a step backward without swingman Josh Childress, who decided to play in Greece this season for about 33 Million reasons — all bearing a picture of George Washington.  I never thought Childress was a star, but he is a steady, intelligent “glue” type of player that the Hawks, with their plethora of young and talented but somewhat volatile and unstable group of players sorely needed.  Or so I believed.  A 6-0 start proved me wrong.  Of course they’re bound to come back down to earth eventually, and their dysfunctional, fractious ownership group is likely to screw up the chemistry badly and soon, but right now they’re the feel-good story of the young season, and a treat to watch.      

I underrated the Celtics all through last season’s playoffs — right up to the time they blew out the Lakers — because of how awful they looked when pushed to 7 games before escaping Atlanta in the First Round.   Heck, had the Celts played Game 7 on a neutral floor, they’d have been out golfing early.  Little did I know that the Hawks might have been the best opposition Boston faced in the entire postseason — including the Lakers.  Just shows that one should always believe the evidence of one’s eyes, rather than stats and “history.”   

Please send comments and criticism — especially criticism — to thonglaw@sprynet.com, where it will be dealt with appropriately.

Schadenfreude, the gift that keeps on giving.   The Red Sox aren’t going to the World Series, and all’s well with the world.  I don’t care who wins the damn thing, as long as Boston didn’t.  

The Tampa Bay Rays are a good, heartwarming story, for sure.  With all the talk the past several years about how the “small market” teams have no chance to compete against the financial behemoth Yankees, “Sawx,” Cubs and Angels, it’s refreshing to see a team with a collective payroll lower than A-Rod’s annual salary win the AL East, and then make it to the World Series.  Clearly one of the feel-good stories of the year, and a team worth rooting for, if anyone’s so inclined.

But that’s not why I was rooting for them to win the ALCS.  My main concern was that the odious Boston Red Sox NOT make it, and the Rays, being the last obstacle in their path, were the obvious favorite for my affections.  My preference for true poetic justice would have been that my semi-hometown “Los Angeles” Angels of Anaheim be the authors of Boston’s postseason demise, but I’ll take the ultimate result any way I can get it.  Thanks to the Rays’ improbable heroics, I’ll be spared the insufferable, incessant, self-congratulatory drivel from the troglodyte denizens of “Red Sox Nation” this offseason.

I don’t hate the players, mind you — except maybe that garrulous loudmouth Kurt Schilling, who apparently has no unexpressed thoughts (as Winston Churchill famously said of an overbearing woman who was boring him at a party).  I certainly don’t hate Terry Francona, who’s quick to praise his players (and opponents) publicly, and keeps any negativity private.  Heck, I even find it hard to hate that super “stat nerd” Harvard boy wonder, Theo Epstein, who’s proved that it’s possible to make SMART decisions with a huge payroll — unlike his Yankee counterpart.   But that damned obnoxious effusively self-obsessed “Nation” was badly in need of a comeuppance, and got it. 

It was a close thing, mind you.  Who’d have thought that, down 7-0 in the bottom of the 7^th in the close-out fifth game of the ALCS, the Sox would not only come back to stave off elimination, but win the next two and almost pull off the most stunning postseason comeback since — well, since they made history by coming back from an 0-3 deficit to stun the Yankees in 2004, en route to their first World Series championship in the post-Curse of the Bambino era?  How can anyone hate on a team with that kind of mental toughness?

We’ll never know, but I wonder if they might have pulled off the comeback — or, even, might not have needed one — had they not traded mercurial Manny Ramirez.  Sure, he had a bit of an attitude problem when he wasn’t offered the “respect” (pro athlete slang for value and length of contract) that he felt he was due, but he sure can pound the poop out of a baseball, can’t he?  The insult to the Sox’s injury was that they not only let him go for next to nothing, but that they actually paid most of his salary as he enriched the McCourts’ coffers and carried the Dodgers to more postseason glory than they’d had in 20 years. 

I was one of many who felt the Dodgers’ late-season acquisition of ManRam was ill-advised, given his well-documented attitude problems and his questionable approach to anything that doesn’t involve batting.  On the other hand, looking back, he couldn’t have been a worse clubhouse influence than that notoriously saturnine red-ass, Jeff Kent, whose mere presence in the dugout sucked out all the oxygen and stifled the performance of the Dodgers’ young talent.  When Kent went on the injured list, and Manny became the unquestioned man, the Dodgers finally started playing with energy, enthusiasm and success.  Not to mention, drawing thousands more fans per game, and selling thousands more dollars worth of memorabilia.

Meanwhile, what about my Angels?  Another year; another outstanding regular season; another pathetic postseason rollover to their Kryptonite, the Red Sox.  Well, at least they did manage to win one game this time.   It was a team loss, to be sure, but I can’t help but wonder whether Manager Mike Scioscia’s insistence on old-school “small ball” didn’t lose it for them — again.  Not that bunting, suicide squeezes and the old hit-and-run don’t have their place, but in the end, statistically, those ploys don’t usually produce a lot of runs.  And even if they’re successful, squeeze plays and sacrifices are just taking the bats out of the players’ hands and giving outs to the other team. 

Some people justify Scioscia’s stubborn clinging to such antediluvian tactics by pointing out that they (allegedly) worked when the Angels won the whole thing in 2002.  The simple answer is that no, they didn’t.  A major reason the Angels won in 2002 is that their opponents, the Giants, unlike the Red Sox, could be relied on to self-destruct in a 7-game series, and did.  More significantly, the Angels won because Scioscia let people like Scott Spiezio actually try to hit, and they responded with surprise home runs and extra-base hits.  The Angels also won that series with solid defense, stalwart pitching, a rookie phenom lights-out closer named Francisco Rodriguez, and lots and lots of timely hitting.  They DID NOT win it with “small ball.”

Scioscia’s still a fine manager.  It’s not as if the Angels win 90-plus games every year by just rolling out the baseballs.  How many years have we bemoaned the Angels’ refusal to disturb payroll sanity by signing a slugger who could protect Vladimir Guerrero?  That they’ve been so successful without power hitting surely owes a little something to Scioscia’s managerial skills. 

But this year, they broke the bank and traded for Marl Texeira.  Nonetheless, Scioscia’s team STILL came up short.  He’s proved that he can lose to the Sox in the playoffs with or without another solid bat.  And that, too, has to be laid at his doorstep.    I’d like to see the stats that he constantly claims prove the efficacy of his pantywaist approach to offense.  I’ll bet that the stats actually prove just the opposite. 

Compare Scioscia to the coach of the moment, Rays’ Manager Joe Maddon, who was one of the Angels’ coaches under Scioscia during that magical 2002 season.  Friend of Mike though he may be, Maddon absolutely eschews the pitty-pat little things that give “traditionalists” wet dreams, believing that it’s better to let hitters hit and try to create runs, rather than give away outs to score a single  run — at best.  That’s my kind of attitude.

Mind you, as The Sportsgod accurately observed, Maddon and the Rays came pretty close to an historic meltdown against the Red Sox doing it their way.  And they may well return to the dustbin of baseball history as quickly as they’ve ascended to their current position, no matter what Maddon’s baseball “philosophy” is, if only because they won’t be able to keep that team underpaid and together.   Meanwhile, while the Angels are likely to surely going to keep cranking out those 90-win seasons for a long time — and, if they can just manage to avoid the Sox in the first round, maybe enjoy some postseason success, to boot.  But, as of the end of the ALCS, “small-ball” lovers could kiss Mr. Maddon’s ample behind.

Well, except for when his hitters weren’t hitting, and he needed his team to scratch out runs to achieve its first (and, as it turned out, only) win of the World Series.  Well, consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds, I suppose.

Speaking of the Series, weren’t the Rays supposed to walk all over the Phillies because, after all, they come from the “real” Major League, while the Phillies represent the best that Triple A has to offer?  At least, that’s what The Sportsgod keeps telling us.   Unfortunately, the teams had to go and ruin his beautiful theory by actually playing the games.

The fact is that in baseball, maybe more than in any other major team sport, the better team (and league) may prove itself so over the course of an entire season, but anybody can beat anybody else in a short series — and “short” includes a 7-gamer. 

But even aside from that glaringly obvious fact, the mere happenstance that a team has emerged as the best in a superior league doesn’t make it a lock to win against the best an inferior league has to offer.  I think that Arizona, the Cards, and maybe now the Phillies have demonstrated that fallacy in the past several seasons.  For that matter, there’s no question that the NBA East is overall inferior to the West, but we’ve still seen the Pistons, Miami, and most recently the Celtics win the NBA championship in the past several years.    Just remember, Sportgod, when you assume, you make an “ass” of “u” and “me.”     

Speaking of assumptions that don’t necessarily pan out, what about the common wisdom that the only pitchers who can shine in postseason play are power pitchers?   Maybe someone should have sent that memo to Cole Hamels, who, while not exactly a pus-thrower, sure relies on control more than velocity.  Are they going to withhold his World Series MVP award until he clocks at least 96 mph on the radar gun?

I know it’s a bit late, but speaking of schadenfreude, how about a shout-out to Becky Hammon, who led her San Antonio Silver Stars team to the WNBA Finals – and, way more importantly, past the L.A. Sparks in the process? 

You remember Ms. Hammon, don’t you?   The whipping-girl of red-blooded U.S. patriots everywhere, who followed her Olympic dream by playing for Russia (where she’s a star) after Team USA didn’t even invite her to try out.  I was reminded of her just the other day, when I heard Chris Kaman interviewed on local sports talk radio.  That’s the same Chris Kaman who got zero criticism at all for parlaying his grandparents’ German ancestry into a spot on the German team for those same Olympic Games.  The disparate treatment accorded those two athletes was so palpable I could feel it, touch it, and taste it.

Anyway, the injustice of the rude and boorish treatment Ms. Hammon had to endure at the hands of her fellow countrywomen gave me what’s basically the only rooting interest I’ve ever had in a WNBA playoff series, when her San Antonio whatchamacallits played our own L.A. Sparks in the WNBA Western Conference Finals — and beat them in the deciding game, with Ms. Hammon administering the coup de grace.  For some reason having nothing to do with any new-found love for the women’s game, it absolutely warmed the cockles of my heart (whatever “cockles” are) to see Ms. Hammon put the boot in the collective ass of the Sparks, who were led by Lisa Leslie and Candace Parker, who’d been ringleaders of the orchestrated Olympic snubbing.  All she did in the final game was score 35 points, including 4 crucial free throws late, to lead her team to a 76-72 win.  There is some justice in the world.

Just for the record, let me confess that I’ve never particularly liked Ms. Leslie, although she’s clearly one of the top women ever to play the game.  Not that I know her.  She may be an entirely delightful person in private.  But her public persona as just another egotistical athlete with an hypertrophied sense of entitlement is something I – and sports – can do without.

My disdain for her started when she was in high school at Morningside High, and scored 101 points in the FIRST HALF against a hopelessly overmatched opponent.  As if that wasn’t bad enough, she had her coach beg the other team to keep playing, so that she could set a record — utterly oblivious to the humiliation the girls on the other team must have been feeling.  The opponents, appropriately, took umbrage and walked off the floor, rather than submit to even more humiliation.  

It was that egoistic sense of entitlement, the belief that the opposing players should have been proud to participate in her burnishing her resume at their expense, that made me realize that not all insufferable athletes are men.   There’s plenty of it to go around, and the disease knows no limitations of gender or race — or of the popularity the athlete’s sport enjoys.      

By the way, just how drunk and obnoxious do you have to be before you’re booted out of a Hooters restaurant?   Apparently, as drunk as John Daly, who allegedly was so s-faced that he passed out at one in North Carolina, and was taken into custody by the local constabulary after EMTs revived him.  Remind me again why this train wreck of a bad example of a circus freak is so popular with so many golf fans, while unquestionably better golfers, of better character, far more deserving of their support and far more generous in respecting their adulation, are ignored. 

I guess it’s all part of the reality televisionization of the country, which makes William Hung-types more popular than people with actual talent.  Apparently there’s now no distinction at all among fame, popularity, and notoriety.

I’m not a big moralist, and the public can decide to love anyone nit wants to.  But it’s a bit of a shame that guys who substitute boundless gluttonous appetite, unrelenting dedication to debilitating addictive behavior, and boorishness for genuine personality are lionized by the great unwashed, while their betters struggle in obscurity.  Reminds me of that line by “The Wolf” in “Pulp Fiction” that just because you ARE a character doesn’t mean you have character.  Not any more, apparently.

So, Ty Willingham has finally been axed at U-Dub.  Can’t have been a surprise.  No one who loses that many games at a high-profile school with lots of impatient, rich boosters is safe if he can’t put up the W’s.  Especially if he’s as much of a, well, for want of a better term, Karl Dorrell, as Willingham is.

I don’t know if he’s a good coach, though his impressive record at perennial loser Stanford suggests he’s got something in the tank.   Stanford’s never done as well since he left, has it?  But there’s no question that he’s not much of a recruiter, and his refusal to compromise on bad behavior even by star athletes surely doesn’t help in that department.  Guys who quickly turn around formerly high-profile programs tend to have either looser standards or more charismatic personalities than Mr. W — or both.  Yeah, Nick Saban isn’t exactly Mr. Charm School, but one suspects his ethical standards are low enough to compensate.     

Nonetheless, I have to agree with the L.A. Times’s Chris Dufresne and foxsports.com’s Jason Whitlock that his disastrous record in Seattle in no way retroactively justifies the way he was hosed by Notre Dame.   And please don’t tell me that the Domers’ impatience with Willingham didn’t have a lot to do with how much melanin he has in his skin pigmentation.  They gave Gerry Faust 5 years, and they gave Bob Davie 5 years.  Both of them recruited better than Willingham, and their records sucked worse.  They not only couldn’t wait to give Willingham’s successor, whom Whitlock cleverly dubbed “The Great Weis Hope,” 5 years, and they didn’t ride him out of town on a rail when he went 3-9 last season, against a less-than-overwhelming schedule.  And, although Caucasian, Weis is about as arrogant and obnoxious as it gets.

I believe ND honks when they say the premature rug-yanking had nothing to do with race about as much as I believe the now-resigned head of the San Bernardino County Republican Women’s group that sent out that toxic anti-Obama mailer with the fake “Obama Food Stamp” when she says that they just happened to choose fried chicken, watermelon, ribs and Kool-Aid as the foods to be pictured, without even the slightest idea that many people associate them with African-Americans. 

For coaches, it’s still like the early days of sports integration, where it was obvious that unless an African-American athlete was markedly better than his Caucasian counterparts, the Caucasian got the benefit of the doubt every single time.   The issue isn’t whether Willingham was better than Faust, Davie or Weis.  He may well not have been.  The issue is that those three were given every chance to prove (or, at least in the cases of Faust and Davie, to “disprove”) themselves, while Willingham wasn’t.  His flopperoo at U-Dub doesn’t change that fact.

It’s obviously way too early  to make judgments or predictions, and I certainly don’t wish Greg Oden ill (except when his team plays the Lakers), but isn’t it starting to seem as if he’s going to be the next Sam Bowie?   Bowie had some skills, and had he stayed relatively healthy he might have made Portland fans forget that the team drafted him instead of Michael Jordan.  Well, maybe not; but he’d probably have had a quite commendable career. 

The problem was that Bowie COULDN’T stay healthy, and never came close to fulfilling his promise after a pretty good rookie season.  Lest we forget, Bowie had a decent rookie season, averaging 10 points, 8.8 boards and 2.7 blocks per game in 76 games.  Unfortunately, he managed to play in just 38, 5, and 20 games, respectively, over the next 3 seasons, while MJ became, well, MJ.   He actually played pretty well for a while after he left Portland, and averaged over 70 games in 4 seasons for the Nets after that, but he’ll be forever remembered as Portland’s wasted golden opportunity. 

Oden didn’t even make it to his first season, sitting out all 82 games recovering from microfracture knee surgery.  Then, in this year’s season-opener against the Lakers, he gave tantalizing hints of what kind of defensive force he could be — Andrew Bynum is still trying to rub off the “Spalding” tattoo on his forehead that Oden gave him — but lasted less than a half before going out with a “mid-lateral” foot sprain.  Now, word is that he’ll be out a couple of weeks.  Is that going to be his pattern from now on?  

Pete Carroll was always a tad jealous of the accolades showered on the offensive genius of Norm Chow when the latter was the Trojans’ offensive coordinator.  Whenever anyone talked about how well the offense was run, and especially how well it game-planned and made adjustments, Carroll always had to point out that he  himself had a little something-something to do with it.  He hasn’t been quite so eager to take credit now that Steve Sarkisian’s running the show, and showing a real inability to make half-time changes, has he?  Not surprising, really.  USC’s third string still has more talent than just about all the other Pac-10 teams’ starting 22, but it hasn’t always been evident on the field. 

What’s the famous adage:  “Success has many fathers; failure is an orphan.”?  Not that the Trojans have failed in the past few seasons since Chow left, but they’ve certainly underperformed their talent level.

Speaking of Chow, he seems to be doing a creditable job at undermanned UCLA, which probably should be 1-7 instead of 3-5, despite having its top two QBs on the depth chart out all season with injuries.  Other Pac-10 teams with similar problems are either winless or pretty well winless.   I have to assume that once the Bruins get better athletes — that’s Slick Rick’s department — Chow’s offense will run a lot better. 

But what must Chow be thinking about the Titans’ 7-0 start this season?   Think he might have had a better record as offensive coordinator had he had the less gifted but more disciplined Kerry Collins at QB instead of Vince Young, who not only has refused since high school to do anything “boring,” like learning playbooks and technique, but who pretty clearly tanked for and passively-aggressively backstabbed Chow?   We’ll never know, but I think so.      

Please send comments and criticism — especially criticism — to thonglaw@sprynet.com, where it will be dealt with appropriately.