Christmas Do-Over
It's late on Christmas Day, so, if you're like me, you've been taking inventory of your gifts.
There's a couple of sweaters, some bath towels, tooth paste and dental floss from my stocking, a check from grandma, an electric razor -- likely a hint from the girlfriend that my attempt to replicate Tom Brady's scruffy look for the past year has been a failing proposition -- and a pair of books. I've even got the burned sugar cookies that my mother was too embarrassed to give the neighbors. Not a bad haul this year. Not bad at all.
The sweater's weren't even an ugly mustard color.
But admit it, if Santa was this all-knowing, super-powerful being — how else can he zoom around the globe at un-Godly speeds, afford all those presents and have better wiretaps than the CIA — he could have done better for me, and for the rest of us sports fans. I wasn't naughty, Isiah was. I wasn't fighting, Carmelo was. I wasn't lying, Nick Saban was (is?).
So here's my hope. I hope that Santa will take all the belongings I've been given this year in exchange for something we can all enjoy. Here's my sports' Christmas list.
1. No more T.O. — He's got a world-class mouth, but he can't even make a Pro Bowl. Today he dropped a deep pass from Tony Romo that landed right in his hands. On the plus side, he did hand me a fantasy football championship on the final day (more on that later). Let the constant surveilance oh his mood, nap time, diet and health regimen stop.
2. One more year of Isiah — I admit it. I have not always been a big NBA buff. Growing up in Connecticut, I was a huge college fan but hated the NBA. I enjoyed the wide-open playoffs last year as well as the playing styles of the Suns and Mavericks (and until recently, the Kings). But there is nothing more captivating than watching Isiah's constant attempts to extricate himself from trouble, only to make things worse. It's like one of those charming 70s sitcoms, like Three's Company, where his dunderheaded manuverings only drive him further and further into the much. Sadly for 'Zeke, I doubt this one turns out with him hashing things out with a brunette and a blond in his apartment. Keep him around for one more year, just for comedy sake.
3. I want to see Daisuke Matsuzaka throw a gyroball — If you've seen the internet film of this pitch, it's fantastic. It's like a split-finger fastball that moves the opposite way. I'm pretty sure no major league pitcher can make a ball move like this -- unless, from accounts I've read, pitchers have the scuffing skills of Mike Scott. It's a pitch that's only been rumored to exist, like Big Foot or the Loch Ness Monster. Hey, they found a live giant squid this week. George Steinbrenner would probably take three hours with the squid than three hours watching his hitters flailing at this thing.
4. I want Brady in the Pro Bowl — he has just 300 yards and one touchdown less than Carson Palmer. He doesn't have two of the AFC's most dangerous weapons like Phillip Rivers. And you're telling me that Brady wouldn't have found a way to beat the Texans this week, like Payton Manning couldn't? He's never won an MVP and now he's not even top three in his league? That's weak.
5. I want to know who this Cleo Lemon guy is who just took over for Joey Harrington as quarterback of the Miami Dolphins.
6. I want to finally realizing that all this obsessing over fantasy sports is silly. I made the championship of my Eagle League football today. I played against a co-worker who never touched her team. I don't mean one or two transactions or switching on the bye weeks. She let Yahoo auto-draft for her. She let it pick her starters, never replaced a single player, and was anot her long Terrell Owens touchdown from beating me. Fortunately, all was good in the world and Jeff Garcia -- once the arch-nemsis of Terribly Obnoxious -- managed to outscore him, allowing my hours of draft-day preparation and weekly agonizing was for a reason. Of course, there was no prize in this league.