A frightful tale

 "Ye don't wanna go in there, sonny," said the old man, scarred and stooped, staring at the stalwart younger man with his remaining blue eye.

The stalwart younger man merely adjusted his navy cap with the yellow "M" and drew himself up tall.

"I'm not afraid, old-timer!" he declared. "I'm Jim Harbaugh, and we're Meeee-chigan! We're not afraid o' no ghosts!"

The old man uttered a chuckle that screeched like a rusty hinge.

"Fine, sonny fine!" he cackled. "Go on in! They're ain't nothin' in there waitin' for ye! Nothin' but a lot of them green meanies that come out when the moon rides a night sky blacker 'n' the devil's soul! You'll see! Youuuu'll see!"\

But stalwart younger man merely laughed, tugged at his cap again and marched into brooding old Spartan Stadium, looming like a ruined House on a Hill, or maybe a Hotel in the Rockies, or maybe a certain Abandoned House in Haddonfield, Ill. ...

And, well, we know what happened.

The stalwart younger man, name of Jim Harbaugh, took his Meee-chigan Wolverines in there, and they were up 30-14 in the third quarter and rolling -- Haunted! Ha! -- and then ...

And then Kenneth Walker III started to run, sifting in and out among the Meee-chigans like a sudden chill in the air.

He ran for a touchdown. He ran for another touchdown. He was there one second and then gone in the Spartan Stadium gloom, and suddenly it was 30-22, and then it was 30-30, and then Harbaugh inexplicably pulled his quarterback, Cade McNamara, who'd thrown for 383 yards and two touchdowns, replacing him with  freshman J.J. McCarthy.

Who promptly fumbled, and Michigan State recovered. Walker scored again. And suddenly it was 37-33, and Jim Harbaugh, that stalwart younger man, had lost to the Spartans again, and Michigan State was 8-0 while the Meee-chigans were 7-1.

Later, as Harbaugh and his players trudged out of the brooding ruined House or Hotel or Abandoned House ...

"I told ye! the old man cackled, as the stalwart younger man stumbled past him, his proud hat now drooping sadly. "I told ye the green meanies would be waiting for ye! I told ye not to go in there, din't I?"

The stalwart younger man stopped. He lifted his head and glared.

"Shut up," he snapped. "Who are you, anyway?"

Another rusty-hinge cackle.

"Why, my name is Duffy, son!" the old man replied. "Duffy Daugherty! And (BLEEP) MICHIGAN!"

And with one last cackle, he turned and ambled back into Spartan Stadium . As he passed through the gates, he became a wisp of smoke, and then a smudge in the gloom, and then he was gone.

It was a long time before the stalwart younger man stopped screaming.

The cost of a Cup, Part Deux

 In which the heads begin to roll, because they pretty much have to.

Three days after the report came out detailing how the Chicago Blackhawks brass sat on their hands as tales flew about one of their coaches perhaps sexually assaulting a young playoff call-up, the coach of the team at the time, Joel Quenneville, resigned as coach of the Florida Panthers.

Quenneville, after all, was the guy in the room who said investigating the incident would be a "distraction" with the Stanley Cup Final coming up, and maybe they should put off investigating it until after the playoffs, or maybe just forget the whole thing. So he had to go.

His resignation came a day after the young playoff call-up, Kyle Beach, went public with his story, pretty much demolishing any suggestion that the encounter between him and video coach/sexual predator Brad Aldrich was consensual. And it came after Quenneville met with NHL commissioner Gary Bettman, a conversation that likely went like this:

BETTMAN: "We think it would be a very good idea right now if you'd resign, Joel."

(Leans closer)

"A VERY, VERY good idea."

So Quenneville is gone, and the only two members of the Blackhawks brass who were around for the now-infamous meeting are gone, and several other shoes are likely to drop before this is all done. As well they should.

And Kyle Beach?

He says finally getting someone to listen is cathartic, after 11 years of nightmares. 

But, hey. At least the Blackhawks got a Cup out of the deal, right?

That ol' gamblin' jones

 Stuff becomes part of the landscape, while you're not paying attention. One day anti-vaxxers like Jenny McCarthy are rightly regarded as tinfoil-hat-wearing kooks, and the next she's part of a real live Movement, with elected representatives waving its banner and everything.

One day fringe loonies are just, well, fringe loonies, and the next they're getting elected to Congress -- including right here in northeast Indiana.

One day sports gambling lives in the shadows, and the next ...

Well. Then it suddenly has an honored place at Sportsball World's table.

The strangeness of this occurred to me last weekend, while I was watching Jamie Foxx pimp BetMGM's sportsbook during a commercial break in some football game. Now, I've seen those ads a million times, and I've seen a pile of other sportsbook ads a millions times. and it's all become part of the aforementioned landscape. But for some reason it hit me differently this day.

For some reason, when Jamie crowed about all us winners out there hittin' the overs, and hittin' the unders, and coverin' those spreads, I thought, "But what if you don't?"

No one ever talks about that part of it. And it never popped up in my head before, either, mainly because of that whole landscape thing.

 Sportsbook ads continually airing during sporting events; leagues -- (cough) NFL, MLB (cough) -- that used to flee from any mention of gambling now embracing it wholeheartedly; major sports media entities devoting entire blocks of programming to Vegas touts. It's all just become kind of, well, normal.

I know, I know. I'm old, I'm cranky, I'm shaking my bony fist and shouting why can't it be 1965 again, dadburn it. Meanwhile, America is telling me gambling and sports have a cozy synergy now, gramps. Get used to it.

And yet ...

And yet, I still can't help wondering how we got from there to here.

From the Black Sox and Pete Rose being cast into outer darkness for consorting with gamblers, to a proposed two-story sportsbook right outside Wrigley Field. From Pete Rozelle suspending Paul Hornung and Alex Karras for gambling, to the NFL having a franchise in Vegas and gambling lines (and sportsbook ads) becoming a key component in driving the product.

Now, let me stop right here and say this is not some gambling Carrie Nation talking,  wielding an ax at the first sniff of an over-under. Betting's never been my thing, but I've never been against it, either. You want to plunk your folding green down on an animal with a brain the size of a walnut, or on goofy pro athletes and even goofier college kids, have at it. To each his own.

But when I hear nothing but excitement and winning pumped on these sportsbook ads, I always think of the alternative, being a natural pessimist. I always think of the losers, because the losers are the forgotten element in all of this. And there are probably way more of them than Jamie's winners.

Sports leagues used to recognize that, at least implicitly. Now, because there's so much skin in the gambling game for them, they don't. 

I find that sad. And I wonder how it happened.

Shaking my bony fist all the while, I suppose.

The cost of a Cup

 The Chicago Blackhawks remain one of two winless teams in the NHL this morning, a tumble from grace that is all too appropriate. Joel Quenneville's team, on the other hand, owns the best record in the league, sitting atop the Eastern Conference with a 6-0-0 record and 12 points.

So I suppose sometimes the karma works and sometimes it doesn't, the way Old Lodgeskins' magic did in "Little Big Man."

This upon the report that went off like a nuclear device yesterday, revealing that, in 2010, Quenneville (then the the coach of the Blackhawks instead of the Florida Panthers) and the rest of the Blackhawks front office protected an accused sexual predator because, well, they had a Stanley Cup to win. 

The accused scuzzbucket, Brad Aldrich, was the team's video guy, and he was allowed to continue his duties and hoist the Stanley Cup after the Blackhawks won it, and ride in the parade, and generally be treated like a key member of the team's family. Because, well, the Blackhawks had a Stanley Cup to win, and it would be a "distraction" (Quenneville's word) to take seriously the word of a player who said Aldrich assaulted him and threatened his career on the eve of the Final.

The Blackhawks never did take the player's word seriously. They never did actually investigate the incident, which was followed by another that Aldrich assaulted an intern shortly after the Blackhawks won the Cup.

I guess that was his way of celebrating, the sicko.

The Blackhawks did nothing about any of it. What they did instead was allow Aldrich resign quietly -- after which he went up to Michigan, where in 2013 he was convicted of criminal sexual conduct involving a high school student, and did nine months in the Graybar Hilton for it.

I think if I were the father of that high school kid, I'd be ready to lay the lumber to the head of everyone who was in the room for that infamous meeting. A nice crosscheck to the Chiclets sounds about right.

I also think they should haul that 2010 Stanley Cup banner out of the rafters and burn it. It's forever soiled anyway.

I also think the punishment for this needs to go beyond the resignations of president of hockey operations Stan Bowman and senior director of hockey administration Al MacIsaac, the only two 2010 execs who remain with the organization. I think the other brass who were there -- Quenneville, John McDonough, Kevin Cheveldayoff and Jay Blunk -- should be hitting the bricks, too, from wherever they might be gainfully employed at the moment.

Let 'em eat resumes, by God. Let 'em discover the real cost of a Stanley Cup, seeing as how there was apparently no price they wouldn't pay for one.

You know what, though?

I don't think it will happen, especially in Quenneville's case. After all, he's got his team atop the league right now. 

And, like the 2010 Blackhawks, the Panthers have a Stanley Cup to win.

A few brief thoughts on NFL Week 7

 And now this week's edition of The NFL In So Many Words, the prisoner-of-the-moment Blob feature of which critics have said "Help! I'm being held prisoner!", and also "This is the worst thing that's ever happened in the entire history of the entire world!":

1. "The Ravens are unbeatable!" (Last week, after the Ravens crushed the Chargers)

2. "The Bengals are unbeatable!" (This week, after the Bengals crushed the Ravens)

3. "The (Your Team Name Here) are unbeatable!" (Next week)

4. "The Bears are the worst team in the history of professional football!" (Bears fans, after the Bears were embarrassed by the Buccaneers)

5. "No, you're not! We are!" (Jets fans, after the Jets were embarrassed by the Patriots)

6. "Well ... maybe not." (Bears and Jets fans, after they manage to not be embarrassed next week)

7. "The Colts are ALL THE WAY BACK, BABY!" (Colts fans, after the Colts beat the 49ers Sunday in the middle of a hurricane)

8. "Why couldn't we have a hurricane TODAY??" (Colts fans, after Derrick Henry and the Titans run over them next Sunday)

9. "At least we almost won!" (Lions fans, this week)

10. "At least we almost won!" (Lions fans, next week)

A Series of conflicts

 I am sorry, Dusty Baker. I just can't do it.

I want to root for you, because you deserve this, and also because if you do it (or rather, your team does it) it will be a terrific story about a terrific manager and a terrific human being. So of course I want to root for Dusty. 

But I can't. I just ... can't. 

I can't root for his Houston Astros -- who presumably are not cheating this time, but who knows? That's the stain that comes with cheating and getting caught: Everyone presumes from that point on you're still cheating. So if you're an Astros fan, you can take reaching the World Series again as some sort of validation you can do it clean, but the rest of country is never going to buy it. They're always going to reply, "Yeah, maybe."

Plus, except for the GM and the manager getting shown the road, the Asterisk-Os largey eluded capture. No players were harmed in the making of this deception, and some of them are still the anchors for this team.

So it still feels like they got away with it. And that's why I can't root for Dusty, much as I would love to.

Besides, his opposite number probably deserves this more than he does.

That would be Brian Snitker, who just turned 66 and who has spent most of his adult life riding buses between Nowheresville and That Other Place. In the dictionary beside "baseball lifer," you'll find his picture; since going to work in the Braves organization 41 years ago, he's managed eight clubs in the Atlanta farm system, everyone from the Anderson Braves and Durham Bulls to the Myrtle Beach Pelicans, with whom he won two Carolina League titles.

For awhile he was the third-base coach for the big club, and then it was back to the minors, where he managed the Triple A Gwinnett Braves for two seasons. Finally, after 36 years with the organization, he made it to the big chair, becoming the Atlanta Braves manager on May 17, 2016.

Now he's going to be managing in the World Series, after 41 years. And so, even though I despise all those white people waving foam tomahawks and all that other Tomahawk Chop crap -- like Native Americans of that region haven't suffer indignities enough, now they have to watch Jethro Joe Clampett play pretend Indian? -- I gotta cast my lot with the Braves.

Because Dusty Baker or not, no one's paid more dues than Brian Snitker. No one.

A case of the uglies, Part Deux

 "Pffft. Been there, done that."

-- Surviving members of the 1964 Liberty Center and Marion Swayzee basketball teams, upon learning of yesterday's nine-overtime Illinois upset of No. 7 Penn State

Yes, that's right, boys and girls. Nine overtimes already has been a thing.

It happened in the '64 Marion Regional basketball tournament, when the Lions of Liberty Center and the Speedkings of Swayzee set an IHSAA basketball tournament record that stands to this day. Swayzee eventually won, 65-61, but only after the teams slogged through nine extra sessions, mainly because whoever won the tap to start each OT held the ball for one shot and kept missing.

Illinois and Penn State, alas, did not have that excuse. They went nine OTs in Happy Valley not on purpose, but because neither team could muster the will to make three yards.

Under the new overtime rules in college football, both teams traded field goals in the first two overtimes, then proceeded to flounder around on one-and-done two-point-conversion  attemptsfrom the 3-yard line six times. Finally the Illini bagged the upset on a two-point conversion pass from Brandon Peters to Casey Washington, 20-18.

In between, Penn State botched a trick play, Illinois quarterback Art Sitkowski missed a receiver for the "W," Illinois attempted three more passes that fell incomplete, and on and on and ... on.

I don't know how far Penn State will tumble in the polls now, but if you can't score enough on seven tries from the 3-yard line at home against a 2-5 Illinois team, you probably should pack a parachute for the trip. 

And Illinois?

The Illini get 3-4 Rutgers next week. It probably won't go nine OTs this time.

And put your money on the Scarlet Knights.

A case of the uglies

 Well, that wasn't good.

Sunday morning, and Saturday's ugly is still a fright. Down in Bloomington, it rained points and precip, and whatever suggestion remained of last year's magic got washed downstream for your Indiana Hoosiers. And over in West Lafayette?

Purdue commenced to being Purdue, which almost anyone familiar with Purdue football could  have seen coming from a mile off. Ranked for the first time in 14 years after cold-cocking No. 2 Iowa in Iowa City last week, the Purdues Purdue-d it up, losing by 17 at home to a .500 Wisconsin team.

So a monumental upset, followed by getting monumentally upset: As they say in Ross-Ade, it's just what we do here.

And Indiana?

Losing 54-7 to Ohio State in a rainstorm is just what the Hoosiers do, too, even if we sort of forgot that after last year's lightning in a bottle.

These Hoosiers do not in any way resemble those Hoosiers, even if a lot of the names are the same. These Hoosiers are a fine football team, except for a couple of things they can't do. Like, you know, block, tackle, cover receivers, minor stuff like that.

Some numbers: Indiana rushed for 48 yards (averaging 1.3 yards per carry), passed for 80 and scraped out just 10 first downs against the Buckeyes. The defense, meanwhile, was a screen door in a hurricane, yielding 31 first downs, 539 yards and a staggering 7.8 yards per snap. 

You could be more accommodating, I suppose, but only if you scattered rose petals in the path of C.J. Stroud, Treveyon Henderson and the rest of the honored guests from Columbus.

So Indiana is 2-5 and Just Indiana again, and Purdue is 4-3 and Just Purdue again. And the only good news is the calendar.

Basketball season starts November 9.

Babysitting Inc.

We used to pay our babysitters five bucks an hour, back in the day. That was good money15 or 20 years ago, when our kids were young and people didn't babysit to help feed their families the way they do now in our Billions For Bezos, No Soup For You economy.

I imagine the going rate is considerably higher now, in other words. Daryl Morey might want to take note.

Morey's the guy running the front office for the Philadelphia 76ers these days, and today he and the rest of the brass are supposed to have a sitdown with point guard/pouting infant Ben Simmons and his people. And no matter what center Joel Embiid said the other day about not having time to babysit someone, it sounds like Morey is prepared to do just that with Simmons.

"Buckle in," he said on local sports radio host Mike Missanelli's show yesterday. "This process could take four years."

Morey went on to say a bunch of stuff about how they're going to work really hard to bring Simmons back to the 76ers fold, or hold out for a trade for what he considers commensurate  value. Good luck with that, given that Simmons has done everything in his power to dissuade any team from offering more than spare parts for him.

Refusing to participate in a defensive drill Tuesday, compelling head coach Doc Rivers to kick him out of practice, was followed up by Simmons skipping out on an individual workout Thursday. This makes "spoiled child" the more accurate term for Simmons right now than "guy for which some team would trade an impact player."

But Morey has faith, God bless him. Even though, when he talks about re-integrating Simmons into the team dynamic, it sounds distressingly like babysitting to the Blob.

It also gets the Blob's notoriously bent imagination whirring when it considers how today's meeting might look ...

DARYL MOREY: Thank you, Ben, for agreeing to meet with us today. Here, have a chocolate croissant. We had them trucked in special just for you.

BEN SIMMONS: (Throws chocolate croissant on the floor)

MOREY: OK, so you don't like chocolate croissants. Anything else we can get you?

SIMMONS: (Crosses arms, glares silently)

MOREY: O-kay, then. What can we do to mend fences with you? Because we really do think you're an integral part of what we're trying to do here.

SIMMONS (still glaring): Coach Doc doesn't think so. He thinks I'm trash.

DOC RIVERS: That's not what I said, Ben! And for goodness sakes, it was FIVE MONTHS AGO!

SIMMONS: Don't care. You SAID it. And you never apologized!

RIVERS: (sighing heavily): OK. Fine. I apologize. I didn't mean it the way it sounded.

(A pause while Simmons glares some more)

SIMMONS: Now say it like you mean it.

RIVERS (throwing up hands): I mean it! I mean it! OK?

(More glaring from Simmons)

 SIMMONS: I don't know. That sounds pretty sarcastic if you ask me.

(Rivers swears, stands up, stomps out of the room muttering and shaking his head)

MOREY: Don't worry about that, Ben. I'll smooth things over with Coach. Now, is there anything else we can get you? How about one of these lovely cheesesteaks from Pat's?

SIMMONS: (Throws cheesesteak on the floor)

(Morey swears, stands up, stomps out of the room muttering and shaking his head)

Tune in tomorrow for our next episode, "Sixers Trade Ben Simmons For Three Packs Of Juicy Fruit And A Deck Of Uno Cards."

A major-ly dumb idea

 A few dates for you now, as college buckets start gearing up for another season:

March 18, 2005.

March 21, 2014.

March 18, 2016.

March 16, 2018. 

All of which are entered into evidence as proof West Virginia coach Bob Huggins may be a future Hall of Fame coach, but he's not a present Hall of Fame thinker. This after he floated the old idea at the Big 12 basketball media day of the Power 5 conferences breaking off from the NCAA and playing their own March Madness.

"I think it's more 'Why wouldn't they?' than 'Why would they?'" Huggins said. "And then, the other people, they can have their own tournament."

Um ... no, Bob. And you know why?

Because "the other people" are the ones who put the Madness in March Madness. 

Because no one tunes in to see the seventh-best team in the Big Ten "upset" the fourth-best team in the ACC.

Because the first weekend of the NCAA Tournament is what makes the NCAA Tournament, and that goes directly back to the dates mentioned above.

On March 18, 2005, see, Bucknell knocked off Kansas.

And on March 21, 2014, Mercer kicked Duke to the curb.

And on March 18, 2016, 15-seed Middle Tennessee State stunned  2-seed Michigan State -- and two years later, on March 16, 2018, 16-seed UMBC went Middle Tennessee one better, becoming the only 16-seed in the history of Da Tournament to upend a 1-seed (Virginia).

That's why people watch. 

That's why they fill out brackets, why they sneak around behind their bosses' backs to organize office pools, why the first two days of the Madness are America's official Hooky Days.

The Bucknells and Mercers and Middle Tennessees and UMBCs, they make March what it is. Send them off to play their own tournament, and, yes, you might get more colossal matchups among the Power 5s. But it wouldn't be nearly as much fun. 

It wouldn't be March, you get right down to it.

So, thanks, Bob, but no thanks. And watch out for Bucknell.

Taking none for the team

 So I'm wondering what Washington State's football players are thinking this week, now that their head coach has pulled a Leon on them.

Leon, for those who don't remember, was the star of a short-lived Budweiser ad campaign in which a profoundly me-first football player is being interviewed about his four-fumble day. Leon, of course, blames his teammates. And when the interviewer then says "There's no 'I' in 'team'," Leon replies, "Ain't no 'we' either."

Nick Rolovich, it seems, could relate.

That's the Blob's takeaway from the WSU head coach's profoundly selfish act of grandstanding, in which he refused to comply with a work rule that all state employees had to be vaccinated against the Bastard Plague. So the university was compelled to fire him Monday, along with four assistant coaches who refused the vaccine as well, thus following Rolovich off the cliff because ...

Well, who knows. Rolovich says he was declining to be vaccinated for "personal reasons," which essentially is code for either "I don't really have a good reason" or "I don't like being told what to do."

Of course, this will elevate Rolovich to martyrdom in certain circles, where his decision will be spun as some sort of Braveheart stand for "FREEEEE-DOMMM!" He stuck by his principles, even though it cost him his job! He stood tall against the tyranny of the state! Huzzah!

Balderdash. He quit on his team, is what he did.

He violated everything coaches -- including Rolovich himself, no doubt -- preach constantly, which is, yes, that there's no "I" in "team." Sacrifice for the greater good is a consistent theme in every team sport locker room, and has been since Rockne was out there exhorting his troops to pull together and win one for the Gipper. Love each other, as Indiana coach Tom Allen likes to say. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, or the one, as Spock likes to say.*

(* - Gratuitous "Star Trek" reference)

Screw that, apparently is Rolovich's response.

When push came to shove, he decided practicing what he preached was for other people, not him. He Leon-ed the thing.

As for the team he quit on, Washington State will be coached by defensive coordinator Jake Dickert, who met with his players yesterday to assure them that what remains of the coaching staff are in their corner all the way. It's the speech Rolovich should have made after getting the jab, despite his reservations. Because that's what a leader does for his team.

But, nah.

And meanwhile?

Meanwhile, the Philadelphia 76ers have suspended point guard/pouting infant Ben Simmons for the season opener, because  Simmons did his own Leon-ing this week. Still butt-hurt because head coach Doc Rivers and center Joel Embiid made comments after the Sixers' playoff exit that Simmons bore his share of responsibility, he petulantly refused to participate in a defensive drill in practice the other day. Not once, but twice.

So the Sixers suspended him. They ought to trade him, but who'd want a guy who's spent the entire offseason figuratively throwing his toys because Rivers and Embiid, as gingerly as possible, answered a postgame question five months ago?

"At the end of the day, our job is not to babysit somebody," Embiid said after the practice incident, clearly done with Simmons' act. "We get paid to produce on the court, go out, play hard, win some games ... that's what we get paid for. We don't get paid to come out here and try to babysit somebody."

Me?

I think Ben Simmons and Nick Rolovich are kindred spirits, frankly. Because, again, there's no "I" in "team."

Although there is in both "Simmons" and "Rolovich," come to think of it.

A few brief thoughts on NFL Week 6

 And now this week's edition of The NFL In So Many Words, the proprietary Blob feature of which critics have said "How dare he say he owns us!", and also "You're not the boss of me!":

1. "How dare he say he owns us!" (Bears fan, after Aaron Rodgers scored a touchdown Sunday, pointed at a double-birding Bears fan and said "I STILL own you!")

2. "Well ... he kinda does." (Several other Bears fans, upon further review)

3. It's Tuesday morning and Derrick Henry just ran over three more Bills on his way to the end zone.

4. "Hey, he can't do that! We're the Bills!" (The Bills)

5. "I know how we can build the NFL brand overseas! Let's send the Jets and Falcons to London!" (Some guy during an NFL brainstorming session)

6. "And the next week, we can send the Jaguars and Dolphins!" (Some other guy during an NFL brainstorming session)

7. Hey, look, it's the Browns!

8. Brownsing it up again!

9. "Weren't they supposed to be good this year?" (America)

10. "And who's this Kyler Murray guy?" (Also America)

Colts or Cruds?

 So remember last week, when Your Indianapolis Colts gagged away a 19-point lead on the road with little more than a quarter to play, and lost in overtime to the Ravens?

Sure you do. It was Apocalypse Now in Indy: Our kicker can't kick! Lamar Jackson toyed with our D like a kitten with a ball of string! We're 1-4 and the head coach needs to go, the GM and coordinators need to go, and WHY THE HELL DID WE TRADE FOR CARSON WENTZ BECAUSE HE'S ONLY GOING TO GET HURT AGAIN!!

Well ... the Colts are now 2-4. And THEY'RE GOING TO THE SUPER BOWL!!

OK. So Overreaction Whiplash is not quite that extreme. 

But the tone sure is different in the wake of the Colts' 31-3 ball-peening of the Texans yesterday. Suddenly they're the Colts again, and not the Cruds.

Suddenly Jonathan Taylor, who ran for 145 yards and two scores, is a force to be reckoned with at running back, a poor man's Derrick Henry. Suddenly people notice that, by golly, Carson Wentz has quietly put up three straight games with quarterback ratings in the 100s. Suddenly the defense is a ball-hawkin', offense-smotherin' machine, forcing three turnovers and completely holding in check fearsome Texans quarterback Davis Mills.

Um ...

OK. So Davis Mills is not exactly fearsome.

He's not exactly Lamar Jackson. He's not even Andrew Jackson. In fact he doesn't resemble Lamar Jackson in any way except for the fact they both play the same position.

Which brings us to the slow-the-roll portion of our program. Or, perhaps, more accurately, the Why Was Everyone Acting Like They Were Answering A Casting Call For A Disaster Flick Last Week? portion of our program.

Yes, the historic gag-arooni against the Ravens was disaster-like, but the Ravens are now 5-1 after dismantling the Chargers yesterday, and might be the best team in the AFC. And if the Colts were 1-4, they were pretty much supposed to be 1-4, given how depleted they were by injury, and given the front-loaded schedule. 

Now?

Now they're starting to get people back -- Quenton Nelson, Braden Smith, T.Y. Hilton, Kwity Paye. 

Now they get the Jets, the Jaguars and the underperforming Titans in the next month. 

Now their performance in all three phases is bound to go up, because the fourth phase -- the schedule -- is looking up.

They won't beat the Bills. They won't beat the Buccaneers or the Cardinals. But they've got a decent chance, as they get healthier, to beat almost everyone else.

Which means they finish, say, 9-8 and win the AFC South -- which, let's fact it, is utter trash.

You know what people say: No one can turn your season around faster than the Texans.

Or the Jags. Or the Titans. Or the Texans again.

Fan-dumb

You can't beat a crisp Saturday afternoon in the fall, the sun shining, the sky that lovely shade of cobalt to which September and October hold the patent, a football stadium filled with passion and color and glorio- OH MY GOD IS THAT A GOLF BALL??

Yes, America, that is a golf ball, and now Ole Miss coach Lane Kiffin is holding it up to the TV camera, in remarkable good humor considering a bunch of idiots wearing Tennessee orange were showering him (and the field in general) with golf balls, water bottles and various other projectiles Saturday afternoon.  Good old Rocky Top, long may it wind up in the can for drunk and disorderly. 

The Blob holds no prosecutorial brief for either the University of Tennessee or its fans, other than to observe they've got a strange way to show you appreciate being back in Neyland Stadium after a year away. Yes, I get it, they hate Lane Kiffin, who can be an annoying goober, because he ditched UT for USC a few years back. But ... really, people. you gave a whole damn wonderful game a black eye Saturday.

Kiffin, on the other hand, did the second coolest thing that day in response to fan idiocy: When  some hilljack threw a water bottle at him as he left the field following Ole Miss's win, he caught it and then impishly removed his trademark visor and tossed it into the stands in reply. 

Extra credit to Coach for both thinking fast and maintaining his sense of humor.

Out in Iowa City, meanwhile, Purdue lineman Greg Long proved equally alert. When a fan threw a full can of beer on the field while Long's Boilermakers were dis-assembling No. 2 Iowa, he grabbed it, tipped it up and guzzled it through his facemask. Because, you know, FREE BEER.

Humorless Fun Nazis that they occasionally are, I hope Long's coaches and/or Purdue administrators didn't give him grief for that. College kids should still get to be college kids occasionally, even in professional college football.

Here's also hoping Tennessee and the SEC deals less graciously with the morons in Neyland. The Blob suggests going full nuclear and banning tailgating and limiting the number of fans allowed at Tennessee home games for the rest of the season. 

As for the knucklehead in Iowa who threw beer, he's already gotten his punishment. He not only had to watch Purdue toss his beloved Hawkeyes around like a stuffed animal, he had to watch one of the Purdues drink his beer.

Ouch.

Boiler-ed

This just in from Iowa City ...

Wait, what??

Purdue 24, No. 2 Iowa 7.

Wait ... WHAT??

I SAID, "Purdue 24, No. 2 Iowa 7."

(Whatever sound the simultaneous dropping of thousands of jaws makes)

Because, listen, no one saw this coming, even if Iowa was sort of a counterfeit No. 2. No one saw a 3-2 Purdue team that had last checked in with a listless 20-13 loss to a Minnesota team that had just lost to a MAC school (Bowling Green) jumping up and laminating Iowa on the road. Iowa was supposed to laminate the Boilers. The Purdues were supposed to be a rest stop between Penn State and Wisconsin for the unbeaten Hawkeyes. 

Instead, edge rusher George Karlaftis lived in Iowa quarterback Spencer Petras' kitchen, the Hawkeyes' esteemed defense couldn't cover wide receiver David Bell (11 catches for 240 yards and a score), and the Purdue D intercepted Petras four times and limited the Hawkeyes to 271 yards.

Time of possession?

Purdue 34:46, Iowa 25:14.

Purdue quarterback Aidan O'Connell?

A very Purdue Quarterback-y 30-of-40 passing for 375 yards and two scores.

Initial assessment?

The hell did THAT come from?

Upon-further-review assessment?

Hey, look, the Boilers are 4-2 and maybe better than some teams to which more of us have paid attention up until now.

Those teams would include that team two hours down the road in Bloomington, where Indiana is 2-4 after losing its homecoming game 20-15 to No. 10 Michigan State. The Hoosiers' defense played valiantly but their offense did not, thanks in part to a coaching staff that did some really dumb stuff. Halfway through the season, the Indiana team of which so many people expectations has beaten only Idaho and (barely) Western Kentucky. 

Purdue, conversely, no one expected much of anything from. Which only goes to show, for like the eleventy-thousandth time, why college football is the best of all the games of autumn.

Balls, strikes and AI

 The Blob unfairly gets tarred as a Luddite sometimes, if only because it didn't give up its beloved flip phone until 2018 or so, and still mourns the passing of its faithful Tandy 200. But I'm not really as anti-technology as that suggests.

I actually think the problem is it's always behind the curve.

That's why I don't despise Alexa or Siri, I just pine for the day Alexa or Siri becomes self-aware and can give you some lip. Like you ask Alexa to play a certain song, and Alexa says, "No. That song is trash." Or you're following Siri's route instructions in your car, and you make a wrong turn, and Siri says "Not that way, you idiot!"

Life would be so much more interesting if that could happen. Also a lot funnier.

This is the long way around the barn to get to my point, which is why Major League Baseball should never employ robot umpires until they, too, become self-aware. A handful of minor leagues experimented with robot umps this summer, so I suppose that technology will be coming somewhere down the pike. 

Certainly the topic came up in some precincts last night, after first-base umpire Gabe Morales won a sterling NLDS for the Dodgers by signaling that the Giants' Wilmer Flores went down on a swinging for the last out. The Giants had the tying run on base when it happened, and then suddenly it was over.

Thing is, Flores checked his swing on the third strike. It was obvious from every camera angle, some more than others. Morales blew it -- but because it's a judgment call, it wasn't reviewable.

Perhaps it should be from now on. Or perhaps robot umps are the answer, because as every moviegoer knows, Terminators are less mortal than humans.

What I think about that is the technology isn't there yet.

What I think is it won't be there until you name the robot ump Bernie and program a personality into it. Too much of the game's essence will be lost if some Earl Weaver type charges out of the dugout and kicks dirt on Bernie, and Bernie just keeps repeating, "Ball four. Take your base" in an Ah-nold Terminator voice.

No. Not acceptable.

Artificial intelligence will not be ready for everyday application in baseball until the AI develops an Attitude. Until Wanna Be Earl Weaver kicks dirt on Bernie, and Bernie gets up in Wanna Be Earl's face and screams, "Did you just kick dirt on me? Did you? Do that again, you're goin' to the showers. Go on! Do it!"

And then, a couple moments later: "Did you just SPIT on me? Huh? That's it! You're gone! I don't wanna see your face the rest of the game!"

Of course, just for kicks, maybe Bernie could also add this: "Hasta la vista, baby."

And now, some journalism talk

 Or in other words ...

This is the part where the Blob gets all schoolmarm-y. 

This is the part where y'all are allowed to cut class if you like, because we're gonna talk Journalism-With-A-Capital-J for a spell, and the Blob knows from experience nothing can clear a room faster than that. So, go on, get outta here, ya knuckleheads.

As for the rest of you, let's start here: ESPN reporter Adam Schefter, and the wages of what is apparently no longer considered a sin in the newfangled journalistic world of 2021.

Among the avalanche of e-mails that revealed Jon Gruden to be fireable pond scum, see, was one Schefter sent in 2011 to Bruce Allen, then the general manager of the Washington Football Team. In it, he sent along a copy of an NFL story he was about to publish so Allen could vet it first -- jokingly referring to Allen as "Mr. Editor."

This was a violation of basic journalism principles, in case you were wondering. The term for it is "prior restraint," and you're taught to never ever ever do this in, like, the first journalism class you take.

Some folks on social media immediately pointed this out. Some other folks (i.e., Schefter's former ESPN colleague Darren Rovell) doubled down, saying it was no big deal, people do this all the time.

Um, no, dude. Allow me to summon the ghost of one my mentors at Ball State, Ken Atwell, to box your ears for you.

No properly trained journalist ever lets a source read a story before it's published (see again: "prior restraint"). Or at least no properly trained journalist used to.

Me?

In almost four decades as a sports journalist, I never even considered doing it. I did, on occasion, call a source to make sure I quoted him or her correctly before submitting a piece, which is entirely appropriate and even fundamental. So it's a fine line, but it's also very clearly marked. 

Schefter, to his credit, admitted as much today, saying he kinda-sorta screwed up. But the essential dynamic remains that put him on the wrong side of that aforementioned line. And that's because the line, especially for alleged media conglomerates like ESPN, has become increasingly faint.

ESPN, after all, both reports on and is in business with the SEC as the broadcast home of the SEC Network. It both reports on and is in business with the NFL, which includes as a broadcast partner Disney, which owns ABC and ESPN. This is not solely an ESPN phenomenon, either. Media conglomerates with a foot in both the journalism world, and in the world of those they cover, sprout like crabgrass everywhere.

Even if that doesn't taint the way these conglomerates cover that world, it can give the appearance it does. It's why back in the day we were always leery of getting too close to the athletes and officials of the teams we covered -- an even finer line than the aforementioned one, and one far easier to inadvertently cross.

On the one hand, cultivating sources is how you do the job, and some level of familiarity is therefore necessary. On the other, getting too familiar could mess with your ability to properly do that job.

Me?

I always erred on the cautious side, probably to my detriment. I consciously kept sources at professional length as much as possible, a function perhaps of my personality -- I'm a natural introvert -- as anything. No doubt that cost me, though I like to think my work didn't suffer too much from it.

Of course, as with everyone in this business, the readers/viewers were the final arbiters of that. And these days they're arbit-ing a hell of a lot more pervasively then they used to.

One more changed dynamic, and a Blob for another day.

Racist or stupid, a Final Thought

 I suppose more people than not are saying "God bless Brian Kelly" around the University of Notre Dame these days, even if he's now into quarterback timeshares and there are still soreheads who are mad he hasn't won a national title yet. 

But you generate a lot of good will when you're good enough long enough to put Knute Rockne in your wake. And winning national titles isn't as easy as it used to be for a lot of reasons, not all of them spelled "Alabama." 

So, yeah, God bless Brian Kelly. He saved Domerville from Jon Gruden, after all.

Follow along, kiddos ...

First off, everyone in America knows what Gruden is now, which is an unemployed gaping orifice fond of spewing racist, homophobic and misogynist trash. In this, he's likely no different than a pile of folks in the NFL who weren't stupid enough to air their caveman-ery in e-mails. There are calls out there now to purge the league of any and all Gruden fellow travelers, which is frankly hilarious. You might as well try to purge the Sahara of sand.

But back to Notre Dame.

Remember a few years back, before Notre Dame found its (presumably) forever coach?

Back then Jon Gruden's name popped up every time some high-gloss college job came up, and that included Notre Dame. At least some of the speculation was tied to the fact he was a South Bend boy, a proud graduate of Clay High School. The rest was tied to the perception that he was some sort of wizard coach, a notion that never was supported by the facts. 

He was a barely .500 NFL coach who won a Super Bowl in Tampa with Tony Dungy's defense. That's what he was. But somehow he was everyone's answer.

In any case, Someone up there was looking out for Notre Dame, because the school never hired Gruden. Can you imagine if it had, and what's come out about him in the last week or so came out while he was patrolling the Irish sideline?

Now, Notre Dame has had its share of public relations messes, most of them attributable at least in part to its hubris. Kelly, certainly, has presided over his share -- up to and including the death of a student worker on his watch, for which he was never fully held accountable.

Jon Gruden would have been yet one more nuclear mess. 

And so, again: God bless Brian Kelly.

A few brief thoughts on NFL Week 5

 And now this week's edition of The NFL In So Many Words, the highly interruptible Blob feature of which critics have said "Wait, wha-", and also "-t?":

1. "Yay, we're whipping the Ravens on the road! Super Bowl, baby!" (Colts fans)

2. "Wait, wha-?" (Also Colts fans, after Lamar Jackson leads a comeback from 19 points down and beats them in overtime)

3. "We're still the Chiefs Kingdom! Super Bowl, baby!" (Chiefs fans)

4. "Wait, wha-?" (Also Chiefs fans, after Josh Allen and the Bills dance all over the Chiefs heads in Arrowhead, 38-20)

5. "I got this" (Packers kicker Mason Crosby)

6. "Wait, wha-?" (Also Mason Crosby. Repeat two more times)

7. "I GOT TH-!" (Bengals kicker Evan McPherson, prematurely celebrating a game-winning field goal)

8. "Wait, wha-?" (Also McPherson, after Crosby finally made the actual game-winning field goal) 

9. "And now, because the NFL wants to present its English friends with the very best of its product, we give you the Falcons and the Jets!" (The NFL, presumably, before the Falcons-Jets game in London)

10. "Wait, wha-?" (The English friends)

Racist or stupid, Part Demise

 So remember the other day, when the Blob said it was willing to give Jon Gruden the benefit of the doubt about a 10-year-old racist e-mail, and that it was just possible he could actually have been stupid enough to realize just how racist it was?

Absent additional evidence, the Blob wasn't quite prepared to declare Gruden a bigoted jackass.

Well ... additional evidence has emerged.

And, yes, Gruden is a bigoted jackass. Also every bit of That Stupid as the Blob suspected.

He's out, expelled, finished at Faber after the New York Times released additional e-mails in which Gruden revealed himself to be an all-purpose bigot for whom the sort of language he used to describe NFLPA head DeMaurice Smith was not merely nuclear stupid, but part of a bigot's mentality.

 Not only is Gruden a racist, apparently, but he's what frequently comes along with that: A  homophobe, a misogynist, the whole bigotry cavalcade.

In the e-mails released by the Times, for instance, he calls commissioner Roger Goodell a homophobic slur (the "f"-word, and I think we all know what that is). He said "queers" like gay linebacker Michael Sam shouldn't have been drafted, and that Goodell shouldn't have "pressured" then-Rams coach Jeff Fisher into doing so. 

He also said women have no place on an NFL officiating team, and slurred sundry owners, coaches and media members who cover the league.

Not even the occasionally blockheaded Mark Davis, the owner of the  Raiders, could fail to see what he had to do, after that. He called in Gruden and fired/let him resign before the ink barely had dried on the Times piece.

And, regular as sunrise, there will no doubt now be the ceremonial raising of the Freedom O' Speech flag in Gruden's defense in various lunatic fringe precincts. Or maybe not. Maybe this is too open-and-shut even for them. 

Because, listen, the NFL is all about image, like any corporate monolith. Even if that image frequently is revealed to be little more than performance art, it must be protected. And so Gruden had to go. 

Calling the commissioner of the league of which you're part a homophobic slur was just the cherry on top of the whipped cream on top of a particularly noxious sundae.

Gruden's last game on the Raiders' sideline was a listless 20-9 home loss to a Bears team that is pretty "meh" itself. It happened a couple of days after the original e-mail about DeMaurice Smith came out, with its crude and ancient racist trope about black men's lips. Which makes you wonder if Gruden had lost his locker room even before the Times piece came out.

OK. So it makes me wonder, then. 

Devalued

 I don't know where you had Oklahoma quarterback Spencer Rattler on your Heisman ballot before Saturday. But I hope you wrote his name down in pencil.

That's because Rattler was awful as Texas built a 28-7 lead Saturday in the Red River Showdown, and then he was a spectator, and, whoops, how do you spell "Caleb Williams"?

Because that was Williams, a freshman, who replaced Rattler at quarterback for OU, and who led the Sooners all the way back in the biggest game of the year. He threw for two touchdowns and ran for another in the eventual 55-48 victory, and now maybe he's the Heisman Trophy candidate taking snaps in Norman.

Rattler, meanwhile, had so much preseason buzz around him that he had a Name, Image and Likeness (NIL) deal with a local car dealership and was selling his autograph in Cameo. Which college athletes can do these days, especially those projected to be first-round NFL draft picks.

Now?

Now speculation is already flying about where Rattler will transfer after losing his starting spot, and how far his draft stock will plummet. And how future NIL deals might be impacted by his situation.

Maybe the Rattler Effect will be a serious re-evaluation of just how wise it is to invest in college kids. Or maybe potential investors will simply regard Rattler as a cautionary tale and proceed anyway.

More exploration of this brave new college athletics world.

The wages of sinew

Once upon a time there were two warriors. Let's begin there this morning.

Once upon a time there were two warriors, mountainous men with mountainous hearts, and one night they ruined each other in a boxing ring. Thunderbolts exploded from their fists. Blows were landed that would bring down the walls of a city, one of them said later. And neither would ever be the same again.

The warriors' names were Muhammad Ali and Joe Frazier. They met in Manila in the skinny hours of an October morning 1975.

Ali won but absorbed punishment that would soon bring down the walls of his youth and vitality.

Frazier lost bravely, but his bravery would rob him forever of the threshing-machine fury that had made him an immortal.

People said it was at once the greatest and most brutal heavyweight fight they'd ever seen, an unparalleled display of will from two men with the hearts of lions.

Pretty much the same thing they were saying after Tyson Fury -- an entire mountain range of a man at 6-9 and 285 pounds -- knocked out Deontay Wilder in the late hours of an October evening two days ago.

As with Ali and Frazier, it was the third time they'd met in the ring. As with Ali and Frazier, they are both in their 30s. As with Ali and Frazier, they traded blows that would bring down the walls of a city, and that would separate one another from their senses while they were at it. 

Wilder knocked Fury down twice in the fourth round with a jackhammer of a right hand. Fury floored Wilder three times with blows that landed like the sledgehammer of the gods. Each time both men got up, until as last Wilder couldn't.

Like Frazier, he kept coming no matter how many times Fury hit him. Like Ali, Fury got up twice when he could have stayed down in the fourth, and slowly began to pound Wilder into submission.

People called it "epic," an "instant classic," a "heavyweight bout for the ages."

Me?

I'm remembering those skinny hours in Manila, and another epic, and the wages of sinew they exacted on two other men in their 30s. And I'm hoping, unlike Ali and Frazier, that Tyson Fury and Deontay Wilder will be the same again.

Heaven sent

 It's always a mistake to try to decipher the inner workings of Kyrie Irving's mind, because it's a crowded place and you can break a leg tripping over the furniture. It's never where normal people would put it, after all.

But sometimes the Blob can't resist making mistakes. Especially when Kyrie says something really, really off the wall.

Just recently Irving, the lone member of the Brooklyn Nets not to get vaccinated against the Bastard Plague that's killed 700,000 Americans, said he doesn't need the jab because God is protecting him. God not being in charge of the borough of Brooklyn, however, the Lord still can't get him into the Barclay Center to play games, although Irving has been granted special dispensation to practice there.

This notion that God is protecting him, though, is one held by more than just Irving. It's a favored defense for anti-vaxxers of a particular faith, and the Blob will not debate its theology. What it will do is imagine the Almighty's response according to the Blob's own understanding of faith.

That would be the faith that says, "God protects those who protect themselves."

So here's Kyrie, and others, saying "God will protect us."

And here's the Almighty's imagined response:

Guys, guys, GUYS. And GALS. Yes, I'll protect you. You are all my children, and I love you. But I'm not the prize in a box of Cracker Jacks. I'm not some genie springing from a bottle to place a Magic Jedi Force Field around ya'll. I mean, I could do that -- I am the Almighty, after all -- but I've never been partial to cheap theatrics.

So here's what I've done instead: I've placed upon this Earth scientists and bestowed upon them the knowledge to develop the very vaccines you reject. That's how I'm protecting you. You know the old joke about the guy in the flood who drowns because he believes God will save him, and God tells him He sent a boat and a helicopter, what else did he want?

Well, this is that. Same deal. Got it?

Let's pray so.

A Saturday of upendings

 Some things we know now, on a day that proved Chris Schenkel was right when he rhapsodized about all those glorious Saturday afternoons in the fall:

* Alabama might actually be a football program comprised of semi-normal college kids and not, you know, Cylons or Terminators or skillfully crafted digital components.

* More teams should do what Texas A&M did to the Crimson Tide, which is blitz the hell out of them on defense.

* Michigan is still undefeated, but not as undefeated as we thought, because Nebraska is not as 3-4 as we thought.

* Iowa is still undefeated, but (sorry, Hawkeye fans) wouldn't be if Penn State quarterback Sean Clifford hadn't gotten hurt.

* Notre Dame is now 5-1, but the quarterback position is now a multiple-choice question and some Domeheads think Brian Kelly keeps getting the answer wrong.

About that last ...

At least one person on the interwhatsis yesterday thought Kelly, the winningest coach in Notre Dame history, should be fired for starting Jack Coan against Virginia Tech last night. Way to keep that fabled perspective intact, Irish fans!

Hard telling what they're thinking this morning, though, after Kelly started Coan, benched Coan for freshman Tyler Buchner, then brought back Coan after the freshman did some freshman stuff.

Coan, of course, went on to do senior stuff, coolly driving Notre Dame to the tying score and two-point conversion, and then to Jonathan Doerer's game-winning field goal. And all in the last 2:26.

Which makes for a fun mental exercise, imagining how Domer Nation reacted to all of it.

"Finally!" the Nation cried, when Kelly yanked Coan in the second quarter after a stumbling start.

"Yes! Buchner's our man!" it roared, after the kid ran for a touchdown and threw for another.

"Farts!" it thundered, after Buchner threw two interceptions that led to Virginia Tech scores in the third quarter.

"Double farts!" it howled, after Kelly put Coan back in.

And then, after the Irish squeaked through with Coan at the helm ...

"Uhhhh ..."

Kelly was somewhat more expansive.

"You guys should be thinking about great things to write about that guy because that doesn't happen very often," he told the media.

Forgive the Blob's eternally suspicious bent if it thinks Kelly laying it on that thick might have been a subtle middle finger to certain unappreciative Domer elements. Bash me for sticking with Coan, will ya? Well, sit on this and rotate!

OK, so maybe not. But it's a happy thought, on a happy Saturday of upendings.

Racist or stupid?

 So the national sports poodles have found their new cause celebre, and it is Jon Gruden, former ESPN poodle himself and vastly overrated NFL coach. And what a self-righteous time they're having!

Seems ol' Chucky sent a nasty e-mail about NFLPA executive director DeMaurice Smith a decade ago (because e-mails never die, and they don't fade away, either), and the Wall Street Journal somehow stumbled onto it. And now Gruden is being compelled to explain himself. 

He's not done a very good job of it so far. Which of course has unleashed a fresh round of condemnation from the poodles.

Here's what the e-mail said: "Dumboriss Smith has lips the size of michellin (sic) tires."

And, yes, that is both juvenile and racist as hell, given that Smith is black.

Or ...

Or,  let's play a new game show, "Racist Or Stupid?", in which we examine whether or not someone trotting out a racist trope means he or she actually is a racist, or just profoundly clueless. Or both.

Here's the Blob's verdict on Gruden's e-mail: Mostly Stupid.

Because I don't believe for a second that Gruden's actually a racist, unless someone uncovers more evidence that racism has been a systemic component of his coaching career. To my knowledge, there isn't any such evidence. And if he was actually as racist as that e-mail suggests, there'd be some.

No, what I think is Gruden was aiming for clever and hit Stupid instead. Like, really, really Stupid. 

How else could he not know that talking about a black man's lips is one of the oldest racist tropes in existence? How could any reasonably educated person be so, well, Stupid?

Well, because some people are. And these days it's not impossible to believe. Hasn't been since the Former President -- himself not the  sharpest tool in the shed -- showed up and started plying all the easy marks out there with nonsense.

I mean, we now live in a country where some people actually think the CIA used military satellites to change Trump votes to Biden votes in the 2020 election. And where there are people who don't trust the CDC and thoroughly tested vaccines, but somehow trust snake-oil salesmen hawking livestock de-wormer as an effective treatment for the Bastard Plague.

We are a nation brimming with dumb, in other words. So is it all that hard to believe a football junkie might be dumb enough not to realize how completely racist that e-mail was?

Not for me it's not. Though opinions, as always, will vary.

QBNone, today's chapter

 ... in which Bears head coach Matt Nagy, who previously said Andy Dalton would replace rookie Justin Fields at quarterback as soon as Dalton healed up, reverses himself and says  Fields would remain the Bears' starter no matter what.

Reactions quickly poured in ...

"Wait, what?" (Andy Dalton)

"Oh, who cares. Not me, that's for sure." (Jay Cutler)

"Me, either. Thank God I'm in Buffalo now." (Mitchell Trubisky)

"Douglass! Douglass!" (Abe Gibron)

"What?" (Bobby Douglass)

"I mean Rakestraw! Rakestraw!" (Abe Gibron)

"Huh? But I'm not even on this team!" (Larry Rakestraw)

"But I am! Don't you mean 'Huarte, Huarte,' Abe?" (John Huarte)

"Huarte? No, I mean Fields! Fields!" (Abe Gibron)

"But I'm not even born yet!" (Justin Fields)

"Meh. Still don't care." (Jay Cutler)

And so it goes ...

Urban blight

 Look, maybe there's a completely rational explanation for why Urban Meyer got caught in a dive bar getting a quasi-lap dance from a woman young enough to be his granddaughter. I'm just sayin'.

I mean, maybe he was just demonstrating the proper technique for the center-quarterback exchange. Could be true, right?

OK, so, no. OK, so this is all unraveling faster than even the Blob figured it would.

The Jacksonville Jaguars, those lovable NFL ragamuffins, brought Meyer aboard with great fanfare, because, golly, look what he did in college. Forget the way all those other college coaches crashed and burned in the NASH-unal FOOT-ball League. Urban was different! Urban was the perfect CEO head coach! And he had Trevor Lawrence to work with!

Well ... the Jags are still lovable ragamuffins, four games into Meyer's regime. Lawrence is a rookie quarterback with a cruddy team doing what rookie quarterbacks with cruddy teams do, which is struggle. The Jags are 0-4 and Meyer is doing what college coaches almost always do in the NFL, which is lurch from one culture-shock crisis to the next.

First he hires, and then fires, a racist strength coach.

Then he says out loud a player's vaccination status would be a factor in whether or not he makes the roster, which gets the players' union ("Players union? What's that?" you can almost hear Urban saying) up in arms.

Then word leaks that his Joe College routine ain't cuttin' it with the grown-ass men he's now coaching. 

Then he doesn't fly back with his team to Florida after losing to the Bengals' Thursday evening, and winds up in that dive bar with that embarrassingly young woman. 

Now he's apologizing again, and his players are reportedly laughing at him behind his back, and the owner who placed such faith in him (and paid him a nice chunk of change) is issuing a public reprimand of his head coach. 

"Just the Jags being Jaggy," you're saying now, and that might be true.

"Just another college coach who doesn't get it," you're also saying, and that might be true as well.

"Looks suspiciously like self-sabotage," you're also saying, and, well ...

Hmm.

Now, this is not the part where I let my inner conspiracy kook out to roam free, but if I did, there'd be some grass there for him to crop. I don't really think Urban consciously put himself in a compromising position to get out of a situation that's more than he bargained for. But given his history of abruptly bailing on sticky wickets at Florida and Ohio State, it's reasonable to wonder if he's not gearing up to pull the ripcord again.

He's 0-4 a month into the season, and if the rumors are true (and who knows, with rumors) he's all but lost the locker room already. So it's easy to surmise that, if only fleetingly, he's looking longingly at the cushy analyst gig he had before deciding to take on the NFL.

Maybe he's not. Maybe he is. 

And maybe the Jags aren't already looking longingly for their next coach.

Yankee go home

 I know what Mike Torrez is saying today, wherever he is.

"Ha!" is what he's saying.

And Jim Rice? Carl Yastrzemski? Pudge Fisk? Fred Lynn?

"Ha!"

And also: "Take that, Bucky Bleeping Dent!"

After which they'd probably mention that Xander Bogaerts' homer went farther, and Kyle Schwarber's did, and neener-neener-neener, Yankees. In a wild-card game that evoked the 1978 one-game tiebreaker when Dent and the Yankees broke Boston's heart again, it was Bogaerts and Schwarber and the rest of the Red Sox who got some payback for Rice and Yaz and Torrez and the rest of those '78 Sox.

Score it 6-2, Red Sox, and Yankees go home.

As in '78, the teams finished with identical records, but the Yankees looked like the better nine for the last month of the season. They'd swept Boston in late September to move ahead in the AL East standings, and if there's such a thing as momentum in baseball -- there isn't, but let's pretend for a moment there is -- it looked clearly to be living in New York's dugout.

Well, neener-neener-neener to that, too. And time to put '78 in the ground for good.

Because, see, it's Boston, not New York, which now is on the high side of any playoff jinxes between the two, and it's been that way for awhile. The last time the Red Sox lost to the Yankees in the postseason was 18 years ago, when Aaron Bleeping Boone hit that walkoff in Game 7 of the 2003 ALCS.

Since then, the Yankees can't win for losing against the Sox. It's Yankee Go Home every time.

In 2004, of course, they gagged away a 3-0 ALCS lead and lost in seven games, after which Boston went on to win the World Series and break the fabled 154-year-old curse or whatever it was. In 2018, the Red Sox beat them again enroute to another World Series title, their fourth since 2004.

In that same span, the Yankees have won the World Series once, in 2009. It's the only Series in 18 years in which they've even played -- since, yes, Aaron Bleeping Boone, who's now their manager.

Conclusion: The Red Sox are now the Yankees, with all that implies. And the Yankees are the try-harder nine.

"Ha!"

The whole city of Boston said it that time.

Timeout for history

 Sometimes you gotta bring up NASCAR, even in October, even after most of America has forgotten they're still racin' somewhere every week, because, come on, FOOTBALL.

But something happened yesterday at Talladega, where they were racin' because Sunday they got rained out. Something, you know, kinda historic.

What happened was, Bubba Wallace won his first Cup race.

That was fairly significant, because it meant Wallace automatically advanced to the next round of the playoffs. (And don't ask me what round they're up to now, 'cause I've lost track like most of you out there). But it was also the first time an African-American driver had won a Cup race in 58 years -- and only the second time ever.

 The first, and until yesterday only, time came on Dec. 1, 1963, when Wendell Scott won a Grand National race in Jacksonville, Fla. NASA had just finished shooting Mercury astronauts into space. Vietnam was still a faraway war  LBJ hadn't lied us into yet .And JFK had been in the ground less than two weeks after his appointment with Lee Harvey Oswald -- or, you know, with the mob, the Cubans or some shadowy right-wing cabal.

That's a long time between hoists of the winner's trophy, boys and girls. 

And, yeah, it happened because Bubba Wallace happened to be ahead when the rains came again and washed out the last 71 laps. But I don't recall anyone begrudging all the white drivers who've won over the years because rain shortened the proceedings, so here's a thumbed nose at the knuckle draggers who inevitably tried to downplay Wallace's win.

Go home, losers. Ain't got time for your crabbin' and "Yeah, but"-in'.

Instead, let's listen to Warrick Scott Sr., Wendell's grandson, who tweeted a photo of this granddad leaning against a car.

"PaPa was there the whole time chilling in the rain," it read.

Damn skippy.

A few brief thoughts about NFL Week 4

 And now this week's edition of The NFL In So Many Words, the memorable Blob feature of which critics have said "I'd forgotten all about that, and now you've reminded me! Damn you!", and also "What feature? I'm sorry, is that new?":

1. "Remember last week, when we were the best team in football and everyone was talking about a second straight home team Super Bowl?" (Rams fan)

2. "Yeah, those good days. Gooood days." (Also Rams fan, after Kyler Murray and the Cardinals danced all over the Rams' heads)

3. "Remember last week, when the Jets were trash and our rookie quarterback, Zach 'Beaver Cleaver' Wilson, looked like a kid trying to drive a car?" (Jets fan)

4. "Yes, we remember! What the hell, Titans?" (Titans fan)

5. "Remember. I don't know, TWO DAYS AGO, when Justin Fields looked pretty darn good -- not great, but OK -- and the Bears beat up on the the poor Lions?" (Bears fan)

6. "No, I don't recall that. I don't recall that at all." (Bears coach Matt Nagy, announcing Andy Dalton would be the starter again this week if he continues healing well)

7. "Remember when we actually had a football team, before our star quarterback became some sort of alleged serial predator and we traded a bunch of guys and now the Bills can laminate us 40-0 without even breaking a sweat?" (Texans fan)

8. "Why is that quarterback still on the roster? Why hasn't he been suspended by the league? Just what kind of dirt does he have on Roger Goodell and the gang, anyway?" (Also Texans fan)

9. "Remember the last time the Jets and the Giants both won on the same Sunday?" (New York people)

10. "We do!" (A bunch of dead New York people)

Brady! Belichick! Boi-yoi-yoi-yoing!

 Well, I for one am glad Tom Brady and Bill Belichick hugged it out after the game. Aren't you?

I'm also glad we got our answer to the question, "How do you make Tom Brady the Vampire Quarterback actually look like he's 44 years old?"

Answer: "You let Belichick work on him the way he's worked on so many opposing QBs in the past."

And so here came Brady to Foxborough wearing enemy colors, and the Patriots fans poured out their love on him for the most part, and then Tom went out and had a thoroughly pedestrian game: 22-of-43, 269 yards, zero TDs. A Mitchell Trubisky stat line, minus the picks.

Patriots rookie Mac Jones, on other hand, was 31-of-40 for 275 yards and two touchdowns. The kid outplayed the Ageless One, with his seven rings and his eyes sparkling with unholy superfood-fueled life. He wasn't cowed at all about FACING TOM BRADY -- even though he never actually faced Brady, of course, on account of both are quarterbacks and so are never on the field at the same time. 

So Mac Jones carried the Patriots to 17 points and the Patriots defense held Brady (and the rest of the Buccaneers, though the storyline scarcely acknowledged them) to 19, and it all came down to Nick Folk spanking a 56-yard game-winning field goal attempt off the left upright for the Patriots.

Thus the pageant began with a bang and ended with a "Boi-yoi-yoi-yoing!" -- which is the cartoon version, and the Blob's favored alternative, to the currently over-popular "doink."

Buccaneers 19, Patriots 17.

Brady beats Belichick, even if he looks sort of "meh" doing it.

He salutes the fans in his old digs on his way off the field.

Later, Belichick stops by the Bucs locker room, and he and Brady have some bro time.

Belichick: "I got in your head a little, didn't I?"

Brady (scoffing): 'No, you didn't."

Belichick: "Yes I did."

Brady: "No you DIDN'T!"

Belichick: Yes I DID!"

And so it went, on this night to remember. And that we're all glad is over.

Deja blues in B-town

 There went Michael Penix, off the field, injured again. There went linebacker Micah McFadden. There went the All-America corner, Tiawan Mullen.

Oh, yeah: And the Indiana Hoosiers, darlings of the college football preseason, are 2-3 now. No. 4 Penn State coolly strangled them in Happy Valley, 24-0, a bloodless professional hit that left the Hoosiers both bloodied and bowed, and which everyone knew in their heart of hearts was coming.

The Hoosiers are not what they were a year ago, even though a lot of the same names and faces are still around. They're just Indiana ordinary again, despite LEO (Love One Another) and the all-for-one, one-for-all culture Tom Allen has brought to the program.

And you know what?

It's happened before.

Had a friend who's been watching IU football as long as I have point this out to me last night, as Indiana struggled even to make a first down against the Penn State defense: This is deja blues all over again. It's once more 1968, the year after the magical Rose Bowl year, the year Indiana went 9-1 and put up a game fight in Pasadena before losing to O.J. and USC, 14-3.

The next year the Triplets -- Harry Gonso, John Isenbarger and Jade Butcher -- were still around, along with plenty of others. But the magic was gone, and in '68 Indiana finished 6-4, 4-3 in the Big Ten. And the year after that, when Gonso, Isenbarger and Butcher were seniors, the Hoosiers went 4-6.

"Everything just fell into place for them (the Rose Bowl year)," my friend said, or words to that effect. "Just like last year."

Truer than true. In the Rose Bowl year, Michigan was down, Ohio State wasn't on the schedule and the Hoosiers pulled off a pile of zany escapes. Then they punched their ticket to Pasadena by beating No. 3 Purdue 19-14 in the Bucket game when the Boilermakers' Perry Williams fumbled at the IU 4-yard line in the final minutes.

And last year?

Same deal. Indiana beat Penn State when Penix was ruled to have broken the plane, beat a 2-4 Michigan team, beat Wisconsin for the first time in 18 years with their backup quarterback Jack Tuttle. Their only regular-season loss came at No. 2 Ohio State, 42-35, when a dramatic comeback fell just short.

Like Indiana in 1967, they were better than everyone thought they would be. Unlike Indiana in 1967, which went 9-1 in the regular season after going 1-8-1 the year before, the 2020 Hoosiers didn't quite ambush people the same way, having gone 8-5 in 2019.

Still, they lost to Ohio State 51-10 that year, lost to Michigan 39-14, lost to Michigan State 40-31. So maybe no one expected the Hoosiers to be quite that much better in 2020. 

In any case, here we are again.

It's not the season after '67. But it sure could pass for it.

Commitment issues

 And now, class, it's time for a Blob quiz ("But it's Saturday!" you're howling), which consists of one question and thus will be relatively painless, even for a Saturday.

Here's the question: 

What's wrong with this headline, which the Blob stumbled across on Notre Dame 247 Sports this morning: "Notre Dame Hosting Five-Star LSU Quarterback Commit"?

Answer: What's wrong with it is it's 2021, and therefore nothing is wrong with it.

Now, a reasonable person could reasonably say "If he's an LSU commit, why is he visiting Notre Dame?", but that would mean you are living in the past and probably don't hold with  newfangled stuff like TV and the auto-MO-bile. Well, guess what, friend?

This is modern times. College football is big business now. Therefore poaching talent that has publicly committed to other schools is just bidness, and perfectly acceptable.

How do we know this?

Because the schools who are getting poached don't even get mad about it. This is because they're doing the same thing to other schools' commits.

Again, reasonable people could conclude that's sort of a scummy thing to do. But, again, modern times, bidness, so on and so forth.

Fact is, recruits flip on commits all the time, and no one thinks any less of them for it. No one thinks any less of the schools who encourage recruits to flip on their commits. You can say maybe they should, but 1965 ended awhile ago, old-timer.

No, the problem here is one of terminology, and that's what needs to change. Since it's clear a "commit" is not a commitment to anything these days, it's not really accurate to call a kid an "LSU commit." What he actually is, is a provisional commit.

So maybe that's how media should start characterizing kids who commit to a school before signing day. Until they sign, they're all provisional commits.

I could be a Reasonable Person here and hope that terminology catches on. But you know what?

1965 ended awhile ago for me, too.

Century marked

There's been some suspense, days when you didn't think it would happen. Days of tension. Days of doubt. Days of thinking, "Ah, geez. So now they're gonna punk out on punking out?"

But God bless my cruddy Pittsburgh Pirates. When the chips were down, they lived right down to 'em.

With four days left in the season, the Cruds breached the magic 100-loss mark, and they did it in splendid Crud fashion. Not only did they lose No. 100 to the Cubs (who are splendid cruds themselves), they really lost.

Like, 9-0. At home. To a team that was stripped for parts earlier in the summer, a team that officially gave up on 2021 two months ago.

So now the Cruds record stands at 59-100, with three potential losses to go. They are officially the worst Pirates baseball team since 2010, when they lost 105 games. 

Only two other times in the last 67 seasons have the Cruds lost as many games as they will lose this year. Only two ... other ... times.

This is Cruddiness on an historic scale, and again calls into question the motives of owner Bob Nutting. He's turned one of the oldest continuous franchises in baseball -- the Pirates began playing in the National League as the Pittsburgh Alleghenys in 1882, just six years after Custer bought it at the Little Bighorn -- into a de facto farm team, and his own personal ATM. 

If there's any justice in the world, Honus Wagner and Roberto Clemente are haunting his dreams. Those of us with a sense of history can only hope the dreams are gruesome and recurring enough to compel Nutting to honor the club's proud legacy and sell it to someone who gives a damn.

Do it, Bob. Do it. Do it not just for Pittsburgh, but for baseball.