Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you a link.

While you ponder this list of Hall of Fame third basemen, consider these numbers for Ron Santo: .277 batting average, .362 OBP, .464 slugging, 342 home runs, 1,331 RBI, 1,138 runs scored, 35 stolen bases (hey, nobody’s perfect).

Oh, don’t forget a .954 fielding percentage, either.

That cat must have gotten you worse than you thought, Ron. (image courtesy of reversethecurse.com)

Shame on you, Veterans Committee. You had yet another chance to right one of baseball’s biggest wrongs, and you blew it. Again.

Rulon Gardner is at it again.

We first met Gardner in Sydney in 2000, when he ended Alexander Karelin’s 13-year winning streak and took the Olympic gold medal in Greco-Roman wrestling in one fell swoop. In his farewell match at the 2004 Olympics in Athens, he won the bronze in the same event. This is typically the most we hear from Olympic athletes, save for wannabes like Bruce Jenner who never quite know when to go away.

Bruce Jenner… ’70s athletic icon, ’80s Wheaties pitchman, ’00s plastic-surgery ghoul.

Rulon Gardner isn’t out there looking for fame. He turned down millions from Vince McMahon to wrestle in the WWE after his success in 2000, so we know he’s out for a quick buck.

But I’ll be damned if the man doesn’t have a unique knack for cheating death.

This weekend, Gardner and two friends were flying low in a small aircraft when they part of their plane caught the water. Instantly, the party was thrown into 44-degree water, with few supplies for survival. After swimming for over an hour, they finally made it to shore, and were forced to spend the night without fire or food. Amazingly, none of the three men suffered major injuries, and were merely treated for mild hypothermia-related injuries to their feet.

Why is this man smiling? Because the wilderness has nothing for him! NOTHING!! He’ll outlive us all! (image courtesy of rulongardner.com)

In 2002, Gardner famously lost a toe to frostbite after getting lost while snowmobiling in Wyoming. In 2004, he was hit by a car while driving a motorcycle.

Rulon Gardner’s feet after his mishap in Wyoming. I don’t know for certain which toe he lost, but my guess is it’s the black one. (image courtesy of rulongardner.com)

The moral of this story is, while Rulon Gardner is a swell guy, but never, ever find yourself alone with him… unless you’ve got a survival show on the Discovery Channel.

I’m sure that many of you have already read Bill Simmons’ article on the passing of Celtics great Dennis Johnson. I’m also sure that the more jaded among you have chalked it up to his standard Celtic-loving.

Don’t do that this time. I became aware as an NBA fan during DJ’s run at the top. I hated those Celtic teams… more than most, since the local Knicks were so bad during the same time. My family was full of de facto Laker fans back then, just because they weren’t the Celtics.

DJ had no ego. He didn’t demand the ball despite being among greats like Bird, McHale, Walton and Parrish, but he always knew what to do with it. Except for Bird, he’d kill you more than those other guys.

Three rings, a Finals MVP, nine All-Defensive Teams, a pair of all-NBA teams, and an incredible college career to boot. What does a guy have to do to get into the Hall of Fame?

Read Simmons’ article again, and believe every single word. Really.

Dennis Johnson, 1954-2007. You did basketball better than it did you, DJ. Rest in peace.

Judging by accounts from observers in all walks, the NBA 2007 All-Star Week in Las Vegas was a smashing success.

Considering that the game itself was a 153-132 ho-hum blowout by the West squad, that meant some pretty serious entertainment besides. New York’s David Lee scored 30 (on 14-of-14 shooting) in the Rookie-Sophomore game. Boston’s Gerald Green put on an impressive show of raw athleticism in the Dunk Contest (despite the celebrity judges hosing Orlando’s Dwight Howard), and Miami’s Jason Kapono stared down Gilbert Arenas and Dirk Nowitzki in the 3-point shootout. Dwyane Wade topped Kobe Bryant in the Skills Competition.

Most importantly, Charles Barkley was in the house.

Charles Barkley dunking during a game in the Summer Olympics in Barcelona, many, many moon pies ago. (image courtesy of msn.com)

We’ve all heard about Sir Charles’ legendary race with 67-year-old referee Dick Bavetta, which he would have handily won before showboating to make it interesting. (As a side, Dick Bavetta hasn’t missed a day of work since joining the NBA in 1975, and runs six to eight miles a day, if you believed Ernie Johnson’s intro. This man is as tough as nails. In case anyone tries to tell you he “tripped” going over the finish line, you tell them that the old man laid out for it, like a champion. Cheesy contest or no, this guy wanted to beat Charles. Badly. Dick Bavetta is awesome. Oh, and the best ref in the NBA, too.)

If this week suffered from anything, it’s that there wasn’t enough Sir Charles.

Charles on the $50,000 check presented to the Las Vegas Boys and Girls Clubs by TNT and the NBA: “That’s two blackjack hands’ worth.”

Charles on the attempted comeback of former Chicago Bulls superstar Scottie Pippen: “You retire ’cause you can’t play anymore. So you don’t get better sitting at home. You might feel better, but you don’t get better.” (Of course, Scottie has his own reasons for trying to ball again.)

Sure, there were lots of banter opportunities with E.J., Kenny Smith, and Reggie Miller during TNT’s broadcasts of the week’s events. We still need more Charles. More hijinks, especially if Dick Bavetta is involved.

The NBA just hasn’t been this much fun for a long, long time.

So apparently rumors are swirling that Michael Irvin may be on the outs at ESPN because he is a “a ticking time bomb, ready to explode into a public-relations nightmare.”

Now Say what you will about Irvin. He may be an unabashed Cowboys homer. He bay be a little… ummm… un-PC when he says things like (paraphrasing) “Tony Romo must have had some black in him.”  He may be somewhat insane. But damnit, he’s OUR insane NFL studio analyst. What do they want, Shannon “Mumbles” Sharpe?  Bill “Custom Made Support Chair” Parcells?

Bill Parcells testing out his new custom chair that will ferry him around the ESPN campus (jeuxvideorama.com)

And really - can anyone pull off a pimp suit like ol’ #88?

Do you think Bill Parcells could pull off this suit? I don’t think so. (picture via Yahoo Movies)

Of course, the NY Post is never wrong about anything, so I’m sure you can bank on this.

Five weeks into the 2003 NFL season, right-wing radio blowhard Rush Limbaugh was fired from his post as a football analyst on ESPN for his claim that the media portrayed Eagles quarterback Donovan McNabb in a more positive light than he deserved, largely because he is black.

Since three and a half years is obviously too short of a time to carry a grudge, Limbaugh estimated that his nemesis, the media, was a little harsh on Bears quarterback Rex Grossman after his lackluster performance in Super Bowl XLI simply because he is white. I figured that this was really because Rush had heard that Charlie Weis Ate My Baby had come to town, and he didn’t want to miss his chance to bring in some hardware as the 2007 Sports Idiot of the Year.

He’s going to have to come stronger than that if he wants the prize.

Former NBA All-Star Tim Hardaway threw his hat into the ring on Tuesday, when fired off an anti-gay blast to Dan LeBatard on his daily radio show in response to former NBA center John Amaechi coming out of the closet. With the loquaciousness of a Klansman, Hardaway asserted that the would not want Amaechi as a teammate because he “wouldn’t even be a part” of what went on in the locker room. Timmy, is that because everyone knows that straight men are proud to stink from not showering?

Proudly unshowered since 1966. (image courtesy of WRBZ-AM)

When LeBatard offered that Hardaway’s comments constituted “bigotry,” Hardaway unleashed this pearl: “You know I hate gay people, so I let it be known. I don’t like gay people and I don’t like to be around gay people. I am homophobic. I don’t like it. It shouldn’t be in the world or in the United States. So yeah, I don’t like it.”

“What, I’m out already? B-but… the year just STARTED!” (image courtesy of citypages.com)

Outstanding. I mean, we don’t (and shouldn’t) expect profound nuggets of wisdom from our sports stars, but this could be new depths. This could well make Hardaway the Ty Cobb of the NBA; equal parts great player and crazy backwards extremist.

Of course, once Hardaway was removed from this weekend’s NBA All-Star festivities, he offered up a lame apology to a FOX station in Miami. “Yes, I regret it. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said I hate gay people or anything like that,” he said. “That was my mistake.” Classy.

(Perhaps more frustrating are the individuals that are supporting Hardaway’s decision to “speak his mind.” Folks, this is America. No one shoots you over speaking your mind on relatively inconsequential matters here. Frankly, it’s just not that brave a thing to do in this circumstance. Also, sometimes when you speak your mind, all you do is reveal your Inner Douchebag. Under no circumstances does Tim Hardaway deserve your respect for this. He deserves your pity, at best, for he’s the archaic product of a narrow-minded age gone by.)

So the bar has been raised. Hoo boy, has it ever. And it’s only February.

Brace yourselves.

Boston Celtics guard Delonte West has a special message for you on Valentine’s Day - how to treat your lady right.

So Jim Jones pumping and then from there, wind blowing through the hair, boom, we get straight to the point — we eat afterwards because I don’t want to kiss no onions. I don’t want to kiss you tasting like onions and steak and mushrooms and everything.”

…

OK, now listen to this, so put this in there, OK, so from driving the car, let’s be real. I started off wining and dining and Rico Suave-ing it, then I’m going to have to hold to it and realistically, she’s not going to get that every day. OK, so we’ll be chilling in my SL on a nice hot day, we’re going to let the day play out. But we have on all white, so we have to do something special.”

Yeah, we’re going to my yacht. We’ll pull up at the docks and got a guy waiting for us, open our door up and we walk down a lit-up dock and onto the yacht, where we have dinner set up on the boat and we just cruise out on the water. Sit down and have some dinner, some shrimps and steaks, keep it nice and breezy. Pop some bottles, some Moet Rose. The red Moet, we ain’t popping no Kristal, it tastes like urination. We ain’t popping no Kris, that’s $500 a bottle. It ain’t that serious. It ain’t going to get you drunk. Make sure you put that in there. We ain’t doing a $500 bottle, we’re doing a $99 wine and dine.

…

“One more thing: When we’re on the yacht eating, we’re going to have some Popeyes chicken. That’s for dinner. It’s to let her know, put a mental image on her mind, first and foremost, if you ain’t from the hood, you don’t like Popeyes chicken. Everyone there loves Popeyes chicken and the biscuits — phew. But that’s just getting it on her mind, saying, you know, ‘Yeah, I can wine and dine you, but I’m a little rough around the edges and I’m keeping it real with you. I can be romantic, but this is real, we’re going to eat some chicken tonight. Chicken and biscuits.’”

That’s beautiful, man. Beautiful. Thank you, Delonte, for showing us how to really treat a lady.

Enough with the Pro Bowl already.

I was going back through the last couple days’ worth of articles on the major sports sites, and this image kept popping up:

New Orleans Saints QB Drew Brees was knocked out of the Pro Bowl with a dislocated left elbow in the first quarter. Thankfully, only his golf handicap should suffer. (image courtesy of NFL.com)

Drew Brees walking off the field with a trainer, and the entire city of New Orleans needing an oxygen mask. How devastating would this have been if Brees had landed on his right side? This is the only thing anyone remembers about this game. No one cares about the score. Jamie and I mocked ESPN last weekend for running Pro Bowl stats on its ticker during a college basketball game.

Now, I’m not saying that the NFL doesn’t deserve an All-Star contest. It’s a big thrill for the players to be recognized as the best in the business with a family vacation in Hawaii. The problem is with trying to recreate a collision sport in a setting that is decidedly free of any kind of value. The NHL All-Star Game is a reasonably breezy affair, because the lack of hard checking creates a shootout environment… and hockey fans like seeing a 12-9 netburner once in a while. The NBA All-Star Game can be entertaining for the same reasons… however, while hockey and basketball are contact sports, they are not collision sports. You can’t take the collision out of American football, and have it pretend to be the same thing. What we’re left with is some guys running into one another at three-quarters tilt, slamming one another into the ground in a game that means nothing in the standings, and has no effect on the potential outcome of the regular season (which the MLB All-Star game does, for better or for worse) because the regular season has long since ended. It’s pointless, and at best, is just more wear and tear for the players who have already spent the most time playing this physically and emotionally punishing game.  At worst, All-Pros like Brees are sustaining major injuries for nothing.

Dammit, Pete! Why can’t you listen? That stubbornness is going to get you in a world of trouble, mister! (image courtesy of mlb.com)

The NFL should replace the Pro Bowl with the World’s Largest Flag Football Game. (Well, they’d still call it the Pro Bowl, but you know what I mean.) Send the best of the best out there in their ugly, one-time uniforms and just play four quarters’ worth of flag football. This way, we can see these guys smiling, laughing, goofing off and having fun for a change, instead of in full battle gear, looking to kill someone. The NFL has been trying to sell flag football to us as the playground sport du jour for years now, and the Pro Bowl could be its market. ESPN could turn Michael Irvin and Chris Berman (or whoever) loose on the sidelines, and we might just make ourselves an entertaining little football spectacle. You can’t make the Pro Bowl matter, so just give the fans and players something fun.

Again, enough with these overblown Pro Bowls. I’m not sure what they are, but they’re not football.

“Is that my sausage and peppers? No? You’re fired!” It’s cliche, I know, but I couldn’t resist. Something about that weave makes me want to include as many pictures of Donald Trump as I can, and still be in context. (image courtesy of Jam! Showbiz)

It’s nothing new for a coach to be leaving the San Diego Chargers these days. Offensive coordinator (and former IU cager/football coach flameout) Cam Cameron left to take the head coaching job in Miami, and defensive coordinator Wade “Son of Bum” Phillips made Dallas his third head coaching stop. Top assistants Rob Chudzinski (tight ends) and Greg Manusky (linebackers) left to take coordinator jobs in Cleveland and San Francisco, respectively.

Really, it shouldn’t be any surprise that the head coach was going to be next; of course, the previous defections were a little more voluntary. The only real surprise is the timing. This should’ve happened weeks ago, or a year from now.

Chargers President Dean Spanos canned head coach Marty Schottenheimer Monday, citing the turnover in staff and a broken relationship with general manager A.J. Smith as the main reasons. Schottenheimer and Smith have been the NFL’s Odd Couple for some time now, with the most recent dent in their relationship caused by Schottenheimer turning down the team’s offer for a contract extension.

Marty Schottenheimer is a good coach, and by all accounts, a good man. However, this was the right call. Things simply weren’t going to improve in San Diego in ‘07.

Marty Schottenheimer has 200 career wins… unfortunately, a Super Bowl victory isn’t among them. His 5-13 career playoff record includes zero wins with San Diego in five seasons. (image courtesy of the Riverside (CA) Press-Enterprise)

No team can withstand losing so much of its brain trust and pick up where they left off the season before. The New England Patriots lost offensive coordinator Charlie Weis and defensive coordinator Romeo Crennel after the ‘05 Super Bowl, and haven’t been quite the same since… and the loss of Eric Mangini the following season hurt their offensive play-calling even further. Of course, New England hasn’t slid much, but when you’re used to winning Super Bowls, losing in the AFC Championship Game doesn’t carry the “successful season” label like it would for some teams. Throw in that the Chargers lost the two assistants that would have been the best candidates to replace their coordinators, and don’t have as experienced a player core as the Patriots, and the slide could be worse.
Furthermore, Schottenheimer simply can’t win the Big One. Having seen that tag stuck to Peyton Manning up-close and personal for the last few years, I’m very hesitant to write or say such a thing about anyone in the NFL, but there just may be no shaking it this time. He seems so paranoid about other teams stopping “Martyball” that he stops it himself. The mind-boggling decision to stop running the football against the Patriots (be it with LaDainian Tomlinson or third-year bruiser Michael Turner) despite New England’s complete inability to stop the run may have cost the Chargers a chance at the Super Bowl. “Martyball” was working… what happened?

There was a slim-to-none chance that the Chargers would repeat their 14-2 manhandling of the NFL, and since an overhaul of the coaching staff was on the docket anyway, they may as well go whole-hog and get someone in who’s at least on the same page as the team president and general manager. The only thing I can find fault with in this decision is that they didn’t do it a month ago, but I can at least respect Spanos for finding the restraint to fight off the knee-jerk reaction and make an informed, thought-out decision.

As this is an article primarily concerning the Chargers, here is a gratuitous shot of fullback Lorenzo Neal, mere instants before he hits a would-be tackler so hard his girlfriend dies. You’re welcome, Butch Owens of Sikeston, MO. (image courtesy of bolttalk.com)

In other NFL news, the New York Giants waived three starters today, including offensive tackle Luke Petitgout, and linebackers Carlos Emmons and LaVar Arrington. All three were knocked out of action by injuries last season, and releasing them now supposedly allows the Giants to retain free agent center Shaun O’Hara, as well as be more of a player in the free agent market. The most shocking release of the three is Arrington, who was starting to recapture some of the promise he had shown in his early career, and was only being paid $900,000 base salary. However, considering that the Giants will most likely be cleaning house after the coming season (start packing now, Coach Tom), they might as well get a jump on things, too.

(Two points to the person who tells me who sang the song in the title…)

So it seems the Tampa Bay Devil Rays are now just the Tampa Bay Rays. I decided to come up with a few ideas to help their branding, maybe even some alternate names. The last one is my favorite.

Given the … geriatric community of Florida, the team could leverage THIS new name to promote arthritis awareness. Congratulations to the fan in Section 103 Row F Seat 12! You win a new hip!! (xray and photoshop both (cc) me)

Unlike the team or their ballpark, everybody loves Raymond. A new Ray Romano impersonator every home game. (picture from wma.com, photoshop by me)

Just go all out and become America’s Redneck Team. Put a case of Bud in the dugout, sign John Rocker and let the craziness begin. (picture (cc) adifferentryan photoshop by me)

So long as there’s no ‘devil’….