Time to examine the butt-kicking nightmare that was Week 2 in the NFL. Underdogs went 12-3-1 against the spread, and my vaunted 5-teamer barely scraped up to the Mendoza Line, going 1-for-5 with the Lions/Vikings under as my only win. In my defense, I did get the Seahawks-Cardinals over at 42.5 on a later two-teamer that was my only win of the week. The game ended up 23-20. Funny how the wise guys do that.
The other three losses, in brief: Who saw the Browns doing that? I like the Bengals overs the rest of the year. The Bears are probably not going to cover many games unless they get two defensive TDs -- the offense is that bad. And the Eagles just kicked it away with shaky quarterbacking, mostly. Five trips into the red zone, four field goals and a game-ending stymie at the goal line. Not good.
Other observations: I'm not yet worried about my Super Bowl teams, though they're both off to a rough start. The Saints are somewhat mystifying, but they haven't played a home game yet, so let's wait until they drop a deuce on the Superdome carpet before we get too worried. And the Chargers have played two of the top three defenses in the league, so again, let's see what they do against the next tier of opponents.
The Vikings aren't going anywhere with T-Jax at QB this year. I still don't know why Chilly didn't call a time out to get Bollinger a little time to warm up before he was forced into the game in OT. He said in his Monday presser that he guards his time outs "like hen's teeth" and didn't want to waste one, but if the offense had driven about 20 more yards, they would have been in field goal territory. Maybe he gets a bonus at the end of the year for each unused time out.
I'm officially bored with the Patriots and the taping scandal, and I can't wait to see how Randy Moss reacts when (or perhaps if) the Pats face some on-field adversity this year. He's the all-time great front-runner, always putting his best foot forward when everything else is going right, but once the ship hits choppy seas, he's always been the first to bail out.
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Saturday, September 15, 2007
It's all in the numbers
Try this on for size. These are all scores from this season:
Florida 59, Troy 31
Troy 41, Oklahoma State 23
Oklahoma State 42, Florida Atlantic 6
Florida Atlantic 42, Minnesota 39
So, Florida is 28 points better than Troy, which is 18 points better than Oklahoma State, which is 36 points better than Florida Atlantic, which beat the Gophers by 3. I know these scores aren't always a perfect comparison, but this at least helps illustrate the gap between the Gophers and the elite teams around the country.
By the way, Miami of Ohio lost 47-10 at home vs. Cincinnati today. I guess losing to the Gophers last week really demoralized them.
Florida 59, Troy 31
Troy 41, Oklahoma State 23
Oklahoma State 42, Florida Atlantic 6
Florida Atlantic 42, Minnesota 39
So, Florida is 28 points better than Troy, which is 18 points better than Oklahoma State, which is 36 points better than Florida Atlantic, which beat the Gophers by 3. I know these scores aren't always a perfect comparison, but this at least helps illustrate the gap between the Gophers and the elite teams around the country.By the way, Miami of Ohio lost 47-10 at home vs. Cincinnati today. I guess losing to the Gophers last week really demoralized them.
Friday, September 14, 2007
The five-pack, Week 2 style
Here's what we're looking at this week in the NFL:
Bengals -6.5 at Browns
Lions/Vikings under 42.5
Seahawks/Cardinals over 43.5
Bears -12.5 vs. Chiefs
Eagles -6.5 vs. Redskins
Cinci should be the no-brainer lock of the week with the Browns starting Anderson at QB. That team is circling the bowl until they get Quinn under center. The Vikes' unders are going to be solid plays all year, especially on the road where their offense will have a harder time being successful in most places.
Seattle and Arizona usually put points on the board against each other in Arizona -- the last two years they've scored 48 and 52, and both offenses are improved again this year. Bears will be angry, focused, and just plain better than the woeful Chiefs. And the Eagles need this one on Monday night against a Redskins team that struggled to beat terrible Miami at home last week.
Bengals -6.5 at Browns
Lions/Vikings under 42.5
Seahawks/Cardinals over 43.5
Bears -12.5 vs. Chiefs
Eagles -6.5 vs. Redskins
Cinci should be the no-brainer lock of the week with the Browns starting Anderson at QB. That team is circling the bowl until they get Quinn under center. The Vikes' unders are going to be solid plays all year, especially on the road where their offense will have a harder time being successful in most places.
Seattle and Arizona usually put points on the board against each other in Arizona -- the last two years they've scored 48 and 52, and both offenses are improved again this year. Bears will be angry, focused, and just plain better than the woeful Chiefs. And the Eagles need this one on Monday night against a Redskins team that struggled to beat terrible Miami at home last week.
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Moving on from MoveOn
Three years ago, I wanted to help make a difference in the presidential campaign, so I marched on down to the Minneapolis office of MoveOn and volunteered my services. Despite the fact that their very name had become a code word for "foaming at the mouth lefty" and a rallying cry for the right, I thought it might be the right vehicle for my desire to effect change in our country.
The work I did was pretty tame -- no firebombing Republican headquarters, no smear-filled leaflet drops, no picketing the Governor's mansion. I was given a neighborhood to canvas and a list of undecided voters, and I went door-to-door reminding them of the date of the election and offering pro-Kerry literature if they were interested.
On Election Day, we set up a table and banner outside (200 yards from the door) of the local polling place, just to maintain a presence and supposedly check off the names from our list as they came to vote (like I'm supposed to remember somebody I might have met for 45 seconds on their front porch). That lasted about two hours. Apparently, right-wing radio started spreading rumors that MoveOn reps were hassling voters at the polls, and we were ousted from the premises. I tried to point out that we were 200 feet from the door, but the election official I talked to said their interpretation of the law was that we had to be 200 feet from the property line, and since the polling place was in the middle of a big park, we'd have to set up shop three blocks away from the venue.
No matter. I never saw the logic in hovering around the polls anyway. But I was pissed at how easy it was for the right-wing propagandists to get the crowd turned against us. It was clear to me that MoveOn had an image problem, because although we weren't doing anything intrusive or illegal, the general public was so quick to believe anything negative they heard about us, the attacks didn't have to be factual or even logical to stick.
In the post-election navel-gazing phase of the campaign, MoveOn asked for feedback from its members as to how we could do a better job the next time around. I talked with MoveOn employees at the Minneapolis office and sent a lengthy e-mail to the national office with my concerns about MoveOn's image, and even proposed a "We are MoveOn" ad campaign featuring people from all walks of life -- students and senior citizens, business owners and school teachers, doctors and housewives -- because that's who I saw when I stopped by the local office. The public image of MoveOn was that of a group of hippie stoners reeking of patchouli, wearing Birkenstocks and hugging trees. And that's just not what I saw when I visited their offices.
I never did hear back from anybody at MoveOn, and I've watched with a mixture of chagrin and self-congratulatory satisfaction over the past three years as MoveOn's negative image has become cemented in the national consciousness. And now, after their "Petraeus or Betray Us" ad, I've finally cut all ties with MoveOn.
It's not that I disagree with their opinions (most of them, at least). I just can't support an organization that is so politically tone-deaf they don't understand that they're feeding raw meat to the Republicans at every turn. To produce an ad that could easily be spun as an attack on the military was just the last straw for me -- this was actually a long time coming. I haven't given them any money in at least two years, usually delete their e-mails without reading them, and sadly shake my head whenever I hear even centrist political pundits refer to MoveOn the same way they'd refer to the Klan or the John Birch Society.
So today, I unsubscribed from their e-mail list, sent them one last angry missive when they asked why, and have moved on from MoveOn. I'm throwing all my financial support behind organizations like Iraq and Afghanistan Veterans of America and the USO. MoveOn can kiss my red, white and blue ass.
Linkage: Here's a great column by the Las Vegas Sun's own Jon Ralston that summarizes my thoughts much more succinctly and artfully. He's a great writer -- we're lucky to have him here.
The work I did was pretty tame -- no firebombing Republican headquarters, no smear-filled leaflet drops, no picketing the Governor's mansion. I was given a neighborhood to canvas and a list of undecided voters, and I went door-to-door reminding them of the date of the election and offering pro-Kerry literature if they were interested.
On Election Day, we set up a table and banner outside (200 yards from the door) of the local polling place, just to maintain a presence and supposedly check off the names from our list as they came to vote (like I'm supposed to remember somebody I might have met for 45 seconds on their front porch). That lasted about two hours. Apparently, right-wing radio started spreading rumors that MoveOn reps were hassling voters at the polls, and we were ousted from the premises. I tried to point out that we were 200 feet from the door, but the election official I talked to said their interpretation of the law was that we had to be 200 feet from the property line, and since the polling place was in the middle of a big park, we'd have to set up shop three blocks away from the venue.
No matter. I never saw the logic in hovering around the polls anyway. But I was pissed at how easy it was for the right-wing propagandists to get the crowd turned against us. It was clear to me that MoveOn had an image problem, because although we weren't doing anything intrusive or illegal, the general public was so quick to believe anything negative they heard about us, the attacks didn't have to be factual or even logical to stick.
In the post-election navel-gazing phase of the campaign, MoveOn asked for feedback from its members as to how we could do a better job the next time around. I talked with MoveOn employees at the Minneapolis office and sent a lengthy e-mail to the national office with my concerns about MoveOn's image, and even proposed a "We are MoveOn" ad campaign featuring people from all walks of life -- students and senior citizens, business owners and school teachers, doctors and housewives -- because that's who I saw when I stopped by the local office. The public image of MoveOn was that of a group of hippie stoners reeking of patchouli, wearing Birkenstocks and hugging trees. And that's just not what I saw when I visited their offices.
I never did hear back from anybody at MoveOn, and I've watched with a mixture of chagrin and self-congratulatory satisfaction over the past three years as MoveOn's negative image has become cemented in the national consciousness. And now, after their "Petraeus or Betray Us" ad, I've finally cut all ties with MoveOn.
It's not that I disagree with their opinions (most of them, at least). I just can't support an organization that is so politically tone-deaf they don't understand that they're feeding raw meat to the Republicans at every turn. To produce an ad that could easily be spun as an attack on the military was just the last straw for me -- this was actually a long time coming. I haven't given them any money in at least two years, usually delete their e-mails without reading them, and sadly shake my head whenever I hear even centrist political pundits refer to MoveOn the same way they'd refer to the Klan or the John Birch Society.
So today, I unsubscribed from their e-mail list, sent them one last angry missive when they asked why, and have moved on from MoveOn. I'm throwing all my financial support behind organizations like Iraq and Afghanistan Veterans of America and the USO. MoveOn can kiss my red, white and blue ass.
Linkage: Here's a great column by the Las Vegas Sun's own Jon Ralston that summarizes my thoughts much more succinctly and artfully. He's a great writer -- we're lucky to have him here.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Six years later
On this, the sixth anniversary of 9/11, I wanted to revisit my initial reaction to the tragedy.
At the time, I was working as a national sports editor and columnist for Internet Broadcasting Systems. Moments after the second plane hit the World Trade Center, all hands were called on deck and we spent the next week basically fully staffed around the clock to post updates on the carnage. I was pulled off my normal beat -- there wasn't any sports to cover anyway -- and moved to the night shift to monitor the wires and video feeds rolling into the newsroom.
Six days after the terrorist attacks on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon, I finally found the time and the voice to register my reactions to the events. The piece was titled "This Changes Everything" and it remains the one piece of writing I refer back to on days when I wonder if I can write. Yes, I'm proud of this essay in three parts, and since it's pretty much lost to the Internet void with all the changes at my old employer, I'm taking this opportunity to post it here.
Re-reading it with the perspective of six years of history behind us, it amazes me how dead-on some of my observations were, especially for a guy who didn't really follow politics that closely at the time. But it also saddens me that my guarded optimism pretty much bogged down in the quagmire of Iraq. At least said optimism was guarded.
Each piece came with the following intro/disclaimer/psychic infodump:
Part I: Innocence Lost & Found
Part II: The Ugly American
Part III: Moving On -- Baby Steps
At the time, I was working as a national sports editor and columnist for Internet Broadcasting Systems. Moments after the second plane hit the World Trade Center, all hands were called on deck and we spent the next week basically fully staffed around the clock to post updates on the carnage. I was pulled off my normal beat -- there wasn't any sports to cover anyway -- and moved to the night shift to monitor the wires and video feeds rolling into the newsroom.
Six days after the terrorist attacks on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon, I finally found the time and the voice to register my reactions to the events. The piece was titled "This Changes Everything" and it remains the one piece of writing I refer back to on days when I wonder if I can write. Yes, I'm proud of this essay in three parts, and since it's pretty much lost to the Internet void with all the changes at my old employer, I'm taking this opportunity to post it here.
Re-reading it with the perspective of six years of history behind us, it amazes me how dead-on some of my observations were, especially for a guy who didn't really follow politics that closely at the time. But it also saddens me that my guarded optimism pretty much bogged down in the quagmire of Iraq. At least said optimism was guarded.
Each piece came with the following intro/disclaimer/psychic infodump:
Editor's note: As much as we want to return to the lives we led before Sept. 11, 2001, we have to come to grips with this cold, hard fact:So, once again, here are the thoughts that were spinning through my mind six days after 9/11. And once again, make of them what you will.
Our lives will never be the same.
Ever since that bloody, brutal day, my mind has been spinning. I've been too choked with rage to even put this barrage of thoughts, hopes and fears into one coherent, cohesive message. So here they are, loosely organized into three themes. Make of them what you will.
Part I: Innocence Lost & Found
Part II: The Ugly American
Part III: Moving On -- Baby Steps
Part I: Innocence Lost & Found
My daughter is 3½. She goes to preschool at a local Catholic college, an oasis of enlightenment in a serene corner of our capital city.
The school is designated as a "peace site." Fighting is not allowed at her preschool. Angry words and children's spats are quickly, and calmly, resolved by the wonderful teaching staff. Parents are encouraged to refrain from dressing kids in superhero costumes at Halloween, or sending them to school with G.I. Joe lunch boxes -- because even superheroes and soldiers have to use fists and guns to solve their problems.
I always found it somewhat quaint, even a bit unrealistic -- a "peace site" in a world where peace has become an abstract concept, a buzzword. Now I realize that we need peace sites more than ever.
Since Tuesday, my wife and I have discussed peace with our daughter. We've tried to explain, in the most general of terms, why we were praying for people in New York and Washington, why we were praying for peace, and why bad guys sometimes hurt good people.
Thursday night, while I was back at work for another long night of reporting on the horror that was gripping the world, my wife tucked in our daughter, said those prayers again, and kissed her good-night.
But a few minutes later, she padded across her bedroom, quietly stole into our home office, and saw something surprising on the computer over her mother's shoulder.
"Mommy, what happened to that building?"
Horrified, my wife realized that she had to put the situation into more concrete terms for her curious little mind, so she explained a bit more about what those bad guys had done, that we were safe, but many people had been hurt.
Later that night, exhausted but too tired to sleep, we lay in bed talking about the tragedy and wondering how a little girl would deal with this disaster that we couldn't even get our own worldly minds around. I fully expected to be on Nightmare Patrol at some point before morning.
Instead, I was greeted at sunrise with evidence of the resiliency of children. My beautiful daughter padded back across her bedroom floor and hopped into our bed. She gently tugged on my nose, which is our little wakeup game each morning. And she said the most important words I've heard in a week.
"Daddy, I saw the building that got hit by the plane last night. And you know what? The bad guy who did that forgot to be peaceful."
I still can't decide whether I'm more horrified by what has happened, or afraid of what's yet to come.
I went to the grocery store Saturday. A disabled vet was stationed outside the front door, handing out flowers as a reminder of those who served to keep our nation free.
As I was digging out my buck for his tin can, I heard the vet talking with another 50-something guy. One of them said, "I wonder if these kids have it in them to fight."
And I thought to myself, "You're damn right they do."
I'm 33 years old. My generation hasn't had to live in wartime. We were babies during Vietnam, and as far as we knew the Gulf War was a four-day CNN miniseries.
We were the first generation raised in a society that not only permitted, but actually encouraged us to question our government. Our parents are as likely to be draft dodgers or protesters as combat veterans. How do you think that affected our collective psyche?
We like our movies, our sports, our computers, our conveniences. Call us soft if you will -- it's the byproduct of world peace. Now that peace has been threatened, and it's our turn to answer the call.
I can understand their skepticism -- I really can. But The Greatest Generation had WWII as their proving ground. Here's ours.
All day Tuesday, as the TV kept showing replays of those planes bearing down on the Twin Towers, the carnage at the Pentagon, the smoldering pit in the Pennsylvania countryside, I couldn't get one thought out of my mind.
This is like a bad Tom Clancy novel. But there's no Jack Ryan to step in and save the day.
I have family in Northern Ireland. They have to live with this every day of their lives. Not the deaths of 5,000 countrymen and a direct attack on their government, but the unsettling notion that at any moment, their lives could be forever changed just by walking out the door, starting the car, or walking down the wrong street at the wrong time.
I've visited my relatives twice, and each time I've marveled at how they speak of violence and terrorism as a matter of fact, like the weather. It's part of their everyday lives, and yet they carry on.
I don't want to live like that. But I'm afraid I might not have a choice.
The school is designated as a "peace site." Fighting is not allowed at her preschool. Angry words and children's spats are quickly, and calmly, resolved by the wonderful teaching staff. Parents are encouraged to refrain from dressing kids in superhero costumes at Halloween, or sending them to school with G.I. Joe lunch boxes -- because even superheroes and soldiers have to use fists and guns to solve their problems.
I always found it somewhat quaint, even a bit unrealistic -- a "peace site" in a world where peace has become an abstract concept, a buzzword. Now I realize that we need peace sites more than ever.
Since Tuesday, my wife and I have discussed peace with our daughter. We've tried to explain, in the most general of terms, why we were praying for people in New York and Washington, why we were praying for peace, and why bad guys sometimes hurt good people.
Thursday night, while I was back at work for another long night of reporting on the horror that was gripping the world, my wife tucked in our daughter, said those prayers again, and kissed her good-night.
But a few minutes later, she padded across her bedroom, quietly stole into our home office, and saw something surprising on the computer over her mother's shoulder.
"Mommy, what happened to that building?"
Horrified, my wife realized that she had to put the situation into more concrete terms for her curious little mind, so she explained a bit more about what those bad guys had done, that we were safe, but many people had been hurt.
Later that night, exhausted but too tired to sleep, we lay in bed talking about the tragedy and wondering how a little girl would deal with this disaster that we couldn't even get our own worldly minds around. I fully expected to be on Nightmare Patrol at some point before morning.
Instead, I was greeted at sunrise with evidence of the resiliency of children. My beautiful daughter padded back across her bedroom floor and hopped into our bed. She gently tugged on my nose, which is our little wakeup game each morning. And she said the most important words I've heard in a week.
"Daddy, I saw the building that got hit by the plane last night. And you know what? The bad guy who did that forgot to be peaceful."
*****
I still can't decide whether I'm more horrified by what has happened, or afraid of what's yet to come.
*****
I went to the grocery store Saturday. A disabled vet was stationed outside the front door, handing out flowers as a reminder of those who served to keep our nation free.
As I was digging out my buck for his tin can, I heard the vet talking with another 50-something guy. One of them said, "I wonder if these kids have it in them to fight."
And I thought to myself, "You're damn right they do."
I'm 33 years old. My generation hasn't had to live in wartime. We were babies during Vietnam, and as far as we knew the Gulf War was a four-day CNN miniseries.
We were the first generation raised in a society that not only permitted, but actually encouraged us to question our government. Our parents are as likely to be draft dodgers or protesters as combat veterans. How do you think that affected our collective psyche?
We like our movies, our sports, our computers, our conveniences. Call us soft if you will -- it's the byproduct of world peace. Now that peace has been threatened, and it's our turn to answer the call.
I can understand their skepticism -- I really can. But The Greatest Generation had WWII as their proving ground. Here's ours.
*****
All day Tuesday, as the TV kept showing replays of those planes bearing down on the Twin Towers, the carnage at the Pentagon, the smoldering pit in the Pennsylvania countryside, I couldn't get one thought out of my mind.
This is like a bad Tom Clancy novel. But there's no Jack Ryan to step in and save the day.
*****
I have family in Northern Ireland. They have to live with this every day of their lives. Not the deaths of 5,000 countrymen and a direct attack on their government, but the unsettling notion that at any moment, their lives could be forever changed just by walking out the door, starting the car, or walking down the wrong street at the wrong time.
I've visited my relatives twice, and each time I've marveled at how they speak of violence and terrorism as a matter of fact, like the weather. It's part of their everyday lives, and yet they carry on.
I don't want to live like that. But I'm afraid I might not have a choice.
Part II: The Ugly American
Some of you out there still wonder why they would commit such a heinous act, why they hate us so much.
Not to ignore the complex political and religious issues, but in its condensed form, they hate us because we are the haves, they are the have-nots, and we have no problem waving it in their faces.
Of course, our success is the fruit of our labor, or our ancestors' labor. We've earned the right to be proud of our country's accomplishments. But we haven't earned the right to be so arrogant about it.
The term "Ugly American" was not coined by Osama bin Laden or Saddam Hussein or the Ayatollah Khomeni. Even our allies, our international best buddies, call us Ugly Americans when we complain in an English pub that we can't get a Miller Lite, when we expect the rest of the world to speak our language, when we overrun a country to protect our oil interests, when another McDonald's pops up in Moscow, a KFC in Belfast, a Pizza Hut in Paris.
Our vanity, our materialism, our expectation that the world will adapt to our culture -- they all make us jokes in some international circles, bullies in others, and targets in still others.
Now, before you get all riled up and start sending me that Gordon Sinclair essay on Americans (written nearly 30 years ago, by the way), I'm fully aware of how we've helped other countries and asked for nothing in return, how we bailed out the world in two big wars, how we are the best and the brightest the planet has to offer.
I believe all that. I am damn proud to be an American. I love it, and I'm not gonna leave it.
But somebody is trying awful hard to send us a message. It's too simple to just write this tragedy off as the isolated act of one psychopath with a fanatical following.
Of course, this particular psychopath picked the wrong country to tangle with. Deep down, I'm confident that he'll live to regret taking on the United States of America. And then he'll die regretting it.
But when this whole nightmare is over, when the forces of evil have been soundly defeated and a new day has dawned, that international perception of the Ugly American will still be there. And we'll be left to ask ourselves if we want to do anything about it.
On Wednesday I read a great column on ESPN.com by baseball writer Jayson Stark about players' reactions to the tragedy. Stark said he got an e-mail from Dodgers pitcher Terry Mulholland asking him to use his influence to "urge the many healthy, able-bodied athletes in our country to immediately and unselfishly donate blood to their local blood banks."
That's great. Athletes should chip in at the blood bank, just like the rest of us. But pro athletes also have an inordinate amount of one resource that the rest of us don't -- money. I'm sure Joe Fan would love to dig into his wallet and give 'til it hurts, but after you take out the price of tickets, parking, concessions and souvenirs that accumulate throughout a given season, that's a pretty big dent in Joe Fan's wallet.
Of course, that money goes to pay $252 million to a shortstop, $80 million to a wide receiver, or $2.3 million to a left-handed relief pitcher.
You often (always) hear the latest superstar signing a big-bucks contract say, "It's not about the money." Well, I want to see pro athletes finally put their money where their mouths are.
A-Rod -- write a check for $2 million to the Red Cross. Randy Moss, surely you've got a spare million around to help out the relief effort. Mulholland, how 'bout you drop off a check for a hundred grand with that pint of blood?
And don't stage any of these so-called "benefit games" and think that clears your conscience, because you know where that money comes from -- that's right, from Joe Fan's dented wallet.
Not to ignore the complex political and religious issues, but in its condensed form, they hate us because we are the haves, they are the have-nots, and we have no problem waving it in their faces.
Of course, our success is the fruit of our labor, or our ancestors' labor. We've earned the right to be proud of our country's accomplishments. But we haven't earned the right to be so arrogant about it.
The term "Ugly American" was not coined by Osama bin Laden or Saddam Hussein or the Ayatollah Khomeni. Even our allies, our international best buddies, call us Ugly Americans when we complain in an English pub that we can't get a Miller Lite, when we expect the rest of the world to speak our language, when we overrun a country to protect our oil interests, when another McDonald's pops up in Moscow, a KFC in Belfast, a Pizza Hut in Paris.
Our vanity, our materialism, our expectation that the world will adapt to our culture -- they all make us jokes in some international circles, bullies in others, and targets in still others.
Now, before you get all riled up and start sending me that Gordon Sinclair essay on Americans (written nearly 30 years ago, by the way), I'm fully aware of how we've helped other countries and asked for nothing in return, how we bailed out the world in two big wars, how we are the best and the brightest the planet has to offer.
I believe all that. I am damn proud to be an American. I love it, and I'm not gonna leave it.
But somebody is trying awful hard to send us a message. It's too simple to just write this tragedy off as the isolated act of one psychopath with a fanatical following.
Of course, this particular psychopath picked the wrong country to tangle with. Deep down, I'm confident that he'll live to regret taking on the United States of America. And then he'll die regretting it.
But when this whole nightmare is over, when the forces of evil have been soundly defeated and a new day has dawned, that international perception of the Ugly American will still be there. And we'll be left to ask ourselves if we want to do anything about it.
*****
On Wednesday I read a great column on ESPN.com by baseball writer Jayson Stark about players' reactions to the tragedy. Stark said he got an e-mail from Dodgers pitcher Terry Mulholland asking him to use his influence to "urge the many healthy, able-bodied athletes in our country to immediately and unselfishly donate blood to their local blood banks."
That's great. Athletes should chip in at the blood bank, just like the rest of us. But pro athletes also have an inordinate amount of one resource that the rest of us don't -- money. I'm sure Joe Fan would love to dig into his wallet and give 'til it hurts, but after you take out the price of tickets, parking, concessions and souvenirs that accumulate throughout a given season, that's a pretty big dent in Joe Fan's wallet.
Of course, that money goes to pay $252 million to a shortstop, $80 million to a wide receiver, or $2.3 million to a left-handed relief pitcher.
You often (always) hear the latest superstar signing a big-bucks contract say, "It's not about the money." Well, I want to see pro athletes finally put their money where their mouths are.
A-Rod -- write a check for $2 million to the Red Cross. Randy Moss, surely you've got a spare million around to help out the relief effort. Mulholland, how 'bout you drop off a check for a hundred grand with that pint of blood?
And don't stage any of these so-called "benefit games" and think that clears your conscience, because you know where that money comes from -- that's right, from Joe Fan's dented wallet.
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