And now, the rematch

 OK. So not really.

But the Pacers closed out the Bucks last night, blowing them out two nights after the Bucks blew them out.. And the Knicks, after epically choking in Game 5, finished off the 76ers. So now it's on to Pacers-vs.-Knicks in the second round -- or, as it was known almost 30 years ago, Hicks-vs.-Knicks.

Indiana against the Big Apple. Broadway against County Road 303. Half-a-million a month for a walk-in closet with a Murphy bed against ... well, a hell of a lot less for a hell of a lot more living space.

It won't be as glorious a culture clash as it was back in the day, but a guy can dream can't he? 

Dream of that afternoon in the Garden when Reggie scored, I don't know, eight points in two seconds or something, then made the choke sign at Spike Lee over there in the Knicks' Nicholson seats. Dream of John Starks skulking around making threes and dunking over guys and maybe letting the air out of Reggie's tires when he wasn't looking.

Dream of all those muscleheads bumping and banging and throwing nuclear elbows under the basket, because those were the days when NBA low-block play was more like pro wrestling than basketball.

This won't be that. 

Tyrese Halliburton won't be making the choke sign at Spike after sticking another J or dishing a dime to Pascal Siakam. The Knicks' OG Anunoby, who played his college ball in Bloomington, won't be posterizing Obi Toppin and then saying something mean about Mother Bear's or Nick's English Hut. There just won't be the same old enmity.

Although all it would take to revive it is Jalen Brunson making a joke about cornfields. Or, I don't know, Myles Turner coming back with "Does Walt Frazier still play for you guys?"

Please, gentlemen. Please do it, just for old time's sake.

Derby time ...

 ... in which the Blob once more professes his undying love for the Kentucky Derby, a sporting event he's never attended and understands even less, except for that song by Dan Fogelberg ("Run for the Roses") and that story by Hunter S. Thompson ("The Kentucky Derby Is Decadent And Depraved"). Also the Twin Spires and mint juleps and old guys who dress like Harlan Sanders, and ladies who wear hats constructed by either Frank Lloyd Wright or Home Depot.

"But what about the horses, Mr. Blob?" you're saying now. "Surely your depth of insight into horses and such can guide us toward a productive betting experience?"

Hmm. Well, here's a name you might want to remember: Secretariat.

"But Secretariat's dead!" you're saying.

Well, yes.

But mentioning Secretariat, the greatest thoroughbred in history, allows me to mention Mage, who was not Secretariat but a 15-1 shot who somehow horsed around (Get it? Horsed around?) and won the Derby last year. And it allows me to mention Rich Strike, who was REALLY not Secretariat, but an 80-1 meat loaf who started on the very outside in 2022 and, you guessed it, also won the Derby that year.

In other words, the last two Derby winners have been mutts. Which might make you pause a moment before you plunk down your hard-earned two bucks on this year's Derby favorites, Fierceness and Sierra Leone.

You can probably throw Catching Freedom in there, too, and T.O. Password and Forever Young, a pair of Japanese horses whom the people who know about these things have mentioned as possible winners.

Me?

Hey, don't look at me. My only horsey wisdom consists of the following:

1. Never bet on the gray horse. Gray horses are frequently Alpo.

2. Bet the jockey. Whoever Tobey MacGuire is riding would be a fine choice, seeing he did such a great job in "Seabiscuit."

3. Bet the trainer. Look for someone who wears a lot of tweed and goes by names like Peter Rouse Merriott Chard or Ian Michael Grayson Braithwaite. Do not look for That Guy With The White Hair, aka Bob Baffle or Biffle or Baffert or something. It seems Churchill Downs is still miffed at him for cheating a couple years back, and thus he remains banned from the premises.

And last but not least ...

4. Bet the mutts. Because after the last two years, who knows?

Besides, there's a trend going on down in Louisville these days, and it's a damned interesting one. My sportswriting acquaintance and longtime Derby reporter Rick Bozich alerted me to it the other day, when he wrote a piece pointing out that five of the last eight Derby winners never won another race. Either they got hurt and had to be retired, or they never again caught the same lightning in a mint julep they did on the first Saturday in May.

Now, I don't know a fetlock from the Soo locks or a wither from whither-thou-goest, but this sounds like an open invitation to take a flier on Society Man or West Saratoga or Epic Ride, all of whom opened this morning at 50-1. Of those, I say put some bitcoin down on Epic Ride, who's only in the field because another horse scratched and who starts way out there from the 20 hole. 

Which means he might as well be starting from, I don't know, Jeffersonville. Or maybe New Albany.

Here's the thing, though: Epic Ride is exactly where Rich Strike was two years ago (Rich Strike was also a scratch replacement). So I say go for it. Hell, it's not my money.

Just make sure Ian Michael Grayson Braithwaite has something to do with it.

That "Uh-oh" feeling

 The partisans in Milwaukee the other night, they could see the future. Sometimes the road ahead is a constant surprise, full of blind hairpin turns and reverse-camber corners; sometimes it runs straight as a string and you can see where it leads from miles off.

The partisans got the latter the other night, or thought they did. Because what were they chanting, after their Bucks sent their playoff series with Indiana back to Indianapolis with an unacceptably easy 23-point win?

"Bucks in seven ... Bucks in seven ... Bucks in seven ..."

Could be they're right. 

Could be they're wrong, but only if the Pacers get over blowing -- and I mean really blowing -- the perfect setup for a close-out two nights ago.

Leading 3-1 in the first-round series, playing a crippled Bucks team without their two biggest stars, the Pacers simply ... didn't show up. They not only let the Bucks off the hook, they unscrewed it from the wall for them. Darn, that looks uncomfortable. Lemme dig out my Phillips and take it down.

You don't go very far in the playoffs with a deficient killer instinct, and apparently that's what these Pacers have.  revealing stat: In beating the Pacers the other night, the Bucks became the first team in NBA history to win a playoff game without their two top two scorers (in this case, the injured Giannis Antetokounmpo and Damian Lillard, both looking on in streets from the bench). And they won it by 23 points.

Yikes. And also, whoa, what th- and good grief, Pacers.

They pounded the Bucks three times in the first four games, but then they exhaled a game early. Now it's not too much to say Game 6 in Indy tonight is a must-win situation for them, because it pretty much is a must-win situation.

That's because the partisans are right: If the Bucks can take the series back to Milwaukee for Game 7, the Bucks will win. Two extra days of rest would mean Giannis Antetokounmpo and Damian Lillard likely would be back in the lineup, for one thing. And for the second thing, the third thing, and the fourth thing, too.

All together now, Indy folk: Uh-oh.

Wardrobe change

 So remember back in spring training, when Major League Baseball introduced new lightweight uniforms, and everyone got their shorts in a twist because the pants were so lightweight you actually could see their shorts in a twist?

Also, they rode up in the crotch something fierce.

(Nah, that part I made up)

Also, they were kinda cheesy-looking, as if MLB had decided to go with the Chico's Bail Bonds look from "The Bad News Bears."

(That part I didn't make up)

Anyway, like every other debate in the history of baseball -- the designated hitter, dead ball-vs.-live ball, was Ty Cobb a racist asswagon or just misunderstood -- the uni-storm did not dissipate. The players kept crabbing, and finally, just the other day, MLB sighed and said, fine, we'll got back to the old uniforms or something very much like them.

Of course, being baseball, it won't be doing that until next season. I mean, it took 'em 75 or so years to figure out Josh Gibson and  Oscar Charleston and them wouldn't have ruined their lily-white game, and at last let Jackie Robinson into the club. So it's not like bold decision-making is a hallmark of this crowd.

At any rate, justice eventually will be served, and everyone can go back to arguing about the DH again. 

Well. Unless the White Sox bring back those damn shorts, that is.

A Big Apple spring

 A funny thing happened last night on the way to this morning. I fell asleep in 2024 and woke up in, I don't know, 1970 or something.

That's because when I opened up my Sportsball feeds this morning I saw that the New York Rangers swept the Washington Capitols out of the Stanley Cup playoffs last night, and, over in the NBA, the New York Knicks put themselves on the brink of knocking out the Philadelphia 76ers. I didn't see Rod Gilbert's name anywhere, or Walt Frazier's either, but it sure felt like I should have.

That's because back in the day Gilbert was the right wing on the Rangers GAG (Goal-A-Game) line with Vic Hadfield and Jean Ratelle, and Frazier was the stylish floor general for the Willis Reed-Dave DeBusschere-Bill Bradley Knicks. The Knicks won the NBA title in the aforementioned 1970, and the Rangers reached the Stanley Cup Final twice in the 1970s and were a solid contender most of that decade.

Now it's spring again in America, and the Knicks and Rangers are still very much alive. The names have changed -- Gilbert is now, I don't know, Vincent Trocheck or Artemi Panarin, and Frazier is Jalen Brunson, who dropped 47 on the Sixers yesterday -- but the feel is surely the same in the Big Apple.

As in the early '70s, both were consistent winners this season. The Rangers finished with the best record in the NHL (55-23-4), and the Knicks went 50-32, second in the NBA Eastern Conference to the Celtics. Now it's almost May and both are still drawing breath, and every coot in New York is wallowing in nostalgia.

Or so one would assume. 

Sox-in' it to 'em

 When last we left the south side of Chicago, Jerry Reinsdorf's White Sox, an alleged member of the American League, were 3-22 and people were saying mean things about them, like why aren't they down there in the Midwest League with the Beloit Sky Carp and that whole crowd.

Well, guess what, scoffers?

The Pale Hose are a lot less pale than you think!

That's because they've jacked around and won three straight bonafide major league baseball games, and now they're 6-22. So no more talk about the Sky Carp or the Wisconsin Timber Rattlers or even the Cedar Rapids Kernels, whom the Hose could probably beat with one hand tied behind their backs if the knots were loose enough.

Why , shoot, the Hose aren't even the worst team in the majors anymore. That dishonor belongs for the moment to the hideous Miami Marlins, who have lost six games in a row eand are now 6-23, a half-game adrift of the Hose.  That leaves the Marl-slugs14 1/2 games behind front-running Atlanta in the NL East , which means they're on pace to finish an astonishing 72.5 games out of first.

Or to put it another way, almost half-a-season out of first.

"See? Not even we're that bad," gloat the Hose, who as of this morning are a mere 13 games out of first in the AL Central.

"Yeah. For today, maybe," reply the suffering Pale Hose fans, holding up their SELL THE TEAM, JERRY signs.

Ouch. Not that's Sox-in' below the belt.

Fortune, thy name is scandal

 If you ain't cheatin', you ain't tryin'.

-- Someone  in NASCAR, pretty much forever

Oh, those good old boys. They knew what was what, alright.

They knew the secret to Grease Monkey America's heart was some rough drivin' here and a shenanigan or two there, and the hero-vs.-villain morality play that arose from  that. America loves morality plays, especially in its sports. We love to root against some cheatin', connivin' lowlife as much we love rooting for the humble, hardworking heart-o'-gold hero, truth be told. And NASCAR in its dirt-under-the-fingernails days gave us plenty of both.

It's partly why it became such a head-spinning phenomenon in the late '90s, a period of explosive growth it's struggled to match since.

It's also why IndyCar, which NASCAR left choking on its exhaust during that same period, should not be dismayed by the cheating scandal that's been the talk of the sport all weekend at Barber Motorsports Park in Alabama.

"Cheating" may be too harsh a word for what Team Penske pulled last month in St. Petersburg, but then again maybe it isn't. What happened was, the Penske forces either kinda-sorta forgot to disable the push-to-pass feature on their cars at St. Pete (their story), or they kinda-sorta left it enabled on purpose after a prior testing session (some other peoples' story).

In any case, IndyCar stripped Josef Newgarden of his win and Scott McLaughlin of his third-place finish at St. Pete, and the Penske folks accepted the penalty without protest, saying, yeah, the P2P was left on when it shouldn't have been but that it was an honest mistake. In other words, this wasn't old Smokey Yunick  putting a perfect 7/8th scale stock car out there like he did once in NASCAR, or sneaking an extra, hidden fuel tank into a car the way he and more than a few others tried to do on occasion.

"Yeah, that wasn't us!" exclaimed Penske team president Tim Cindric, or words to that effect. "This was just an oversight on our part! An honest mistake!"

"Yeah, surrre," some other people replied, and the debate was on.

Honest mistake, or out-and-out cheatin'? Inadvertent boo-boo, or sneaky underhanded attempt to gain an advantage?

And either way, why is that a bad thing, exactly?

The Blob's contention is it's not, because at least it's got people talking about IndyCar. Nothing is more sleep-inducing than the All-American image IndyCar strives to project, and that especially applies to Team Penske and Newgarden, who's so wholesome  and Boy Scout-y milk-and-cookies seem bawdy by comparison. Now it's possible he's just a damn cheater, and Team Penske -- which has loomed over the sport like a colossus for half a century -- is his enabler?

So, yeah, let 'em face some uncomfortable questions this weekend, thank the heavens for it. IndyCar, after all, was never more interesting than when A.J. Foyt either was or wasn't monkeying with the popoff valves on those old turbocharged engines, or when Bobby Unser either did or didn't speed on pit road to steal the win from Mario Andretti  in the '82 Indianapolis 500, or when Scott Goodyear either did or didn't pass the pace car in the '95 500.

Shoo. Some folks will go to their graves claiming Paul Tracy got robbed of the W in 2002, which either was or wasn't Helio Castroneves' second win.

The biggest name in IndyCar  getting docked for cheating or something like it?

Now there's some good fortune. Whether it looks like it or not.