When I was a kid, one refrain I always heard was, “If something is worth doing, it’s worth doing well.”  Apparently that old saw doesn’t apply to the IOC, which grudgingly and unconvincingly went through the motions of “investigating” the ages of key members of the Chinese women’s gymnastics team, for the sole purpose of making the controversy go away. 

The “investigation” had all the sincerity and dedication of George W. Bush’s White House “investigating” who leaked Valerie Plame’s name to Robert Novak, or the firing of the U.S. Attorneys, or the numerous other illegal acts that have occurred in the past 8 years.  In other words, whitewash.  Like they were going to do anything to embarrass China with the Olympics in Beijing.

Frankly, although I admire the skill, grace, strength and toughness of women (and men) gymnasts, I think the REAL investigation should have been into how routines are judged. 

Yeah, I said toughness.  Female, and male, gymnasts regularly compete with excruciating pain, just like athletes in the sports we love all the time, not just once every four years — and they have to do it with a smile, and without appearing out of breath, because they’re judged on “presentation” as well as performance. 

A Japanese male gymnast won gold for his country years ago with a difficult vault — with one ankle broken.  So did Kerri Strug (with a sprained ankle, anyway) for the U.S. women in Atlanta in 1996.  I mean, she STUCK that landing despite G-forces that should have made her collapse, writhing on the ground like an Italian or South American soccer player.  Chellsie Memmel competed for the silver-medalist U.S. team this year (which likely would have become the gold-medalist team had the IOC actually conducted a serious investigation) with a broken bone in her foot.  So don’t for a second think that gymnasts aren’t athletes and competitors just because they have to make everything look graceful, effortless and elegant. 

But the flip-side of that coin — as with figure skating — is that the sport emphasizes “artistic presentation” alongside the incredible athleticism, and often seems to devalue the “steak” and overvalue the “sizzle.”  The greatest athlete, who sticks every single move, may still come a cropper because of subjective comparisons of his or her “grace” and “artistry” compared to an opponent’s.  And there are no truly objective, bright-line irrefutable standards for scoring the “sizzle.” 

That’s why, in my opinion, anyway, gymnastics and figure skating (and we might as well throw diving and synchronized swimming in, too) are seriously flawed as credible competitive sports.  The results depend way too much on judging, which at best is subjective.  Proposed moves to increase points for “artistic presentation” and to decrease the importance of athleticism will merely make those competitions more of either a “crap-shoot” or a “Dance With The Stars” competition with even skimpier outfits.   

And that’s if everything is on the up-and-up.  Remember all those jokes about the East German judges, back in the day when there was a Soviet Union, and judges from “Iron Curtain” countries routinely gave Eastern Europeans high scores, and Americans low ones?  It’s not as if nationalist prejudices have decreased over the years.  To say nothing of out-and-out corruption, bribery and backroom deals.  Remember the French judge taking a bribe from a Russian “mafia” multimillionaire to give the Russian pair the Gold over the Canadians in the 2002 Olympic figure skating in Calgary?  That one stank so bad that the “event referee” actually filed an official complaint about the judging.  But there’s suspicion that that kind of thing happens with some regularity, just better-disguised.

That’s what makes gymnastics, figure skating and their ilk, despite the athletic skills necessary to compete at the top levels, not “sports” worthy of consideration with other activities like basketball, hockey, baseball, football, soccer — even swimming and track. 

Mind you, I consider boxing, basketball and baseball to be “real” sports, and none of them is exactly untainted by bad results caused by “judges.”  Unless there’s a knockout or TKO in a  boxing bout, there’s always a chance of a bad outcome.  Even then there can be a bogus disqualification.  Don’t bet against a Bob Arum fighter or Oscar De La Hoya in Vegas, or a Don King guy in New York or New Jersey. 

It’s even worse in the Olympics, where there’s headgear, fights go only 3 rounds, and meaningless punches that barely land or are blocked with the arms seem to count as much as punches that do damage.  There’s no doubt that the fix was in to help South Korean fighters in the Seoul Olympics.  Just ask Roy Jones, Jr. 

Heck, throw in Taekwondo, where — unlike fencing — there are no electronic sensors to prove that a “touch” occurred, and the determination of whether or not a blow landed is in the hands of a referee. No chance for subjectivity or corruption there, much? 

As for basketball, we have the scandal of Tim Donaghy.  Not only has he admitted to gambling on NBA games and influencing point spreads and outcomes by judicious use of his whistle, but he’s suggested that he wasn’t the only one.  I believe him. 

In baseball, calling balls, strikes and outs isn’t an exact science, to say the least.  Just ask St. Louis Cardinals fans, whose team lost the 1985 Freeway Series to the Royals on a blown call at first base by Umpire Don Denkinger.  Or Braves’ fans, who watched the 1997 Marlins beat the Tomahawk Choppers in the NLCS, when the umps without warning narrowed the strike zone for Greg Maddux and Tom Glavine, but widened it for the likes of Livan Hernandez. 

So I understand that any sport that has referees is subject to outcomes determined by something other than objective criteria.  But when the competitors aren’t even going head-to-head, and scores depend almost as much on how sinuously a competitor waves her arms, how well she points her toes, or even how her makeup, costume and hair ribbons look, there’s no hope. 

After all, ballet dancers are incredibly skilled, too, and do wonderfully athletic things.  They dance hurt, with sprains, pulled muscles and ligaments and what have you, all the time.    They spend long hours torturing their bodies to get into and stay in dancing shape.  But ballet surely isn’t a sport.  Or is it?  Let’s not forget that ballroom dancing was a demonstration “sport” at one Olympics.  I don’t see a lot of difference between dancing and the “sports” of gymnastics, figure skating, rhythmic gymnastics, diving and synchronized swimming.    

Not that I wasn’t impressed by China’s haul of Gold Medals, and not that I don’t believe the Chinese men and women were the best gymnasts and divers at this year’s Olympics (Nastia Liukin and Shawn Johnson being the notable counter-arguments), but it’s still worth noting that of that country’s 51 Gold Medals, 18 came in Gymnastics and Diving.   Makes one think, at least.

I wrote the following before the U.S.-Spain Gold Medal game in Men’s Basketball:
How about those Argentine basketball players?  They are tougher than their country’s renowned but chewy grass-fed beef.  Even without Manu Ginobili, who obviously still hasn’t recovered from his ankle injury, they hung tough with Team USA, even after falling behind 30-11 in the First Quarter of their Semifinal match.  They lost by 20, true, but the deficit was single digits for much of the Second and Third Quarters, and was only about 12 with 4 minutes to go.   And let’s not forget that the bogus foul calls that always seem to go against U.S. players in international play, inexplicably went against the Argentines this time.  I’d say that the U.S. team got at least 9, and maybe more, points from those phantom calls.

Luis Scola, who played so well for Houston last year, was an absolute beast, albeit a somewhat velocity- and gravity-challenged one.  Oberto, Delfino and even Nocioni acquitted themselves more than honorably.  I’m not even sure Team USA would have won had Ginobili been healthy, but they probably would have.  With Manu in the mix, though, I’m convinced the margin would have been 10 or fewer.  Team USA, 2004 version, would have lost that game by double-digits, even without Manu playing. 

Amazing, when you think about it, because although the five players named above all play, or have played, in the NBA, I agree with Charley Rosen that only Manu (who barely played) could have made this year’s Team USA squad.   Just goes to show you the benefits of having a team, with lots of time together and well-defined roles for the players.

Kobe, BTW, was 5-14 overall, jacked up 9 treys (made 2), and went to the line not even once.     If he keeps up performances like that, sales of his jerseys in China may plummet faster and farther than Bears Stearns’s stock price.  In fairness, he played some impressive, tight “D” on Delfino.  But as we all know, defense may win championships, but it sure doesn’t sell jerseys.

Now that Team USA has squeaked by Spain, I haven’t really changed my mind a whole lot.  Team USA’s win wasn’t a fluke.  It probably deserved what it got.  Its players, 1 through 12, were better overall than any other country’s.  But please don’t try to hype what a great “triumph” the Gold Medal win represented, or try to sell me the idea that the win was the harbinger of a sea change in U.S. basketball.  It wasn’t.  The differences between the 2004 team aren’t as great as they’ve been painted, except that the players comported themselves with more couth.  The players — and the veteran leadership — this time were just better overall.

Not that Spain was exactly lacking in the talent department.  Their roster had lots of talent, more international experience, and was almost as deep as the U.S. squad, notwithstanding the misleading blowout in the Preliminary Round.   They probably couldn’t have done much in a best-of-seven, but were certainly capable of testing the U.S. players in a one-game Final. 

Pau Gasol, whatever our criticisms about his alleged lack of heart and toughness, is unquestionably a top-tier (or whatever we call the level just below “superstar) player in the NBA.  I don’t know how well Rudy Fernandez will do in the NBA, but I can say that off his performance in the Olympics this year, I’m not exactly thrilled that an up-and-coming Portland team is going to have him on the roster this season. 

Juan Carlos Navarro was stuck in a miserable situation in Memphis last season, and has returned to Europe, but there are plenty of NBA teams that would like him on their roster.  Marc Gasol has limitations of speed and hops, but he’s big, smart and, like his brother, has a decent touch.  

And that Ricky Rubio, who’s not even 18 yet, and made his Euroleague debut at age 16, just might be the real deal, if he ever learns to play a little “D” and to take some of the mustard off the hot dog.  Sure, he made some mistakes and was inconsistent, but just remember how a 20-year-old Le Bron James, already a budding NBA star, played in 2004 before dismissing Rubio.  Rubio’s first Olympics was certainly better than Le Bron’s first, and we knew LBJ was the real deal even as a rookie.  Imagine what “Ricky” will be like in 2010, when he’s NBA draft-eligible.  For the kid to play as well as he did, under pressure and on the biggest stage in world basketball, bodes pretty well for his, and his country’s, basketball future. 

That’s forgetting Jose Calderon, who was good enough to convince Raptors’ management to make him the team’s starter at PG for next season and ship T.J. Ford’s ass back below the 49th Parallel.   The correct decision, IMO.   He’s not flashy, but he’s a very solid player.  Who knows what would’ve happened had Calderon been able to play against Team USA?  It’s not as if the “Redeem Team” had any breathing room with Calderon sitting out.  Heck, it was 91-89 with only about 2 minutes gone in the Fourth Quarter. 

For all the talk of how much better prepared, mature, committed, defense-oriented, yadda yadda this year’s team was compared to the one in Athens, it didn’t dominate in the “playoffs.”  I’m not saying they were lucky to win, exactly.  They were the best team with the best players, and finished where they should have.  Still, they walked a thin line between success and failure, and should feel more relieved than ebullient about the result.

For one thing, they were lucky to avoid injuries to key players, while their top opponents didn’t.  That certainly helped against an Argentine squad missing its best player, Manu, who can really call down the thunder in a hurry when he gets hot.  And it really helped against a Spain squad that could have used its best — and best defensively — point guard.  

Not that Team USA should be ashamed to take any gifts it was handed.  You have to play the team that’s actually on the floor against you, not the team that might have been on the floor had things gone perfectly.  Those are the breaks of the game.  Not only do the breaks even out in the long run, but it often happens that the remaining teammates rally together and make up for the absence – especially in a one-and-done scenario.  All I’m saying is that the breaks fell Team USA’s way this time.  Had the situation been reversed, so might the results have been.

Then, of course, there’s international refereeing.  It was, as it has always been, crappy with a capital “K.”  Just ask Tim Duncan, who refused to re-up at least partly for that reason.  That was to be expected.  The surprise was that, this time, the questionable, ticky-tack and phantom calls didn’t all go against the Americans.

Mind you, I’m not down with the Spanish team’s whining that they would have won had the referees done their jobs.  It sounds like a large vat of “uvas agrias” to me.  They did a lot of hacking and obstruction of their own that went uncalled. 

Still, it IS true that U.S. teams have pretty much always in the past received the short end of the stick when it came to officiating.  It may be because foreign refs have an inbuilt dislike of U.S. players, or because U.S. players don’t really know the international game.  Whatever the reason, U.S. teams have usually had to play 5 against 7 – 5 against 8, now that FIBA has added an extra official.   When they’ve been way, way better than the opposition, they’ve overcome that burden; when they’ve been only a bit better, they haven’t always.   This time, while I’m not prepared to say that the refs favored the Americans, it did seem to me that the bad calls were at least close to even — and that was enough to provide the margin of victory.

That, plus Kobe Bryant, one of the most infuriating great players ever.  He’s obviously a preeminently great player, but he’s like the Cy Young pitcher with the weird delivery, or the Pro Bowl passer whose throws aren’t perfect spirals.  Not that he’s not fundamentally sound.  He is.  It’s just that he seems to go for what the Aussies call “walkabouts,” when he forces things and obstructs the “chi” (or, since the Olympics were in Beijing, the “qi”).  He does so many things on the court that seem stubborn, forced and ill-advised and make me want to shout at the TV — even if they succeed, which they often do.  When they don’t succeed, welcome to the all-Kobe-hate-all-the-time blogosphere.

Yet, there’s also another side of KB24, or 10, or whatever number he’s wearing these days.  That’s his flair for the dramatic, his ability to raise his game at the end of a close contest — even when he’s looked decidedly ordinary for much of the game — and pull his teammates’ “chestnuts” out of the open fire.  He doesn’t do it all the time.  No one can.  But he does it more often than anyone else around these days, and he certainly did it on Sunday. 

He certainly wasn’t the only reason for the success of Team USA.  But he’s the guy who raised his game in the Fourth Quarter, and made certain that his teammates — All-Stars all — didn’t choke this one away.   Had they done so — and they came perilously close — that loss would have been worse than the ones to Greece in the 2006 FIBA World Championships, or to Argentina in the 2004 Olympics.  It would’ve been a stain on this country’s basketball reputation that all the Clorox in the world couldn’t have removed.  And it would’ve cemented the prevailing view of NBA players as me-first divas with a hypertrophied sense of entitlement, more flash than filigree, who know nothing of team play. 

Anyone who watched that Gold Medal game knows it could well have happened.  A couple more bad possessions near the end, or a couple fewer stops on the defensive end, and it would have.   It would’ve been an upset of Hurricane Katrina proportions – worse than Villanova’s upset of the Georgetown juggernaut (led by 1992 Dream Teamer Patrick Ewing) in the 1985 NCAA Final.   The Americans had killed Spain — playing with a healthy Calderon — by almost 40 points just a few days previously.  Sure, no one expected another blowout win, but no one expected such a close contest, either.  A U.S. loss in the Gold Medal game, even by just a point or two, would have been a disaster greater than the 1972 medal robbery.  I’m not exaggerating when I say that I believe the NBA itself might never have recovered its cachet.  

It was Mr. Bryant who took matters into his own hands and refused to let that happen.   KB, not anyone else.  D-Wade was great.  If there were any question that’s he’s back, this tournament, and the Gold Medal game, answered it.   LBJ (the basketball player, not the dead President) was a stud.  CP3 and D-Will, and Chris Bosh — and even Carmelo Anthony — were all there when they had to be.  But it was Kobe the Closer whom Coach K asked to carry the team on his back in the endgame, and to whom all those great players deferred when the real pressure shots had to be taken.

The Mamba responded with panache, scoring 13 of his 20 points in the Fourth Quarter, including a nifty running 10-footer, and a cool three-pointer with Fernandez draped all over him, that not only went in, but had the added bonus of giving him a free throw (which he sank) and of fouling out a player who’d been a thorn in the Americans’ side all game. 

He also had a team-high 6 assists (2 in a key stretch of the Fourth Quarter, including a brilliant pass inside to Dwight Howard after a fake that parted Rubio from his shorts and his jock), and made some key defensive plays at the end, in a game where defense wasn’t at a premium.    Had he done even a smidgen less, his rep and marketability would have taken a hit from which he’d never have been able to recover.   Global jersey and sneaker sales can now proceed apace! 

I was gratified to see the members of Team USA, 2008 version, led by Le Bron, make it a point to go over after the game to shake announcer Doug Collins’s hand.  Collins not only was the point guard of the 1972 team that had its Gold Medal stolen by inept or corrupt referees and by the head of FIBA; he was the guy who calmly sank 2 free throws with just a few seconds remaining in that game, to give the U.S. a 50-49 lead and what should have been the game.  It was a nice “we paid ‘em back for you” for Collins and all his teammates from that team – none of whom, to this day, has deigned to accept or collect his tainted Silver Medal.  

Not only was the gesture moving, even if possibly staged, but I was impressed by the fact that a group of young men, none of whom was even alive in 1972, actually were attuned to this black day in U.S. basketball history.  I mean, few young baseball players – even African-American baseball players – knew who Jackie Robinson was or why what he did should mean anything to them.  Good to see some sense of history from players who I’d always thought believed basketball started with Magic and Larry.
  
Incidentally, in case anyone wonders why NBA GMs and coaches are ambivalent about their players playing for their countries, it looks like the Bucks are going to be without the services of Andrew Bogut, and the Spurs minus Manu, for a while.  Both of them suffered ankle injuries.   Oh, yeah, and the aforementioned Senor Calderon has what appears to be a serious groin injury, which wasn’t what the Raptors were hoping for when they anointed him the starter.   Luckily for those players, and unluckily for their teams, they all have guaranteed contracts. 

There’s been a lot of ink spilled in comparing this year’s “Redeem Team” and the 1992 “Dream Team,” and speculation on which would win head-to-head.   The comparisons are ridiculous.  Dream Team, for sure — especially in a 7-game series. 

Forget about the superstar nucleus.  Jordan, Pippen and Barkley in their prime were formidable enough.  Even the post-HIV Magic was a force to be reckoned with, despite not really having played for a couple of years.  Larry Bird was aging and spavined by back pain.  I’d still take those five as a better than “not bad” nucleus.  But forget about them.  Just consider the big men. 

Dwight Howard is a great but still unfinished (boy, is he unfinished!) talent.  He still hasn’t shown an understanding of the nuances of the center position.  Chris Bosh is skilled, surprisingly tough for such a skinny guy, and played a tournament and a very solid game for the U.S. in the Final, but he’s no center.  Carlos Boozer has his moments, but he’s a poor man’s Karl Malone. 

The Dream Team, by contrast, had the REAL Karl Malone, to go with David Robinson and Patrick Ewing inside.  Whatever their limitations  – neither was my favorite player, as I’ve mentioned more than once in previous columns – The Admiral and The Hoya Destroya were head and shoulders above Howard and Bosh.   That does it for me, right there.  Add in Chris Mullin, who was a more consistent outside shooter than anyone this year’s team had, and John Stockton even hobbled as he was by a leg injury, and that was a pretty formidable team.

In fairness, every team since 1992 has faced increasingly tough competition, of a level with which the 1992 team never had to deal.  I’m pretty confident in asserting that the 1992 team wouldn’t have gone through the competition so imperiously, had they had to face the current top international teams.  Ironically, that’s partly the fault of the 1992 team. 

As Pau Gasol said, watching the NBA stars perform in Barcelona inspired him, and lots of Euro kids, to work on their games to emulate those stars.  The skills gap has narrowed significantly.  And, over the years, lots of Euros have made it to the NBA — a trend that started before 1992, but accelerated after that watershed Olympics.  They play against NBA stars all the time.  They respect the great U.S. players, but they’re no longer afraid of them.  The mystique – and the fear of U.S. players’ athleticism — is long gone. 

The days of cakewalks, even when we send our best players and take the process seriously enough to do long-term planning, rather than just throw together a bunch of disparate talents a few weeks before a tournament, are past and won’t be coming back.  In that sense, the Redeem Team has nothing to be embarrassed about, even though their last two wins weren’t blowouts. 

Still, c’mon.  The outcome shouldn’t have been in the balance with less than 5 minutes to play.  It just shouldn’t have.   

I’m not very big on showboating in sports.  I tend to subscribe to the “when you get to the end-zone, try to act like you’ve been there before” school of thought.   I particularly hate showboats who dance around as if they’ve accomplished something worthy of celebration when they score a meaningless TD when their team is behind by 30 points in the Fourth Quarter, make a sack in garbage time, or otherwise do things that don’t really affect the outcome of a match. 

But I have to confess that I’m just fine with braggarts and arrogant athletes who back up the talk with impressive action.  As “Wee” Willie Keeler said:  “It ain’t bragging if you can do it.”   As witness Usain “Lightning” Bolt, who now owns the mythic title of “World’s Fastest Man.”  Not only did he pull off the rare 100- and 200-meter sprint Gold-Medal double — a feat accomplished only 8 times in Olympics history — but he did it with two world record times.  To top it off, he anchored the Jamaican 4×100 relay team to a Gold Medal in another world record time. 

Not only did he win, he won big.  In events where the difference between the Gold and Bronze may be just hundredths of a second, he was FIVE-TENTHS of a second faster than the guy who won the Silver in the 200.  He ran the last 15-20 meters of the 100 with his arms upraised.  How fast might he have gone had he waited to celebrate until after he’d crossed the finish line? 

So, naturally, Jacques Rogge, the President of the IOC, just had to call him out for displaying “poor sportsmanship.”  Well, it undoubtedly was irritating to opponents who are The Flash compared to you and me, but who looked like plowhorses in Bolt’s wake.  But lighten up.  If a guy can run like Bolt, he’s entitled to enjoy himself and to celebrate his greatness, as long as he can back it up.  It was pretty clear that he was reveling in the joy of his superhuman achievement, not the inferiority of his opposition – and well he should.  When he stops winning but still acts like an ass, we can revisit the question.

I have no reason to believe or disbelieve that Mr. Bolt is taking performance-enhancers, but I won’t be surprised if it later comes out that he got some artificial help.   If BALCO taught us anything, it’s that the creators and users of “designer drugs” are always a step or two ahead of the enforcers. 

Drug testing can catch only known substances – or make that, only known substances that aren’t too expensive to test for.  That’s how Marion Jones got away with her juicing for so long – she was using drugs that the tests couldn’t detect.  Had her own (former) coach not had a brain-fart and provided a sample of the drug she was using to USADA in a fit of pique, she’d have been competing in Beijing and maybe picked up a few more medals. 

So I’m unimpressed with the knowledge that an athlete has never tested positive.  All that means is that the athlete was never positive for whatever the testing could detect.  And let’s also acknowledge that Jamaican athletes are subject to a lot less random drug testing than athletes in North America or Europe.

I’m not saying Bolt used performance-enhancers.   I’m just saying that if it comes out that he did, I, for one, won’t be shocked, and no one else should be, either.

Oh, by the way, the guy’s first name, “Usain,” sounds suspiciously like “Husein.”   If he lived in the U.S., there’d be talk that he’s a Muslim, which would inevitably morph into claims that he’s a terrorist.  After all, isn’t that what people are suggesting about that “Muslim,” Barack Husein Obama? 

Maybe Barack should drop the “H” in his middle name, to make everyone think he’s not only not a Muslim, but maybe related to track’s newest “Golden Boy.”  Of course, Barack might then be subject to being thought of as Jamaican, and we all know that aside from incredibly fast sprinters, Jamaica is best known for Rastafarians, Reggae, rum and ganja.    

Can we all puh-leeze stop ganging up on Becky Hammon, the U.S. heartland born-and-bred basketball player who, despite being runner-up in the 2007 WNBA MVP voting, wasn’t deemed worthy of being invited to try out for the women’s version of Team USA.  Since she’s a star in the Russian women’s league in the WNBA “offseason,” and, according to her, always dreamed of competing in the Olympics, she jumped at the chance to get fast-track Russian citizenship and compete for Russkyland. 

We still haven’t stopped hearing U.S. team members, coaches and commentators pulling out all the stops.  “Unpatriotic” is the least of the insults directed her way.  That oaf Steve Mason goes so far as to call her a “traitor.” 

And thus do serious concepts get cheapened into farce.  If Becky Hammon is a “traitor,” what can we then call U.S. citizens who steal our nuclear and other technology secrets and sell them to other countries; who actually take up arms against and kill other U.S. citizens on the field of battle; who aid and abet foreign terrorists who plant bombs in our public places?  If she’s a “traitor,” the word no longer has any legitimate meaning.  All she did was get another country’s citizenship so that she could play in the Olympics — which, just by-the-by, was allegedly started to promote international friendship and unity, not the carrying-on of war and propaganda by other means.    

Also, just by the by, she’s not even the first U.S. basketball player to take out Russian citizenship.  Because of roster restrictions on “foreign” players in the Russian leagues, several top non-Russian women players have become Russian citizens, to allow their teams to sign more foreigners. 

Not just the women, either.  A guy named Travis Hansen, who grew up in Utah and played for BYU, then played for the Hawks for a season before heading overseas, to Spain and finally to Russia, is now a “Russian citizen” who plays for Dynamo Moscow.  He’s become one of the top players in the Russian Super League, and was approached about maybe playing for Russia in Beijing.  He didn’t make the team – I believe some unknown named Andrei Kirilenko nabbed the spot he’d have occupied – but it’s entirely possible he’d have played for Russia had AK-47 been unable to go.

Some guy named J.R. Holden, who grew up in Pittsburgh, played college ball at Bucknell, and hit the shot that won the 2007 Euroleague championship game, DID play for Russia in Beijing — and played darn well, too.    Yet there was no great outcry to brand those two men as “traitors.”  

Chris Kaman did the same.  He’ll never in a million years be good enough to play for Team USA, but he’s plenty adequate for the German national team and, as it happens, he has grandparents who were from Germany.  Under EU law, he’s eligible for German nationality and an EU passport.   Not that he speaks German or anything, or had even visited the country before he joined its basketball team.  But nobody dumped on him when he assented to Dirk Nowitzki’s request to become a German of convenience to play in the Olympics.  

What’s the difference, that Kaman has some attenuated ancestral connection to Germany, while Ms. Hammon has no Russian forebears?  Big deal.  She’s actually visited and played basketball in Russia way more than Kaman’s done with Germany. 

Or is it that Ms. Hammon is one of the top players in the WNBA, while Messrs. Hansen and Holden might never even have a shot at riding an NBA bench?  If that’s the case, why didn’t the people filling the tryout roster for the women’s team even invite Ms. Hammon to camp until AFTER she’d made her commitment to Russia?  What was she supposed to do, hang around for a phone call that might never have come, like some teenage girl dying to get asked to the prom by the high school quarterback, only to find out too late that that the guy had already made plans with the cheerleader, and that now even the geeks, nerds, misfits and nosepickers have other dates? 

It’s so easy for people like Lisa Leslie, and Anne Donovan, the team coach, who was a mainstay of U.S. teams in international competition for years, to say that Hammon should’ve waited for the call that might never have come.   THEY’ve never had to wait for those phone calls; they were always automatic shoo-ins to be invited to every national team training camp around.   They were always the Prom Queens (figuratively speaking – just look at Ms. Donovan) whose only worry was which date to pick out of a long list of suitors.  They don’t understand rejection, because they’ve never felt its sting.

Becky Hammon is 31 years old, and, despite the fact that she was an All-American in college and a very good WNBA player for a fair number of years, has NEVER been invited to try out for Team USA.  If she’d hung around waiting for the call, she’d have missed out on this year’s Olympics.  This was probably her last shot at it.  What’d the odds have been that she’d have been invited in 2012, at age 35?   Ah, but she’d have shown true “patriotism” by accepting the snub meekly, wouldn’t she?

It’s not as if the U.S. has any problem giving foreigners who happen to very good at Olympic sports fast-track citizenship so that they can compete for the U.S. — especially in sports where the U.S. is behind the curve.  That’s OK, because after all, we’re the U.S. and they’re not.  But God forbid that any other country try to do that, and we get our knickers in a major twist.  Please, spare me the hypocrisy.

Strange how people can jump on a red, white and blue bandwagon to tar and feather an individual U.S. citizen who didn’t even get the chance to turn down, let alone try out for, the U.S. team, but have nothing to say about corporations founded in the U.S. that routinely do more damage to the fabric of our nationhood than Becky Hammon could do if she lived to be a thousand.  I’m talking about U.S. corporations that reincorporate holding companies in foreign countries of convenience to avoid paying U.S. taxes even as they keep their operations here.  And about U.S. corporations that care so little for the people of the country that makes them rich that they fall all over each other outsourcing U.S. jobs to foreign countries.

I’m also talking about megawealthy U.S. citizens who wouldn’t be hurt much in the pocketbook if they paid their fair share of taxes, but who illegally maintain large secret deposits in offshore tax havens so that they can avoid paying even the paltry tax levies that they’re subject to, courtesy of Dubya.  About oil companies that make obscene profits, in large measure by helping inflate the price of oil and by NOT building new refineries.  About armaments manufacturers and military contractors who overcharge our military for shoddy goods and incompetent services, and directly put the lives and safety of our troops in danger — and, to add insult to injury, “offshore” a lot of their profits. 

Yet, Becky Hammon, whose actions harm not a single American, is the modern-day transgendered “Benedict Arnold,” while the scoundrels who rape and pillage our nation and endanger its wellbeing are just fine?  George Orwell was off by 24 years.      

J.R. Holden said it best, I think:  “All I do is play basketball as a Russian. I pay taxes in the U.S, I live in the U.S., I do everything in the U.S. except play basketball.  So I’m a traitor because I’m over here making a living? What about all the businessmen who travel overseas to do business?”  Yeah, what about them?  And what about the companies that not only do business overseas, but find ways not to repatriate their profits?   Who are the real “traitors” here?

Speaking of women who’ve gotten way more criticism than they deserved, anyone remember Hope Solo, the women’s soccer team goalkeeper, who got slammed royally when she spoke out after the U.S. women lost 4-0 to Brazil in the Semifinals of the 2007 FIFA Women’s World Cup?  She had started (and won) the 3 prior games, but the coach had replaced her on a hunch with 36-year-old veteran Briana Scurry.  Ms. Solo simply said that she thought she’d have made the saves Ms. Scurry had missed, and that the U.S. team would have had a better chance to win had she been in. 

Oy, what a storm of fecal matter ensued.  She was benched for the Third-Place game, which the Americans won, and was Typhoid Mary to her teammates and to the American public. 

It turned out, however, that she was still far and away the best player the U.S. had at her position, and the new national team coach took her back in a heartbeat.  Wise decision, because it ALSO turned out that Ms. Solo had spoken nothing but the truth. 

Facing the same Brazil team in the Gold Medal game at the Olympics, she did, in fact, make the saves.  Brazil demonstrably outplayed the U.S. women, and launched hard-to-play shot after hard-to-play shot at the U.S. goal.  Ms. Solo stood on her head, as they say, to stop every single one of them, allowing her teammates to win the game on a fortunate overtime goal against the flow. 

More politic now, though, to her credit she spoke only about the team victory, and said nothing about the vindication she must be feeling after having been punished for being right last year.   To their discredit, the media types who delighted in piling on her for her alleged egotistical statements last year, failed to point out that this year’s performance may be proof that she wasn’t being egotistical, but merely honest.  Just goes to show you that honesty isn’t always the best policy.

Finally on the vindication front, how must Kobe be loving the latest wrinkle in the Shaq saga?  While Kobe was refurbishing his tattered image, basking in the glow of the hero-worship in Beijing, and getting photographed enjoying the Olympics en famille, with wife and daughters prominently on display, the Shaqinator was getting his name on the TMZ website for, allegedly, stalking a threatening a former paramour, an Atlanta female rap artist whose stage name is “Mary-Jane” with such vigor and purpose that she’s gotten a restraining order against him. 

According to the complaint, that fun-loving, impish, lovable lug just couldn’t take “drop dead” for an answer, and came up with the following puckish pranks to win back the lady’s affections:
Threatened to hurt her and harassed her with heavy-breathing over the phone.
Threatened to “blackball” her from the recording industry by paying established artists $50,000 each for their agreement to refuse to perform or record with her in the future.
Wrote her an E-mail or a text message that reads:  “I dnt no who the [rhymes with “duck”]  u think u dealin wit u will neva be heard from one phone call is all I gotta make no try me. Sho me.”
And, in a real display of class and savoir-faire, sent her “an unsolicited vulgar and offensive illustration of a man physically restraining a woman while forcing her to engage in sexual intercourse with him.”
Oh, what a practical joker.

Not exactly nonconsensual sex in a resort room in Eagle, Colorado, but not all that far away from it, either. 

Of course, the claim against Shaq is just civil, not criminal, right now, and one shouldn’t believe everything a gold-digging floozy says to extort money or publicity.  That never stopped the Court of Public Opinion from indicting and convicting Kobe, though, even as the charges in the REAL court system were dropped and the civil case settled.   Shaq being Shaq, he’ll get the benefit of every doubt.  But I just wonder if in a dark corner of his mind, Kobe’s thinking:  “Hey, big guy, how does MY a** taste now?”  Schadenfreude, the gift that keeps on giving.
 
Please send comments and criticism — especially criticism — to thonglaw@sprynet.com, where it will be dealt with appropriately.

Oh, those devious Chinese Olympic folks.  First, we learn to our dismay that a portion of the stunning fireworks display at the opening ceremony was actually digitally enhanced computer graphics rather than the real thing.  And this from the country that INVENTED gunpowder and fireworks, no less!

Then, we learn that the cute-as-a-button 9-year-old girl, Lin Miaoke, who we all thought so beautifully sang “Ode To The Motherland” at that ceremony, was actually this year’s Milli Vanilli, Ashley Simpson — or, maybe more age-appropriately, Miley Cyrus.  What all of those artists have in common is that they lip-synched.  The real singer was 7-year-old Yang Peiyi, who has a heckuva set of pipes, but was deemed too pulchritude-challenged to be the face, as well as the voice, of a nation that wanted to, well, put its best face forward at this coming-out party. 

So, in a deceitful decision harking back to that MGM classic, “Singin’ In The Rain,” where the odious matinee diva Lena Lamont, who has a voice that could shred paper off a wall, has unknown newcomer Cathy Selden, played by Debbie Reynolds, sing into a live mike behind the curtain, while the star pretends to sing into a dead mike on stage, the Chinese powers that be decided to have the best of both worlds:  They had the good singer with a face for radio actually singing the song off-camera, while the cameras showed the cute kid pretending to sing.   

The analogy isn’t perfect, because Ms. Reynolds was also way better looking than Jean Hagen, who played Ms. Lamont, but the principle’s the same.  Perfidy.  Is the Chinese government so insecure that it’s afraid to let less photogenic people with talent occupy any of the spotlight?  I mean, it’s not as if we in the U.S. are above superficiality and trickery, but I can guarantee you that if the Super Bowl halftime show people thought Celine Dionne was the person with the right voice to headline the halftime show, they wouldn’t have her backstage, singing her tonsils out, while somebody a lot better looking, like Faith Hill, was the one on camera.   

What next?  Will we find that all the great new architecture built for the Games is actually a Potemkin Village?   That Beijing’s pollution didn’t actually change for the better when they told all the factories to close down, but that they put some kind of chemical into the air that lightened its color?   That IOC officials were on the take?  Or that many of the 16-year-old, 70-pound girl gymnasts and divers were actually preteens?  Oh, wait. 

I do believe there’s a lot of insecurity, because China still isn’t quite sure of or comfortable with the fact that it is the next great superpower, with an economy set to eclipse ours before the midpoint of this century.   China, after all, despite its long history, educated and resourceful populace, and huge population, was the “Sick Man of Asia” for a long time.  Back in the days of the colonial powers — even within the living memory of some senior citizens — there were parks in Shanghai with signs reading “Dogs and Chinese Not Allowed.”  When the colonial powers waned, there was Imperial Japan to dish out the humiliation.  During the Mao years, China certainly flexed some military power (like in the Korean War), but its economy was a joke and the vast majority of its people lived in poverty. 

That’s changed in a hurry, but the people’s mindset hasn’t quite caught up to the new reality.   I think that’s in part why they’re so over-the-top jingoistic about these Olympics.  I mean, U.S. athletes fail or get hurt and can’t compete, and there’s certainly some coverage over here, but it’s not as if it were a national tragedy, not even when Men’s Basketball came a cropper.  Compare that to the national angst and tears when 110-meter hurdler Liu Xiang had to pull out with a hamstring injury.  You’d have thought the Premier had just been assassinated.

I’m not unsympathetic to Liu.  Sucks to be him right now, just as it sucked to be Tyson Gay, who pulled up lame in the U.S. 200-meter trials and lost his shot at a medal in that event, or the Hamm brothers, who could have made a difference in Men’s Gymnastics, or the U.S. woman Marathon record-holder, who had to drop out because of a broken bone in her foot, or myriad others whose injuries came at the most inopportune of times.  

These great athletes train for years just to be able to perform for a couple of days every four years, and to lose that chance because their bodies broke down on them, rather than because someone beat them legitimately head-to-head, has to stick in the craw.  I totally get that.  But a national tragedy?  Overwrought, much?   Let’s face it, China will STILL be manufacturing everything Wal-Mart sells long after these Olympics have passed the torch.   

Speaking of which, let the debate begin over which country “won” the Olympics.  There’s no doubt that China will finish with more Gold Medals than the U.S., but the U.S. has more overall medals.  Odds are good that the U.S. will still have more overall medals when the Closing ceremony takes place.   So, which “wins,” more Golds or more medals? 

Personally, I think the Golds win the day.  The “total medals” argument is kind of reminiscent of the bitter Hillary supporters who claim that she really should have been the Democratic Party nominee, even though Obama won more states and caucuses, because she won more votes (if you count Florida and Michigan, and don’t count the caucus votes).   Sorry, it’s Gold Medals, not Silvers or Bronzes, that get athletes on Wheaties boxes, or the Chinese equivalent.  ‘Nuff said.

Now that China’s made its splash, world, how about addressing one of my ongoing pet peeves?  Chinese names generally go surname first, then given name(s).  Thus Yao Ming’s surname is “Yao” and his given name is “Ming.”  New Laker Sun Yue’s surname is “Sun,” not “Yue.”  The last name of former Clipper stiff Wang Zhizhi is “Wang,” not “Zhizhi” (a mistake that media goobers compounded by insisting on pronouncing it “juju” instead of the correct “jrjr”).   Is China now finally important enough in the world that media types can be bothered understanding this principle, so I never have to look at another Houston Rockets box score and see that “Ming” got 20 points and 10 boards?   Or should we, as Americans, continue to revel in our insularity and our ignorance of other peoples and cultures?

I see where the USC football program has been set back in its preseason preparations by an epidemic of “jock itch.”  What happened?  Did Louis, Gilbert, Poindexter, “Booger,” and the other nerds from Lamda Lamda Lamda put “liquid heat” in the jocks’ equipment?  Because, after all, “No one will really be free until nerd persecution ends.”  I didn’t know that “Ogre” Palowakski and Stan Gable (aka Al Bundy’s neighbor, Jefferson D’Arcy) even played for the Trojans — or that Pete Carroll was really John Goodman.    

I see where Alexi Lalas and Ruud Gullitt both got s***canned by the Galaxy.   I guess neither performed brilliantly as GM and coach, respectively, but as Big Boss Tim Leiwecke observed, it was either that or fire 22 players.  Too bad Ruud and Alexi couldn’t suit up for the squad. 

Nice to know that Mr. Leiwecke has no greater clue about how to build a successful soccer team than he does about puck.   Interesting how the Kings’ long stretch of irrelevancy coincides so perfectly with the time-period of Mr. Leiwecke’s stewardship on behalf of Anschutz Entertainment.  Ah, but David Beckham’s on the team, so Timmy’s done his job, right?  Sure.  At least the Galaxy lead MLS in tattoos.

Was I, again, the only one in town not impressed by men’s Team USA’s blowout defeat of Greece?  Not that Team USA played badly.  They showed a lot of energy, and stepped up their defense.   And not that it’s not good to win, and win decisively.  But c’mon guys.  Calling it “revenge” for Greece’s upset win in the 2004 semis?  Not hardly — unless the win came in a game that put the winner into the Gold Medal game.    

First of all, despite all the fine qualities our lads displayed, they still shot poorly from three-point range and from the line, and if that keeps up, it likely will, not might, bite them in the behind.  At the same time, the score disparity is misleading.  The Greeks had plenty of open three-pointers.  It’s just that this time, they missed uncontested shots they usually make.  I wouldn’t exactly call letting opponents have open threes and assuming, or hoping, they’ll miss a strategy for success — especially when, once the Preliminary Round is over, it’ll be one-and-done.

And that’s really the main point.  It’s only the Preliminaries, for Pete’s sake.  Nobody, except the breathless U.S. media and naïve American fans, cares.  It’s still exhibition season.  The wins and losses in this round don’t count, except for eliminating the true “weak sisters.”  Who knows if the Greeks were even trying?  When Team USA beats an opponent in this tournament in a game that means something, when a loss means packing your bags and going home, when the opponent plays like it gives a rat’s patootie, clogs up the middle, and does all the things allowed by FIBA rules to neutralize the Americans’ athleticism — then I’ll be impressed.  Until then, it’s like keeping score at an All-Star game.  It’s meaningless.      

Mind you, the team’s performance in the next game, against another nemesis, Spain, almost convinced me.  The Yanks were dominant, active, played excellent D, shot like they’re supposed to, and, generally, made a Spanish team with some pretty good NBAers on board look outmatched.  Then again, let’s see what happens when the opponent “uglies” up the game, slows it down, and knocks down its — once again — open spot-up three-pointers. 

Don’t misunderstand.  I hope and expect that Team USA will win when it has to, this time around.  I’m just saying that nothing they’ve done in the Preliminary Round means anything.  Just as they don’t give out trophies for having the best record in the NFL preseason, of in MLB’s “Grapefruit” or “Cactus” Leagues, they don’t give out Gold Medals for dominating in the Preliminary Round.

By the way, what IS it with the U.S. players and their inability to convert layups?   I mean, Kobe’s blown almost as many dunk attempts as he’s missed three-pointers, D-Whistle and Le Bron have screwed up their share, and even the “lesser lights” seem to be having almost as much trouble from inside five feet as from beyond the arc.  Maybe John Wooden was onto something when he curbed dunking by the Bruins, even before the NCAA instituted the “Alcindor Rule.” 

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

Surely I can’t be the only person looking at the performance of the U.S. men’s basketball “Redeem Team” and being underwhelmed.  Even when they’re beating teams handily, they’re shooting like excrement, getting handled on the boards, missing free throws as if they were all channeling Shaq, getting bamboozled by the pick and roll, running into each other on defense, and not looking particularly “N’Sync.” 

Yeah, they haven’t faced any formidable opposition yet, and maybe they’re lying low in the weeds and conserving their energy and focus for games that really mean something.  But 97-76 over lowly Angola was, as far as I’m concerned, an utter disgrace.  Not the 97 part, although had they shot even adequately that number would have been in triple digits, with the middle one being a 2 or a 3.  But allowing 76 points to an opponent like that?  And 70 to an undermanned China team?  Remind me again about that alleged newfound commitment to defense. 

Both games were actually closer than the scores suggested.  China, and even Angola, actually hung with the Ugly Americans for the first halves of their respective games.  What’s going to happen when the Americans face a team that can fight back?  Who knows, that bronze from 2004 might actually start looking pretty good.

Oh, and what’s become of Kobe?  Maybe the NBA Finals took too much out of him.  He looks shot, spent, spurlos versenkt.   If he keeps shooting at a 30 – 40 percent rate, those big jersey sales in China are going to dry right up. 

As I say, maybe they’re playing possum and will crank it up when they start playing against real competition.  I hope they do.  I just wanted to get my pessimistic premonitions on record before, not after, they come a cropper.

The greatest thing about that Michael Phelps guy may very well be his mother, who raised him and his older sisters as a single mother, while ferrying them all ceaselessly and without respite to swim practices and meets — all while working full-time as a middle school principal in the Baltimore area.  She seems to have had the right attitude about her kids’ athletic endeavors, too — encouraging and supporting them without putting on undue pressure.  Eleven gold medals later, and still counting, all I can say to her, channeling Vic The Brick, is “mazel tov.”

The controversy about the apparently bogus ages of the Chinese women (I use the term advisedly) gymnasts and divers puts me in mind of some of the great age scandals surrounding teams from Asia that have plagued the Little League World Series over the years.  Except then, the issue wasn’t that the Asian players were too young, but that they were actually older than was allowed. 

I definitely remember seeing the players on the victorious Zamboanga, Philippines team that crushed a Long Beach team coached by ex-Major Leaguer Jeff Burroughs 15-4 in the 1992   Finals, and wondering how 11- and 12-year-olds could possibly have so much facial hair and mature musculature.  Of course, LLWS officials didn’t want to open THAT can of worms, and instead DQ’d Zamboanga for having 6 players from “out of district,” but everybody knew.  Just as everybody had suspicions about Danny Almonte — suspicions that proved to be true. 

Personally, I’m more offended by age fraud when it’s older athletes pretending to be younger so that they can dominate kids, than when it’s prepubescent “tweens” pretending to be older so that they can compete against older kids.  Sure, not having crossed the puberty Rubicon does give those girls an advantage.  For some reason, once they reach puberty they seem to get a tad less flexible and to add enough pounds to screw up the ideal strength-to-weight ratio — though I’d hardly call most post-pubescent female gymnasts and divers “fat,” just less anorexic.  Still, tough noogies.  In the greater scheme of cheating in “amateur” sports, I can live with that.

Actually, I’m enjoying this year’s Olympics more than any I can recall in many years.  Why?  Mainly because I’m boycotting the NBC coverage, so I don’t have to sit through endless sob-stories aimed at the estrogen-rich once-every-four-years casual fan; don’t have to sit through hours of commercials and nauseating, bland, empty “expert” commentary to see a few moments of actual athletic competition; and, most of all, don’t have to listen to Bob Costas shill for the Olympic hosts and the sponsors, while doing his level best not to ask any tough questions or to say anything that would offend anyone.

Don’t get me wrong.  I think Costas is smart, quick-witted, facile and well-spoken to the point of occasional eloquence, and as talented as it gets in that profession.  When he does his HBO specials, and can let loose just a bit, he also reveals himself as someone with a keen analytical mind and an ability to ask through-provoking questions and deal with difficult topics without being nakedly aggressive or overly obnoxious.  But on NBC, he’s a house man through and through, and I just tire easily of his mealymouthed hypocrisy and lack of substance. 

Given how much money the network has at stake in its Olympics coverage, I wouldn’t expect anything different.  He’d be insane to foment controversy, and I understand that.  But I shouldn’t have to put up with a bombardment of such virtual barium enemas.  Now, thanks to the Internet, cable and satellite, I don’t have to.  Hallelujah.   

By the way, what’s with the Spanish men’s basketball team and their incredibly racially insensitive team photo, where they all stretched their eyes horizontally to make it look like they had Chinese epicanthic folds?  Sure, it was all in good fun.  What if the Olympics were held in Africa.  Would they all have put on Al Jolson minstrel-singer blackface?  My favorite excuse was that the photo was supposed to be only for domestic Spanish circulation.  Yeah, right.  Like they’ve never heard of Youtube, the Internet, and all those other neat technological innovations that make privacy so last-century. 

Mind you, China, although lovey-dovey with the genocidal African regimes like the one in Sudan, isn’t exactly yet known for its own great sensitivity when it comes to people of different colors.  Just prior to the Olympics, there was a story going round that police officials had visited many clubs and restaurants in the popular Sanlitun area telling the owners not to serve black people because they’re known as prostitutes, pimps, and drug dealers.  Someone will have to pass that important news on to Allyson Felix after her prayer meeting, or maybe Tony Dungy just before he does another charitable act.

And don’t even get me started about the popularity of a brand of toothpaste that (I kid you not) used to be called “Darkie,” and is now called “Darlie” (very creative), but has the same illustration — a grinning caricature in blackface and a top hat.  And, lest any Chinese person be confused by the switch from “k” to “l,” the Chinese characters on the packages translate literally as “black man toothpaste.”  They claim it’s a compliment to black people, because they all have such nice white teeth.  I swear I’m not making this up.  So please excuse me if I have trouble taking too seriously Chinese sensitivities about perceived racist slights.  

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

Nice to see The Sportsgod’s site back online. Of course, every time the site goes off-line, the archives vanish into the ether like last night’s dreams.   Ah, well.  Sic transit gloria mundi, or Gloria Steinem, or whatever.

Who’d have thought that sports would lead the way in racial sensitivity in this country?  Or maybe, the proper phraseology is, “Who’d have thought that mainstream society would so badly lag behind sports on the issue of racial sensitivity?” Certainly not I, but the evidence is overwhelming.

Just f’rinstance, we have the first African-American EVER running for President, and he’s rock-star popular.  We can quibble about Obama’s “authenticity,” and whether the Caucasian ancestry on his mother’s side makes him a “real” African-American.  Yeah, just like we can quibble about whether Tiger Woods, the son of a Thai-Chinese mother and an African-American/American Indian/Caucasian father counts as one. 

The answer is appallingly simple.  Just ask the manager of the military personnel golf course who refused to let Tiger play there when he was a kid because he was “African-American.”  Vox populi, vox dei.  In the real world that is the U.S. and its sorry history of racial divides, unfortunately, there’s something called the “one drop” rule, as in, if you have a single drop of African-American blood in your ancestry, you’re African-American. 

So anyway, Barack is running for President, he’s African-American by the standards imposed by our society’s racial consciousness, and lots of people think he’s the cat’s pajamas.  But lots of other people, including lots of prominent people in public life, are aghast at this effrontery, and are insinuating — nay, trumpeting — that he’s “presumptuous,” “uppity” and “doesn’t know his place.”   And that’s the nicest thing those people say about his race.  I’m just waiting for reruns of the “Ohhh, Harold, call me” ads, featuring a blonde bimbo, that cratered Harold Ford, Jr.’s campaign for the Senate.  It’s coming, believe me.  And all that, apparently, is acceptable to mainstream society.    

Yet, in the sports world, things have gotten so advanced in this country, racial relations-wise, that African-Americans can be head coaches, general managers, team presidents, even team owners.   People in the sports world can get censured, suspended or even fired just for claiming that African-Americans “don’t have the necessities” to move into professional teams’ front offices or to take on managerial roles; for calling African-American athletes “monkeys”; for calling the Rutgers women’s basketball team a bunch of “nappy-headed ‘ho’s”; or, most infamously, suggesting that the only way to stop Tiger Woods was to “lynch” him in a back-alley.  (Of course the female talking head who made that unfortunate remark was wrong as a matter of fact, not just of common decency; it turns out that the way to stop Tiger is to wait for his body to start breaking down.) 

Heck even “drug-addled gasbag” Rush Limbaugh, as Stephanie Miller likes to call him, an 800-pound gorilla if ever there was one — and you can take that any way you want to — can be thrown off an ABC football studio show for a statement critical of an African-American athlete that was stupid, but arguably wasn’t even racist, although it certainly could be construed that way.

Mind you — and this kind of proves the point — that happy consequence is kind of tempered by the fact that Mr. Hillbilly Heroin with a Viagra chaser recently signed a $400 Million or so contract to continue with his enormously influential syndicated radio talk show, paying absolutely no price for his repeated rants outside sports commentary that have been unequivocally, not arguably, racist. 

I’m wrong, am I?  Where do we even start?  With his reference to mistaking L.A. Mayor Antonio Villaraigosa (or whatever he’s calling himself these days) for a “shoe shine boy,” perhaps?  Or his paean to the “peculiar institution” of slavery as one that had lots of good points, in that it built the South, and anyway, the slaves were happier and better off?  His references to Obama as a “Halfrican-American” and a “magic Negro,” perhaps?  His suggestion to a caller to “take that bone out of your nose and call me back”?  Or the offensive, racially demeaning songs by some bozo named “Paul Shanklin” that he likes to play?  But why go on?

And Limbaugh is among the LEAST racially offensive of his gaggle of like-minded talk show blowhards.  He’s practically an NAACP member compared to Glenn Beck and Michael Savage, both of whom, like the King Gasbag, are more than amply rewarded for their steady barrages of vitriol.  

My point is that even though Sen.  George Allen, the sadistic son of the late, great football coach may have lost his 2006 Senate seat to Jim Webb in part because he was caught on video calling an (East) Indian questioner “macaca,” which apparently means “Macaque monkey,” the sad reality is that few people outside the sports world pay any kind of price for publicly expressing racist sentiments. 

It sure doesn’t happen in politics — not on the Republican side of the aisle, anyway — where “respectable” talking heads so easily get away with race-baiting that they no longer even think about it.  Heck, Richard Nixon finally won the Presidency by creating a “Southern Strategy” that equated African-Americans’ very existence with “crime in the streets.” Strom Thurmond and Jesse Helms kept getting reelected despite prior Klan membership and consistent racist positions and statements.  Trent Lott managed to keep his Republican Senate Majority leader status despite some truly vile statements, like when he praised Strommie baby, who’d run for President in 1948 as head of the splinter “Dixiecrat” party, the ONLY platform of which was segregation of the races, by opining that had Thurmond been elected President, the U.S. “would have avoided all these [nudge, nudge, wink, wink] problems.”   And the ever-ineffable Barbara Bush, channeling Marie Antoinette, condescendingly asserted that the African-Americans who crowded into the Superdome in appalling conditions had no grounds for complaint, since the Superdome post-Katrina was way better than their regular homes.  

Ironically, it’s easier for public figures to say racist things and get away with them now than it used to be a while back.  I remember when Agriculture Secretary Earl Butz — there’s a sports connection here; he was the uncle of long-time Redskins “Hog” lineman Dave Butz — had to resign because he told a PRIVATE gathering that “the only thing [unacceptable word for persons of color] are looking for in life are tight pu***, loose shoes and a warm place to s***.”  He deserved to get sacked for that, and Nixon, of all people, actually did the right thing.  Not likely that Dubya would do the same these days, and equally unlikely that the mainstream media would even report it.   In fact, these days, Butz might get his own syndicated talk show, instead of infamy.  

But it’s not just politics.  Comes now Toby Keith, noted Country Music star and avowed redneck (not necessarily the same things, given that Brad Paisley and Hank Williams III — oh yeah, and the Dixie Chicks — are also Country stars), to prove that this Teflon immunity extends into the entertainment world, as well.  Or perhaps you’ve been asleep for the past few weeks, as Mr. Keith has made the media promotional circuit, playing his newest pro-lynching hit song (I’m not making this up), “Beer For My Horses,” on all the mainstream, big-audience TV shows.   And has suffered zero consequences in sales or negative publicity.  I guess the Nazi Party’s “Horst Wessel Lied” could rise to the top of the charts, too, if only somebody gave it a good back-beat.  The media’s “liberal,” is it?

It amazes me that I’m even saying this, given the sports world’s antediluvian attitude to such subjects as homosexuality (unless it involves two totally hot Playboy-quality babes going at it, in which case, could you burn me a copy?), civil and human rights, and the like.  But the sports world, in this the 21^st Century after the birth of JC Superstar, may well be the only place these days where Americans CAN’T say unspeakably hateful things about people of other races with impunity.   Anyone pulling a Toby Keith in today’s sports world would be gone faster than you can say “John Rocker.”  I knew there had to be SOME reason why I still like sports.    

So the Red Sox got rid of a “cancer” by trading Manny Ramirez to the Dodgers, who just coincidentally are owned by a Boston native and lifelong Sox fan.  I have no problem with the trade from Frank McCourt’s perspective.  Notice I didn’t say “from Ned Colletti’s perspective.”  With his reckless, economically ruinous Jason Schmitt and Andruw Jones deals, as well as several other duds, he’s dead man walking, as far as I, and I suspect the McCourts, are concerned. 

No matter what kind of a screwball, me-firster ManRam is, he can’t possibly make that sorry Chavez Ravine team worse.  Anyway, Boston was so happy to see Manny’s iron ass hit by the door on his way out that it’s picking up the rest of his salary for this season.  And Manny certainly has delivered during his first few games here.

But why did Boston do the deal?  I know Ramirez doesn’t always — make that doesn’t usually — try very hard; that he’s concerned only with his own stats, not team success; that he won’t play hurt — and has a definition of that term broader and more all-encompassing than even J.D. Drew’s; and that he’s about as graceful as a hog on ice while in the field, and still has no clue about the basics of baserunning or hitting the cutoff man.  I know he’s absolutely infuriating for any manager he has — and for most of his teammates.  So we’ve established conclusively that he’s a weirdo, an a-hole and a possible major locker-room distraction.

I also know that the Sox won exactly zero World Series championships in 88 years after The Babe was traded to the Yankees, but two in the past four years.  All the World Series losses came with rosters that didn’t include Mr. Ramirez.  Both World Series wins came with him on the team. 

I’m not saying there’s a true cause-and-effect relationship there, but he was after all the MVP of the 2004 Series.  And 274 homers and 868 RBIs in 8 years — admittedly, in a hitter-friendly park — are pretty impressive numbers, no matter how infuriating the guy who hit them.  Especially when the guy they got to replace him, Jason Bay, may be the best teammate in the world, and is certainly better in the field (who, this side of Rob Deer, wouldn’t be?), but averages 153 strikeouts per season in the NATIONAL league, for Pete’s sake, and was hitting .216 with men in scoring position at the time of the trade. 

Of course, it’s easy for people like me, who don’t have to live with the guy day-in, day-out, to say that the Sox maybe should have risen above Manny’s increasingly irritating quirkiness and put up with him for the sake of his more often than not frighteningly productive offense.  I mean, in the real world, people don’t put up with craziness unless they absolutely have to.   I certainly don’t. 

Most men love sex, and plenty of it, above all other things; but even perpetually priapic men have been known to divorce volcano-hot women who are great in the sack but crazy, when the downside of the craziness starts to overshadow the sexual benefits.  Nutty, demanding, intermittently committed employees are fired from office jobs all the time.  If Manny had a “real” job, he’d now be either on the street or on his 20^th employer.  Nobody in the business world puts up for long with an antisocial, narcissistic, psycho weirdo with anger issues, unless he’s the boss, the boss’s son, or has some really great polaroids of the boss “in flagrante” with a kid from the mailroom.

But baseball isn’t the real world.  It’s part of the entertainment industry — which as we know has more than its share of strong personalities and bat-s*** loonies, who are catered to as long as they put butts in the seats.  What makes sports different from the rest of the entertainment industry is that the entertainment isn’t just play-acting.  Teams play games head to head, they keep score, and the entire point of playing the games is to win, not just look good doing it.  It just seems to me the Sox almost always had a better chance to win when ManRam, with all his baggage, was mashing. 

Heck, Ulysses S. Grant’s fellow generals weren’t exactly enthralled with his bibulous habits, either, and pushed for him to be replaced with someone whose personal habits were less distasteful.  Instead President Lincoln, who wanted and needed to win the War Between The States, suggested that they just get the Hell over it and added that if being an alcoholic was the way to win battles, every other general should drink a barrel of whatever Grant was having.  Let’s just call Manny baseball’s General Grant.

It’s not as if there hasn’t been plenty of precedent for baseball teams to hang onto disruptive, egocentric nut-jobs who can produce, as long as they can help a team win.  Charlie Finley’s Athletics, who won three straight World Series in the ‘70’s, come to mind right away.  Everybody hated everybody else on that team — the only unifying theme being that they also all hated the tight-fisted, mercurial owner — but winning trumped everything else. 

And the Yankees kept Mr. October — who, come to think of it, was also one of the major divisive forces on Finley’s Athletics — despite the fact that nobody on the team liked him, for some of the same reasons that many of the Sox players could no longer stand ManRam.  All Jackson did was help destroy the Dodgers in the 1977 and 1978 Series, and that was reason enough to keep him, warts and all.

Speaking of egotistical, disruptive head-cases, ladies and gentlemen, I give you Brett Favre, who can’t even pronounce his own surname, as Ben Stiller proved at the end of “There’s Something About Mary.”  His entirely self-absorbed, drama-queen performance, played out on a national stage populated in the main by his ass-kissers, is the second coming of “Sunset Boulevard,” except that there was no dead man floating in the swimming pool.  I half expected Favre to say something like:  “I’m still big; it’s the Packers that got small.”  He almost did.

My distaste has nothing to do with whether or not he can still play.  He’s lost more than a step or two; he’s become ever more willful and self-indulgent in his play-calling on the field as he’s aged; and he’s developed a deplorable tendency the past few seasons to treat footballs like hand grenades and get rid of them haphazardly.   Even so, I suspect that, even at his advanced age, and with really only one good season in his past three or four, he’s still better than Aaron Rodgers is now, or perhaps ever will be.  Judging solely on football skills and an ability to help a team have success in the short term, it should have been a no-brainer for the Packers to take him back, despite the way he publicly and embarrassingly jerked them around, not just this year, but for the past few offseasons.   

Again, it’s not as if there were no precedent.  Roger Clemens, another consummate egotist lost in the strange world of his own twisted psyche, held the Astros, and then the Yankees, hostage from 2005 – 2007.  Each year, he claimed that this time, he was retired for good and just wanted to spend more quality time with his family.  (Based on Brian McNamee’s testimony to Congress, I guess “quality time” in the Clemens household meant matching “his” and “hers” HGH injections, but I digress.)  Each year, after accepting all the kowtowing and begging as merely his due, Clemens graciously agreed to be lured out of “retirement” for ungodly sums of money, paid for less than a full season’s work, and with no need to accompany the team(s) on the road. 

Mind you, Clemens kind of delivered — for Houston in 2005 and 2006, at any rate.  Maybe he was worth all the money and aggravation just for his clutch performance in the 15^th through 18^th innings of Game 4 of the 2005 NLDS.  He, or his synthetic testosterone, helped get the ‘Stros to their first World Series, after all.  But the point is that, just as with Green Bay and the uncertainty created by Favre’s selfish behavior, the teams Clemens figuratively sodomized were so paralyzed and distracted by the process that they were unable to make the appropriate long-term plans and roster moves while they waited, twisting slowly, slowly in the wind, for him to make up his mind.

It’s not Favre’s refusal to stay retired that’s put a hair up my fundament about his behavior, though.  Football management has been screwing football players royally ever since the NFL came into existence.  A little payback from a player with a bit of clout is just what owners deserve, as far as I’m concerned.  Please God, let there be more of the same. 

And anyway, I understand how hard it can be to let go of the thing that you love best, and that you’re best at, especially when there’s still a little somethin’-somethin’ left in the tank. I still say that MJ retired too soon, and that even when he came back a shadow of his former all-world self, he was STILL a darn good player and would have had his team in the playoffs had he merely traded the draft rights to Kwame Brown and landed Elton Brand and a couple of solid backups.   

But does Favre have to be such a sanctimonious, self-righteous peckerhead all the time?  When any of his teammates was at odds with management, desiring a few more bucks, Favre was quick to spout pious homilies about “loyalty,” “team-first,” and “honoring a contract,” as he did when Javon Walker was trying to renegotiate.  When it comes to HIS OWN words and actions, though, the rules apparently fly out the window.  Diva, thy name is Favre.

I hate it when Jon Castro is right.  Actually, I don’t.  I just hate it when he’s right and I’m wrong.   A few columns ago, Jon remarked that for all the homers and RBIs Alex Rodriguez amasses, he’s still waiting for A-Rod to hit one that means something.  Curse you, Castro.   You’re right, darn it.  A-Rod currently has the second-best batting average in the AL, the second-best OPS,  the best slugging percentage, the fifth-most homers, the 12^th-most RBIs, and he still hasn’t managed to get a hit that really counts.  Last season, to be fair, the Yankees rode a couple of A-Rod hot streaks into the playoffs, where he once again underperformed.  This year, though, his homers and RBIs all seem to come in the middle of blowout wins or losses.  When the team REALLY needs a hit from him, it’s not forthcoming.   

By the way, for all those aghast at the idea that any baseball team might pick up that evil, prickly juicer Barry Bonds for a prorated league minimum salary that he’d already agreed to donate to charity, why would that be so bad, when all sorts of OTHER juicers are still in the league, and being paid a lot more money for what I’m betting is a lot less production, on a per-at-bat basis, than Bonds could provide?  How would signing Barry Bonds be a desecration of the holy sepulcher that is baseball, when it’s already peopled by decidedly less productive talents who’re also tainted?

I’m not talking about Andy Pettitte, who namby-pambily admitted to taking HGH “to heal faster from an injury,” and I’m not talking about Jason Giambi, who sort of, kind of apologized in some incoherent fashion for doing something he’s ashamed of, the specifics of which he won’t admit but that we are led to believe had something to do with performance-enhancing substances. 

But, last I checked, Miguel Tejada, who not only pretty clearly juiced but also lied about his age, was still playing.  Tejada got a king’s ransom from the ‘Stros just before the Mitchell Report hit.  Nobody made a move to void his contract or to take back so much as a penny.  He’s currently got a stinking 11 homers, and a piss-poor OBP of .317 — in a hitters’ park.  Bonds had a crappy season last year, and STILL managed 28 homers in a pitchers’ park, to go with an incredible .480 OBP and a 1.045 OPS.  No team could use this guy?  Like Tejada, a malcontent anywhere he’s been, is suddenly a way better teammate?

Or how about Tejada’s former teammate, and fellow accused juicer, Eric Chavez, who barely hits above the Mendoza Line these days, now that there’s testing? 

Funny, isn’t it, how so many of those juicers have in some way been associated with the Oakland Athletics?  Kind of adds some depth, texture and backstory to the term “Moneyball.” 

Or how about Eric Gagne, who’s getting 7 figures to serve up puffballs to Brewers’ opponents?  Or, heck, Troy Glaus, or Rick Ankiel, or Gary Matthews, Jr.? 

I guess my question is, what, exactly, is it that makes Bonds’s former juicing so unconscionable, when the league has made it clear that NO juicer mentioned in the Mitchell Report will face sanctions of any kind?  (I say “former” juicing because there’s testing now, and Bonds never tested positive last year or the year before that — for any of the substances for which MLB tests, anyway.) 

Sure, Bonds is ten kinds of a creep and maybe even a sociopath, and he wasn’t nice to media types when he was riding high.  How does that make him different from most of the other creeps and sociopaths who populate our present-day sports landscape?  Does anyone seriously doubt that he can still rake, especially as a DH? 

What IS it with NBA players and their utter inability to shoot free throws consistently?  I mean, they get paid unthinkable sums of money to do only two things:  play basketball as well as they can, and do whatever it takes to maintain or improve their conditioning and skills.   Yet even some of the best of them can’t even be bothered to do that.

There has to be SOME time in between shopping for tricked-out luxury cars, buying ten or so new, unnecessary tailored suits, groping groupies and visiting strip clubs to spend a paltry few minutes a day learning how to shoot a decent percentage of free throws.  Yet, year in, year out the past several years, our best and brightest can’t find the net from the line in international competition.  It doesn’t matter how fast or athletic the U.S. players are, or how dazzling their dunks.  If they can’t sink the free throws they get, it can, and almost always does, come back to bite them in the ass. 

Sure, we can laugh off the abysmal 60.1 percent this year’s edition shot from the line in the pre-Olympics tune-up game against Lithuania, because they still won by 30 points or so.  But against an Aussie team that didn’t even play its top big man, Milwaukee underachiever Andrew Bogut, their 61 percent from the line almost did them in, although their 17 percent clip from beyond the arc didn’t help much, either. 

It can only get worse if they don’t start canning the gimmes.  There are better teams than Australia out there.  Team USA’s top competition may not be as quick or as athletic, but they sure as Hell can sink open shots from the line and from the floor.  Since the winning team in basketball is determined by who scores more points, rather than by who has the more artistic dunks, that’s more than a little worrisome.

I originally thought that Team USA’s big problem would be its lack of height, given the way a couple of undermanned Latin American teams easily outrebounded them in last summer’s otherwise triumphal Tournament of the Americas.  Now, I’m afraid that they’ll be able to overcome that disadvantage, only to lose the gold because they’re still “The Gang That Couldn’t Shoot Straight.”  Luckily, I have a pathetic record as a seer, so you’d be safe betting against whatever I predict.  Still . . . .  

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