| | | Couldn't help but sympathize with that Little League coach from Florida. You know, wearing that microphone and all.
|  | | Do we really need to hear everything that a Little League coach says to his players? |
I feel for the guy. I've contacted his people -- yes, Little League coaches have "people" now, and I had to get in line behind Brent ("You are Looking Live") Musburger
-- and invited him to The Cooler. But he's feeling low. He and his good ol' kids from Florida lost that heartcrusher Sunday night to Japan, and he won't be by. Something about a prior commitment at a Waffle House.
I wanted to ask him so many questions. Like, "Dude, did you know you were miked?" And "Dude, if you knew you were miked, why didn't you drop some controversial pearls on the kids, like: 'I'm pretty sure the opposing team's pitcher is wearing chicks' underwear?' Why didn't you try to get off any one-liners, like: 'Hey, we'll go through
these Japanese like a hot knife through sushi?' Why didn't you point out the hot mom in the third row?"
Instead, we got a lot of "Hey, try to get a hit here," and "Come on, now, throw strikes." Is this what John McGraw trotted out to Christy Mathewson? Is this what Sparky Anderson tossed off to Johnny Bench? Is this what it's come to, miking Little League coaches so we can all realize that he's dealing with 12-year-old kids who should not be in an event where their coach is being miked?
I guess it's a tough life being miked. In honor of the Florida coach, I showed up to The Cooler miked today. It wasn't pretty.
Everybody under The Fluorescents could hear me, and things didn't go well when I arrived at my cubicle first thing in the morning and announced to my
cubicle mate, "I need the sports page, bro; I've got to drop the kids off at the pool." I heard the girls in the mailroom giggle over my mike.
Things got worse when Raquel from Receiving swaggered by, and I muttered to my pals, "Hey, baby, you want some fries with that shake?" She threatened a
harassment lawsuit.
And I now realize I should've had the mike off when I was ripping my boss, starting with his Members Only jacket and moving on through to the Dilbert
posters in his office. I guess my boss heard the noises I made with my armpit and hand when he walked by, and the part about him being a guy who couldn't
score a babe "unless he had a working credit card." I suppose I could face the music at my upcoming hearing with management, but I'm just going to go
"big-league athlete" on the company and deny the statements, claim they were taken out of context.
Meantime, I'm junking the mike. I feel for you, Florida Little League coach. It ain't easy living on Big Brother's time.
With that, an unplugged look at the Weekend List of Five:
1. There is a man named Thunder Collins
My buddies have been working a bit for years about names. Mostly, it revolved around my one buddy whose last name is Brown, and the thought that should he have a kid, he should name it Venus, boy or girl. The thinking: If it's a boy, Venus Brown would wind up as starting tailback at Notre Dame, hands down. If it's a girl, she'll be the hottest chick in town by senior year of high school. It's all about names.
|  | | Is there a better name in college football than Thunder Collins? |
Like, remember Vegas Ferguson? Late '70s Notre Dame tailback? Maybe the greatest name ever for a college running back. Only thing better would have
been going Dan Tanna on us and naming the kid Vega$ Ferguson. If I were to channel the great Dan Jenkins -- a man who would never be caught dead under
The Fluorescents -- he couldn't come up with a TCU running back name funnier than Vega$ Ferguson; or, for that matter, Thunder Collins of Nebraska.
A quick check of the names in the circle of my family and friends: Brian, Kevin, Bob, Tim, Robbie, Scott, Jason. Number of Vegases: Zero. Number of
Thunders: Zero.
I feel something is missing in my life.
2. Tiger
|  | | You've got to feel for the slumping Tiger Woods. The dude has only won The Masters and five other tourneys this year. |
This has been my ongoing bit for most of the year, and I might as well dust it off for your reading pleasure. It has to do with Tiger Woods, and the
perception, following the last major, that the kid is fried/cooked/done/whipped/finito.
How, dear golf fan, would you evaluate David Duval's year? The British Open champ's year, by most calls, would be a smashing success. How would you
evaluate Retief Goosen's year? A win in Europe, a U.S. Open championship -- brilliant. David Toms? Fantastic, a Tour win, and his first major.
Tiger Woods? Start hemming and hawing, start a small brush fire with your chin-rub, then take the company line and say it: Slump-o-rama. Terrible
stuff. Has lost it.
Here's what Slump-o-Rama translates to: Champ of the Masters. And The Players Championship. And the Memorial. And Bay Hill. And one in Germany. This is all
before Sunday's epicness at Akron. So go ahead, throw the NEC Invite on there, with the best players in the world competing.
Were I to slump like this on my Friday night forays for babes at the local watering hole, I'd have a dossier of conquests like Wilt Chamberlain in his
prime.
|  | | Take it to the bank: Sammy Sosa will hop over Barry Bonds in the homer race. |
3. Summer of Sammy
And I'm a huge Giants fan, people. Mark my words: Sammy will catch, and pass, Barry. That doesn't make Bonds any less mesmerizing or immortal. It just
means that Sammy will catch, and pass, Barry.
That's all.
4. Return of Pedro
I like him, I love him, I think he's our baseball equivalent of Sinatra, but Pedro Martinez will not be enough for Boston to make it to October. First off, the guy will need a while to get into Full Pedro Mode, as evidenced by Sunday night in Texas.
Second off, even when Pedro Mode arrives, the staff that surrounds him literally hurts my eyes when I look at pitching probables in the paper.
Third off, the Swingers in Oakland are the runaway wild-card winners by Sept. 20, giving Artie Howe plenty o' time to set up his pitching rotation for the
Bombers, who must be shaking in their adidas about now.
5. Arthur Rhodes and his earrings
I'm not sure, but I think I missed the part in "The Jackie Robinson Story" when opposing teams cat-called Jackie into removing his earrings, and Branch Rickey urged him to turn the other cheek. I think I was busy getting a Slurpee during "Pride of the Yankees" when Lou Gehrig's consecutive game
streak was jeopardized by an ear infection from his earrings.
|  | | Arthur Rhodes was fuming when Omar Vizquel demanded the Mariners pitcher remove his earrings. |
But this is the world I live in now.
Omar Vizquel does not like Arthur Rhodes' earrings, and we nearly have a brawl. I don't know who I'm most upset with: Rhodes, for the diamond
earrings; Vizquel, for his bush-league move to try to get in Rhodes' head; or me, for living in this world at this very moment.
Summary judgment: Forget it, Tribe. Any head games will fall woefully short in October. Arthur? Leave 'em in the locker, and go throw sinking heat in the
shadows.
Me? Just remember never to wear a mike again.
Brian Murphy of the San Francisco Chronicle writes the "Monday Morning Water Cooler" every week for Page 2. Send this story to a friend | Most sent stories
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