The Cubs, under new management, have been abysmal in 2010. How abysmal? So abysmal I bothered to look up “abysmal” to ensure I was spelling it correctly. The team’s grandest pick-up in the offseason was Texas’ former hitting coach (Chicago is hitting a 21st-ranked .257 as a team this season). They’ve got the third largest payroll in baseball behind the Yankees and Red Sox and three of their four best players this season have been Marlon Byrd, Tyler Colvin and Carlos Silva – none of whom play everyday. It’s abysmal enough that Lou Piniella’s most embarrassing attribute is no longer his old man gut. I mean, look at this picture above. Sweet Jesus, Sweet Lou – try an occasional salad.

I went to my first Cubs game on August 24, 1983 (an almost no-hitter thrown by Chuck Rainey against the Reds) and hundreds since then. I’ve watched thousands more on TV and miraculously, even a few playoff series, but I can’t stand this Cubs team. Can’t stand its attitude and can’t stand another season of losing. I’ve been in the gang for almost 30 years now and I’m considering getting jumped out of it. Blood in, homey. Blood out.

This isn’t about what team I should start following now (although your suggestions in the comments will be considered), this is about severing ties officially. And properly. And if at all possible, appropriately.

Below are 50 Ways To Leave Your Lover 10 ways to end long-standing loyalties to a franchise. Hop on the bus, Gus – we need to discuss much.

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10. Choose your new favorite team, wait for them to play your old favorite team, go to the game, loudly root for your new favorite team.
This one is cold. It takes gator blood to pull off, but if you do it, no one can question a) your seriousness or b) your decisiveness.  Non-sport equivalent: Convincing your girlfriend to bring her sister to the movies with you so she doesn’t sit at home by herself on a Friday night, only to make out with the sister during the movie while your (former) girlfriend is put in charge of refilling the popcorn.

9. Only draft players from your old favorite team to your fantasy team.
If you want to ensure you’ll never enjoy anything about your old favorite team ever again, synchronize their success with the success of your fantasy team. You’ll not only despise the real-life jerks underperforming on the club, but you’ll despise the stupid team you’ve built, the stupid friends in the fantasy league you’re in and the stupid stupids who invented fantasy sports in the first place.

8. Type “I love the  ____________ [your old favorite team] on your Facebook profile.
If there is any place more mean and snarky than the online gamers playing “Call of Duty,” it might just be the comments following someone’s super-positive status update on Facebook. So if you wanna feel real bad about liking a team, just tell your 658 Fakebook friends how great a baserunner you think Ryan Theriot is. You’ll be taken down quite a few pegs.

7. Heckle a player all game long.
About 10 years ago I found myself at a Louisville Bats (former Riverbats) triple-A game in Louisville, KY. Deion Sanders was there recovering from an injury and playing the outfield. There weren’t many people in the stands that day so we we free to roam whatever section we pleased. And we pleased to follow Neon Deion around for the seven innings he played that night. First we were in left-center, then we went over to the third base line and yelled into the dugout. And while I don’t remember what I was drunkenly slurring at him that night, I specifically recall thinking that I can never root for Sanders in anything he does from now on. Not after this. Not now. I had effectively projected King Midas’ touch onto Sanders, except that instead of gold, everything Sanders touched turned into something to which I was disinterested in paying attention.

6. Choose a player from your former favorite team who just left the team – become a fan of that player.
This is the coward’s way out. This is like rooting for the Bulls until Michael Jordan became a Wizard. Then rooting for the Wizards because you’re more of a Jordan fan than a Bulls fan. Then buying a Kwame Brown jersey after Jordan retired. This is like hanging out more and more with your buddy instead of your girlfriend until one day – surprise! – you announce you’re gay.

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5. Go ahead and bet a substantial amount of  money that your former favorite team will go all the way this year.
‘Cause let’s face it, they’re not going to win. No chance. If there were a chance, you’d still be a fan. But there isn’t a chance. And you betting that there is will make you feel stupid and angry. Why did you just put the money you were saving to buy CSI:Miami – the Complete Series on the Redskins to win it all this year? That’s not going to happen and now you’ll never have all of David Caruso’s wacky puns at your fingertips. Way to go, boner! The only thing you’ll hate more than yourself is the stupid Redskins for not winning the stupid Super Bowl, again! You’ll ignore that team as much as you would a thick girl with a bad personality.

Then again if they win, you’re rich and will probably rethink changing loyalties. Win-win!

4. Give your old team’s apparel to the most annoying kid on your block.
This is all about severing ties, not creating bonds. That’s why you don’t give your old ball cap or your hockey jersey to your sister’s newborn or your cousins toddler. In theory, you like those people and if they like your old favorite team, you’ll never be able to completely turn your back on the franchise. That’s why you find the friendless LARPer desperate for someone – anyone – to pay attention to him. Hand him your Dolphins jersey or your Habs hat and watch him light up. Then watch him go overboard trying to show his new best friend how big a fan he is. Every time you see your team’s colors, you’ll enter a Pavlovian state of annoyance in no time.

3. Wear another team’s apparel when you go out.
In the end, no one really knows what teams you follow in the privacy of your own home. And most bars play multiple games at one time. We are defined by who we wear, Gucci, so use that knowledge accordingly. If you’re meeting a buddy’s friend from out-of-town – wear your Lions hat. Even if you were silent all night, you’ll be remembered as “that Lions fan I met that one time.” St. Paddy’s Day at O’Houlihan’s? Wear all green … and an Avalanche hat. You’ll show up in pictures as the “guy wearing MOSTLY green.” These things define you. Let other people do the work for you. If you want to go from a Giants to a Jets fan (why anyone would want to do that is beyond me), just show up to a few bar crawls in a Jets hat all of a sudden. See how quickly you aren’t defined as a Jet-setter.

2. If you don’t think you’re going to marry the person you’re dating – start attending a bunch of games together.
It’s a tale as old as time, right? “I can’t listen to that song without thinking of her.” “We always used to eat there together.” “Every time we spelunked in that cave, we got attacked by bats.” Common stuff like that. Also common in many relationships is that moment of realization that the relationship just isn’t working. For most people, the realizationis quick, but the action that follows is slow and painful. Awful, really. “We can’t break up over Christmas.” “We can’t break up on Valentine’s Day.” “But Pulaski Day is our special day!” Add your favorite team’s season to that list and take your significant other to as many games as possible. Make it a thing you do – together. That way, when it ends, you won’t be able to oogle Laker Girls without tearing up a little. Not because you’re heartbroken, but because you’re disappointed you wasted so much time on the relationship. Then it’s just a matter of time before you find some other set of cheerleaders to oogle.

1. Google “celebrity _________ [your former favorite team] fans”.
Try it. You’ll run screaming from your computer. They’ll be nothing left from a team that interests you once you see the awful celebrities that love what you once loved. Rod Blagojevich, really? Jim Belushi? Gary Sinise? Pat Sajak? This blows. At least the White Sox have Obama.

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Photos courtesy of Flickr

It’s hard to speak poorly of the dead. If for no other reason than because it’s taboo to do so and most people kinda tune you out. You can’t speak poorly of most dead people. Can’t do it. Certainly can’t do it right after they died.

So I won’t speak poorly of former Yankees owner, George M. Steinbrenner III. I’ll speak poorly of his biggest competitors: the Boston Red Sox.

Seven years ago, the Miami Heat retired Michael Jordan’s number during the final game of their regular season.  Not the Bulls. Not the Wizards. The Heat. At the time, it was the only number the team had retired – a number of a man that never played for their team, and in fact, did quite a lot of damage to them over the course of the ’90s. It was pitiful then and it remains pitiful now. How can a team that was directly made worse by a competitor, go on and decide to honor them as if the pleasure of getting hammered was all theirs?

The Red Sox sent out a statement yesterday extolling the virtues of the former owner of the only team in baseball able to make the mighty Sawx feel like insignificant little sisters. This part is somewhat understandable, as it was created on behalf of several Red Sox executives who worked with or near Steinbrenner over the past four decades.

But it’s not just a statement coming from Boston. On Thursday, it’ll be a Statement (note the capitalization of the word). From boston.com:

The Red Sox will observe a moment of silence in Steinbrenner’s memory on Thursday, July 15, 2010 at Fenway Park before the club’s matchup against the Texas Rangers at 7:10 p.m.

What? Oh. Wait … what? No!

Many of you will not care about this, not bat an eye or think this decision odd. But it is. For Red Sox fans, it SO is. It’s one thing to be disrespectful of a dead man. For example, I wouldn’t condone a moment of  boos in memory of Steinbrenner. But to take a moment to show appreciation for a man whom the Red Sox should not and did not appreciate seems hollow. Hell, the Yankees won’t even be there to hear the nothingness. Boston is having a moment of silence for themselves.

Steinbrenner was a powerful and influential man, perhaps one of the most powerful and influential the game has ever seen. He’s certainly one of the most powerful and influential the modern game has ever seen. And he used his power and influence to bring seven World Series titles to the Red Sox’s closest and most obvious competitor. But – and this is very important – for 30 years, the Red Sox hated him for it. It wasn’t until the last nine years that the Red Sox fully embraced Steinbrenner’s philosophy on winning.

So the question here is – just as it was when they hung No.23 in the Miami Heat rafters – why? Just ’cause? Because Steinbrenner is dead now and he wasn’t on Monday? Why honor a guy who only helped your ball club achieve international fame by embarrassing it over and over on national television? The Red Sox-Yankees rivalry may have started lifetimes ago, but it only started getting competitive a decade ago.

Maybe the moment of silence should be for an era when the Red Sox weren’t as full of it as the Yankees.

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Photo courtesy of Flickr

… It’s weird seeing that jersey on this guy, amiright? Like when you dream you’re with friends, except that no one looks familiar.

You gotta feel for Mike Bratz. Not only have the 39 points he contributed to the Chicago Bulls in ’82 gone completely unheralded, but then MGA Entertainment went and made millions on his name without giving him a penny.

Look at the above picture. Look at those teased curls, those fly kicks and tell me MGA didn’t model those sassy dolls for girls after this guy.

I’m from Chicago. A city where the echoes of Michael Jordan refuse to quiet even a decade after he swished his last United Center basket. Since M.J., Chicago has seen some bad Bulls teams.  None of them, however, were so bad that a cup of java was equivalent to a seat in the 300 level.

Enter the D.C. Wizards.

The 21-39 Wiz are amidst its “Drink 5 to Watch the Starting 5″ promotion, which along with its labored name, reduces the worth of a game ticket to merely 6.25 lbs-worth of coffee. Less than that. Technically, two Wizards nose-bleeds are worth that much.

The economics of this are about as baffling as the development of Andray Blatche being the team’s best player.

The promotion states that if you buy five large (20 oz.) cups of coffee, save the receipts and mail ‘em to the Wizards, they’ll send you two tickets for your trouble. And let’s be clear, it really isn’t much trouble. It’s not like qualifiers won’t have the energy to send in the receipts – they just drank 100 ounces of coffee!

This is $9.95 worth of bean we’re talking about )plus tax). That’s $4.98 a ticket. But it’s not $4.98 a ticket. It’s $9.95 for coffee (plus tax) and completely free tickets.

Gee-whiz, Wiz. You’re better than that (they’re not). And it’s not like the team is out there by themselves. The three worst teams the Wizards play from now until the end of the season at home are the Warriors, Nets and Pacers. You wouldn’t go see Stephen Curry, Brook Lopez or Danny Granger play for free? Not for free?!

Seriously, not for free?

Because – and I cannot reiterate this enough – if D.C. residents popped into their neighborhood Dunkin’ Donuts each morning between today and Friday, saved the receipts and mailed ‘em in – KAPOW! they’re in the building to see Monta Ellis play 45 minutes and turn the ball over six times.

And that’s worth every penny.

Also worth every penny? The damn Dunkin’ Donuts coffee itself. That’s some tasty java, Jack. So tasty, in fact, that the donut chain decided to play chicken with your senses by offering a second competing promotion.

Buy six cups of coffee, get the seventh cup free.

Imagine someone with five receipts in his back pocket standing at the Dunkin’ counter trying to decide between a) two free tickets to a professional sporting event of a team on which Michael Jordan once played or b) two cups of coffee at half price (essentially).

Take heed American cities. These are the choices you may face if your professional athletic club suspends and trades away all of its discernible talent in the span of six weeks.

Two free tickets to a game or two free cups of 1/2-priced coffee.

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Photo courtesy of Flickr

But after looking at an initial screenshot of the game, a new NBA Jam could face a lot of pitfalls. Because how do you duplicate or improve on a game that was great because of its imperfections?

The original version of NBA Jam didn’t have Michael Jordan. It also didn’t have pick and rolls or reliable goaltending enforcement. But you know what, we liked it that way.

So here’s what we’re hoping for in this new incarnation of a 1990s classic. They can gussy up the graphics all they want, but the gameplay should be true to the original. Otherwise, you might as well go play NBA Live.

Forget three players at a time, put it at two
NBA Jam started off simply as a 2-on-2 game, but its later descendants like NBA Hoopz expanded it to three. That just doesn’t feel right. The more players you throw on the court, the more this game actually resembles a basketball simulation. All you really need in this game is a shooter and a big man, that’s it.

The best way to play defense in the game remain to be shoving
NBA Jam actually hurts itself the closer it gets to realism. And that holds true with calling fouls. They should continue to be nonexistent. Shoving an opponent all game long would get the average NBA player banned from the league (unless you’re Bill Laimbeer), but NBA Jam players should be rewarded for their shoves like in the old days with constant turnovers.

Players still need to score on the corner 3-pointer about 75 percent of the time
Anyone who played this game routinely knows that there are two sure-fire ways to score. The first is to dunk with the big man while holding down Turbo. The second is to spot up in the corner with a 3-pointer. The top of the 3-point line is pretty effective too, but it can’t match the corner for sheer deadliness. That needs to stay true in the new version as well. Because that last minute of every quarter needs to be a mad dash for the corner.

The final team you play should be a pair from the 1990s
This is the final area where NBA Jam needs to call back to its heritage. If a player can beat all the other NBA teams, they should be pitted against an original NBA Jam team. It could be Karl Malone and John Stockton, or Kevin Johnson and Charles Barkley. Even Patrick Ewing and John Starks would be a fun boss to face. But no matter who it is, the new NBA Jam needs to bring back some old faces.

LeBron James and Kobe Bryant need to be absent from the game
That’s right, the new NBA Jam needs to forget including two of its best players.

We all know that the original NBA Jam didn’t have Jordan because they couldn’t secure his rights. I’m assuming there won’t be a similar problem with Kobe or LeBron, but the new NBA Jam needs to forgo its biggest super stars for one major reason: Because the original NBA Jam was actually better due to Jordan’s absence.

If Jordan had been a playable character when the original NBA Jam came out, every kid that wasn’t a Knicks or Pistons fan would have picked the Bulls every single time. The team-selection process would have turned into a mad scramble to pick Chicago first. Could you imagine being that poor kid at the skating rink, trying to beat an older kid with just the Charlotte Hornets. You would have been banished to playing Michael Jackson’s “Moonwalker”.

There simply would have been no stopping a Jordan-led NBA Jam team. But because the game didn’t have him, most of the elite teams (Charlotte, New York, even a Scottie Pippen-led Chicago) were similarly elite enough that you stood a chance in every match up, so long as you didn’t pick a crap team like Dallas. And the game was better because of it.

Now, you could argue that the talent is better distributed nowadays, or that the game’s programmers won’t make Kobe and LeBron unstoppable, but today’s generation will be robbed of a true NBA Jam experience if they have every player at their disposal.  And while not having Jordan in the old days was an obstacle we all had to overcome, you could certainly argue that we’re all better for it.

At the very least, it helped us appreciate the subtle shoving genius of Horace Grant.

Three weeks ago, everything was different for Tiger Woods. That’s not that long ago. Twenty-one days ago, he was a billionaire who changed the game of golf forever and did it as a pillar of society.

He was John Galt … if John Galt had infidelity issues. Which, I guess would make him Henry Reardon. Either way, he was better than us.

Some might cringe at the suggestion that anyone is better than anyone else. Don’t cringe. It’s unbecoming. Your face looks vaguely reptilian when you scrunch it up like that. Relax your muscles and realize that we encouraged Woods to be better than us. It’s what he was selling, and seeing as how he’s a billionaire, I’d say we were happy to buy it.

Tiger Woods, in reality, isn’t worse than the other athletes with front page scandals. Kobe Bryant may or may not have raped someone (he definitely fooled around). Mike Tyson had his fair share of lady-problems. Michael Jordan is a gambling addict. Pete Rose too.  Charles Barkley drives recklessly with lady friends. Ray Lewis and O.J. Simpson have both been suspected of murder. Manny Pacquiao has cheated on his wife at least once and is under scrutiny for having recently done it again. Andre Agassi wore a wig. Plaxico Burress wore sweatpants in public. Barry Bonds, Lance Armstrong, Marion Jones, Alex Rodriguez, Manny Ramirez, David Ortiz, Roger Clemens, Sammy Sosa, Mark McGwire, Milli-Vanilla … they all lipsynched their songs. That’s pretty bad, no?

Tiger Woods? All he did was treat his wife like Tony Soprano treated Carmela. And that show was on HBO for eight years! People loved it. So why has it only taken three weeks for Woods to go from pillar to pariah? He’s still great at golf, right? Why is everyone leaving? Where’s everyone going? And why?

Tiger Woods sold himself – not his skill – to the public. His ability to hit a golf ball with power and accuracy is why we cared to examine Woods further, sure, but he made his fortune from the public measuring ourselves against him. And just as one can only measure something accurately if it is shorter than the measuring stick, so too was it true that Tiger Woods had to be better than all of us in order to see how we stacked up.

People get upset if you lie about the skills you have. They’ll drop you forever if you lie about the kind of person you are.

No one ever believed Bryant was perfect. He was always cunning and a teensy bit cold. A hard worker, always. But a good man? I dunno. Probably not. Because he never seemed like he cared to be liked. He cared to be respected. Same thing with Jordan or Armstrong. They never wrapped their personal lives in with their profession. The media tried (they always try), but fans know the difference between the media connecting the dots and the athlete doing it for them.

Woods carved out a place for himself in the public eye as a family man and a son who’d learned the lessons taught to him by a loving family and heckuva father. The media didn’t connect those dots. His advertisers did. They packaged it, sent it out and if you were one of the millions who bought it, then this has been a nasty three weeks for you too. Not as bad as Tiger, but still bad. Bad because his connection with his family, the institute of marriage and the lessons handed down through generations of fathers was something that many of us aspire to. Hell, it’s something that many of us achieve. Just like Tiger Woods. I can’t hit a golf ball more than 250 yards, I haven’t been able to dunk in five years and I’m scared of a 97 mph fastball, but I can raise a family. I can learn from my parents and be a real man.

Just like Tiger Woods.

Unless I can’t, just like Tiger Woods. Unless it’s as impossible as sinking a 40-foot putt. Because if John Galt isn’t perfect, then true brilliance must be a myth. And if this ruler isn’t accurate, what does that say about everything I’ve measured with it?

But I promised you a silver lining, didn’t I? A bright side to what has shaken more lives than any athlete should be able.

The bright side here is that Tiger Woods was, and to some, is, a man among men. Someone who meant more than just golf. Maybe by tearing him down, people will learn to stop building guys like him up so high. The word I’m looking for here is skepticism. But a more deeply-rooted skepticism than before.

Those who never found room for sports in their lives will continue to scoff. Let ‘em. Nothing to be done about them. Those who looked to athletes and the games they played as something that could save them … well, they still can, they’re just going to have to be careful now. More aware. Less accepting. So next time, we’ll all pause before selecting our heroes. We’ll pause to decide if we even want to select a hero.

It’s not that the public will slay potential superstars from developing, it’s that we’ll be paying attention to their development. It’ll be a defensive tactic. A way to protect ourselves from more falsehoods. We won’t get fooled again. Greatness on the playing field will always be awarded with accolades. Bet on it.  It’s how we think about these men and women once the exit the playing field that needs to change, because that’s what hurts us.

Had we been told 15 years ago that Tiger Woods was a) going to be the most miraculous golfer of this or, perhaps, any other generation and b) he will demonstroubly cheat on his wife for years with multiple people, how would it have affected the way we look at Tiger Woods today?

Could it be much worse than how things have played out these last three weeks?

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Photos courtesy of Flickr

The Beatles are an astounding rock band. More than astounding, they were revolutionary, daring and revelatory. For the record, I think the Beatles are totally gitchy. That being said, the Beatles are overrated.

No band could withstand the amount of hype and praise the Beatles had without being overrated because no matter what the Beatles ever did or continue to do, they will always be just a rock band. They’ll never ever be more than that. They were the best at what they were, but what they were was a group of people playing music.

They weren’t political leaders, policy-makers or religious figureheads. They’ve been discussed as if they had ended wars, brought about religious peace and cured the sick. They didn’t. They couldn’t have. Not by just singing songs. And let us remember, that is what they did.

Michael Jordan? Arguably, the Beatles of the NBA. In the end, he’s overrated too.

The man will always be considered one of the world’s best and most marketable athletes, and rightly so. But he’s still just an athlete, even if he was one that moved tons of product.

I’m well aware that many will misinterpret what I’m saying to mean that I think neither the Beatles nor Michael Jordan are exceptional. By calling both overrated, it sounds as if I would rate them poorly. I don’t. I rate them at the top of their classes. But those ratings only go to 10 and they’re often listed as 11s, which is impossible … and unfair … and a ripoff of “This is Spinal Tap.”

Cleveland super-duperstar LeBron James sees it differently. Elevens are everywhere. He made waves Thursday night for announcing that he would stop wearing No. 23 after the end of this season and switch to No. 6. Why? Well, because it’s disrespectful (apparently) to wear the number of your favorite player when your favorite player was one of the best of all-time.

So right away, we’ve learned that we ought to start paying homage only to our favorite role-players.

It’s been written that he’s switching numbers to pay respect to Jordan. That’s not exactly true. According to James, he’s not doing this out of respect, he’s doing it to stop the disrespect he feels he’s shown in the last six seasons by daring to wear No. 23 on an NBA court. He’s righting a wrong, you see.

I’m uninterested in the marketing side of this or if Nike has a role. Jerseys will sell. That’s what they do. I’m interested in James’ thought-process here.

“I just think what Michael Jordan has done for the game has to be recognized some way soon,” James said in Thursday’s post game press conference.

He said this. Out loud. In front of people. It’s about time M.J. had someone out there beating the drum for him to get a little recognition. Mike owes ‘Bron a nice fruit basket over the holidays.

“There would be no LeBron James, no Kobe Bryant, no Dwyane Wade if there wasn’t Michael Jordan first,” James continued.

Chuck Cooper

And that’s where history ends. Nevermind that Jordan named No. 6 Julius Erving as one of his two favorite players (just as James had). Nevermind that Jordan’s game mirrored the Doctor’s in more than a few ways. Nevermind that there is just as much likelihood of Jordan existing without Erving as James existing without Jordan. History doesn’t go that far back. At least not for James.

It certainly doesn’t go far back enough to remember that Bill Russell also wore No. 6 and that Bill Russell is one of the few guys that could look Jordan in the eye and claim to be the better player. History doesn’t go far back enough to remember Nat “Sweetwater” Clifton’s No. 19. Clifton was the first African-American to sign a pro contract. Or Chuck Cooper and Earl Lloyd’s No. 11. Cooper was the first African-American to be drafted and Lloyd was the first to actually play.

Nope. History stops at Michael Jordan because that’s where LeBron James’ memory starts. And that’s what this is about: LeBron James and his whims and his ego and what whims his ego can produce. LeBron James has wanted to be like Mike since his first dunk as a 4-month-old (I presume). And because James has loved Jordan that much for that long, it’s only right that the rest of us do too.

I'm sure the average Knicks fan just can't WAIT to honor the guy who did this to their team.

Even in Madison Square Garden, where Knicks fans watched Jordan knock out their team in five playoffs between 1989 and 1996. Or in Portland, where Blazers fans watched him throw dagger after dagger into their hearts in the ’92 Finals. In Pacer country and Piston country where every game they looked to hurt him, mangle him, slow him down at all costs.

Whatever. Hang his number from the highest rafter because the reigning MVP grew up drinking Gatorade.

A league-wide retirement of the No. 23 won’t happen. Not soon, anyway. And I’m glad. Not because I have anything against league-wide retirements or even Michael Jordan (I don’t. I grew up with him too.) But I have a problem with James’ hubris. Jordan’s not Jackie Robinson … unless you consider being the first athlete to brand himself into being a product salesman the same as being the first athlete to break the color barrier and change the way the world views race. In which case, yeah, I guess Jordan is totally like Jackie Robinson.

They might eventually retire No. 23. James might shame the other 12 No. 23s into switching along with him, but it would be a mistake to do so.

At least wait it out a few years. I’m sure James will forget all about why he switched to No. 6. He’s already established that his memory doesn’t go back very far.

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Photos courtesy of Flickr

Ms. Winfrey’s on a kick. Yeah. I’m calling it a kick instead of a development or a movement or a new direction. Having Iron Mike and Real Deal chit-chat 12 years past their primes and for little reason other than promoting the DVD release of Tyson’s documentary, seems nonsensical if considered anything other than a passing fancy of Winfrey’s. I mean, what’s the end game here? Two weeks ago, she traveled with the president and first lady to Copenhagen to cajole the International Olympic Committee into handing Chicago the 2016 Summer Games. Three weeks before that, she scored an exclusive post-peep video interview with ESPN sideline reporter Erin Andrews. Why? What’s Oprah got to do with sports? Have you seen her? The women’s built like Kirby Puckett.

There are only two reasonable explanations for her sudden interest in athletics: a) someone said that she has very little pull with sports fans and it didn’t sit well with Oprah or b) someone dared her to start doing crazy things that she has no business doing, just to see if she could pull it off. Frankly, I think it’s a little of both.

“Oh, I’ll bring the Olympics to Chicago. Don’t think I won’t. I type 15 numbers into that phone right there, I’ll have the president clearing a space for me on Air Force One this afternoon. And when I’m done with that, I’m gonna make someone cry? Who should I make cry? Mike Tyson. I’m gonna make Mike-friggin’-Tyson weep. I’m gonna make him weep and shake hands with Evander Holyfield. I’ll make ‘em hug! What do I care? I’m Oprah! … Now who is this skinny blonde chick I’m interviewing and why do we care about her nudity?”

But that’s why this whim is so bizarre. Outside of a decidedly sports-centered, decidedly male and decidedly horny audience, no one did care about Erin Andrews. Certainly not Oprah’s key demographic of women ages 28 – 55. They didn’t care. How many women in that audience had ever heard of Andrews before walking into the studio? Andrews has said that she wanted to purge the incident from her life by discussing it on the grandest single-serving stage she could find. But for the people interested in her story or those that helped create it, “The Oprah Winfrey Show” was among the most nonsensical venues to appear. Peephole drilling (or video voyeurism) isn’t generally happening to housewives, nor does it seem something housewives need a crusader from whom to gather strength. Besides, peephole guy is more a fan of “The View” if you catch my meaning.

I’ve already written about Winfrey’s hubris-mas involvement with the Olympics (what? Michael Jordan was too busy?), and here it was again during Monday’s taping when Tyson sat in on the show.

Hey Winfrey audience members, how many of you enjoy boxing? No? Not many of you, I see. Okay, well how many of you like Mike Tyson anyway, perhaps for his appearance in “The Hangover” or the famous Nintendo game bearing his name or the spousal abuse scandal with Robin Givens from 20 years ago? No? No fans? How many of you would rather watch a show about mothers and daughters re-forming bonds after perilous estrangements?

Yes. There’re those hands we were looking for.

The Tyson portion of the interview (before Holyfield came on stage) touched upon his abusive relationship with Robin Givens a little, but nothing that his followers didn’t already know and certainly nothing that warrants drudging up 21-year-old demons.

And this is why Oprah must be making good on a few dares. She could have any interview she wants and she chooses non-sequiters that neither speak to her audience nor showcase her particular brand of influence.

Old, female, self-help, love, literature: Oprah.
Male, sports, athletes: Somebody else.

She won the dare with the Andrews interview, lost another with the Chicago Olympic bid and went double-or-nothing with the “Bite Fight” reunion.*

Unfortunately, I think the double-or-nothing was dependent upon both Tyson and Holyfield crying. Tyson got teary-eyed, Holyfield didn’t. If Oprah’s that far in the hole now, expect something crazy from her before the new year.

I’m thinking she’s going to brainwash America into becoming passionate about cricket. Crazy.

_____________________________

* How ironic is it that the very fight in which Holyfield gets chunks of his sound-detecting body part bitten off by the sport’s most enraged personality was a fight originally hyped as “The Sound and the Fury?” A dozen years later and that still kills me.

November 1 marks the 10th anniversary of the death of legendary Bears running back Walter Payton. To honor both the anniversary of his death as well as his life, Payton’s family and the Chicago Bears hoped to pay tribute to the man by

Sounds kind of awesome, right? Wrigley Field has Ernie Banks. The United Center has Michael Jordan. Why shouldn’t Soldier Field have Sweetness?

Well, for starters, Soldier Field and the land on which it was built was intended to be treated only as  a memorial to war veterans. This means, according to a Chicago Tribune article published last week, that the city’s park district would not allow the placement of any non-veteran related statue outside the stadium. This code would be more understandable if the city hadn’t constructed a hideous saucer-shaped upper deck of seats on the stadium back in 2004.

Because of the alien spacecraft set atop this untouchable memorial to war veterans, no argument decrying six feet of shaped bronze placed next to the building makes any sense.

Another reason the park district has balked at greenlighting the statue is the fear that displaying Payton at Soldier Field diminishes “the stature of other Bears Hall of Famers.” Hell, didn’t Walter Payton’s performance on the field diminish the stature of other Bears Hall of Famers? Honestly? The Trib’s article wasn’t clear on who it is that feels this would be a problem, but to whoever it is I say, let the families of other Bears legends purchase a statue of them. Let nothing stand in their way. We’re not talking bout other Bears. We’re talking about THE Bear. The Bears have more Hall of Famers than any other team in history, but how many of them are second all-time in touches, rushing yards and rushing attempts? How many of those Bears are third all-time in yards from scrimmage and all-purpose yards? Can you imagine if the Bulls organization said, “well, we WOULD put up a Jordan statue, but we don’t want to diminish Bob Love and Nate Thurmond.”

Yeah. But … It’s. Michael. Jordan.

I have an idea. Let’s get organized. Let’s rank the Top 5 Best Bears of All-Time. Let’s see if we can whittle down which Monsters of the Midway most deserve to stand in bronze for eternity. Won’t that be fun? Here, I’ll even get you started:

Top 5 Bears of All-Time
5.
4.
3.
2.
1. Walter Payton

There. Feel free to fill in the remaining slots however you like. I don’t really care about the rest of it. As far as the Sweetness statue goes, I think Red Grange would understand.

Representatives from the park district, soon after the Tribune’s story, denied Payton’s family ever contacted them. Ocham’s Razor tells me either someone’s got their facts twisted or we’re looking at a clear-cut case of temporary, panicked public-relating.

Only time will tell what becomes of the statue. The Tribune reported that the park district offered to place it in any other park in the city. Then again, the park district denied having ever talked to anyone about anything, so perhaps that’s not true either.

Why not let the Chicago chapters of various war veterans groups decide? According to the Tribune, the park district is acting as if they would love to place the Payton statue in front of Soldier Field, but the war veterans memorial code simply handcuffs them from doing so. Nothin’ they can do. Sorry.

Let’s ask those who would be most affected. And once we have their attention, let’s see if we can’t convince them to approve a Butkus shrine as well.