Loopholes

 Well. I guess that solves THAT.

Maybe.

For now.

Because ...

Because, listen, loopholes are slippery things, and sneaky, and most of all stubborn. So even though the SEC and Big Ten walked away this week brushing their hands and saying, "So much for another pro football or basketball player sneaking back into OUR game," the Blob's sense is they're either charmingly naive or willfully oblivious.

This after both conferences unanimously pushed through rules banning athletes who've been on an NFL or NBA roster from returning to Northern Tech State to take advantage of the fifth year of eligibility just granted them by the courts. What sparked this was a former Ole Miss tight end named Dae'Quan Wright, who was signed as an undrafted free agent by the Cleveland Browns, dressed for at least one preseason game and then was cut on Monday.

After which he announced he was entering the transfer portal to suit up for LSU as a fifth-year eligible.

"Wait, can he do that?" you're saying now.

Apparently so.

Until, that is, the SEC said, uh-uh, no way, this is a bridge too far even for us. You can't be on an NFL roster one day and then come back to a college roster the next. It would be like a kid who gets cut from his college team deciding to go back and play another year of high school football.

The problem, of course, is it's not like that at all.

The problem is football (and basketball) as they're presently constituted in big-boy conferences like the SEC and Big Ten are every bit as professional as the NFL or NBA. The dynamic is the same: Schools indirectly pay kids to play through NIL deals, and the deals are essentially the same sort of free-agent contracts Dae'Quan Wright signed with the Eagles and Browns. That's because the kids are themselves free agents thanks to the unregulated transfer portal, chasing dollars just like an NFL or NBA free agent.

And so ...

And so, Dae'Quan Wright going from the Browns to LSU isn't a whole lot different than when he went from Virginia Tech to Ole Miss. Or an MLB player being sent down from the big club to its Double-A affiliate.

Which I imagine is going to be the argument when players like Wright inevitably take the SEC and Big Ten to court to challenge their hastily drawn-up new rules. You can't function as professional or quasi-professional entities for decades and then turn around and go all sis-boom-bah on everyone, the suits will argue. Can't sign mega TV and equipment deals, pay your coaches like CEOs and then say, "Wait, we're not the pros! We're about academics and student-athletes and education, not ... you know, not ..."

My perhaps un-bold prediction is the judge won't buy those groceries for a second. He (or she) will say, essentially, "Boys, you made this bed. Now you gotta sleep in it."

And that stubborn loophole everyone thought was closed will come bursting back into the room like Mr. Kool-Aid bursting through the wall in the old commercial.

"Oh, YEAH!" Mr. Loophole will cry.

Oh, no.

(Bleeping) rights!

 (In which the Blob again roams the jungles beyond Sportsball World. Hall passes will be issued for those who don't wish to endure the torture.)

So I see where Fearless Leader -- aka Donald John "Look! A Squirrel!" Trump; aka Still Our Only Available President -- is all honked off at our neighbor to the north again, on account of those stubborn Canucks won't just roll over and let America First punch it in the face with its American Fist. 

Bullies hate it when you stand up to them. Fact.

Thus, Donald John Fearless Leader is stomping around threatening again to make Canada the 51st state, and slapping a 50 percent tariff on Canadian goods, and all the while claiming it's Canada who's the bully here, not poor taken-advantage-of 'Merica.

This is a recurring theme for Donald John and his supplicants, so much so it's almost become reflexive. They play the victim card the way Doc Holliday used to play a pair of aces (one of which he kept up his sleeve, natch), and it makes a sane person laugh every time they do it. I mean, how on earth did the United States become the richest, most powerful nation on earth with all these Canadas and Denmarks and  Venezuelas continually ripping us off?

At any rate, Donald John's latest harebrained notion in this latest absurd beef is to rename Lake Ontario, christening it "Lake America." After all, if Ontario won't play ball with America, why should it get its own Great Lake?

Of course, sane persons understand that renaming Lake Ontario -- or any geographical feature -- would be meaningless to anyone but Donald John and his worshipful minions. They could call it Lake Chitty-Chitty Bang-Bang for all anyone else cared; it would still be Lake Ontario to the rest of the world.

In other words, it's kinda like if I'd decided to rename Lake Huron, where my parents lived for 25 years, Lake Me. Everyone else (including my parents) would just roll their eyes and say, "Whatever."

So, yeah, the whole idea is as silly as most of Fearless Leader's ideas. But it would be amusing to see how Canada would retaliate.

I mean, how hilarious would it be to hear Canadian PM Mark Carney announce that, henceforth and forevermore, Lake Superior would be known as "Lake More Superior Than You Know Who"? Or "Lake Up Yours, Hosers"? Or "Lake Kick Save And A Beauty"?

And speaking of Canada's national sport ...

Wouldn't it be awesome to hear Carney announce the name change with the hockey player's eternal cry of defiance?

"F****** rights!" quoth the PM.

In a word.

Possibly Relevant Thought for today

 I'll tip my cap for this one to a guy named Butch Williams, whom I don't know from Adam but who runs a political Face Thingy page called Hoosiers Against Braun. You can infer from that he's not a big fan of Mike Braun, Indiana's governor and A-list member of  Fearless Leader Donald John Trump's fan club.

Butch, needless to say, thinks less than highly of F.L. Not to say the Guv.

In that context, he posted a Possibly Relevant Thought about the fact parts of northwest Indiana, and specifically Gary, have been without power now for almost two weeks after a series of fierce storms hit the Region earlier in August. Might that cause the Chicago Bears have second thoughts about the whole moving-to-northwest-Indiana thing?

An excellent question.

I mean, the Guv has offered the Bears everything but naming rights to the city of Hammond to move there, and for all we know he's thrown that into the deal, too. Butkus, In., anyone? George Halas Heights? Sweetness Rapids?

Coming soon to a roofed stadium near you: The East Bearsville Bears.

Who'll be hosting the evil Green Bay Packers as soon as the lights come back on.

Because, seriously, that might be a scenario should another storm blow through and NIPSCO again can't find its hindparts with both hands and a flashlight (which it would need should the power go out again). And if the Bears aren't thinking that, it would seem the Guv is.

Or maybe there's another explanation for Braun's public scolding of NIPSCO this week, going so far as to call for an investigation of the utility. Remarkable stuff coming from one of the more hyper pro-business governors to come down the pike in some time.

"Stupid NIPSCO! Those bleeps are gonna crash the Bears deal!" you can imagine the Guv ranting behind closed doors. "And after I offered the McCaskeys the Golden Dome  over there at Notre Dame! The Domers won't like it, but screw 'em. I let 'em keep Fair Catch Corby, didn't I?"

Or, you know, something like that.

With a whimper

 Maybe you missed it with everything else going on over the weekend -- Hey, look, the Cubs scored 19 runs! Caitlin Clark dropped 37 and 10 assists! Wyndham Clark won the BMW Championship! -- but LIV Golf petered out yesterday down in Westfield, In.

I say "petered out" because the starving entity cancelled its tour championship, which made Westfield its last stop. Probably forever, although the LIV honchos say nuh-uh, we'll be back, just you wait and see.

Of course, the World Football League said that, too, back in the day.

Now, I'm not saying this makes Jon Rahm the Chicago Fire of LIV Golf, or Bryson DeChambeau its Shreveport Steamers. I'm just saying they might be, say, the Detroit Wheels or Philadelphia Bell instead.

Rahm and DeChambeau finished second and tied for third yesterday in the LIV Golf Indianapolis event, where someone named Michael La Sasso won with a minus-18 score. La Sasso is 22 years old and hails from Raleigh, N.C. Last year he played in five PGA events and missed the cut in four of them. In the other one he finished tied for 44th.

So, you know, he's a name. Or at least has one.

So, too, are Richard T. Lee, Scott Vincent and Laurie Canter, who tied for fifth at 15-under. Lee's a 35-year-old Canadian who tied for 35th in his country's Open last year. Vincent, 34, is from Zimbabwe and was last seen missing the cut in The (British) Open. And Canter is a 36-year-old from Bath, England who played in the U.S. Open, the Scottish Open and The Open this summer.

He tied for 43rd in the first, 50th in the second and 71st in the third.

So you see the problem here. Not enough names, and too many, well, just names.

This was exactly the problem with the WFL, which made a big splash by signing a few "names" (Hello, Larry Csonka! Howdy, Paul Warfield!), and then made a bigger splash when its franchises almost immediately began sinking financially. LIV Golf didn't do that, but it hurt itself almost immediately with its initial 54-hole, everyone-gets-a-chunky-paycheck format. That tagged it as merely a series of exhibitions in the minds of a lot of potential viewers.

And so it's limped along ever since, a way-under-the-radar entity playing second-tier venues and watched mostly by hardcore golf junkies. And now it seems to be going out with a whimper in what may or may not be the last of its days.

But, hey. At least it made Michael La Sasso $2.02 million richer yesterday. And Sergio Garcia scooped $631,250 by tying DeChambeau for third. 

Sergio is 46, which makes him a senior citizen in golf years. And you know how every dollar matters to us seniors.

Advantage, LIV Golf. If perhaps the only one.

A Capitol affair

 "FREEEE-DOMMMMM!"

-- William Wallace

(Or Mel Gibson)

(Or someone)

There. Got that out of my system.

Now I can move on to discuss IndyCar on the streets of Washington D.C., aka the Freedom 250, which a goldang AMERICAN ran away with, goldang it. I know this because the Fox broadcast team -- led by that obnoxiously cheerful Brit, Will Buxton -- kept reminding me. Like, over and over and over.

More on that later.

For now, let's just say the Freedom 250, in the historic capital of America, in celebration of America's historic 250th birthday (you couldn't wear out the word "historic" on this day), was won by an American, Kyle Kirkwood. Led 128 of the 147 laps, Kirkwood did. Won for a race team bearing the name of an American motorsport icon, Mario Andretti -- who came to America from Italy before You Know Who got his shorts in a twist about immigration, so it was OK.

Team Andretti finished 1-3-4, in fact. An American, and the most quintessentially American racing team, dominating America's IndyCar race? Someone should get an A+ for that script.

So it was a heck of a show, all-in-all. The weather, which in D.C. often gets stuck on the Dryer Vent setting in August, turned out just fine. The fans mobbed the Mall and adjutant surroundings. And the course ... well, how much better does it get than the Capitol building in the background of every lap? 

Shoot. You Know Who didn't even try to elbow Kirkwood aside on the podium -- although Himself did take a ceremonial pre-race turn around the course in the presidential limo, and got to drop the green to start the race.

There was also a bald eagle in there somewhere, and military jets (including a way-cool and spooky B-1 bomber) and other pageantry. You Know Who's grift airplane even did a flyover.

A special day, in other words. So why did Cheerful Will and Co. have to keep reminding us how special it was?

An editor of mine once spoke a universal truth to me: Don't tell me, show me. In other words, the best way to tell a story is not to tell it, but to let it tell itself.

Cheerful Will and Co. apparently never heard that one.

Because by far the most annoying part of a perhaps one-of-a-kind day (the Freedom 250 being a one-off event, at least for now) was the Fox team continually telling us how one-of-a-kind it was. How it was a celebration of America and its history and Look there's the National Archives and Look here's a shot from the WASHINGTON MONUMENT and Isn't Kyle Kirkwood's story the story of America itself?

"We told these truths to be self-evident ..." Cheerful Will actually said as Kirkwood took the white flag for his final lap.

Please. No. Just stop. 

Listen. I get that over-the-top boosterism is Cheerful Will's schtick. But this was not only over the top; it was over the top of whatever's on top. If it were any cornier, you could have added melted butter and salt and cued up a movie.

Besides, if this Truth were that Self-Evident, why did anyone in the Fox booth have to say anything?

One of the best calls of a sporting event I ever heard was from the legendary Jim McKay, and it happened at the Mexico City Olympics in 1968. In the final paces of the last event of the decathlon that year, as American named Bill Toomey churned toward the finish of the 1500 meters and the gold medal, McKay said this:

"Here is Bill Toomey ... running in the footsteps of Jim Thorpe, Rafer Johnson and Bob Mathias ... running in the cold and the rain ... in the breathless air ... winning the decathlon!"

And then, as Toomey broke the tape, utterly spent: "This picture needs no words."

Jim McKay, you see, knew when to shut up and let the moment speak for itself.

The Freedom 250 -- a Capitol affair with its own moment -- could have used some of that.

A pearl of wisdom

 The Little League World Series is happening in Williamsport, Pa., right now, and yesterday the Atlanta Braves and Cleveland Guardians were there to sign autographs and interact with their surrogate younger selves prior to playing a game there this weekend. 

This is always one of my favorite parts of the LLWS, because the big leaguers get to reminisce like they're 70-year-olds instead of 20-or-30-somethings, and also because of the advice they pass on to the Little Leaguers. Mostly it's just mundane stuff like "have fun" and "try your hardest", but occasionally there's a gem that's truly inspired.

(And, no, not "Avoid the clap," which is what Tom Hanks' drunken manager Jimmy Dugan wrote on a kid's baseball in "A League Of Their Own.")

In this case it was Guardians' pitcher Foster Griffin who came up with the pearl of wisdom. When asked what advice he'd give the Little Leaguers, he replied "Don't dig holes in the outfield and have fun."

Don't dig holes in the outfield! Well, who among us can't relate to THAT?

I certainly can because I spent a lot of time in the outfield in my tragic youth baseball days. More accurately, I spent a lot of time in left field, where I was least likely to turn routine fly balls into triples. That's because most of the kids I played with were right-handed, and at that age none of them could pull the ball to save their lives.

So left field was where I went to contemplate life and look for four-leaf clovers. I suppose if I'd gotten bored enough, I might have dug a hole or two out there, but frankly it never occurred to me. This makes me wonder if Foster Griffin ever dug a hole or two in the outfield, because that piece of advice seemed oddly specific.

I also wish there'd been at least one wisenheimer Little Leaguer who would have replied to Griffin's advice thusly: "But if I can't dig holes in the outfield, how am I supposed to have FUN?"

Beauty.

Not takin' it

 I don't know this Matt Calkins out there in the state o' Washington, but even sports columnists have their principles. And so I stand with Brother Calkins as a fellow ink-stained wretch who knows all about the indignities that come with the job.

And I'm not just talking about the hot dogs at Michigan Stadium.

I'm talking about getting a column spiked because the bosses didn't agree with it, which is what happened to sports columnist Calkins recently at the Seattle Times. It's why he's no longer a sports columnist with the Seattle Times after 11 years, because he resigned over it. Decided he wasn't takin' it, and good on him.

 The column in question was about the whole Sophie Cunningham/transgender athletes flap, and Calkins did what any good columnist does: He localized it. Went to an Indiana Fever-Seattle Storm game and sought out a young woman holding a sign in support of Cunningham. Interviewed her. Found out she was a high school athlete who wasn't crazy about the idea of competing against "biological males." Listened to her story and to another female athlete's story. 

Then he wrote about it, taking the position that keeping girls and boys sports separate doesn't automatically make you transphobic. It was a reasonable and consistent viewpoint for the right-leaning Calkins, even if he was addressing a fictitious issue ginned up by folks who do have a bug up their keisters about transgenders.

(In this former sports columnist's opinion)

Nonetheless, Calkins sought out a story and told it. Did his job, in other words.

But then the bosses got involved.

Held the column. Decided to talk it over with the other bosses. Concluded they wouldn't run it because Calkins hadn't told his editors about it beforehand.

Which was lamer than Dennis Weaver in "Gunsmoke."

It is, in fact, total BS in the Blob's informed opinion, and the worst part is the capos at the Times likely knew it when they put it out there. They needed a cover story, and that's the cover story they're stickin' to.

Here's the deal: I don't know how it works out in Seattle, but I rarely if ever told my sports editor beforehand what I was writing about from a live event. This was because it was, well, a live event, and I didn't know what was going to happen. And so never once did my sports editor say, "Well, you didn't tell me yesterday what you were writing about from this live event today, so we're not gonna run your column."

Unlike the dopes in Seattle, see, my sports editor understood how it all works.

 Now, it's true that what Calkins wrote wasn't expressly about the live event in this case. But it did become news when one of the Storm's minority owners berated one of the girls he interviewed. Therefore the column, and the topic, were relevant -- even if the bosses didn't like the opinion Calkins expressed about it.

Which certainly appears to be the case here. And which certainly says nothing good about the chuckleheads atop the masthead at the Times, whose cover story no one buys and who now stand accused of letting their own editorial biases bleed over to the news side.

Dumb and dumber. Because if  the bosses didn't agree with what Calkins wrote, there was an easy out: Run it on the oped page, which is where newspapers print columns that offer a different viewpoint than their own. Why just kill it and make yourselves look like hypocrites or worse?

Now there's a question a good columnist might ask.