What's in a number?

 The polls are closed and the votes tallied, and the runaway winner of a new Blob feature I just made up -- "Numbskull of the Week" -- is Jayden Daniels of the Washington Commanders. Also Jayden Daniels' numbskull attorney, Adam Kenner, who this week sent a cease-and-desist letter to Daniels' alma mater, LSU.

The letter warned LSU not to engage in "any further use, display, publication, promotion commercialization or other exploitation of Mr. Daniels' NIL in any manner or medium."

And why did Daniels' mouthpiece send that letter?

Because a new LSU player -- defensive back DJ Pickett -- is wearing Daniels' old No. 5.

You think I'm joking? I'm not joking.

"But ... but ..." you're saying.

I know. I know.

You're wondering, as is most of America, how assigning another player the number of a guy who's been gone from LSU for three years constitutes "promotion" of Daniels' Name, Image and Likeness. Or how it constitutes "commercialization." Or how it constitutes -- good Lord in heaven -- "exploitation."

Talk about stretching those boundaries of imagination in the old "Twilight Zone" intro. 

Personally, I think DJ Pickett should hire an attorney and demand Daniels cease and desist exploiting his NIL. It would be equally laughable.

And, oh, how the internet trolls are laughing.

Best of the burns was delivered by the New York Mets, of all people. After beating the Washington Nationals 4-1 the other night, the official Mets social media account tweeted this: "Stopped at four out of respect for Jayden Daniels."

Boom!

And as for me?

Well, I'm just thinking of all the ways this numbskullery could boomerang on Daniels and Co. ...

Dear Mr. Kenner:

Please inform your client he must cease and desist wearing No. 5 or we will begin legal proceedings.

Signed,

The estate of  Joe DiMaggio

(Also the estate of Paul Hornung)

(Also the estate of Brooks Robinson)

(Also Johnny Bench, George Brett, Albert Pujols, Jason Kidd, etc., etc.)

Boom again.

A grand snafu

 Some days the Blob plays the motorsports loyalist, and thinks IndyCar should get more attention than it does outside Memorial Day weekend in Indianapolis. And, some days it doesn't.

Today is one of those days.

This after IndyCar showed up in Markham, Ontario, for the first time, and fans eager to see Alex Palou and the boys wheel it in person got ... nothing.

It seems the Markham event promoters, Green Savoree Racing Promotions, didn't have  a track for them to run on.

Somehow, on its big IndyCar debut weekend, the Markham street course for the Ontario Honda Dealerships race wasn't ready for Friday's scheduled practice session. Let me say that again: They didn't have the course finished ON THE FIRST DAY OF RACE WEEKEND.

Good lord. What's next, clowns on unicycles?

Now, granted, this wasn't IndyCar's doing, but it was an IndyCar event, so it caught some of the residual embarrassment. Can you imagine NASCAR showing up for a Cup weekend and being told, um, sorry, guys, the track isn't quiiiiite up to snuff yet? Or F1 showing up at, say, Zandvoort for the Dutch Grand Prix and race officials saying, "Wait, you mean that's THIS weekend?"?

Nope. Neither can I.

Worse yet, fans who showed up for Friday's non-practice weren't told what was going on, according to the Indianapolis Star. So they sat there staring at an empty track as Green Savoree stayed mum about the postponement until after the race teams started re-loading their cars on the transporters and drivers left the premises.

Imagine the chit-chat among the fans at that point.

Fan: Hey ... isn't that Scott Dixon getting in that Honda CRV? Where's he going?

Other Fan: Look! Palou just beat him out the gate in HIS Honda CRV! And there goes Newgarden in a custom Vette, and Pato in another custom Vette!

All The Other Fans: The hell is going on?

As every driver, crew chief, and wrench jockey in the paddock no doubt wondered, too.

Ay-yi-yi. Yi-yi.

Names and games

 The chairman of the Chicago Bears met the media yesterday and made the most obvious Chicago announcement ever, aside from declaring Walter Payton the greatest running back of all time, and none of that Jim Brown/Barry Sanders noise.

He announced the Chicago Bears would remain the Chicago Bears.

"We will be the Chicago Bears whether we're in Arlington (Heights, Illinois) or whether we're in Hammond," George H. McCaskey said.

Well, duh. As if anyone actually thought they'd be the Hammond Bears, or that anyone would ever call them that if they were.

(Of course, the McCaskeys could always completely befuddle everyone and revert to the Bears' original name, which was the Decatur Staleys. The Decatur Staleys! Put Caleb Williams in a leather helmet, install the single wing and break out the flying wedge. Beauty.)

Anyway, that the was the no-news portion of the program. The other portion is what McCaskey devoutly wishes was no news, which is that the Bears are still leaning toward an Indiana zip code.

"Our focus is on Hammond, that's where we're advancing our efforts and that's where the bulk of our time, attention and resources are being devoted," he said.

To which chronic skeptics like the Blob continue to say: Yeah, OK.

Because, listen, even after all this time -- and even after Indiana's governor, the spectacularly cotton-headed Mike Braun, promised the McCaskeys everything but Fort Wayne and Evansville as throw-ins on the deal -- stubborn suspicions remain. Chief among them is that all this public devotion to Hammond is just a ploy to crowbar more concessions from Illinois on the Arlington Heights site.

So far, admittedly, Illinois ain't playin'. McCaskey said Thursday the Bears had had minimal contact with state officials, leaving the impression the Arlington Heights option is deader than ... well, the Decatur Staleys. But then he tossed out that "whether we're in Arlington or whether we're in Hammond" line, leaving the impression the Illinois option may NOT be dead yet, whether it's feeling much better or not.*

(* -- Gratuitous "Monty Python and the Holy Grail" reference)

So on the speculation goes, at least for us skeptics. Maybe the Bears really will be playing in Hammond in an (ugh) roofed stadium. Maybe the McCaskeys will strike an 11th-hour deal with the Illinois contingent. Or maybe they'll relocate to, I don't know, Munich or someplace, and call themselves the Munich Fightin' Knockwursts.

The Fightin' Knockwursts! Now there's a name for you.

Shady doin's

 So now the federal government owns the Los Angeles Lake--

I'm sorry, what?

You're saying that's not true?

OK, then, so Donald John "Paws In Every Pie" Trump, president of these United States, owns the Los Angeles Lake--

Excuse me?

You're saying that's not true, either? 

OK, O-kay. I'll take off my tinfoil hat. But as L.A. Times columnist Bill Plaschke writes, something kinda stinks here, and for once it ain't the Prez's Underoos.

This after Lakers owner Mark Walter reportedly sold the Lakers this week for a record $12.5 billion, less than 14 months after buying them. The new owners are Bob Iger, former CEO of Disney, and Josh Kushner, a venture capitalist who recently tried to buy a minority stake in the World Cup until widespread condemnation caused FIFA head Gianni Infantino to back out of the deal.

"Kushner ... Kushner," you're saying now, a bit puckishly. "No, where have I heard that name before?"

To which the Blob replies: Yes, OK, he's the brother of Trump's son-in-law, real estate dude and alleged slumlord Jared Kushner.

This of course raises some eyebrows, and not just Plaschke's. Jared Kushner, after all, has swung some ethically shady deals since his ethically shady father-in-law became president. This includes playing footsie with the Saudis while kinda-sorta serving as an extra-legal representative of daddy-in-law's administration.

Now, that in itself doesn't mean anything. However ...

However, the guy who just abruptly sold the Lakers to Iger and Jared's brother is being investigated for some suspicious bookkeeping by the federal government. Donald Trump's federal government.

"Oh, come on," you're saying now. "You're implying that Trump's feds put the arm on Mark Walter so he'd sell the Lakers to Trump's son-in-law's brother? Like this is some kind of 'Godfather' make-him-an-offer-he-can't-refuse shenanigan?"

Of course I'm not implying that. Besides, Trump says he's got nothing to do with any of this, and whose word is more golden than Trump's?

All I'm saying is, it is a trifle weird, given that Walter became the official owner of the Lakers only last October, when he was unanimously approved by the league. And now he's selling them? And, shall we say, rather abruptly? Who does that, unless ...

But, no. I will be That Guy. I will not put the tinfoil hat back on and start babbling about chemtrails and vaccines causing autism, like the Prez's batshite director of Health and Human Services (and the Prez himself).

Although that tinfoil hat looks mighty fine, if you tilt it just-so. Mighty fine.

That Cunningham woman, Part Deux

 Indiana Fever coach Stephanie White came out swingin' last night before her team's game against the New York Liberty, and applause, applause. At some point money talks and the bullshite walks, and she sent it packin'.

Said the "hate, the fear-mongering, the divisiveness, the stuff that's trying to hijack our league will not win." Said there were a bunch of keyboard culture warriors out there trotting out "narratives that simply don't exist." Corrected one of those narratives, which is that she failed to have Sophie Cunningham's back after DiJonai Carrington of the Chicago Sky clotheslined Cunningham the other night.

Every word she spoke was true. Every word she spoke said "Enough, already." Especially the part where she said she'd stick by her team, and everyone else could go to hell.

This presumably includes Indiana's meddlesome lieutenant governor, Micah Beckwith, our First Culture Warrior and general all-around blowhole. Beckwith said White should be fired either for not standing up for Cunningham, or for not buying into the keyboard warriors' bullshite narrative about poor white girls being mugged by a bunch of jealous black lesbians. 

The Blob's reaction is pretty much White's. And also that the First Culture Warrior should stay in his lane, wherever in the wilds of the extremist right that is these days.

 Because, see, the last I looked, the Fever were 21-12 and had won nine of their last 12 games, despite White's horrible coaching and failure to stand up for her players. That's the fourth-best record in the league. And, oh, yeah: Last night, in a stark display of just how much White has lost her locker room (according to the keyboard warriors),  the Fever blasted the New York Liberty by 14, 106-92.

Led by as much as 21 at one point. Made 16-of-25 threes, the second-highest 3-point percentage in WNBA history.

"No way we were losing this game," declared Caitlin Clark, who put up 22 points and 10 assists, despite her PERFECTLY OBVIOUS disdain for White (according to the keyboard warriors).

And Cunningham, whose back White DEFINITELY DOES NOT HAVE (again, according to the keyboard warriors)?

She chipped in 12 points off the bench and said, as did White, that the reason White merely called Carrington's Flagrant 2 a hard foul was because she'd only seen the play in real time at the time she was asked about it.

"She didn't see the (video) clip ... and that's OK," Cunningham said.

And as for the W against the Liberty ...

"We did it for Steph, and we did it for everyone in the locker room," she said.

Hey, bullshite. There's the door.

Today in awesome cheating

 Golf is the gentleman's game, or so we've been told, the only sport other than playground hoops where you call your own fouls and take your punishment like a man (or woman) -- even when the infraction for which you're being penalized looks as silly as kittens on laughing gas to those of us outside the golfing culture.

(I refer here, as I always do, to the time Dustin Johnson was penalized two strokes for grounding his club in a bunker during the U.S. Open, even though the bunker resembled a bunker the way I resemble, say, Jason Momoa. Spectators were actually standing in it, for crying out loud.)

Anyway, cheating in this gentleman's -- or gentlewoman's -- game therefore is regarded as the lowest form of human behavior, punishable by forfeiture of A) your brand-new Callaway driver with the built-in radar function; and B) your entire wardrobe of John Daly Loudmouth golfwear. (The latter being especially cruel.)

On the other hand ...

On the other hand, since golf is such a gentleman/gentlewoman's game, it makes it that much more hilarious when someone cheats as extravagantly as Zach Holland did recently.

Holland, a 2-handicap, was playing in a membership event at WingHaven Golf Club in O'Fallon, Mo., when he decided to fake a hole-in-one. He did via an elaborate scheme that included -- not even kidding -- a mythical phone call from his dead grandmother. 

(Actually, she was only critically ill. But still.)

What happened was, Holland took a cart out to the par-3 fourth hole at WingHaven before his tee time and placed a golf ball in the cup. Then he told the rest of his group he'd go on ahead to the fourth hole after saying he had to take a phone call from his sick grandmother.

When the rest of his group showed up, Holland claimed to have "thinned" his tee shot and didn't see where the ball ended up. Imagine his surprise and delight when he discovered it nestled in the bottom of the cup!

Unfortunately, according to Holland, security cameras caught him driving his cart near the fourth green well before his tee time. Busted.

"There's no excuse for what I did, and I was completely in the wrong," Holland told a local ESPN radio show out of St. Louis, adding that he'd resigned from WingHaven, as well he should have.

But is what he did not a total Carl Spackler "Caddyshack" moment, or what?

Here he is, Zach Holland, Cinderella boy, about to win the Masters ... It's in the hole! It's in the hole ...

Only thing missing was the groovin' gopher.

That Cunningham woman

 Sophie Cunningham is all over social media again, and not because she pointed at someone or said girls sports should be protected from trans women, which is kind of like saying girls sports should be protected from Puff the Magic Dragon, but, OK.

No, sir. This time it's because she got clotheslined by DiJonai Carrington of the Chicago Sky, which got Carrington properly ejected with a Flagrant 2 and got all the keyboard  warriors stoking the fires of a racial animus they say is rampant in the WNBA.

It's not, but the warriors' frankly racist narrative -- that clean-cut straight white girls are being targeted for abuse by animalistic black lesbians -- continues to have legs, because never underestimate the staying power of manufactured grievance.

"White privilege," Carrington, who is black, tweeted after her ejection, which of course only stoked this particular fire.

"Black privilege," fired back butt-hurt former swimmer Riley Gaines, who's whiter than Wonder Bread.

Apparently this was Gaines' way of saying, "I can even more ridiculous than you."

Look. I've watched the video of the Carrington foul half a dozen times, and I don't see a deliberate mugging. I see Carrington making an awkward swipe at the ball as Cunningham drove to the rim, and then lowbridging her on the follow-through. I see a reckless and potentially dangerous foul, which was why it drew a Flagrant 2.

This is basically what Fever coach Stephanie White said postgame, for which she of course was vilified by the keyboard crowd because it didn't play into their preferred storyline. According to them, this couldn't simply have been Carrington being Carrington, given she has a reputation for brutal takedowns. This was Carrington punishing Cunningham on behalf of the "woke" WNBA because of her alleged transphobia.

(Which has been overblown, too, by the other side in the culture wars. Just to show they're all off their meds.)

Anyway, according to the keyword crowd, Carrington was Luca Brasi and the league was the Godfather, sending her out to take care of the "problem." Riiiight.

Rational deduction quickly laughs this scenario out of the room, even if rationality has fallen out of favor these days. Regardless, its message remains: Carrington has an established rep as a dirty player, and Cunningham isn't exactly a shrinking violet herself. Last week she caught an elbow to the jaw because she was aggressively bodying an opponent looking to make a pass; last season, of course, she did this to Jacy Sheldon of the Connecticut Sun.

So: One clothesline vs. one out-and-out tackle. Seems like a tit-for-tat cheapshot tie to me.

Of course, I don't have an agenda to sell.