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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