Spurious thoughts and idle musings from the world of sports …
 
This is a sad time in sports.  It always is when a true legend retires.  A genuine icon, worshipped by millions of adoring fans, an inspiration to future generations, a champion through and through, a shining example of all that’s right and good in the wide wide world of sports.  Not to mention the most hypnotic eyes since Bette Davis and a pair of legs that would stop an ambulance driver.  Sigh … You will be missed, Katarina Witt.
 
You see what I did there ???  You thought I was talking about Brett Favre, right ???  Yep, the man with the backward consonants has packed it in too.  After 17 years as King of the Cheese, ol’ Sheriff Brett has packered up his bags and headed home to Mississippuh.  A very strange decision by His Gunslingerness.  Favre hung around waiting for the suits to churn the Pack roster from old and slow over to young and frisky … At which very point he bailed saying he was tired, just tired, just really tired.  Hell, Brett, the entire NFL is tired in March.  Even the fans are tired.  Wake me up when September ends.  

If you think one and a half billion Chinese could care less, then you haven’t seen the X-rays of Houston Rockets center Yao Ming’s foot.  Chairman Yao has a stress fracture and months of rehab before the Beijing Olympics start later this summer.  It’s not like there was any pressure on Yao or anything.  Oh no, there’s nothing expected of the most famous athlete in the world’s most populous country in the event they’ve lusted after for decades.  Nope, no pressure at all.  Heal fast, Yao.  Heal really fast.

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Spurious thoughts and idle musings from the world of sports …
 
Jints and Pack at Lambeau for the NFC crown … Man, talk about the old school.  For this one, we need square-toed, head-on kickers, single bar face masks and big “H” goalposts.  Not to mention buzz cuts … Or better yet, linemen with bloody short sleeves and steaming bald heads sitting on the bench while coaches roam the sidelines in cashmere coats wearing felt fedoras.  Snow and ice would be nice but at the very least, Bart Starr and Y.A. Tittle should be there for the coin toss.  Oh and let’s not forget … Highlights by NFL Films only.  Nothing says old school quite like a frozen football spinning in slow-motion spiral backed by a 40-piece horn section.
 
Rest in peace, Bobby Fischer.  He certainly was a strange one but the dude played lights out chess.  I remember Fischer’s epic 1972 match in Iceland when he whipped the big bad Russian champ, Boris Spassky.  The match was on PBS and it was seriously low tech.  All they showed was a studio with some guys wearing headphones who kept staring at a big chessboard on the wall.  And every so often, they’d get up and go move a flimsy cardboard piece on the board.  And then they’d talk about that move until the next one came in.  And this went on for days … Okay, so it wasn’t like Rocky Balboa and Ivan Drago but it was still strangely compelling.  I mean, this was the Cold War.  We had to beat this Russian guy.  Even if we never saw him.
 
What part of “Stay out of strip clubs” doesn’t Pacman Jones understand???  It’s real simple, man.  If it’s after midnight and you’re in a dark place with no windows and the girls there are wearing not much or nothing at all and ”Sweet Child O’ Mine” or “Pour Some Sugar On Me” is playing at jet airplane decibels and there’s a shiny silver pole on a stage and strobe lights are flashing and a fog machine is, um, well, fogging and there are huge grim guys wearing sunglasses and flexing cannonball biceps standing close to the girls, then get out.  In fact, Pacman, if you’re anyplace after dark and guys there are still wearing sunglasses, go home.  Nothing good is going to happen, trust me.  Or at least that’s what I’ve heard, you know, like stories and such.

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