Mission statement

Ten free minutes for me, 10 free half-formed thoughts for you . . .


1. I know we're supposed to be focusing on football at this hour, but I can't help getting all jacked and pumped for baseball season when I read that Manny Ramirez has been working out at the legendary Athletes Performance Institute in Arizona for the better part of the winter. You know what? Screw that oh-no-he's-beginning-his-decline stuff. Manny's ticked, he's focused, he's probably a little embarrassed, and he's coming back, big-time. I'm thinking .320-36-133, conservatively.

2. Okay, one more Sox item before we swing over to the Pats: Geffner's gone! GEFFNER'S GONE!!! WHEEEEE-HOOOOOOOO!!! BREAK OUT THE ZIMA, SOX GAMES ARE LISTENABLE AGAIN! (Deep breath. Fist pump! Okay, calm. YESSS! Calm. Deep breath.) Beyond the fact that even Joe Castiglione must be thrilled that his media guide-spewing, ridiculously unqualified sidekick is departing for a job with the Marlins, it's curious that another perceived underling/lackey of Larry Lucchino is out the door, not long after Dr. Charles took his patented schmaltz to Los Angeles. Hmmm. Almost makes you think Theo's running the whole show now, doesn't it?

3. Here's a fun hypothetical for you: What devious scheme do you think Bill Belichick would come up with to stop - or should I say attempt to stop - this Patriots' offense? Obviously, his credentials need no rehash here, but it's still worth noting that he's the mastermind who thwarted both the K-Gun Bills and the Greatest Show on Turf Rams, two of the most prolific offenses of all time. Of course, the rules were different then - his defenses could knock the living snot out of the receivers, which brings us to a great point in this Washington Post article sent along by Official TATB Antagonist Donovan Burba. Namely, that the Patriots have taken advantage of a rule change that Bill Polian and the nefarious competition committee thought would ruin them:

"When the NFL rule-makers cracked down four years ago on clutching-and-grabbing tactics by defensive players to try to open up the passing game, the move widely was viewed as a response to the rugged way in which the New England Patriots had played defense on their way to their first two Super Bowl titles.

"That 2004 directive by the league's competition committee changed the way the game is played, perhaps forever. It has led to a rewriting of the record book. And, oddly enough, it set the stage for the Patriots to become arguably the most dominant team in league history this season as they chase an unbeaten season and their fourth Super Bowl championship with an offense orchestrated by Coach Bill Belichick and quarterback Tom Brady.

"The very rule once thought to be more detrimental to the Patriots than to any other NFL club has become a crucial asset, yet another example of how the franchise has become a dynasty because Belichick and his front office are more adaptable than anyone else in the league."

If that isn't delicious irony, I don't know what is. Somewhere, Polian just punted his hairless cat, slapped his manservant, then fired his glass of scotch against the wall.

4. Just when I was beginning to wonder if Ray Allen was careening headlong into that Over-32 wall that seems to affect virtually every star shooting guard not named Jordan or Miller, he goes out and delivers a vintage 35-point performance against a very impressive Portland Trail Blazers team. So for the moment I'm convinced that Mr. Shuttlesworth is still capable of a major star turn when the moment calls for it, provided Doc Rivers has the common sense to give him the necessary rest the next few months. It would also be swell if Danny Ainge could find a suitable backup point guard so Allen doesn't have to expend energy with additional ballhandling duties. He's a shooter, still. Let that be his focus.

5. Let's put it this way: If Roger Clemens goes before Congress willingly, I'll eat his lawyer's hairpiece. In the biggest moments, he's always shriveled and tried to find the coward's way out. Why should that change now? I fully expect that if he does end up having to testify, he'll pull out his old standby and try to limp out of the proceedings halfway through with the trusty "tweaked" groin excuse. Desperate man, desperate measures. (And if you haven't seen this yet, Esquire absolutely destroys him with this point-by-point list of his all-time scumbag transgressions, appropriately titled, "The Wonderful, Despicable Life of Roger Clemens." You know I loved it.

6. Nice of Jason Garrett to let Wade Phillips stick around on his staff in Dallas, isn't it? Phillips doesn't strike me as the sharpest tool in the shed - I believe the past phrase I used to describe his coaching style was "Pete Carroll with man-boobs," and I'm sticking with it - but even he has to know he's a dead-man walking in Dallas. No one's admitting it, but Jerry Jones simply had to promise Garrett one of two things to get him to turn down head coaching gigs in Baltimore and Atlanta to stay as the Cowboys' offensive coordinator: That he'd be Phillips's eventual successor as head coach - and, shhh, don't tell Wade, but sooner rather than later - or that he'd could take Jessica Simpson to Cabo and give her the Romo treatment for the week. Probably the former, I suppose.

7. The Baltimore Orioles haven't done a whole hell of a lot right in recent seasons, but shipping Miguel Tejada to the Houston Astros the day before the Mitchell Report was made public was inspired. That's just the kind of sneaky I like.

8. Even though the dynamics weren't quite right this season, I'm still going through serious "The Office" withdrawal. Can't imagine there's any chance the season can be salvaged given how long the writers' strike is expected to last.

9. I was as annoyed by Rodney Harrison's unnecessary penalties against the Jaguars as anyone, but as far as I'm concerned he can keep on spearing that floppy-armed motormouth Philip Rivers until he has one of his bloody ribs dangling from his facemask. And that goes double if Rivers isn't actually playing in the game.

10. As for today's Completely Random Football Card:


I mentioned my boyhood adulation of J.J. and the rest of the Air Coryell Chargers before last year's San Diego-New England playoff showdown, and so the rules of superstition and jinxes dictate we mention them again this time around. Hey, at least I'm not tempting fate by comparing the Pats to the '86 Celts before they actually win the damn thing like some people. Sheesh.

Catching up

It's about time somebody wrote something around here, so let's go . . .

I realize it's disappointing that he hasn't hit like he did in Cleveland, but I don't see how anyone can watch Coco Crisp on a daily basis and not develop a deep appreciation for how he plays the game. This was brought up in the comments a column or so ago, and it's so right on that it's worth reiterating here: Crisp is the very embodiment of the things a dirt dog is supposed to be, all hustle and desire and energy, and yet for some curious reason, he gets very little credit for that, especially from those who you suspect once owned a Darren Bragg replica jersey and think Jeff Frye was a hell of a second baseman. Maybe Coco needs to start wearing a dirtier hat or something. (Note: This was written before he drove that hotheaded moron Daniel Cabrera to the brink of homicide tonight. Another checkmark in Coco's favor.)

After all the shots I've taken at Barry Bonds and Jason Giambi over the years, I'd shatter the Hypocrisy Meter if I told you I really don't care that Rodney Harrison took HGH, and that I'm convinced he'd be in the minority among NFL players if he didn't use something to enhance his chances of surviving so many brutal Sundays. So let's leave it at this: I'm stunned that Harrison, who has always struck me as one of the league's brighter players, was so naive as to use his own name and address when ordering the stuff. Because that's the only way they were going to catch him.

Am I wrong to wonder if the Patriots might get off to a slower start than people are expecting? I mean, Harrison and Richard Seymour are out, Asante Samuel is begging for a hamstring pull, Tom Brady hasn't had a lot of time to get on the same page with new receivers Randy Moss and Donte' Stallworth . . . and they have to deal with the Jets and the Chargers right out of the gate. I realize that only a fool would underestimate this team, but right now it might be wise to avoid overestimating them as well.

I'm not saying Tito Francona is flawless as a manager - sometimes he does leave his starters in too long, sometimes he's too loyal to his veterans - but those banshees who call 'EEI for the sole purpose of venting about "Francoma" have forgetten what a lousy manager looks like. Even on his worst night, I still consider him the best manager the Red Sox have had in my lifetime, especially when you consider how well he deals with the peripheral distractions such as the smothering media and a voracious fan base. Let Joe Kerrigan or Kevin Kennedy return to the dugout for a week and those mouthbreathing morons would be begging for Tito back.

All right, Geffner, we'll say it one more time: Put down the media guide and step away from the microphone, and no more eardrums have to get hurt. (Please, somebody tell me that the rumors Dave O'Brien will be full-time next season are true. Please. I'm begging here.)

Other stuff we wrote while were away from this place: Last week's Fox column (chock full o' Yankee-aimed cheap shots), this week's Fox column (featuring a rather unfortunately timed tribute to Rick Ankiel, who apparently more like Rodney Harrison than he is Roy Hobbs), and a piece for GameDay on the Sox' stellar rookie class.

I keep checking Joe Posnanski's blog on the hope that he might have sneaked back and cranked out some wonderful, whimsical piece on The Top 40 Lefthanded Specialists Since 1970 or something, but so far, the lights are still out at what fast became my favorite stop (make that PG-rated stop) on the internet. Hopefully he'll start it up again when he has another book to promote, because just about every time I read his stuff, I was reminded of why I like baseball and why I like writing, and I do miss those daily reminders.

I thought he should have stayed in the big leagues the first time he got called up, but the more I see of Jacoby Ellsbury (who looks like some odd hybrid of Mark Teixeira and Johnny Damon), the more I think he should be starting in right field come Game 1 of the ALDS. I don't think I'm being hyperbolic to say he's done more to help the Red Sox win in his 40-something at-bats this season than Drew has in 400-something. It's gotten to the point with Drew that I don't even get mad anymore when he inevitably does exactly what they don't need him to do in a particular at-bat; he's pathetic, and he's made me apathetic. I'm beyond having any expectations for him. I just want to know why, for the first time in his career, he's not hitting at all. It must be the shoulder, right?

Based on their "contributions" during their time with the Red Sox, I still have a hard time wrapping my head around the concept of Tony Clark and Darren Oliver being major leaguers in 2007, let alone productive ones.

As for today's Completely Random Baseball Card:


He damn well better be wearing his jersey under that jacket.

* * *NOW FOR THE IMPORTANT NEWS OF THE WEEK * * *

I imagine you know what I'm talking about, since 23 of you (yep, I counted) emailed me the past two days to tell me that Jenna Fischer, the Official Muse of TATB (Non-Wife Division) . . .

(meow . . . love the Elvira look)

. . . is separated from her husband. Now as flattering as it is to know that you all consider me to be the World's Preeminent Jenna Fischer Internet Stalker (or, as my friend Melissa put it, "Don't sell yourself short, you're the World's Preeminent Jenna Fischer Internet Stalker Blogger. You're not just some layabout stalker"), well, it's just that I'm thinking that her stunning declaration of free agency probably isn't going to benefit me a whole hell of a lot, given that I'm poor, anonymous, bitter, humorless, gimpy, based in Maine, in no danger of landing a modeling contract, and, last time I checked with my wife, still married. (This would be a good time to quote Lloyd Christmas: "So you're saying I've got a chance?")

Anyway, it's nice that you thought of me - yes, even you, Rob M., who wrote this: "When you posted the 'Through Any Window,' video that Jenna's in, I just assumed that's how you planned on getting into her house." Gotta admit, that's well-played.

In all seriousness, it was surprising to read that news, if only because Jenna and her husband, actor/writer/director James Gunn (a vulgar riot on his MySpace page), always seemed to make a point in saying how important their spouse was to their happiness and success. She often referred to him as her "real-life Jim," and they seemed as sincere and stable as a Hollywood couple could be, though in retrospect maybe it was just another acting role for both of them. I am curious what the real story is. My wife has a very interesting theory that might just have some credence (not to mention a great visual). I tend to think that it's either a case of career jealousy - he was successful and she was unknown when they got married, and now she's off getting her boobs squeezed on the big screen by Will Ferrell - or someone got busted messing around. Either way, James Gunn will no longer be referred to as the luckiest &^%&$# in the world. Maybe the stupidest, depending on what the truth is.

And so as we conclude this TATB Hollywood Minute, check out this hilarious promo for the upcoming season of "The Office." I'd say "30 percent more unpredictable" is working, wouldn't you?

Sure, his head's roughly the size of the Coke bottles, but . . .

No time for a full Nine Innings tonight, seeing that I just got home from Boston and it's freakin' 2:09 a.m. But before I zonk out, I do have a few grievances to air . . .

Don't get me wrong, I still think he's a borderline sociopath who has no qualms about irrevocably damaging the game he claims to love . . . but I have to admit, I enjoyed the Barry Comes To Fenway experience the last few days. Every at-bat definitely felt like an Event, capital E, whether he was clocking a Dice-K pitch toward the Pesky Pole or getting outwitted by Hideki Okajima with the game on the line. It was great theater, and maybe it's easier to say this knowing that the Sox swept the series, but it almost would have been a letdown had he left Boston without homering. I also have to give him credit for his good-natured manner in dealing with the heckling and his apparently sincere appreciation for the city. Oh, of course I still hope his final home run is No. 754, and no one wants the circus to stay in town forever, but the Bonds sideshow was a fun weekend diversion at the least.

My first thought when I heard that Brendan Donnelly was going on the DL. Uh-oh. Quick, someone stop Tito from re-anointing Timlin as his main righty setup guy. So far, so good, though: Francona went to Joel Pineiro (whom I still think is going to help this team) in the big situation today, and Pineiro came through, inducing a crucial double-play grounder. Pineiro's got the stuff, and who knows, maybe he's about to start getting the corresponding results.

I know, I've been pushing Kansas City Star columnist Joe Posnanski's "Soul of Baseball" blog a lot lately . . . but man, the thing's just such a joy to read, I feel obligated to pass it along. Posnanski's passion for the game comes through in every post. His list of the five sweetest swings in baseball history is something I wish I'd thought of, and he writes the way I wish I could.

At first I was pretty sure. Now I'm convinced. Tony Soprano died.

How phenomenal has A-Rod been this season? Put it this way. He has six more home runs than Manny and Papi combined. And yet the Sox are 8.5 games up. Crazy game, ain't it?

I think I've finally figured it out. Glenn Geffner sounds like a Connecticut School of Broadcasting newbie who listened to way too much Bob Costas growing up. Conversely, it is an absolute pleasure to listen to Dave O'Brien call a game, and he and Uncle Joe already have terrific chemistry.

As for today's Completely Random Baseball Card:


You just know that next year's card will picture our new favorite goofball bowling the baseball to first.

Questionable content

Digging through the email box (and the cobwebs in my mind) to answer questions both real and imagined . . .

From reader Steve K.: The Sox just *****-slapped the Yankees again. They're on pace to win something like 110 games. I'm a believer. This team looks stacked, and Manny's not even hitting yet. So when do I get my playoff tickets?

You know, I like to pretend I'm the voice of reason around here, never too high after a big win, never too low after an agonizing loss, yada yada . . . but damn, it's pretty much impossible for even an accomplished cynic not to be sky-high about the 2007 Red Sox's long-term chances right now, isn't it? Just consider the positives in this 15-7 start: Josh Beckett is having an April matched only by Pedro and the Babe in Red Sox annals, and not only does he look like a pitcher who's found his groove, but he's talking like one, admitting he made the mistake of throwing "hard, harder, and hardest" during his first season in Boston . . . The expensive new guys, from Julio Lugo (he's been nothing less than dynamic) to J.D. Drew (their most complete player) to Daisuke Matsuzaka (who flashes an ace's knack for limiting the damage in the innings where his command goes on the fritz), have justified every zero on their paychecks so far . . . Papi is still Papi, god bless him, and the offense will find another gear when Manny finds his form any moment now . . . Jason Varitek and Mike Lowell look rejuvenated, suggesting that reports of their demise (ahem) were greatly exaggerated . . . The middle relief, in particular Hideki Okajima, has been far better than expected, and Joel Pineiro looks improved with each appearance . . . Jonathan Papelbon is doing a spot-on Goose Gossage imitation. All he needs is the fu manchu . . . and Terry Francona continues to be the most underrated manager in the game, especially considering all of the b.s. about bloody socks and the like that he has to put up with here. So, uh, yeah, we're pretty enthusiastic about the summer ahead. Does 120 wins sound unreasonable?

From Greasymustacheandastainedtanktop, Mom's extra bedroom, The Bronx: Yo, please tell me the standings are printed upside down. This ain't really happening, is it? My whole self-image depends on the Yankees' success! If they suck, why, that means I do too! YO!

It's all true, Greasystache, and can you imagine where they'd be without A-Rod's otherworldly start? Oh, right . . . last place. Heh. But I think we all know better than to write the Yankees off in April. Once the weather heats up and Hideki Matsui gets healthy, their lineup will be relentless enough that they'll win a lot of 12-9 games, and Chien-Ming Wang and Mike Mussina should steady that wretched rotation with 30 or so wins between them. And you have to figure they'll add a few bullpen arms and whatever else they need at the trade deadline. However, and I hesitate to say this, but something feels different this time around, doesn't it? Maybe it's that Joe Torre already seems to be managing out of desperation at the expense of his bullpen's health, or maybe it's the fact that Mariano Rivera (zero saves) is 38 years old and suddenly looks very hittable, or maybe it's the fact that bringing up a clearly not-ready-for-prime-time Philip Hughes reeks of desperation . . . but these just don't look like the Yankees we've grown to loathe so much. Yeah, it's only the season's beginning. But from what we've seen so far, it's not out of the question that in the Bronx, it's the beginning of the end.

From reader Dave R.: I know it's pretty much impossible to guess what the Patriots will do in the draft. But you don't you figure they have to take a linebacker at either #24 or #28? It's their only legit weakness.

Knowing Belichick and Pioli, they'll probably take another tight end and a punter, thereby causing Mel Kiper's head to explode. (We're guessing his hair would remain intact, however). Actually, I think they will take a linebacker at 24 - I'm just not sure which one it will be, though if I were throwing together a mock draft, I'd probably go with Jon Beason from Miami, who's said to be fast, versatile, and devoted to football, all traits that would make him a nice fit in Foxboro. I do think it's entirely possible that they'll take two linebackers in the first round, since Michigan's David Harris has reportedly been climbing up their draft board in recent days and there might be other appealing alternatives such as Penn State's Paul Posluszny. All things being equal, though, I hope they add some depth in the defensive backfield with the 28th pick, though I have no idea whom they might favor from the Griffin/Houston/Meriweather group. Oh, and about taking another tight end: I was joking earlier, but if Miami's gifted Greg Olsen is on the board, I bet the Pats will at least give him some consideration, especially if Dave Thomas's injury is more serious than we know. Given the depth of their roster, they may be in Best Player Available mode from the beginning. So I guess what I'm saying is that we have no freakin' clue what will happen, though it's worth noting that Belichick, in a delicious bit of candor, revealed on WEEI this afternoon that there are players projected to go in the first round whom the Patriots have rated as late-round picks or free agents. Seriously, how cool is that? I'd pay good money to get a peek at their draft board. You know it looks like no one's mock draft.

From reader John W.: Chad: A couple posts ago, you said you weren't ready to pass judgment on Glenn Geffner. Ready yet? I am. I hate to sound like an old fart, but he suuuuucks. It's not that he's new or young... and although he's an internal hire, he doesn't come across as too obvious a homer. But he has no sense of pacing. He's constantly talking too fast, frequently tripping over his own tongue. He tries way too hard to fit nuggets of predigested data in between pitches. At its best, baseball on radio has a relaxed, welcoming atmosphere. Sure, you can get excited when there's a key play; but otherwise, you gotta take time to breathe. He almost... emphasize almost... makes me long for the Trupiano era.

Slowly nodding in agreement . . . Actually, I'm still trying to give Geffner the benefit of the doubt, if only because I was so anti-Trupiano that it probably wouldn't be good form to rip his replacement so soon. So I'll leave it at this for now: I think Dave O'Brien is outstanding, and I wish his ESPN commitments didn't keep him from doing all of the Sox games. As for Geffner . . . well, the less said the better, I suppose, and that goes for him and his excessive dependence on the media guide as well as me. Assuming settles down, talks slower and less often, and lets Castiglione lead the way, he should at least be tolerable. Hey, at least he's not Troop.

From SlappyVonPurplelips, Scott Boras's lair: Is Tom Brady the Derek Jeter of football? Because if he is, that means I'll have to hate his guts too, even though he's never made me change positions or hung me out to dry with the fans or borrowed my rouge without returning it or anything.

Well, no, because Tom Terrific's teams have won championship(s) since he became captain, so that's a major difference right there. But I get where this question is coming from: Pretty-boy Brady just signed a $12 million deal to endorse Stetson cologne. Pretty-boy Jeter has his own brand of cologne called, I believe, One-Step Range To The Left. (Whoops, Google informs me it's called Driven. Close enough, I say.) Anyway, here's the difference. Stetson goes for a rugged, masculine image, something out of the wild west. Driven is produced by Avon, which caters to girly-girls, blue-haired grannies, and Yankee infielders. Edge, Stetson, though if they make Brady wear a stupid cowboy hat or cuddle a friggin' goat like GQ did, we'll have no choice but to call it a draw.

From reader Kevin J.: Dreaming that there is some luck of the Irish with the ping-pong balls May 22 and we're vindicated for losing out on Duncan 10 years ago, who do you take? Oden, or Durant?

Oden, without a moment's hesitation. His presence would improve the Celtics' defense so much immediately that even Gerald Green might look like a competent defender with Oden watching his back. Listen, I love Durant and he'd be hell of a consolation prize in the No. 2 slot, but the claims that he's a once-in-a-generation player are more than a little hyperbolic. He'll be a great scorer in the NBA, a perennial All-Star who combines some of the best attributes of Tracy McGrady, Carmelo Anthony, and Dirk Nowitzki. But Oden is a game-changer on defense, an undeniable presence whom you can see eventually anchoring a championship team. He is the franchise player this franchise is desperate for.

From Petey M., Flushing, N.Y.: Where you been, man?

Hibernating. To be honest, I've been overwhelmed with some real-world stuff lately, including having a tree wipe out the power lines in our neighbor's yard, leaving us without power without 3 1/2 days. Let's just say I'm a lot more sympathetic to Nicholson's character in "The Shining" after that experience. The Fox column (latest edition here, if you didn't see it) also has interfered with my blogging productivity more than I thought it would. But now that we have lights and electricity and such, I vow to be a more consistent correspondent over the next few weeks, particularly since the Boston.com affiliation/link should be starting up soon.

From reader Jeff P.: Keep running all the dolled-up pictures of Jenna Fisher [sic] you want, Finn. You'll never convince me she's anything more than plain, especially by Hollywood standards. She does do a good job on the show though ... so what do you think will happen in the final episodes? Will she hook up with Halpert or what?

First of all, People magazine disagrees with you, Steve, and yes, I'm glad to see they received all of my letters of nomination. Second, Stevie Wonder called, and he wants his retinas back. (I know, that's a comeback only Costanza could love. So sue me.) Anyway, here are a few predictions for the season's final three episodes:

• Jan reveals she's pregnant with a Michael Scott spawn: Terrifying twist, huh? A couple of the cast members have mentioned that Jan will have a major life change soon, and I can't help but remember that she kept saying she felt queasy in the episode at the boss's house. I am a little surprised they'd play the baby card so soon, though.

• Karen will be offered a corporate job in New York, and Jim will have decide whether to stay or go: The gorgeous Rashida Jones, who's done the near impossible by making Karen immensely likable as the woman standing between Pam and Jim, landed a lead role in a pilot on Fox, and reportedly will only be on The Office on occasion next year, if it all. Sending her to New York seems to be a convenient way for the writers to ease out her character while causing a compelling cliffhanger at the season's end.

• Pam will tell Jim exactly how she feels: For all of Michael's antics and Dwight's beet-and-Angela-loving weirdness and Jim's prankster geniality, good-hearted Pam is the show's fulcrum, and the underlying theme this season has been her quest to overcome her fear of rejection and summon the strength to take some chances and get what she wants out of life. The show's savvy writers have a talent for taking us in a perfectly believable direction that we didn't see coming, but it's difficult not to assume that everything that has occured this season (the reconciliation and final breakup with Roy, her overhearing Oscar's snarky comments at the art show about her not being honest with herself) is setting up a situation in which she takes the ultimate chance and puts her heart on the line for Jim. In fact, given Jenna Fischer's habit of subtly tipping off her blog readers to upcoming crucial Jim/Pam moments, we can probably pinpoint the episode when it will happen, considering she recently wrote this: "The episode not to be missed is Beach Day [May 10]. Seriously. Don't miss it."

From my own simple mind: Anything else you wanted to add, dummy?

Just this: While I wasn't a Hardy Boys savant and never imagined that Mo Lucas and Billy Ray Bates were my friends (though I did feel a certain kinship with Kevin Kunnert), my experience with David Halberstam's "The Breaks of the Game" was remarkably similar to Hollywood Sports Guy's remembrance today. "Breaks," Halberstam's compelling, meticulous account of the post-Walton Portland Trail Blazers and the addled NBA of the late '70s, was one of the first grown-up books I ever read, and I love it as much today as I did when I was 13 years old. (The Swen Nater/Sidney Wicks airport scene is worth the cover price alone.) When I heard the terribly sad news that Halberstam, a far more accomplished writer and journalist than anyone who attempted to pay tribute to him, was killed in a car accident early this week at age 73, I immediately thought of "Breaks," my affection for that book, and my admiration of the man who wrote it. I'll make the effort to read it again soon, my own silly little flashback/homage. If you haven't read it yourself, please do, particularly if you've enjoyed Halberstam's other renowned sports books like "The Summer of '49" or "October, 1964." There's no book I'd recommend more.

As for today's Completely Random Football Card:


Sparks was a pretty decent corner for the Giants and the Cowboys in the '90s, but mark these words: his 17-year-old daughter is going to be more famous and have a more lucrative and successful career than her pop ever did. While beatboxing Blake Lewis remains my boy on American Idol, I have to admit my wife was right all along: Jordin Sparks is the class of this year's underwhelming crop of contenders, and she deserves to win the thing, something Mrs. TATB was saying when Entertainment Weekly was putting Jordin's odds of winning at something like 100-1. The girl can sing the hell out of just about any song, and unlike some of AI's better vocalists through the years, she has the right look. Her old man - who, frighteningly, is only six months older than me - surely must be prouder of her than of anything he ever accomplished on the football field.