Cautionary tale

 Diego Pavia's phone never buzzed this week, or whatever it is phones do these days. Not on Thursday. Not on Friday. Not even on Saturday, when the last name called in the 2026 NFL Draft was a linebacker from Buffalo named Red Murdock.

That made Murdock this year's Mr. Irrelevant, a title more coveted than it probably should be.

And Vanderbilt's Pavia?

Well, what do you call a Heisman Trophy runnerup who doesn't get drafted at all, and in the hours after the draft ended didn't even get an invite -- not from a single one out of 32 NFL teams -- as an undrafted free agent?

I don't know. Mr. Cautionary Tale, maybe?

Because, listen, it's not just that Pavia is a quarterback who tops out at 5-10 and 198 pounds. It's that Pavia is a quarterback who tops out at 5-10 and 198 pounds, and has a definite Johnny Manziel vibe to him.

Remember him? Johnny Football? The guy who beat Alabama, won the Heisman Trophy as a freshman, and loved to make that money-money-money gesture with his fingers every time he pulled a rabbit out of a hat at Texas A&M?

Manziel got drafted by the Cleveland Browns, where flashy QBs regularly go to become insurance salesmen. The Browns ruin quarterbacks the way most of us eat ice cream. Except in Manziel's case, he kinda did that to himself.

First of all, he wasn't as good as his hype.

Second of all, his hype was, if not entirely manufactured by Manziel himself, at least aided and abetted by him. Self-absorption practically rolled off him in waves, which is why he regularly wound up embroiled in off-the-field ... situations. Hey, he was Johnny Football, dammit. Why couldn't he (fill in off-the-field situation here)?

It only took the Browns two seasons to grow weary of all that. That's the same amount of time it took everyone else in the NFL to grow weary of  him, and also to realize he just wasn't very good. Which is why no one else signed him.

 He wound up playing in the CFL for the Hamilton Tiger-Cats and Montreal Alouettes, before the CFL kicked him out for violating the terms of his contract. After that he played briefly for some team called the Memphis Express in something called the Alliance of American Football, and later for some team called the Zappers in something called Fan-Controlled Football.

Now, I have no idea if Diego Pavia's career path will track that way. But if Johnny Football is his cautionary tale, Diego Pavia is Cautionary Tale 2.0 -- i.e., "How to guarantee you won't get taken in the NFL Draft."

It wasn't that he couldn't play; like Manziel at A&M, the guy beat Alabama, and he also beat Auburn three times. Vandy went 10-3 last season, with Pavia throwing for 3,539 yards and 29 touchdowns and running for 862 yards and 10 more sixes.

And did it all with, um, let's be polite and call it "swagger." A LOT of swagger.

After beating Auburn for the third time, for instance, he hinted that maybe Auburn coach Hugh Freeze might have fared better against him if Freeze had recruited him.

He also openly campaigned for the Heisman Trophy -- and, when he was beaten out by Indiana quarterback Fernando Mendoza, he went on social media and posted "(Bleep) all the voters", then partied at a New York nightclub under a sign that read "(Bleep) Indiana."

He later apologized, but the damage was done. NFL teams are almost comically terrified of potential distractions, especially among quarterbacks. And everything about Pavia screamed potential distraction -- even the fact he didn't find it necessary to hire an agent.

Everything about him screamed Johnny Football, in other words.

And thus, for three days, his phone didn't scream at all.

Too little ...

 Timing is everything, they say, except when it's not. And so let us first say this morning that the Boston Red Sox finally scored some runs yesterday.

Like, 17 of them.

Paved the Baltimore Orioles like a four-lane highway, 17-1.

And then ...

And then the Red Sox poobahs fired everyone.

Well, OK. So not everyone.

Only manager Alex Cora, the bench coach, the hitting coach, the assistant hitting coach, the third-base coach and the hitting strategy coach were served their walking papers. A sixth coach -- Jason Varitek, who's been with the organization for 30 years -- was "reassigned to a new role within the organization," probably because he's Jason Varitek.

(Of course, "reassigned to a new role within the organization" pretty much lives right next door to being fired. Think Milton Waddams and his stapler being "reassigned" to a basement storeroom in "Office Space.")

Now, if you're thinking here this all seems a tad drastic, given it's only April 25 in a season that stretches into the first blush of October ... well, that's certainly fair. But the Red Sox are off to a 10-17 start, which doesn't sound all that dreadful until you consider it's the second-worst record in the American League and the third worst in MLB.

Heck, even the Chicago What Sox (11-16) and the Colorado Rockheads (11-16) are a game better. The only teams worse are the Houston Astros (10-18), the hideous New York Mutts (9-17) and the appalling Philadelphia Phooeys (9-18). The latter are so bad they're already 10 games (OK, so 9.5) out of first in the NL East after just 26 games.

Extrapolate that out to a full 162-game season, and the Phooeys are on track to finish 59 games behind. That's impressive.

But back to the Red Sox.

If timing is everything, you've got to wonder how hard the Red Sox braintrust was smacking itself in the forehead when yesterday's score came down. The Blob's frequently over-active imagination figures the conversation went something like this:

Braintrust Guy No. 1: So, it's decided then. We're firing everybody but Varitek, who's being reassigned to the broom closet on the second floor.

All The Other Braintrust Guys (in unison): Huzzah!

Braintrust Guy No. 1: Now we just gotta deci-

Junior Braintrust Guy In The Back: Uh, boss?

Braintrust Guy No. 1: Milton! I told you never to interrupt me!

Junior Braintrust Guy: But ... but ...

No. 1: But what?

Junior: Um, we beat the Orioles 17-1 today.

All The Other Braintrust Guys: WHAT??

Junior: Um, yeah. 17-1.

No. 1: Well, that's great. That's. Just. Great. We're about to clear out almost our whole staff in April, which will make us look like a bunch of jittery goobers as it is. Now we're going to do it right after we scored 17 runs? And we're doing it mainly because WE HAVEN'T BEEN SCORING ANY RUNS?

We're gonna look like complete idiots.

Random Braintrust Guy: Well ... except for the fact that right now we're even worse than the White Sox and the Rockies.

(Brief pause as everyone reflects on the horror of that)

Braintrust Guy No. 1: True. Aw, to hell with it, let's do it. We'll just fall back on the old "too little, too late" defense.

(Everyone high-fives.  Junior Braintrust Guy says he'll spring for drinks.)

A few Draft-y thoughts, Part Deux

 I did not watch a single minute of the second day of the NFL Draft, and, no, not because I knew Pat McAfee, who long ago red-lined the Annoying Meter, was going to present the Colts' second-round pick. That was just sheer luck.

No, I didn't watch because, basically, I wasn't really on pins and needles to see if the Vikings, with the 82nd pick in the 2026 NFL Draft, would take Domonique Orange from Iowa State, whoever he is. Or if the Jaguars, with the 100th pick in the 2026 NFL Draft, would take Jalen Huskey from Maryland, whoever he is.

(No offense intended to either Domonique and Jalen. Guys, I just picked your names at random. But if you become stars in the NFL, now you can each say, "People said I would never make it. Including some dumbass in Indiana.")

Anyway ... 

On with today's Draft-y thoughts;

* The Indianapolis Colts, with the 47th pick in the 2026 NFL Draft, traded down to the 53rd pick. According to Gregg Doyel of the Indianapolis Star, who was paying far more attention than I was, this apparently got all the Colts fans riled up and calling for GM Chris Ballard's head again -- especially when the Jets scooped favorite son D'Angelo Ponds of Indiana with the 50th pick.

Instead, the Colts wound up with linebacker C.J. Allen from Georgia. People say he's pretty darn good. I guess we'll see.

* Speaking of the Colts, and Pat McAfee, he apparently was as strange as ever, calling the Colts the "Kings of the AFC South" and saying weird stuff about how Jim Irsay cured Daniel Jones' torn achilles from heaven. 

Watching the clip later on, however, I did notice Pat was dressed for the occasion. Wore pants and shoes and a shirt -- collared, even! -- and a sport coat. He wasn't wearing a tie, but, hell, neither did Roger Goodell on opening night. 

In fact, McAfee actually looked spiffier than the commish. Which frankly ought to be the story of the entire draft by my lights.

McAfee Out-Dresses Goodell. Film at 11.

* And speaking of the story of the draft ...

I guess it's still the fact the Los Angeles Rams used their first pick -- and the 13th overall -- to snatch quarterback Ty Simpson from Alabama. 

This despite the fact they still have Matthew Stafford, the reigning NFL Most Valuable Player, at the head of the table in their quarterback room.

This despite the fact Rams head coach Sean McVay didn't look all that pleased to welcome Simpson aboard, which suggested it was GM Les Snead who made the call.

This despite the fact McVay then went out of his way to say the Rams were still Matthew Stafford's team, and that, fine, OK, now we've got Ty Simpson, but he's going to be competing with Stetson Bennett for the backup spot.

The day-after spin from Snead and the Rams' organization is that Snead and McVay were definitely on the same page, and that the reason McVay wasn't turning cartwheels over the Simpson pick was because he didn't want to show the rest of the league how excited he was.

I can't tell you exactly how many people bought that. But a good guess would be "no one."

So what were the Rams thinking?

Beats me. Maybe they were looking at Stafford, who's 38 now, and noting how quickly quarterbacks (except for Tom Brady) tend to fall off the table once the years starting piling up. Or maybe they see Simpson is future trade bait if beats out Stetson Bennett for the backup spot. 

"Or maybe they just made a really dumb pick," you're suggesting now.

Oh, come on. When has THAT ever happened?

* Kinda surprised to see Carson Beck, who quarterbacked Miami to the national championship game before falling to Indiana, fell to the first pick in the third round. The Cardinals picked him. They also picked a 6-5, 315-pound offensive lineman from Texas A&M, Chase Bisontis. 

This suggests the Cards don't intend to just be Jeremiyah Love and a bunch of guys. Or Jeremiyah Love running for his life from three hundred bazillion dudes on every snap.

* Know who got drafted yesterday?

IU running back Kaelon Black, who went to the 49ers with the 90th overall pick. And Notre Dame tight end Eli Raridon, whom the Patriots snatched with the 75th pick. 

Total regional bias here, but I think both teams got one of those mid-draft gems Mel Kiper Jr. and the gang are always yakking about. That especially goes for Raridon, if for no other reason than Notre Dame seems to grow NFL tight ends like velvet leaf.

Anthony Fasano. Kyle Rudolph. Michael Mayer. Cole Kmet. Tyler Eifert before the injuries took him down. And if you want to go back some, Dave Casper and Mark Bavaro, among others.

That's a heck of a bloodline. Maybe the Patriots noticed.

I mean, they're the Patriots. They would. 

A few Draft-y thoughts

 Actually watched part of the NFL Draft last night, on account of the air in my tires was already rotated and the paint on the fence had already dried. What else was I gonna do?

Anyway, I watched. And, as night follows day, I have a few thoughts ...

* Roger Goodell, the commissioner of the Nash-unal FOOT-ball League, dressed for the occasion like a guy out for lunch at the club. What the hell, Rog, you couldn't even put on a tie? What was up with that? 

* Speaking of appropriate dress, one of the highlights of the night is always what the crazy superfans of various teams are wearing. The winner, by the Blob's lights, was either the Dallas Cowboys fan wearing the UFO on his head -- flashing lights, the whole bit -- or the New York Jets' fan in head-to-toe green and a plastic green Hulk fist garnished with jewel-encrusted rings spelling out J-E-T-S.

Or maybe the other Jets fan wearing a green hardhat with a white Mohawk growing out of the top of it.

As someone watching with me observed: "It looks like New Year's Eve in Times Square."

Yeah. Except the multitudes jamming Times Square are at least celebrating the New Year. The multitudes jamming the NFL Draft set included people celebrating being Jets fans. Lord have mercy.

* And speaking of the Jets ...

With the second pick in the Draft, they selected edge rusher David Bailey from Texas Tech. Like every other pick last night, he looked overjoyed. I can't for the life of me think why.

* Ditto top pick Fernando Mendoza from Indiana, gleefully donning a Raiders cap. And third pick Jeremiyah Love from Notre Dame, joyously tugging on a Cardinals cap. And linebacker Arvell Reese from Ohio State, happy to be the top pick of the wretched New York Giants, and offensive tackle Spencer Fano from Utah, whose fate might have been worst of all.

He's headed to the Cleveland Browns.

* Speaking of Fernando Mendoza, how cool was it that he chose to spend his Draft night with his mom, who suffers from multiple sclerosis? He could have been out there sharing a hug with Rog beneath all the bright lights, but he picked Mom to hug instead.

I'm tellin' ya. That young man's going places.

Well. Unless the Raiders ruin him.

* And last but not least ...

Did anyone else think it was odd they kicked off the Draft with the national anthem and a flyover? 

 I mean, it's the Draft, and the NFL is big on giant American flags and The Troops and all other forms of militaristic patriotic fervor. But at bottom it's just a selection show. I don't recall anyone belting out "The Star-Spangled Banner" to open the Oscars, the Grammys or America's Got Talent.

Just seemed a trifle weird to me.

Or maybe I'm just weird.

Don't answer that.

Drumming up dumbness

 (In which the Blob once again waves a brief but cheery farewell to Sportsball World. The standard procedures apply.)

Oh, Micah. Micah, Micah, Micah.

You done did it now, son.

You done riled up the band people.

On social media the other day you hand-wrung about the Westfield High School drum corps posting photos of them performing while wearing ... well, red uniforms. Guess you thought this meant they were worshipping the Devil or some such thing, because you said this was an example of anti-Christian attitudes in our public schools and urged parents to use the voucher system to get their kids out said schools.

Oh, Micah. Micah, Micah, Micah.

I'd say you were dumber than a bag of hammers, but that would get boxes of rocks howling, "Hey, what about US?"

Never mind the fact that Micah Beckwith, our esteemed Loot Guv, is openly encouraging parents to use vouchers to flee the very school system he, as an elected government official, is charged with overseeing. (And by doing so, spilling the beans about the voucher system: Its goal, and the political right's goal, is to destroy the public school system). And never mind what a punk move it is for the Loot Guv of the state of Indiana to pick on a bunch of high school kids.

It's also extinction-level clueless.

Because these were not just high school kids he chose to target. They were high school band kids. And, by extension, high school band kids with parents.

Oh, Micah. Micah, Micah, Micah.

I'd say you were about half-bright, but that would get the other half howling, "Hey, what about ME?"

Every reporter who's ever covered the state band contest, see, could tell about band parents. (And, no, before you start, not all band parents). You do NOT want to piss off band parents, or band people in general. It's like saying "Hey, what if I woke up this sleeping bear?"

And so the aforementioned Every Reporter was always very, very careful about how they wrote their contest stories, making sure to mention every local school competing. And even then, a day or two after his or her newspaper splashed the story and big photos all over its pages, at least one phone would ring in the newsroom.

Whoever picked it up would hear this: "Who is this (Every Reporter's name here), and why did (he/she) only devote ONE SENTENCE to our proud Dean Wormer High School Marching Plumb Bobs? How could (he/she) just IGNORE all their hard work, which earned them a 10th-place finish?"

After which Every Reporter would have to go into hiding for awhile.

And, yes, OK, so I'm joking. But not by a lot.

Quick story: I once covered a football game at a local high school whose marching band -- and a damn good one, by the way -- called itself the Big Orange Pride. Except one year the Big Orange Pride decided to dress in teal uniforms. This apparently became a huge bone of contention among the various band parents.

I know this because when the band marched out at halftime, I blurted out, "Hey, look, it's the Big Teal Pride!"

The school employee sitting next to me practically turned white as a sheet.

"Shhhh," he said, leaning over. "That is a BIG controversy right now.'

Or words to that effect.

Anyway, way to go, Micah Beckwith. Drum up some more dumbness. Wake up that sleeping bear. And don't worry.

I hear they do wonders with plastic surgery these days.

Your political hoo-ha for today

 Got a flier in the mail the other day touting the virtues of a local political candidate, and, I know, I know. No intelligent person takes these things seriously. No intelligent person assigns any more credibility to them than they would to any other child's fairy tale -- which is essentially what these fliers are, other than an excellent vehicle for jamming up your mailbox.

However ...

"However, you are NOT an intelligent person, Mr. Blob?" you're saying now.

Well, maybe.

No, however, this one I got the other day was all about BOYS COMPETING IN GIRLS SPORTS, which might be the most egregiously manufactured "issue" to come down the pike in a long time. It features the Local Political Candidate standing next to Riley Gaines, butt-hurt college swimmer turned activist. Riley's been on a tear against transgender athletes ever since trans swimmer Lia Thomas beat her out for, I don't know, fifth or something in the nationals a few years back.

Thomas has since been banned from further competition by the NCAA, so I guess Riley's campaign to save girls sports (or, SAVE GIRLS SPORTS to give it the proper voice) at least achieved that. That'll learn ya for beating Riley, vile creature!

Anyway ...

Anyway, even though I knew I shouldn't, I read on. It didn't take long -- one sentence -- to yelp "What??" and pitch the thing in the trash.

Here was the sentence: (Candidate's name here) stands with Riley Gaines and Trump's America First agenda to protect girls' sports ...

Oh, please.

"Protect girls sports"? From what, exactly?

Because a month or so ago, girls in Indiana played their high school basketball tournament, and I don't recall a glut of news stories -- and the accompanying ginned-up political outrage -- about all the trans athletes who were competing. That's because there weren't any.

So, obviously, "boys taking over girls' sports" clearly is a massive issue here in the Hoosier state. Right?

"Well, what about college sports?" you're saying now. "How many Lia Thomases are lurking out there to unfairly deprive Riley Gaines of fifth place?"

Glad you asked.

A little over a year ago, see, NCAA chief Charlie Baker was asked that very question. And what he said was ... um, what he said was ...

He said that as far as he knows there are fewer than 10 college student-athletes in the NCAA. Among, um, 510,000 total.

Now, I'm not a math guy. But even I can figure that means trans athletes in college sports amount to a tick under 0.02 percent of the total.

Zero point zero-two percent. That's what this whole "issue" is about.

Or, rather, what it's not about.

What it's really about, of course, is the whole idea of transgender humans to begin with. Some folks regard them as offensive and a biological outrage. Therefore they elect representatives to pass anti-trans laws disguised as "protecting" both trans humans and those of us who are allegedly being victimized by them.

Bald-faced bigotry has rarely been expressed so right-out-loud in the political arena. And with little fear of backlash, because A) being offensive has been re-cast in the Trumpian era as admirable and brave, and B) those trangenders are just creepy as hell, aren't they?

Me?

I present this merely as your election-year hoo-ha for today, in this golden age of hoo-ha.

Draftbots

 The NFL Draft begins Thursday evening, and I for one can't wait to see which team picks Dr. Miguelito Loveless, ace running back out of (choose college here). Or maybe it's Courtney Love. Or maybe ...

Ah, heck. See, I've been consulting AI again. And this is what it's spitting back at me:

Love Boat is very fast according to most measurable analytics, and should be drafted either by the Tennessee Large Mythical Humanoids, the New York Combustible Gases or the Arizona Small Red Birds -- known in colloquial terms as the Titans, the Jets and the Cardinals ... 

And OK, OK. So we're really talking about Jeremiyah Love from Notre Dame here. But we're also talking about AI, which the Blob loathes with every microbe in his body because A) he's a writer, and B) I have seen "The Terminator" umpteen times, and I know Skynet when I see it. 

By this I mean the machines are coming for us, and they're nothing like Ah-nold or even the Robert Patrick upgrade. This generation of Terminators is doing something far more destructive.

They're "writing" sports stories.

As an old sports scribe, I find this both hysterically funny and absolutely disgusting, because machines cannot now and never will be able to "write." Ain't no Steinbecks, Hemingways or Faulkners among the machines, boys and girls. Think the Robert Patrick Terminator could ever come up with Faulkner's epic 175-word run-on sentence about Pickett's Charge in "Intruder In The Dust"? Get outta here.

That's not the worst of it, though. Because now I find at least one NFL team is using AI to help evaluate talent for the draft.

"And you don't need to be expert!" gushes general manager John Lynch of the 49ers, the team in question.

(Which is hilarious, if you think about it, because John Lynch, as GM, is supposed to be one of the "experts". So it's kinda like he's saying, "And now I'm completely unnecessary! Whoopee!")

In any event, the draftbots are here, and there goes the romance, the silliness and Mel Kiper Jr. No more waiting on teams to take ten minutes to make a pick they decided on back in February. Not more chatter about "burst," "waist-benders" and the Blob's all-time favorite dopey draft term, "tight skin." No more endless ruminating about whether or not a quarterback's hands are too small.

The draftbots will take all that from here.

The quarterback expected to be taken with the top pick in the draft, Mendoza Line from the University of India, has hands somewhere in the middle of the preferred measurement spectrum, and therefore a grip circumference that has historically led to success in the League (i.e., "The National Football") ...

Or imagine if the draftbots had been around, say, 50 or so years ago:

Walter Pavement from Jacks On Straight has been described as "intriguing" by the humans who have been judged inferior by Skynet and thus will be eliminated (except for Mel Kiper Jr.) ...

Yikes.