An A-list fumble

 I don't know what Diego Pavia is majoring in at Vanderbilt University, other than NFL Prep with a minor in Show Me The NIL Money. But I do know Vandy is a high-gloss academic institution -- the Ivy of the South, some folks call it -- so I assume the kid's got a few healthy brain cells rattling around up there.

If so, they were apparently sleeping off a post-finals toot last weekend.

That's when Indiana's Fernando Mendoza won the Heisman Trophy and Pavia did not, which led Pavia -- who is 24 and  goes to Vandy and thus should know better -- to commi an A-list fumble. Like a pissed-off 15-year-old, he fired off a "F*** the voters!" social media post. Then he went out on the town and a photo turned up of him in close proximity to a sign that read "F*** Indiana."

Oopsie. 

A day or so later, when he'd come to what passes for his senses, Pavia posted a heartfelt apology that hit all the right atonement notes. He might have actually written it himself. The Blob, however, is putting his money on Pavia's agent, who must have been pissed off himself at his blockhead of a client.

"The hell is wrong with you, son?" is one thing you can imagine him saying.

Pavia, after all, is a quarterback headed for the NFL Draft in four months, and the execs who study potential draftees with sometimes disturbing intensity don't like it when a potential draftee throws a tantrum because he didn't win the Heisman. This is especially true if the potential draftee is a quarterback, the most important position on the field and one in which teams traditionally invest vast goo-gobs of capital.

You blow it with an offensive lineman, there's always another out there. You blow it with a franchise QB, you cost your team millions and usually wind up looking for a new job on top of it.

Everyone remembers a Peyton Manning, a Dan Marino, a John Elway. But they also remember a Ryan Leaf, a Jamarcus Russell, a Johnny Manziel.

Right now Diego Pavia looks more like the latter than the former. 

Right now he's likely being judged in NFL front offices the way an acquaintance of mine judged him the other day.

"He's a punk," the acquaintance said.

Now, I'm not sure an NFL GM would say that out loud. But you know more than a few are thinking it.

In other words: Welcome to the sixth round, Diego. Or seventh.

A Knick, in time

 You may have missed in all the hoo-ha surrounding the IS4S Salute to Veterans Bowl (just kidding, although congratulations, Jacksonville State), but your New York Knickerbockers actually won something last night. 

OK, so it wasn't an NBA championship, but it was a kinda-sorta championship nonetheless, and that's something at least. The Knicks, see, defeated the San Antonio spurs 124-113 to win the NBA Cup, the Association's in-season tournament.

Not the same or not, it was the first trophy the Knicks had raised since 1973, when Willis Reed, Walt Frazier and that whole crowd were doing their thing. Just for context, Reed is dead and Frazier is 80 years old now.

In other words, it's been awhile.

But in time, there will eventually be a Knick, or so it seems. And last night was the Knicks' time. 

It's a different crew now, of course. Instead of Willis Reed, there is Karl Anthony-Towns, who went for a 16-11 double-double last night. Instead of Frazier, there is Jalen Brunson, who dropped 25 and dished eight assists. And instead of, say, Dave DeBusschere or Bill Bradley, there is OG Anunoby -- remember him, Indiana Hoosiers fans? -- who led seven Knicks in double figures with 28 points and nine boards.

All five of the Knickerbocker starters scored in double figures, and seven Knicks in all did so. Together they put up 105 shots and made 49 of them. Forty of the 105 shots came from the 3-point arc, of which the Knicks made 15.

In other words, they were jacking up the rock. Norman Dale would have benched 'em all for not making four passes before they shot.

No matter. It's a week before Christmas, and the Knicks are champions again. -- not the champions, mind you, but still champions. And that's a very big deal for the NBA, which for all its success would still like a New York team to make a splash once in awhile.

Consider it done.

A few brief thoughts on NFL Week 15

 And now this week's edition of The NFL In So Many Words, the redemptive, not-dead-yet Blob feature of which critics have said, "From the smell, I thought this thing died weeks ago," and also, "How 'bout I redeem your face for a six-pack of Natty Light?":

1. "Old? Old? I'll show you old, ya whippersnappers!" (Philip Rivers, Aaron Rodgers)

2. "And I'm not either weird!" (Also Aaron Rodgers, after his Steelers whupped the formerly resurgent Dolphins)

3. "Dead? Dead? Ha! We're not dead! We were just feelin' sickly for awhile!" (The Bills, after taking down the division-leading Patriots in Foxboro to remain not dead, or maybe even not sickly, for another week)

4. "Hey, look over here! We're not dead, either!" (The Vikings, after beating the Cowboys in Dallas as J.J. McCarthy, who previously sucked, threw for 250 yards and two touchdowns)

5. "Hey! What's this 'previously sucked' crap? I do not either suck!" (J.J. McCarthy)

6. "Neither do I!" (Jalen Hurts, who, a week after throwing four picks in a loss to the Chargers, threw for three touchdowns as the Eagles washed the Raiders 31-0)

7. "Neither do-- oh, wait" (Shedeur Sanders, who, a week after throwing for 364 yards and three scores in the Cleveland Browns' 31-29 loss to the Titans, threw three picks, was sacked five times and put up a subterranean 30.3 passer rating in the Browns' 31-3 loss to the Bears)

8. In other news, the Rams outscored the Lions, Detroit's third loss in its last five games; the  Buccaneers went down to the Falcons -- the Falcons! -- the Bucs' fifth loss in their last six games; and the Commanders -- the Commanders! -- beat the Giants to snap an eight-game losing streak.

9. "Yeah, but it was only us." (The Giants)

10. "We're not dead ye- OK, so maybe we are." (The Lions and Buccaneers)

Chiefs sunset

 It ended perhaps the only way it could have, with the face of the franchise rolling around on the ground, clutching his faithless left knee. With Patrick Mahomes down and, finally, out, just as his Kansas City Chiefs were down and, finally, out.

Call that harmonic convergence, if you like. Or a symbolic ride into the sunset, except Mahomes wasn't riding but limping gingerly down the tunnel toward the locker room, supported on either side by Chiefs personnel.

Just as his Chiefs were, symbolically.

Back out on the field, see, Gardner Minshew stepped in and threw a couple of passes to Travis Kelce, and then threw another to Kelce that had nowhere near enough air under it. Derwin James intercepted it for the Los Angeles Chargers, sealing the Bolts' 16-13 win and making it official.

For the first time since 2014, the Chiefs -- Mahomes and Kelce and Chris Jones and all the rest -- were eliminated from the playoffs.

At 6-8, they've now lost five of their last six games, including two straight at home, and if they're riding into the sunset, that sunset has come quickly -- as it tends to do whenever a great run comes to an end. A team that has played in five of the last six Super Bowls, winning three of them, got old and washed in a hurry. That sometimes is as much perception than reality, but nonetheless.

Travis Kelce, for instance?

He's almost 37, thinking about retirement and looking like it; this season he's dropped balls he used to catch in his sleep. Defensive line anchor Chris Jones? He's only 31, but it's an old 31; he's not the force he once was. And Mahomes?

He's just 30, but it's a battered 30. He's playing behind a spit-and-baling-wire offensive line that's starting two rookies, his left knee was hindering him long before he tore the ACL Sunday, and his wide receivers are mid. He's not the same Mahomes right now, and the Chiefs are not the Chiefs.

Lots of people will celebrate this, having grown weary of the whole Kelce-Tayor Swift thing, or of seeing Kelce or Mahomes in every freaking commercial on the tube these days, or so it seems.

Over-exposure breeds contempt. Too much success breeds contempt. It's why everyone outside New England got sick of Tom Brady and Bill Belichick and the Patriots during their incredible 20-year run, and why some folks undoubtedly got sick of the Bill Walsh/Joe Montana 49ers and the Chuck Noll/Terry Bradshaw Steelers and, hell, maybe even the Lombardi/Starr Packers. 

And so, yes, half of America likely watched Mahomes go down and Minshew throw the pick and thought, "Thank God we won't have to watch the Chiefs in the playoffs again." 

Which is understandable, I suppose, given that it's been 11 years since we weren't watching the Chiefs in the playoffs. Or since the last time we saw them win fewer than 10 games was 2014 -- when they won nine. Or since the only time in the last six years we haven't seen them in the Super Bowl was 2021. 

In fact, you have to go back 13 years to find a time when the Chiefs were truly awful. That was 2012, when they finished 2-14. Romeo Crennel was the head coach then. He's been retired since 2022.

Rode off into the sunset, in other words. Just as the Chiefs, so horrible then and so sublime since, perhaps rode off with their quarterback yesterday.

Excuse me. Limped off.

A Rivers Runs Through It, Part Deux*

 (*Not a play this time)

And now the Blob alert you've all been eagerly awaiting, the Fat Old Guy Update, in which the Indianapolis Colts experiment with a 44-year-old, kinda out-of-shape Philip Rivers as their starting quarterback, at least for one game:

1. The Colts lost, 18-16, but it took a 56-yard field goal with 29 seconds left for the 11-3  Seahawks to beat them in Seattle.

2. Philip Rivers got through the game without pieces of him falling off ... without saying "OK, kids, you've worn Grandpa out" and heading for the couch ... and without filing a Medicare claim.

3. Rivers, in fact, threw a touchdown pass. And was sacked only once. And completed 18-of-27 passes for a modest 120 yards -- a 73.1 passer rating. 

Think about that for a minute.

Philip Rivers, 44 years old and gone from the NFL for five years, stepped into the Colts lineup after just a week to shake off the rust and played as well or better than a lot of guys 15 or 20 years younger who do this every week.

That touchdown pass he threw, for instance, happened against one of the best defenses in the NFL. Same deal with the one sack he took. And this after five years of chucking the ball around in the backyard with his kids.

I don't know about you, but that just elevated Philip Rivers -- who actually became eligible for the Pro Football Hall of Fame this year -- from HOFer to first-ballot HOFer.

I mean, do you understand how ridiculous it is, what Rivers just did? How damn near impossible?

Do you know who had worse passer ratings than he did Sunday?

Patrick Mahomes, for one.

Joe Burrow, for another.

Drake Maye, who went into Sunday as perhaps the frontrunner for league MVP.

Ridiculous. Impossible.

And if you're still laughing at the Colts for bringing him as a stopgap (guilty) ... if you're still turning him into a one-act comedy (guilty, again) ... it's time to apologize.

So, OK. I apologize, Philip Rivers. 

You da man. You are most definitely Da Man.

A WHAT school?

 Two things happened yesterday that, if not a sea change, was at least the latest evidence in Bizarre-oville vs. Normal, an ongoing proceeding that Bizarre-oville seems to be winning.

Which is to say, an Indiana University football player won the Heisman Trophy last night. Or to punctuate it more correctly: An Indiana. University. Football player. Won. The Heisman Trophy.

Meanwhile, in Lexington, Ky. ...

Indiana and Kentucky resumed their longstanding basketball rivalry after a completely stupid nine-year break.

Kentucky, a rather un-Kentucky 7-4 outfit whom Gonzaga recently floor-waxed by 25 points, erased a seven-point halftime deficit to beat Indiana 72-60.

Outscored the basketball Hoosiers 40-21 in the second half. Forced 18 turnovers. Held them to 34 percent shooting (15-of-44) and a hideous17 percent (4-of-24) from the 3-point arc.

All of which revealed once again how it's like to go for Indiana basketball this season.

To wit, when the threes are droppin', the Hoosiers are going to drown people. When they're not, they're going to drown themselves.

It's how, in the space of 72 hours or so, they can go from annihilating Penn State by 41 points (113-72) to losing to Kentucky by 12. It's how they can drop 17 threes on the Nittany Lions, getting 44 points and a school-record 10 triples from Lamar Wilkerson, and then couldn't hit a barn door with a bass fiddle against UK.

Four of 24? You could blindfold a 10-year-old and spin him around ten times and he'd hit more than 4-of-24. Not to belabor the point.

But back to football.

Which, as everyone knows, is 13-0 and ranked No. 1 for the first time in history, and whose quarterback, an irredeemably lovable assassin named Fernando Mendoza tearfully accepted the Heisman last night. 

Given that Indiana has a football tradition that ranges from "We suck" to "We once played in the Copper Bowl," you'll be unsurprised to learn no Indiana player had ever won the Heisman before last night. Not even Harry Gonso or John Isenbarger or that whole crowd.

That, and the No. 1 ranking, makes Indiana what it has never been: A football school. Which sounds weird to say, and even weirder to conceptualize.

After all, this is a football program that has lost 719 games dating back to 1887, when Grover Cleveland was in the White House. It has had 89 losing seasons. Indiana basketball, on the other hand, has won 1,955 games -- and five national titles -- in 125 seasons.

In other words, until it starts raining threes in Assembly Hall again, this will take some getting used to. Football used to be two things at Indiana: One, an excuse to sit out in the parking lot and tailgate until halftime; and, two, something to do on Saturdays until it was time for Bob Knight to roll out the basketballs and resume winning Big Ten championships.

Well. You know the last time Indiana was ranked No. 1 in basketball?

A dozen years ago, in 2013.

And the last time Indiana was ranked No. 1 in football?

Today.

A very bad day, Part Deux

 I know what I'm supposed to say now, with the full extent of Sherrone Moore's unraveling becoming clearer. It's right here in my Officially Approved Outrage Script, the one that's routinely handed out when public figures are deemed to have gotten what was coming to them.

The first line is always this: I don't feel a bit sorry for (public figure name here) ...

Let me begin by saying I don't feel especially sorry for Sherrone Moore. He made his bed with a 24-year-old subordinate and willingly climbed into it -- taking advantage of a power dynamic that should never be taken advantage of, and betraying his wife and three children in the process. It cost him his job, and it should have cost him his job.

However ...

However, this doesn't mean there isn't an element of Greek tragedy to this tale, man being brought down by his own hand. And as with all such tales, a measure of sadness goes with it.

In other words, there should be nothing enjoyable in watching a man's life explode before the whole world, self-inflicted or not. And few lives have exploded more spectacularly -- and in a shorter window -- than Moore's did Wednesday.

After he was fired, we know now, Moore went home, was confronted by his wife (as he should have been), and responded by threatening to kill himself -- a last desperate shot, perhaps, at preserving the control he'd so abused and that was now gone. Then, armed with a knife, he reportedly went to his mistress's house, broke in, and threatened to kill both himself and her.

Another last desperate shot.

Eventually, with his wife's help, police tracked him down at a local church, and he was placed under arrest. He's been in jail since, under protective custody.

Perhaps you can turn a cold eye on all of that. I cannot. It just makes me sad.

This is not to say I lay any blame on the shoulders of the 24-year-old subordinate, as more than one internet chowderhead has. She's a kid not long out of college who landed a job at the University of Michigan, did the job well enough to get promoted, and wound up sleeping with her boss.

He had one of the two or three highest profile jobs at a major American university. She, um, did not. It takes no great insight to guess who was driving the bus in that situation.

In any event, her life will never be the same, either. And that you can and should feel sorry about.

As for the rest, there is only that sadness. And amazement at how often, how easily, and how stupidly human beings bring about their own fall.