What a great catch...I think...

I could actually visualize Melky Cabrera's against-the-wall catch today...amazing, I know.

I just listened to the Jays vs Yankees game on MLB.com Audio, the first time i've tuned into a radio call in a while. And what a refreshing change it was. Not only was the call on the Jays' Fan 590 as solid as it gets but the beautiful simplicity of listening to sports on the radio once again was, well, like music to my ears.

Sure, there's nothing like sinking your backside into a well-worn couch, chewing through a bag of pretzels and taking in a game on a giant LCD screen. But to shake things up a bit, I wholeheartedly endorse rediscovering the radio call.

For some people, I'm sure this is no revelation - perhaps you listen to ball games in the car or at the desk at work. But for those who've forgotten all about the old wireless amidst the plasmas, i-pods and pay per views, do yourself a favour. The radio game is still a treat, even when your team loses 3-2 on opening day.

Who's the new guy?

Opening day!

Fresh cut grass, the aroma of hotdogs, the crack of the bat, the roar of the crowd and the fat guy blocking the view from your otherwise perfect $50-3B-line seats. There are a few days on the sporting calendar that make being a sports fan worthwhile and opening day is one of them.

The Nationals vs. Braves game in Washington DC's new ball park had everything - big hits, some runs and a suspenseful 3-2 win for the home team. And who will forget the boos the President received as he walked out for the opening pitch? I mean this was a home game for the big guy. I'd hate to see how opposing fans treat the chief next time he gets the starting assignment.

What you talking
'bout?

UNC is playing stellar ball at the moment and it's no surprise Tyler Hansbrough is scoring most of the headlines.The junior center is a man possessed, leading his squad with both accurate shooting and tenacious rebounding (he had 28 and 13 in the Tar Heels win over Louisville).

But it's a little disappointing to see the other Tar Heels largely ignored. After all, without the superb wing and point guard play of lesser known Heels, Hansbrough wouldn't have room to breathe.

It reminds me of Nicholson's Joker being neglected by the newspapers in favour of Keaton's Batman. The Joker made the story but lacked the Bat's sex appeal I suppose. Basketball stars face similar battles. Take sophomore guard Wayne Ellington for example; his ability to attack defenders in the half court and scoot by "pedestrians" on the break has been spectacular in the NCAA tournament - and not unlike the explosive Leandro Barbosa. Ellington similarly brings an all-around game. Against Louisville he had 13 points and 5 rebounds. Against Washington State, 13 and 8. Go back to UNC's win over Clemson in mid-March, where the 6'4 guard racked up 24 points, 4 rebounds and 4 assists. Got your attention yet?

Then there's point guard Ty Lawson - where's his parade? At only 5'11, Lawson is making his opposite numbers double take on a consistent basis. Against the Cardinals he had 11 points and 9 assists, as well as a back-breaking three pointer with about five minutes left on the clock.

Danny Green too, has come up with some big plays, espcially on the defensive end. Green had 2 steals against Louisville and 3 in the win over WSU. He's also averaged 4.3 rebounds per game in March.

Hey, take nothing away from Hansbrough, the deserved collegiate player of the year, who's notched some hefty numbers himself. But this is not a one man game, despite how many times some commentators and writers promote the one man headline. Hansbrough is not an outstanding talent but he has great leadership skills and relentless drive. He has heart and that's what sets him apart from others. Yet, it's his supporting cast that are making this run to the Final Four possible.

Abbot wasn't funny without Costello and Arnold's catch phrases didn't land without Willis. It's the same deal for Hansbrough.

Scooooooores - with a Capital "S'

Washington Capitals maestro Alex Ovechkin scored his 60th goal of the season last week, the NHL's first 60-tally in 12 years. Unfortuantely the goal wasn't delievered in the type of Hollywood fashion I'd hoped for - you know, like when Rocky beat Apollo on the nine count or when Jimmy hit the big shot at the end of Hoosiers. So I thought why not enjoy his famous no-look score against the Phoenix Coyotes to mark the occasion instead. Grab some popcorn for this one!

Looking like an All-Star, feeling like an All-Star

One of the reasons I started this blog again was Converse Chuck Taylors. The iconic sneakers found their way back into my wardrobe last year and I felt newly inspired. They're just so freaking cool.

Have any other shoes endured like Chucks? They were all the rage in the Fifties, they came back for a stint in the Nineties and now it's on again in the new millenium. How can a pair of canvas basketball boots with no cushioning whatsoever possibly transcend the generations? It's surely the simplicity of the design: the once piece upper; the rubber toe; the diamond print sole; and of course, the star logo.

Barry Who?

Barry Bonds images - chiefly those of his lifesize bobblehead - have been completely removed from the San Francisco Giants' AT&T Park. That's right; if you're looking for signs of Barry you might have more luck on ebay...or not.

If it's billboards celebrating "756" runs you seek, however, forget it. Apparently the Giants are rebranding and refreshing for 2008. Yes folks, it's time to move on.

I feel San Francisco's pain; On the one hand, baseball's all-time home run champ was an integral part of your organisation for many years and deserves continued recognition. On the other, the guy has steroid allegations and perjury charges following him like that mutant odour on Seinfeld. At some point, don't you have to sell the car and wash your hair with tomato sauce?

Bringing back the magic

It's not everyday that you see magic performed in the NBA. Oh sure, they'll tell you the game today is stronger, faster, better but is it really? There are certainly some amazing athletes in the league - Dwight Howard, Kobe Bryant, Carmello Anthony and Lebron James to name a few - but for all their athleticism and showboating, is the basketball inspiring? Is there any genius involved in dunking the crap out of the ball? Or overpowering other players wth brute force alone? Hey, I can appreciate Lebron is an enormous unit. The guy is the only athlete in history who could possibly win at any team sport by himself. Yes, even figure skating.

Seriously though, I'm thankful there are still some NBA pros that can dazzle the way Magic Johnson and Larry Bird once did.

Britney's Show About Nothing

Apparently Britney Spears was the most popular search entry on Yahoo this year. While many sports club GMs and owners scratch their heads, looking for ways to increase ticket sales and clear merchandise, Britney's figured out that Jerry and George were onto something. Nothing! Her's, is a show about nothing. What'd you do today - wake up trashed outside an L.A. nightclub? That's a show, there's a show. My advice to struggling sports teams, the current New York Knicks for example, is to do nothing. Disappear for while...keep 'em guessing...have a divorce...get caught with your pants down. Clearly, it's this sort of nothingness that really leads to something.

Dodge, Duck, Dip, Dive and...Dodge

Canada's Sportsnet News ran a weird story yesterday about NFL players launching the ball into the crowd after scoring a touchdown. The "hard-hitting" analysis implied that the practice of throwing the ball into the stands is something akin to dodgeball. If it's not dancing in the endzone it's something else. Let's be frank here; it's a puffed up leather ball - not a javelin. What's the big deal? By the time it reaches the fans most of the zip is lost in the lower atmosphere anyway. And besides, who wouldn't want to try catch an NFL ball? Sorry, I don't get it. It's okay for a rock hard baseball but not a softer, and easier to catch pigskin. Aren't there more importnat things to worry about, like the poor state of today's NFL's commentary? That's more likely to slap you in the face.

Philadelphia On My Mind

I had no idea Michael Bolton was playing quarterback for the Philadelphia Eagles. Last night I saw Bolton in the post-game press conference saying how excited he was by the Eagles win over the Carolina Panthers, 27-24. Bolton threw 21-39 and 312 yards, for 3 touchdowns. Inspirational stuff...I wonder if he wrote a song about it?

Kobe, We Love it

I must admit, I've never been a big Kobe Bryant fan. Growing up watching Magic Johnson and Big Game James Worthy, it was difficult to swallow when a one-man-band like Kobe took over the Lakers. Even Shaq wanted out. It just seemed to me that Kobe never understood there was more to the game than scoring and showboating. And he never really created his own style, but simply replicated Michael Jordan.

With that said, Kobe's certainly made himself heard of late. Even if you don't appreciate his strictly one-on-one approach to a five-man game, you can't deny his ability make shots. His 16 of 19 from the floor and 12 of 15 from the line against Utah last week was sizzling. Hey, Kobe's 52 points in less than 35 minutes had even me taking notice!

Unfortunately for Laker fans, he followed it up with 11 of 23 shooting against the Clippers next game. But as long as Jack Nicholson and Lindsay Lohan are happy, then I suppose we should be too, right?

It's getting pretty ugly Rex

Everybody's calling for Rex Grossman's head. The fans are booing, the experts are calling him names - and throwing sticks and stones for good measure - and fantasy owners are pulling their hair out. This guy's going to end up more despised than my all-time favourite Windy City playcaller, Jim McMahon. (I can't believe I considered a fantasy trade for Sexy Rexy a few weeks back!) Despite all this, the Chicago Bears are 10-2 and have clinched the NFC North division. So surely the Bears' embattled QB is doing something right? Well, no, according to fans who in an online poll run by the Chicago Tribune today voted for Rex to get the boot. 64% said Grossman should not start at QB anymore.

It's hard to argue. Grossman's numbers were horrible on Sunday (6 of 19 for 34 yards, and 3 interceptions). It doesn't get much worse statistically but perhaps more alarming is his icey demeanour. Grossman has always stuck me as a "grossly" over-confident individual who rates his skills much higher than anyone with his ability should. And he never seems willing to conceed that he makes poor decisions. He reminds me of the guy who shows up to your pick-up basketball game with the latest Jordan sneakers and Vince Carter jersey, talking-up his talent, but finishes the day 2-19 and with seven turnovers. And yet, maintains he'll be back to torch you next week. These "players" somehow find their way into the mix, fooling everyone for a while with their bravado until their lack of skill catches up. We all know the type. In Grossman's case it's even harder to take because he's not totally void of talent - he just forces everything he does.

If I were coach Lovie Smith, I'd yank the No.8 for Brian Griese and just run the ball with Thomas Jones and Cedric Benson. No more bravado - the super bowl title is on the line here.

Shooting at the wrong goal

Trying to get your head around hockey as a foreigner isn’t easy—believe me. I’m an Aussie in Toronto, and hockey to my eyes, is from another universe. Our land is dry and cracked you see, good for the bounce of a cricket ball but completely inadequate for the glide of a puck. And the only skating we’re going to do is on slippery city streets after a summer downpour.

So understand that I arrived here this year rather ill-equipped to master the rules of your wonderful national pastime. After all, the only real references I have to the game are from movies such as Wayne’s World and Happy Gilmore.

Rest assured this won’t deter me from becoming a fan. When in Rome, right? The only problem is that after several months of tuning into Hockey Night in Canada, reading the sports pages, and discussing scores with locals, I feel no closer to conquering the sport. Hockey’s spirit alludes me like Sydney Crosby at full kilt.

It probably doesn’t help that I’m a neutral fan—a guy in a new Roots sweater just cheering for a good contest. “In the face!” Logic says I should be onboard with Leafs Nation given my home address, but I landed in T.O. in March and only know the club’s desperate finale of last season and limp start this season. I don’t feel I’ve earned my membership. I like the Leafs because they have a rich history and passionate fans, but it’s also because of these reasons that I question whether I belong amongst the ranks. To be honest, it’s a daunting commitment.

Diehard hockey fans hopefully appreciate my dilemma. I really need all the facts before making a decision of this magnitude. I mean they stamped my passport when I passed customs but they didn’t assign me a team did they? So I’m doing the legwork myself. I’m checking the numbers, reading player profiles and familiarizing myself with club histories. By the end of my quest, the likes of Paul Maurice will need to look over his shoulder. Of course I didn’t undergo this process with every sports team I support—that’d be just too much effort. But as hockey’s a new game to me, I think it deserves greater attention.

It’s not like when you’re a kid is it? Affiliations to sports clubs just happen, almost the same way you start noticing the opposite sex. It’s a natural progression and you can’t trace the exact moment it occurs. It was sometime during my first grade year, whilst dragging a blue and yellow Parramatta Eels rugby bag to school, that I learned of my initial sports bond. It’s a tie that hasn’t broken in 25 years and I’m sure many Leafs fans can relate. But when you’re a foreigner, sports loyalties are acquired not inherited.

So I continue to weigh up my place in hockey fandom. It’s not easy because I’m used to a much different fan environment. I’m from a country where most of the major sports teams are from only two of the major cities, Sydney and Melbourne. The only reason you wouldn’t support a team from these places is because you live as far away as Brisbane or Perth. Traditional rivalries back home are more about which side of the train tracks you’re from as opposed to which coast. My Eels team is based in the west of Sydney, for example, and their archrivals, the Manly Sea-Eagles, are from the north. This means that some of my best mates follow the team I despise most. Yet, somehow that’s acceptable. Somehow they can wear that cringe-inducing maroon jersey into my home and not be thrown out. I really need to address this.

I realize that big city rivalry is the norm in North America and that entire towns galvanize behind a single squad. It’s pretty simple; the disinterested dare not argue and the disloyal dare not speak. It’s a serious business supporting the home team. I’ve learned this more than ever during my time in Toronto. People here definitely bleed blue. I once visited a sports store on Yonge Street, for instance, and noticed a great selection of hockey jerseys. The only thing was that they were mostly variations of the Leaf uniform. Heaven help the businessman from Calgary, looking for a Flames jersey for his son. Then again, good luck to any Flames fan on the streets of Toronto.

I also once heard a mob of Sens fans in Union Station, happily singing for their side before a fixture at the ACC. They were promptly silenced, however, by the booming voice of a wisecracking Leafs supporter. Hey, they took a shot, I can respect that.

The other night though, I saw something I hadn’t previously seen in Hogtown. A big crowd at a downtown pub was raucously supporting—deep breath—the Vancouver Canucks. This seemed totally out of character. Had I stumbled into a Canuck bar I wondered? Impossible. Then it dawned on me; in a match-up like Vancouver versus St. Louis, it’s Canadian hockey that rules. Of course!

Satisfied by my discovery, I decided to explore Canadian hockey further and learn more about all six teams. The last thing I want to be is one of those Tom Cruise-like tourists who steps into town and is suddenly a lifetime Leafs fan. He did the same thing in Sydney you know? Yuh. During the Nicole years, the Cruiser was known to regularly attend South Sydney Rabbitohs footy games. Coincidently, the storied “Bunnies” are the favourite team of every star in town.

I’m choosing the educated approach over the bandwagon. I just feel better about it. Then, no matter which jersey I’m wearing, I can debate Don Cherry from my living room with all the conviction of a local. And that’s what hockey’s all about right?

Top 10 Best Sports Movies

Every sports site under the sun does Top 10 lists, so i'm jumping on the bandwagon. It's time for The Sports Slice's “Top 10 Best Sports Movies”.

10. Chariots of Fire – I can't overlook the great story, iconic music and the fact that it's about running. Who ever dreamed that long distance running could be entertaining onscreen? Genius.

9. Invincible - It's a new one but I believe a worthy one. The true story is almost unbelievable; a 30-year old bartender plays for the Philadelphia Eagles—you couldn't come up with a better premise if you locked Steven Spielberg, John Madden and a team of Disney writers in an NFL locker room.

8. Eight Men Out - One of the best baseball films around, complete with an all-star cast and a brilliant period backdrop. The White Sox cheating wasn’t good for the sport, but then again, it was fantastic for Hollywood.

7. All The Right Moves - This was Cruise before he was jumping on sofas and doing cheesy finger points. It's the typical small town story with a feel good finale, but is big on energy and low on hype—the opposite of today’s Cruise flicks.

6. Major League – “You may run like Mays but you hit like sh*t!” And with that, I give you the funniest baseball film of all time.

5. Caddyshack - Chevy, Bill and Rodney...need I say more? This is sports comedy at its finest. Nanananana...nannnananaa.

4. Rocky - The original and still one of the best. It's perhaps the only film in Sly's back-catalogue where mumbles and grunts were Oscar material.

3. When We Were Kings - A first-class documentary about the amazing Ali. It's spine-tingling stuff to see the great man dance like a butterfly and sting like a bee, in all walks of life.

2. Field of Dreams - Strange and moving, baseball and fantasy in one. Costner gives a nice performance and the film's simplicity does both the game and the story justice.

1. Hoosiers - I can't go past the scene in which Dennis Hopper's character coaches a game after Gene Hackman is ejected. It's one of those water works moments that even the hardest basketball afficianados can't withstand. Yes, even Knicks fans. Hackman shines as the big city coach in smallville Indiana and Hopper is superb in support. This is the ultimate underdog movie--even better than Revenge of the Nerds. Hard to believe, I know.

Runners-up: Days of Thunder, Happy Gilmore, The Natural, Kingpin, Hoop Dreams, White Men Can't Jump.

Dancing Machine

It occurred to me this week that Dancing With the Stars works on so many levels. You have beautiful women dancing in fancy dresses and handsome dudes in sharp suits—sewing up your female audience, ohhhh from about ages 11 to 83. Then you have your aforementioned beautiful women, mostly in skimpy dresses, sometimes less. That'll bring in the fellas. And lastly you have annoying judges who appeal to the TV geeks eager for yet more reality television drama.

But in a wider sense, this simple dance contest is a sports spectacle, filled with scintillating moves, amazing camera angles, outspoken personalities and importantly, a final score. And just in case you still weren't hooked to the premise, the producers threw in a genuine sports superstar in Emmitt Smith.

Hell, last week they even had a couple of Dallas Cowboy cheerleaders there for the twinkle-toeing big guy! What more could you ask for? Only hot dogs for the audience and some irritating play-by-play from Chris Berman would complete the picture.

The secret to NY success

If you're a Red Sox or Blue Jays fan, fuggettaboutit!

The NY Yankees clinched the American League East division title last week. So what's new, the New Yorkers have now won the division nine years straight. But while most experts believe the Yanks win because of their amazing talent and "genius" manager, I'm here to tell you it's the uniforms, haircuts and names that inspire their success.

Uniforms.
When i think of the intimidating and menacing Bronx Bombers, I picture the gray uniforms. That's G-R-A-Y. Yes the pinstripes are more famous, but you must realise the power of the grays. They're understated and underrated. It's inevitably the uniform movie makers use when re-creating the "scary" Yankees as well. Remember when Ricky Vaughn had to take 'em on in Major League? "C'mon Ricky, give 'em the heeeeeater!"

I digress.

Haircuts.
Then there's the Steinbrenner enforced haircuts. Jeter's is army sharp. So is A-Rod's--with a touch more styling--and even Johnny Damon looks tougher as a Yankee. Throw in Jason Giambi's five o'clock shadow and Randy Johnson's mo and you've got the makings of a regular Mean Streets posse.

And so to the names...

Names.
Robinson Cano: sounds like Robinson Caruso but not. Exotic, mysterious, an unknown quantity. Spells bad news for the opposition.

Hideki Matsui: Face it, Japanese names always sound cool.

Johnny Damon: He could be the quarterback-jock in any teen movie. Or maybe the lead singer of a punk band. It's only rock 'n roll but I like it.

Derek Jeter: Rhymes with "heater" and "beater", and contains the word "jet" so basically he's fast, and if you're not on his team you're screwed.

Melky Cabrera: Didn't I have one of those at Starbucks this morning? Whatever, it's a smooth name man.

Yep, may as well give them the World Series trophy too.

Ultimate fantasy

I attended my first ever Fantasy Football draft the other night. Thankfully there was enough beer flowing to bury my mistakes!

There were only a few rounds, of beers that is, but I felt it enough to relax the troops through eighteen rounds of tense player picking. Turned out the guys were pretty lenient on me, considering I didn’t have much of a clue beyond the seventh round, or my third pint. Any dud picks I might have made, were lost amongst the sipping of frosty brew and hot-but-oddly-mild buffalo wings. Bless that sports bar.

With the second pick overall, monster Kansas City running back Larry Johnson, fell into my lap. Well not literally—that'd really leave a mark. But seriuously, it was nothing short of a Fantasy day miracle. No doubt this rubbed a few of my new pals the wrong way, but hey, the whole thing’s a lottery, so I figure a little beginner’s luck was on the cards. Johnson is an animal and was favored by every single Fantasy magazine I saw in newstands. If he wasn’t prominently on the cover, he was the second head poking around—like Han and Chewy in most Star Wars posters.

I was keen on last year’s league MVP, Seattle’s Shaun Alexander, myself. He just seemed more solid. Apparently so was the manager of the “Second Strings”, the team with the first pick on our draft board. So I happily took Johnson for McMahon’s Headbands (named in honor of the NFL’s biggest ever goon and my last post), the consensus Fantasy No.1 across all glossy $10 mags.

I’m just hoping the NFL’s “LJ” is not as big a let down as the NBA’s once greatly hyped version. The Charlotte Hornets’ Larry Johnson was a hoops superstar for about three years, so by that precedent, pro football’s equivalent should be alright for at least another season.

The thing about these drafts is, I wonder who actually knows what they’re talking about. I mean I’m sure there were a couple of seasoned veterans at my event, you know the kind; cellophane green visor, cheap cigar in the corner of the mouth, faded and unwashed Giants jersey hiding a beer gut. But mostly, I felt I was hitting my weight. Yeah, I struggled once the middle rounds shipped in, with "Who the heck is T.J. Houshmandzadeh and doesn't he sell souvlaki down the road", and similar comments peppering my conversation at that point. But with my trusty Fantasy guidebook tucked under my arm and the beer goggles on, my selections felt as sharp as anyone’s.

Perhaps that was just the buffalo wings talking.

Either way, it was a good night had by all, and something I highly recommend. In fact, I’m going to propose to a few friends that we adopt the “draft day” format for several of our weekly conversations; best bands, favorite celebrity women, top directors or actors, greatest burgers. The possibilities are endless, and the chance to invest money in mindless “Fantasy” pools seems far more enticing than dumping it into slot machines or on the ponies.

But before I get too excited, ask me how LJ’s going in a few weeks.

Mr Popular

If you’ve ever enjoyed a good teen flick, particularly one from the Eighties, you’ll know the quarterback-jock character all too well. He’s the guy with the perfect mane of hair, the Cruise-esque smile and the blonde-cheerleader girlfriend. Yes, life is delightful for the high school QB; he can wear painfully tight stone-washed jeans and still claim the respect of his friends. They were more innocent times my friends.

It’s not until the QB hits the pro ranks, however, that he comes into his own. He’s no longer dating the head cheerleader but rather, a supermodel; he’s paid in millions of dollars instead of free cafeteria hamburgers; and most importantly, he competes in a world that offers immortal status. (This is even higher than being the coolest kid in school!)

To help you with this picture, there are a couple of NFL characters that suitably fit the movie-QB persona. Jim McMahon of the 1985 Chicago Bears immediately comes to mind. McMahon, a wise-cracking, showboating goofball, who had a penchant for headbands and big sunglasses, was an incredibly skilled quarterback. Possessing a good arm and an uncanny knack for reading game, McMahon mostly took things into his own hands—much to the disgust of Head Bear, Mike Ditka. At Super Bowl XX, in fact, when asked by reporters about a buttock injury, McMahon dropped his pants and mooned them. Now that’s nifty play-calling!

While McMahon's the guy who has his popular-but-bullying-ways come back to bite him at the end of the movie, Brett Favre is the perfect-gentleman-popular-QB. Since his his turn in Something About Mary, I can’t help but think of Brett “Fav-re” as the ultimate popular high school jock. He’s got the build, the rugged looks, the stylish name—something just tells me he was prom king. I wouldn’t be surprised if made an appearance as an Alpha Beta jock in one of the Nerds movies actually. Anyway, Favre’s NFL heroics, which thankfully don’t including mooning, position him as one of the coolest QBs ever.

When you think popular quarterbacks throughout NFL history, you’re most often looking at Joe “Cool” Montana of the 49ers, Dan "Laces Out" Marino, John "Super 7" Elway of the Broncos, or maybe the Bills Jim “Machine-Gun” Kelly. You might even cast you’re mind back to New York’s Broadway Joe Namath, or the crew-cut Colts captain, Johnny Unitas. There aren’t many as loved as these guys anymore.

In the last few weeks though, two great QB names have come to the forefront of the pro football world; Warren Moon and Damon Allen. Moon, you may recall, was a star play-caller with the old Houston Oilers. Versatile, smart and with a great arm, he was always fun to watch.

But before Moon entered the NFL, he played for the Edmonton Eskimos in the Canadian competition, the CFL. Many pundits say Moon went undrafted in the NFL because he was black. This was probably true, though I still contest that I was never drafted because I’m only 5’8. Still waiting on the results of that one. Anyway, you can’t keep a good Moon—I mean man down. Moon went on to lead the Eskimos to an unprecedented five consecutive Grey Cup championships and threw for 21,288 yards and 144 touchdown passes. Trust me, that’s more than you and your brother are throwing down at the park, lifetime.

Moon, surprise-surprise, was suddenly coveted by the NFL. He moved to Houston and the rest is history. Amongst his many achievements in the American game, Moon joined “Laces Out” and Dan “the Wolfman” Fouts as the only quarterbacks to post back-to-back 4,000-yard seasons. Hey, tough.

The reason I’m going “full Moon” on this post, is because the dynamic Oiler No.1 was recently inducted into the NFL Hall of Fame. In doing so, he became the only player ever to be inducted into both the CFL and NFL Halls of Fame.

Moon’s CFL and NFL yards thrown combined, are a staggering 70, 613 yards. That’s like driving through your neighborhood Burger King, like, 14,000 times. Think about it. I mention this feat because on Saturday night, at Toronto’s Skydome, I saw the Argonauts’ Damon Allen literally leap for the Moon. In accumulating 70,112, as of Saturday, Allen became only the second pro QB ever to pass for 70,000 yards.

The beer-chugging and cheerleader-hugging must be fun for a while, but surely becoming a legend leaves the rest a blur.

Montreal's Expos-ition

I picked up an official Expos t-shirt in Montreal over the weekend, and it’s a gem; red sleeve ends, the retro “elb” logo and an emblem marking the 1982 All-Star Game. And I thought my mate Jose’s Nintendo T-shirt was old-school. Throw on some Bon Jovi jeans and pair of Dunlop Volleys with this baby and watch the ladies swoon.

While the shirt instantly earned a spot in my weekly rotation, it joins the wardrobe with some sorrow in tow.

I never saw the Expos play, you see, or even watched a game on TV, but what I do know of them from highlight reels and baseball books is enough to feel some regret. I regret that I never caught even a glimpse of Canada’s first major league team at Olympic Stadium—maybe even bought up a few extra tickets to help them stay in town.

But would that have helped?

The Expos were apparently doomed for a long time, so my money probably wouldn’t have made a dent, I recently learned. As a new baseball fan, my trip to Montreal had me asking, “What happened to the Expos?”

How did a team with such a cool retro uniform and such a wonderfully random nickname loose its place on the sporting landscape?

Here you had a pioneering club—the first of its kind in Canada. If you’ve ever seen the photo of legendary Canadian PM, Lester B. Pearson, throwing out the Expos’ first pitch you’d say it was all smiles for French Canadian baseball.

Maybe that was just a façade but I like to think the Expos were hard done by. At least then my romantic ideal of the battling club from a non-traditional town and a retro era can live on. For me, the Montreal experience is not unlike that of the North Sydney Bears. The Bears were as retro-chic as it gets in the Aussie rugby league world; furry red jerseys, complete with awkwardly rectangular black stripes, and a squad that barely seemed capable of mustering a few wins per season. They had a rich history of losing, as did the Montrealers, and fan base that was small—cultish. Like the Expos, they had a few good years, a couple of decent players and an hard-not-to-love outdated logo. But thanks to money—or more specifically, a lack there of it—found themselves being run out of town.

As if perennial losing wasn’t a big enough kick in the teeth, the Bears were forced to merge with their biggest rivals, the Manly Sea Eagles in 1999. Five years later, the Expos were similarly shuffled off to Washington DC. The Expos' boot to the choppers? How about that when on the verge of a breakout season in 1994, one in which they appeared destined for incredible heights, they were cruelly cut down by a players strike and never recovered.

Almost tragically, the Expos were denied the possibility of winning 105 games that season. At 74 wins and 40 losses up until August 12th, Montreal amazingly had the best record in the Majors. The powerhouse New York Yankees were next at 70-44. Does it get any crueler than that? They were better than the Yankees!

To rub salt into the wound, the owners at the time hadn’t the cash flow to retain the team’s best players, so there was no push for the World Series the following season as you’d expect. The winning squad, the morale of the fans and the future prospects for the club were all flattened like a French crepe.

If that wasn’t enough, baseball’s commissioner, Bud Selig, decided sometime in 2001 that he’d like to kill off two teams; the Minnesota Twins being one—and you guessed it—Montreal, the other. How these types of drastic moves are placed in the hands of single-minded individuals I’ll never know. I liken this decision to Channel Nine’s screening of Seinfeld at 10.30pm in the early Nineties.

Anyway, it was simply another sports club at the mercy of money merchants. Sure, a sports organization has to make moola in order to survive and be a viable part of its larger network, but nothing was done to save the Expos. Nothing. They were essentially pillaged by other clubs and psychologically dismantled by men in suits. In 2002, they played 22 of their home games in Puerto Rico for crying out loud! Which braniac proposed that idea?

Following the mid-Nineties, it was like the whole thing was on a contingency plan. Instead of being properly invested in, built a new stadium, or more than adequately marketed, the Expos’ history and fans were nonchalantly dismissed. The team finally packed its bags for the US capital in 2005, where contract disputes for a new stadium and attendance numbers have hindered success.

It’s interesting how things turn out. The Washington Nationals have one of the worst records in baseball, and a superstar in Alfonso Soriano who doesn’t seem interested in even playing there. And most importantly, their logo is nowhere near as stylish as the Expos’.

At least Montreal will always have cool t-shirts to remember their team by.

Hoopless in Seattle

The floral emblem of Oklahoma, mistletoe, appropriately signals the Sonics’ kiss-off from Seattle. In a deal that has caused both puckering and pursing—depending in which state you hang your Sonics hat—the team’s selling maybe shouldn’t have surprised. But it’s definitely breaking hearts. At least mine.

Oklahoma Investment group, The Professional Basketball Club LLC, are the proud new owners of my basketball club and once again, it seems, I’m forced to pack up on my team and hit the highway in search of a new allegiance.

You see, I’ve experienced this kind of eviction before. It was after the Los Angeles Lakers abandoned The Forum for The Staples Center; Laker basketball died for me that day. With a new mega-sized arena, a less team-orientated playing style and superstars that would never replace Magic and Big Game, I stuffed my duffle full and headed north for the Emerald City—emotionally that is.

The Pacific Northwest—an uncharted land in my sports world—where potential appeared more vital than potency. The Sonics hadn’t won since ’79, but what did I care? This was a fresh start, and with a team I felt better suited to. I’d outgrown the big Laker market, and more poignantly, I believe the Lakers had outgrown me. How could someone from the “Hip to be Square”/ Who’s the Boss generation possibly support a team more akin to a Melrose Place episode? It just didn’t feel right. So I gave the “it’s not you—it’s me” line, and left my heart not far from San Francisco.

I’ve bled green and gold for a few years now, leapt from my seat every time Kevin Calabro’s voice exploded through the radio, cheered whenever Ray Allen lobbed a perfect rainbow over three defenders, and pumped my fists when Rashard Lewis launched for a booming dunk. Yes, despite the many losses, it’s been a good time.

But as Seattle’s favorite sons, Pearl Jam, once cried, “They’re leaving here” or so most NBA experts are assuming. Too bad really—maybe Ray, Lew and Luke could have built something special at Key Arena; something to validate my decision to cheer for the Supes. Not to be, I suppose.

Of course, I’m not the first fan hurt by pro sports’ penchant for comings and goings. How about the old Brooklyn faithful, forced to watch their Dodgers as west coasters? Or Expos supporters, losing their club after 35 years to D.C.? Or worse, Oakland fans who dealt with their football team moonlighting in LA for more than a decade. These traumas aren’t covered in the fan’s manual. There’s no anonymous support group. There’s no prescription drug. As a fan, you just suck it up.

So now the search for my new team begins. Not that I have anything against Oklahoma City, you understand. Just that when you invest your soul into one town, that relationship can’t continue in a healthy manner elsewhere—can it? It’s kind of like the best friend you had as an eight year-old, the one who lived two doors down. You played with him after school, rode your bikes around the street on weekends. You were the first one to receive an invite to his birthday party; the first one to stick up for him against a bully. Then, without warning, his parents up and moved the family intestate. The relationship suddenly ended with a handshake and a hug—the kiss-off, if you will.

The worst part is looking for a new best friend. Will they like your style of play? Will they share your sense of fun? Will they be someone you can trust? Hard to hang onto such relationships these days, just ask the folks in Hartford.

Deep down, I’m sure Howard Schultz didn’t want to let go either. I’m sure he suffered a lengthy deliberation—over a couple of Colombia Nariño Supremos—and decided he was investing more than he was getting back. Sometimes you have to act on instinct, like Gary Payton’s famous behind-the-head alley-oop to the Rain Man. I understand. Just don’t expect me to sleep well.

The Sonics could be a better team in Oklahoma City but most Seattle fans will find it difficult to care. Like me, they’ll feign some interest for a while, maybe catch a few highlights, and even buy a jersey if the team ends up winning. But it won’t be the same. It’s a “long distance”, and everyone knows they never work out.

Nope, for us Sonics fans, it may be time to move on. Portland still has a squad, right? They’re players always seem to make headlines, even if not for amazing basketball feats. There are always the Bay area’s Warriors, farther south. Though I can’t say I like the latest club logo—it looks like a billboard for a tire store.

Maybe a break from basketball is best. Yep, that’s what I’ll tell myself. Plenty of other interests to pursue…fishing…hiking….tennis…

Is Frasier still taking calls?