Nike - Just (Can't) Do It!

Nike - the world's leading sports brand...just CAN'T do it!

Fire Tiger Woods, that is.

Earlier this week Sports Business Journal quoted Nike Chairman and Co-founder Phil Knight's carelessly casual comment concerning Woods' X-rated, extra-marital escapades. Knight said, "When Tiger's career is over, you'll look back on these indescretions as a minor blip, but the media is making a big deal out of it now."

Wow! What a hyprocritical swaggering of swoosh swirling from Nike's swanky Board Room!

For all his supposed moxie, corporate clout and sports world innovation, Knight is taking the coward's way out... proffering the company's support for the world's most celebrated athlete and serial adulterer . . . and hoping we'll continue to buy the millions of dollars of "Tiger-gear" still remaining in Nike's inventory.

Knight's irresponsible, insensitive and absurdly chauvinistic comment all but negates his company's corporate mission statement about fostering social responsibility.

Nike's decision is anything but socially responsible. To the contrary, by sticking with the foolishly philandering Woods, the sneaker giant made a mockery of the time honored social virtues of family, faithfulness and forthrightness.

What message is Nike sending to youth around the world? Hey Tiger Woods fans, keep over-paying for over-priced footware and apparel donned by our over-sexed golfing legend who overtly lied to fans, police, the Press and (sadly) his wife and young family.

Let's call a swoosh a swoosh. Because in this case, where so much money has been financed to fabricate a phony family friendly facade, Nike...the world's leading sports brand...just CAN'T do it! Fire Tiger Woods, that is!

We can all forgive Tiger if and when he's contrite, but let's never defend the arrogance of a corporate titan who summarizes serial adultery as a "minor blip".

Instead, make Nike a "minor blip" in your future sports apparel purchasing.

Buy Adidas, Champion or Reebok instead.


Straight talk. No static.

MIKE - thee American made voice on sports!

Lou Holtz

I love Lou Holtz!

For cryin' out loud (as this charasmatic old coaching codger likes to say), Lou Holtz's candid college football coverage carries clout! Viewers are immediately smitten by the outspoken purity of this grandfatherly pigskin pundit and television's atypical talking head.

Who cares if this retired coach sports a face for radio rather than network television? This colorful commentator is welcome in my living room any day of the week.

This former Notre Dame, South Carolina and Minnesota Head Football Coach may mispronunciate, inarticulate and mis-syllabicate whenever he opens his mouth, but who the heck cares? The immensely loveable Lou eminates total trust, prognosticates with passion and purpose, and generates unbridled enthusiasm out of the ESPN Sports Center Studio.

Football fans look quickly past his saucer shaped spectacles, learn to live with his lisp, and humor him for his histrionics and hairbrained hunches. . . .all because they, too, absolutely love Lou Holtz!

Straight talk. No static.

MIKE - thee American made voice on sports!

Sports' Deadly Language

Sports' deadly language is absolutely lethal.



Sure, my post sounds depressing, but don't blame me. Blame the morbid manner the media reports on sports.



Over the past few weeks I've spent lots of quality time surfing several sports events on the big screen.. . . only to be assaulted by the deadly language that sportscasters regularly employ.


Tell me if some of these don't make you, too, feel like you're being clunked on the head by a coffin:

The QB made a fatal mistake and got buried by the linebacker.

The base runner was a dead duck when the batter failed to execute the suicide squeeze play.



Time expired forcing sudden death overtime in this life or death soccer match.



A couple college football teams play their home games in Death Valley.



The opponents deadly 3 point shooting murdered us.



Now, do you get it?



Sportscasters lethal language must change; otherwise, it may kill us all.



Straight talk. No static.



MIKE - thee American made voice on sports.

Football's Instant Replay

Football's instant replay is anything but instant.

Seems like you can read all 1,990 pages of President Obama's new Health Care Reform Bill...twice...faster than it takes a ref to acknowledge a challenging coach's red flag, run over to the sidelines, stick his head under the little black curtain, then re-watch (what appears like a hundred times) the very same play that he and his officiating crew just witnessed live on the playing field only a few minutes before.

OK, while all of us at home, after raiding the refrigerator, hitting the head and following our fantasy picks on the internet, sit stewing on the sofa, the zebra clad man slowly and seriously studies replays from every conceivable angle - even appearing to access footage from the Hubble Space Telescope.

His decision should be easy . . . and considerably much quicker, but it's NOT, because the actions of the main man in stripes always seems slower than a slug's.

So, exactly what is the ref doing under that black curtain?

Checking emails?

Watching ESPN Sports Center?

Tweezing unwanted nasal hairs?

Calling Domino's for a post-game delivery?

Or, reading an unabridged edition of War and Peace?

OK, my impatience is now maxed out after watching a weekend's worth of ridiculously long NCAA and NFL replays.

Football brass needs to act fast, or should I say, instantly, to bring the instant back into instant replay . .. before more impatient football fans like me, God forbid, start watching soccer instead.

Straight Talk. No Static.

MIKE - Thee American Made Voice on Sports

Gut Check Time

Every sports fan is familiar with the old adage, gut check time! This cliche rallies athletes during that critical time in a game when visions of victory are about to vanish and a potential loss hangs precariously in the balance.

So, when Coaches, Fans, Players and Sportcasters expect every last ounce of internal strength and courage to be corraled to change the outcome of a game, they proclaim this defining moment to be... gut check time!

However, I gotta admit that every time this clarion call is conveyed during an NFL game (like in Monday Night Football's Patriots - Colts contest), my gut gets grossed out!


You see, when I hear the words gut check time, instead of conjuring up visions of pending victory, my mind quickly wanders to ghastly glimpses of extra-beefy NFL offensive linemen with bulging bellies bombarding my brain and bringing a whole new meaning to this time-honored cliche.

These frightful flubbies flaunt rotund repositories resembling pepperoni pizza, greasy grub and assorted pan fried food storehouses that wobble woefully around their waists.

No wonder why these linemen are called OFFENSIVE!

So, from now on, that's why I neither have the stomach... nor the time . . . for gut checks of any kind!

Straight talk. No static.

MIKE - thee American made voice on sports!

Worst Position in Sports

Hiking a football is without doubt the worst position in sports!

I came to this conclusion watching the Monday Night Football game between the Patriots & Colts earlier this week.

While calling this contest from the comfort of my broadcast booth, I suddenly realized just how much I subconsciously scrunch away from the exchange between a center and quarterback on the football field. Every time I see a center break the huddle, rumble a few yards to the line of scrimmage, then bend over and fondle a motionless football on the ground like it's some precious package pining for protection . . . I unwittingly find my grill grimacing, my bowtie tightening and my body (well, in my case, just my head) borrowing into my base. Eeek!!!

Allow me to philosophize about these facts surrounding the hiking of a football:

First, in nearly every play, immediately after hiking the football, nearly 3,000 pounds of snarling, sweating linemen pile on top of the center's body.

Second, unless he's in the shotgun formation, the quarterback's hands are way too close to the hiker's unmentionables.

Third, the only body part of a center that ever shows up on camera is a wide angle close up of his big 'ole butt...well, that is, unless he's flagged for holding...in which case every football fan in America gets to see his mug shot - while the ref marches the embarassed culprit's team back another 10 yards.

Yup, hiking a football...the worst position in sports!

Straight talk. No static.

MIKE - thee American made voice on sports.

Agassi's Angst

I have never been a tennis fan; however, last week I became a fan of Andre Agassi.

Agassi, the retired 39-year-old winner of 8 Men's Grand Slam Singles Titles, shocked the tennis world when unexpected excerpts from his book, OPEN:An Autobiography, surfaced in Sports Illustrated and The London Times. Graphic depictions of Agassi's 1997 clandestine recreation with crystal meth and his subsequent lying to the ATP governing body, which threatened to suspend him, stirred a storm of controversy in the sports world.

An outspoken Martina Navratilova was the first former tennis great to excoriate the remorseful and agonizing Agassi, carelessly comparing him to a recalcitrant Roger Clemens. As memories of her own misery momentarily morphed, Martina all-too-quickly leaped out of her own closet, jumped into an awaiting Subaru, and raced down to the first available media outlet to air her agitation against fellow athlete Agassi. Interestingly, this gender-challenged Czech chastised sports fans everywhere a few decades ago for failing to fancy her homosexual lifestyle at a time when such admissions produced public anxiety. Now, she was nay-saying the atoning Agassi for admitting to his personal, private addiction. Sadly, too many others followed the former leading lady of tennis by lacing into Agassi and tearing into this talented, tearful tennis player.

While I don't condone his irresponsible behavior, I do admire Agassi's brutally honest revelations and his desire to be OPEN, as his autobiography suggests, with fans. The retired tennis star's transparent angst is abysmally absent from today's celebrity athlete. Andre admitted errant antics and demonstrated deep regret . . . which today's "Pa-Role Models" fail to display 'til uncomfortably cornered and forced to confront culpability and criticism to salvage their otherwise crumbling careers.

Let's decry Agassi's bad behavior; however, let's acknowledge Andre's sincere admissions, his altruistic contributions to the Las Vegas community and, most importantly, his decision to be OPEN with the sports world.

That's why I've become a fan of Andre Agassi.

Straight Talk. No Static.

MIKE - Thee American Made Voice on Sports

Baseball's Befuddling Top 10

There are times when Baseball just Befuddles me.

Watching the World Series, I brought together this short list of Befuddling Bits of Baseball Banalities:

#10 Funny how baseball's foul pole is located in fair territory. Kinda like driving on a parkway and parking on a driveway.

#9 Why's it called a stolen base when the base runner never gets to take it home...or even pawn it?

#8 Have you ever seen a readying on deck batter actually stand in the on deck circle?

#7 Why do fans tolerate the heckler, who thinks that behaving like an a** is a good thing?

#6 Why do rotund baseball managers insist on wearing team uniforms that look like spray-on Halloween costumes? You never see Phil Jackson wearing his old Knicks shorts shorts on the Lakers bench, do you?

#5 Seems like players insist on poking their packages and adjusting their fellas when every fan is watching the action on their oversized high def TV.

#4 At a unit cost of 75 cents a dot, the TINY frozen Dippin' Dots you can only get at a game put a HUGE hole in your wallet.

#3 Stupid statistics. Who cares how many times lefties born in Midwestern states to blond haired mothers whose brother's uncle's neighbor's insurance salesman's sister played AAA for the Yankees in 1997 whiff during rain delayed night games in August?

#2 Why do clueless fans always stand in the 7th belting out the tune "Take Me out to the Ball Game". . . . when we all know they've been there for the previous six innings?

#1 Why call a catcher's testicular protector a cup when no sane person would EVER consider drinking from it?

Would love to hear some of your Befuddling Baseball Bits. We all know they're out there!

Straight talk. No static.

MIKE - thee American made voice on sports.

Muting the World Series

This season, I have officially muted the World Series games on television.

Whaaaat???? you wonder in wild protest. That's right, sports fans, you heard me the first time.
I have employed the ultimate power tool - that glorious device known as the Remote Control - and exercised my God-given right to officially mute World Series telecasts.

Now don't get me wrong on this. You bet I love baseball, but I loathe the litanies of insignificant facts and figures foisted upon me during TV telecasts.

You see, boring baseball statistics have always driven me bonkers.

Do I really need to listen to FOX's Tim McCarver, Master of Minutiae, tell me how many hits a Phillies batter got while hitting lefty versus righty, or how many of his total hits were to the opposite field off right hand pitchers who were born to blond haired mothers whose father’s uncle’s milkman’s neighbor’s son batted .327 for the Yankees AA Farm Team in 1968 and who is 13 times more likely to scratch his crotch area with his right hand when entering the batter’s box during rain delayed Sunday afternoon double-headers in July?

Wheuh! Stupid statistics stifle my baseball likeability!

During this Fall Classic, I'm opting to watch in silence and serenity the bountiful beauty of America's favorite past time . . . without being burdened by baseball banalities.

Straight talk. No static.

MIKE – thee American Made Voice on Sports!

The Turnpike Tussle

Never before has the New Jersey Turnpike been considered such chic conversation.

The typical chatter concerning this 100+ mile stretch of congested concrete and toll toting traffic known as Interstate 95 and connecting Gotham and the City of Brotherly Love normally evokes the ire of irritated travellers.

However, this week the two hour long slab of cement has surfaced as the sports world's salient subject - now known to Northeasterners as the Turnpike Tussle - and pitts baseball's legendary NY Yankees against the reigning world champion Philadelphia Phillies.

Expect this year's Fall Classic to be bigger than baseball bragging rights. The 2009 World Series stakes second fiddle Philadelphia against its northerly nemesis, the more ballyhooed Big Apple.

Yes, this series should settle scores more serious than any sports rivalry. At stake are decades of debates, disputes and disagreements surrounding each city's icononclastic idols like Rocky vs. Rudy, Broad Street vs. Broadway, Lady Liberty vs. the Liberty Bell and the critically important delicacies of Cheesesteak vs. Pizza.

So, whether you say, "Yo," or "How you doin?" this tussle will be well worth every Turnpike toll to a World Series game....and don't you fugghedaboutit!

Straight talk. No static.

MIKE - thee American made voice on sports!

Adjusting The Fellas

In addition to steroids, the public display of adjusting the fellas must be banished from baseball.

And yes, baseball fans, you know exactly what fellas I'm talking about. These fellas are the twins. That's right, they're the two little round guys who hang out with Richard. They should be snugly housed under the front flap of a player's baseball pants in that medievally designed athletic supporter of almost underwear minus fabric for the butt. And they should stay there.

So how aggravating for fans in attendance, and especially for those watching in the stunning visual clarity of HDTV from the comfort of our living room couch, to witness these cherished twins endlessly being adjusted - whether in the batter's box, at second base, on the pitcher's mound, in the outfield or while walking out of the dugout in everybody's plain sight.

I realize how egregious baseball's steroid scandal has been, but it can't be much worse than this continued, right-out-in-the-open rearrangement of the unmentionables.

The quick pinch, the gentle scratch, the polite poke, the painless pull, and especially the double fisted groin grab for those really needy players have absolutely gotta go.

That's why I say. . .

Banish the Adjusting of the Fellas from baseball today!

Straight talk. No static.

This is MIKE - thee American made voice on sports!

Another Fallen Skirt Chaser

Another skirt chaser in the sports world has fallen.

ESPN baseball analyst Steve Phillips announced his leave of absence from the Network after confessing to more marital infidelity.

The skirt chasing Phillips, whose foolish philandering a few years ago cost him his GM job and the Mets a considerable amount of out-of-court cash, fessed up to fooling around yet again – this time with a 22-year-old ESPN production assistant. ESPN responded ridiculously, handing Phillips a mere one week suspension. Ouch, that hand slap must’ve really hurt!

The media’s had lots of fallen skirt chasers to report on these days. Louisville ’s Rick Pitino was forced into asking for forgiveness when confessing to his duplicitous decisions. Steeler QB Ben Roethlisberger regretted running after a Reno resort vixen. Even CBS’ David Letterman’s laughter lapsed recently when reporting his lurid lifestyle to loyal late night TV viewers.

So . . . it’ll be interesting to witness which philandering philosophy ESPN embraces as the lurid details of Phillips’ recent frolickling unfolds. Will ESPN face Phillips’ foibles straight forwardly and formally kick his can to the curb for violating the Network’s morality policy? Or, will this World Wide Leader in Sports staunchly stand by its “stud” like Louisville ’s laughable loyalty to Rick Pitino?

ESPN has the opportunity to take a stand by setting an example that wanna-be womanizers need to keep their zippers zipped. Otherwise, the Network’s sports news won’t be about the game, but about another fallen skirt chasing sports “stud”.

Straight talk. No static.

MIKE - thee American made voice on sports.

Ain't Over Til Fat Lady Sings

Have you ever stopped to think about the ridiculous sports cliché, “It ain’t over until the fat lady sings?”

Well, I have… plenty of times.

This totally insensitive and seemingly inexplicable expression has always bugged me, and now begs me to ask these pointed questions.

Who exactly is this mysterious beefy woman, and at what weight did she tip the scales to qualify for her important role? That’s role as in r-o-l-e.

Where was this full figured female found?

What happens if Princess Bigness can’t make it to the park until 3am? Do the fans remain in their seats until her big butt waddles in?

Why hasn’t she inked a seven figure sponsorship deal with her favorite fast food franchise?

What if it’s all you can eat taco night at the park? Who’s responsible for prying this likeable large lady away from the concession stand to belt out a few bars at the end of the game, so then we can all go home?

Because we all know that… the game ain’t ever over until the fat lady sings!

Straight talk. No Static.

MIKE – thee American Made Voice on Sports.

Me, Myself & I

Me, Myself and I are still the only three people on the planet that Los Angeles Dodger Manny Ramirez cares about.

Once again, the oft-maligned (and rightfully so) Manny made many murmur the other night following the Dodgers’ late inning lapse in losing to the fast finishing Phillies in Game 4 of the NLCS.

Sure, the media mumbled mildly upon learning that the mercurial Manny marched off to the Dodger locker room after Manager Joe Torre replaced him with a speedier, better fielding player in the 9th inning.

However, where was the post-game outcry when it was discovered that the malcontent Manny selfishly showered while his Dodger squad squandered a slim 9th inning lead?

Why should we tolerate this nonsense?

Why didn’t Dodger teammates collectively kick Ramirez in the rear?

Why didn’t Dodger faithful slow down Southern California servers with tweets, blog posts and nasty emails excoriating this dread-locked lout?

Why did Dodger Skipper Joe Torre soften his style and succumb to the silly theory that that’s just Manny being Manny?

How unconscionable for a $20 Million+ per year All-Star to slink out of the dugout and forsake finishing an NCLS game!

However, when you only think about Me, Myself and I, and the $20 Million is already in the bank, it’s easy to understand why….. that’s just Manny being Manny.

Straight talk. No static.

MIKE - thee American Made Voice on Sports.

Crack Pot Calls Out Kettle King of Conflict

A pair of uninvited bombastic blowhards barreled into the beaming lights of controversy surrounding this week’s potential NFL sale of the St. Louis Rams.

Professional preacher Al Sharpton blasted bloviating radio host Rush Limbaugh’s bold bid to buy into the St. Louis Rams football franchise.

The preying Pastor, who purposely parades around the powerful and high-profiled, placed the Pre-eminent Prince of Pontification in his scope and declared the demonic Dittohead denigrating, divisive, and a fomenter of fear from the far, far right.

Whoa! Reverend Al needs to stop the sermon right there!

If this left, left leaning Sharpton is so sincerely concerned about denigration and divisiveness in sports and society, where was he a few years ago when Jay Z, whose licentiously lewd lyrics and vile verses victimizing women, became part owner of the NJ Nets?

Before questioning and cackling about others’ cultural conflicts and bigoted boorish behavior, perhaps the charlatan Sharpton should first check on the crater-sized cracks in his own pot.

MIKE
Thee American Made Voice on Sports

The Worst Job in Sports!

What’s your vote for the worst job in sports?

Is it Terrell Owens’ embattled Publicist who’s always apologizing for #81’s bratty boorish behavior?

Is it a fighter’s sparring partner whose job is to get the snot beat out of him – unmercifully, I might add - on a routine basis?

Or, is it any coaching position within the Memphis Grizzlies organization?

You choose. Or, email me your own unique pick.

But, before you do, click on the animation below to see my choice for the worst job in sports

It’ll give a whole new meaning to the work phrase, “I just can’t keep my head above water!”

Straight talk, no static, this is . . .

MIKE
Thee American Made Voice on Sports

MIKE Reporting On...The Jock Strap

Hey, sports fans!

This is MIKE - thee American made voice on sports!

Check out the attached one minute video (guaranteed to make you laugh) that I recorded with my buddy, Boomer in Studio M - my very own virtual ESPN Sports Center type studio.

As the sports world's premier uber-humorist, I report on a seemingly non-sensical mix of sports topics. In this video we pose the question, "Why's a jock strap called an athletic supporter?"

Expect to see plenty more of these MIKE Reporting On...videos of me on top sports web sites as well as on Jumbotrons in arenas and stadiums across the country.

Yup, I report on "really important sports stuff" like The Jock Strap, Dippin Dots, Quitting Spitting in Baseball, The Sports Bra, The Worst Job in Sports, Why is Curling an Olympic Sport, The Worst Mascot in Sports, The Ivy at Wrigley, Ain't Over "til the Fat Lady Sings, Kaka', Pa-role Models, Change is Needed (on our President' Jump Shot) and lots more!

Email me and let me know what you think of our MIKE Minute monologues.

Straight talk. No static.

This is MIKE!

Dippin' Dots

No trip to the ballpark is ever complete without splurging on a cup of Dippin’ Dots for dessert.

For the uninitiated (and foodie famished sports fans out there), let me introduce you to this salivary sensation. Dippin’ Dots are those awesome tasting, cryogenically frozen ice cream pellets you can only get at a ballpark. These tiny bursts of chocolate, vanilla, strawberry and banana deliver an instant brain freeze and zero in on cavities you never knew you had.

Personally, I just LOVE Dippin’ Dots, even if a little cup of these micro-sized treats compete with the cost of my monthly mortage payment. The age-old adage “No Pain, No Gain” isn’t limited to sports pursuits; it applies to Dippin’ Dots, too - even if eating Dippin’ Dots requires absolutely no athletic effort. After all, if paying $20 for parking, $50 for aerial seating, and shelling out $8 for a chemically-induced hot dog isn’t enough pain for your wasting wallet, topping off your sports-induced economic suicide with a chillin’ cup of Dippin’ Dots can really set you back.

But don’t deny yourself this dream dessert delicacy! Just take some recession-proof advice from me. In these times, you can justify the Dixie cup-sized serving of Dippin’ Dots for another $16.95. Just remember to pop those Dippin’ Dots one microdot at a time. . . .and don’t forget to eat the dots real slooowww. That way, at a unit price of 75 cents a dot, you can say you got your money’s worth.

Straight Talk. No Static.

This is MIKE.
Thee American Made Voice on Sports!

Fickle Florida Fans

What a difference a year makes in West Central Florida!

Late last Summer Tampa Bay area baseball fans fell foolishly for the Cinderella story surrounding their once woeful Rays.

Nightly, cowbell carrying crazies crammed the Trop, wildly rooting for the eventual American League Champs.

Off-season prognosticators predicted another pennant for the talent brimming Tampa Bay club. Season ticket sales surged, expectations soared and West Central Florida newborns were named after favorite Rays players.

But, a significant September slide more than sullied Rays fan faithfulness for their once (albeit only one year) beloved Boys of the Bay!

Late August and early September AL Wild Card games drew dismally at the domed dungeon of the Trop. Though the Rays were close contenders in the Wild Card race, the Rays fickle fans were embarrassingly absent during these crucial contests.

This weekend West Central Florida’s fickle fans furthered this un-fascination with their lackluster local lads as Major League Baseball’s best ball club, the Bronx Bombers, bopped into the Bay area.

Sadly more Yankee pinstripe jerseys populated the seats in St. Pete than Tampa Bay blue in the half-filled Trop. Florida's fickle fans more than likely focused on football and stayed home.

A season brimming with expectation ended on a sour note for the Rays.

So, let's see next year in West Central Florida if the fervent fan following from 2008 for the Tampa Bay Rays continues or the only things filling seats in St. Pete's Trop are jerseys from visiting teams or the apathetic NO SHOWS where fickle Florida fans should be sitting.

Straight talk. No static.

MIKE – thee American made voice on sports!

Burr...in Dallas' Billion Dollar Digs!

America’s Team…of intrigue that is…the Dallas Cowboys had their house warming party turn chilly last weekend as the NY Giants dampened the debut of Dallas’ Billion Dollar Digs before an NFL record crowd and an expectant national television audience.

If the Boys don’t bounce back tonight with a big win against Carolina, and if their quixotic QB doesn’t play well, the climate in Cowboy country could become far frostier following Dallas’ second straight prime time appearance in what’s only the third week of the NFL Season.

Grumblings, grunts and groans surfaced soon after last Sunday’s surprising stumble. Cowboy faithful, to include legendary RB Tony Dorsett, quickly criticized the Cowboys’ current QB Tony Romo, while meddling megalomaniac owner Jerry Jones dispelled Dorsett’s doubt’s and rallied around the rattled Romo.

Disgruntled Dallas diehards blamed Romo’s wretched 29% QB rating for last Sunday’s Giants loss on everything from porous pocket protection to post Jessica Simpson stress disorder.

Expectations in Dallas aren’t just high, they’re stratospheric! So, tonight's ESPN Monday Night Football Carolina contest clearly looms large for the Cowboys.

Count on the Cowboy QB controversy to continue until the immensely talented Romo raises a Lombardi Trophy while wearing silver and blue.

Otherwise, Dallas’ splashy Billion Dollar Digs will become increasingly bitter cold!

Straight talk. No static!

MIKE - thee American made voice on sports!

Change is Needed!

The media continues its love affair with our country's new President in spite of Obama's recent slippage in the polls.



Candid shots of the most powerful man on the planet still populate papers and web sites around the globe.



However, last week's video images of our President playing basketball begs me to bug Barack Obama again concerning his recent campaign slogan that..... Change is Needed.



Absolutely, Change is Needed..... on our President's jump shot!



The Commander-in-Chief loves basketball, but hoop fans everywhere are horrified by the alligator arm push shot that the Prez thinks is a sweet stroking J.



Barack's lefty J's got a wrong ragged rotation. It's an o-ba-ma-na-tion as it looks like a wounded duck wobbling helplessly to the rim... begging to find bottom!



You know, with all the talk about national health care, maybe some Shot Doctor somewhere should share his medical skills and correct this frightful fling of the new leader of the free world.



Because change here..... is desparately needed.



Straight talk. No static.



This is MIKE - thee American made voice on sports!

Air Jordan.....Now Grounded!

His tears were genuine.

He appeared poised, once again, to soar above all mere mortals in the basketball world.

However, the monumental chip on Michael Jordan's shoulder loomed larger than any words 23 uttered at last week's Basketball Hall of Fame induction ceremony.

Jordan's inexplicable words at first baffled, and then essentially grounded perhaps the Game's greatest player in the eyes of expectant, but then bewildered contemporaries, teammates, coaches and fans.

On a special night when MJ could have perpetuated his larger than life legacy, he tethered himself to the induction ceremony's podium in a self made pair of cement Air Jordans.

Jordan unnecessarily took shots at vanquished opponents and coaches.....when none were necessary.

Jordan pontificated about his profound competitivenes.....when no one ever questioned it.

Jordan punctuated his speech with selfish, snarky remarks.....when he should have followed the new Hall of Famers previously inducted that evening with self-less comments filled with grace and heartfelt thanks.

The audience laughed awkwardly at MJ's snide comments and applauded dutifully when 23 exited the dais. Sure, perhaps the best player on the planet was acknowledged and rightfully so. However, a once adoring basketball world was left to wonder what Michael still wants to prove.

In the eyes of many that evening, Air Jordan's hubris grounded himself! However, here's hoping that the next time 23 takes a stage somewhere, Michael leaves the monumental chip in the locker room.....allowing him to soar once again to basketball greatness untethered and unencumbered.

Straight talk. No static.

This is MIKE - thee American made voice on sports!

Tennis Ball Binky

During Saturday's US Open Semi Final match, Serena Williams would have been best served by voluntarily stuffing the same ball into her mouth that she rudely offered to shove down the throat of a timid line judge.

A make-shift "tennis ball binky" probably would have saved the whining Ms. Williams an inevitable suspension. More importantly, the "fuzzy round pacifier" would have pre-empted the reigning champ's awkward threats and classless profanity laced tirade before a shocked Arthur Ashe Stadium Center Court crowd and a perplexed television audience.

Compounding her embarassing exit, the petty, potty-mouthed Williams pouted at the post match press conference, nervously fidgeting and never apologizing for her bratty boorish behavior. However, this petulance is what we've come to expect from Serena - YES, a world class tennis player and a winner of 11 Grand Slam tournaments, but, NO, not a champion YET... in the eyes of most until she learns to comport herself with dignity and grace.

Serena's recent temper tantrum only adds to a growing fan discontent for her feigning mystery injuries when beaten, criticizing the ratings sytem when she's not on top and failing to genuinely credit her victorious opponents.

The tennis powers must act swiftly and strongly against the shameless Serena.

Time to grow up, Serena. Watch your mouth, bite your lip and curb your tongue. You can do it!

Otherwise, a "tennis ball binky" should be the only piece of equipment you ever take to a match.

Straight talk. No static.

This is MIKE - thee American made voice on sports!

Michael is NO Vick-tim!

With a new NFL season scheduled to kick-off today, my timing is perfect to post this blog.

So, say what you want about Michael Vick.

Continue your debate.

Present your premise that Michael paid the time for his crime. Defend your dissertation that Michael has yet to pay a societal penalty.

Stand with the SPCA and protest games in which the new Eagle plays. Support the NAACP that Michael deserves a second chance.

Agree passionately with NFL Commissioner Roger Goodell's decision to reinstate Vick. Disagree vehemently with NFL Commissioner Roger Goodell's decision to reinstate Vick.

However, in spite of all the difference of opinions, we should all agree that Michael is NO Vick-tim and has never claimed to be a Vick-tim in the adversity that he created.

#7 has publicly pleaded for forgiveness, openly displayed remorse and genuinely accepted responsibility for his deplorable decisions.

Lefty never upbraided his upbringing, never pinned his predicament on his posse and never cited some outrageous excuse like Gremlins in his Gatorade for his thuggish behavior.

The beleaguereed Vick stepped up BIG when most other celebrity felons quickly shrink and shrivel from the spotlight.

I personally will root for this electric QB to succeed in what will evolve as a microscopically watched second chance.....because Michael's certainly NO Vick-tim!

Straight talk. No static.

This is MIKE - thee American made voice on sports!

Seinfeld Over Soccer

In nearly every country across the globe soccer reigns supreme. Yet here in the USA, "The Beautiful Game" pales in popularity. American sports fans would rather watch Seinfeld reruns over soccer any day of the week because a deft, one touch pass leading to a goal still cannot trump barbs exchanged between Jerry and Kramer or Elaine and George.

Last night's 1- 0 USA victory over Trinidad in a World Cup qualifier proves my point. The game wasn't even broadcast on cable television, yet a litany of Seinfeld reruns was available for the viewer. Sadly, true soccer fans had to log onto to www.ESPN360.com to witness Ricardo Clarke's exciting goal from 25 yards out to give the Americans the win, putting them in first place in the Americas' World Cup Qualifying Bracket.

Plus, last week, FIFA announced that the USA squad inched up to the #11 slot and Brazil nudged Spain again for #1 status as the world's best team in the world's most popular sport.

But, do Americans really care? The answer simply is NO!

American sports fans can't stomach much soccer, and I know why. It's the exxagerated histrionics. Sure, low scoring games probably bore modestly inquisitive American fans, but what really irks American fans is the overly dramatic actions of the gel-infused artsy-fartsy guys sporting knee socks, neon colored tee shirts and animated attitudes you'd normally attribute to overly pampered 5 year olds.

I know, I know, Americans revel in the soap opera antics of the WWF, but the drama queen dilettantes of soccer are far too melodramatic for the traditional, 3 yards and a cloud of dust American male mentality.

Want to argue my point? Tell me you haven't guffawed at these over-reacting "athletes" every time they get touched. They get kicked in the calf, but by the way they jettison to the ground you'd think they got shot by a stinger missile. Next, tell me you haven't grunted as panicking paramedics race onto the pitch with their all-too-familiar stretcher in a mad dash to resue the injured player. And tell me you haven't shouted "disgratziad" as succouring soccer teammates hover around their fallen comrade, scream wildly at the ref, and practically recite the rosary in a last rights gesture for the teammate who's precariously fighting death's door.

Now.....if all this nonsense is not enough, you're expected to stand up and cheer once play resumes and the injured player suddenly, as if risen from the grave, miraculously sprints into the thick of the action like he's running in the Boston Marathon.

These silly shenanigans play way too much like a bad Italian Opera for gutsy American sports fans. So, that's why American sports fans, if given the choice, will gravitate to a silly show about nothing and will always, yes always, choose Seinfeld reruns over soccer.

Straight talk. No static.

This is MIKE - thee American made voice on sports!

Chippy Chatter

Although his punch paled to the devastating damage Kermit Washington's delivered to Rudy Tomjanovich's face in the 70's, LaBarrette Blount's jarring jab to Boise State's Byron Hout's jaw proved plenty powerful. The Oregon Running Back's knuckle sandwich certainly served as fodder for a sports media food fest for the past three days.

Talk of Blount's postgame punch punctuated tv and radio programs and inundated internet sites, first dissecting the jab, then decrying this now remorseful athlete's uncalled for and unsportsmanlike act.

Sure, an excessively harsh one year penalty banning Blount from playing immediately followed, as did a tamer one game suspension for the taunting Hout. However, was this ugly incident inevitable? And were these two adrenaline induced athletes solely to blame? Or, did ESPN's constant chippy chatter concerning its coverage of this collegiate clash contribute to the scary scenario of last Thursday night?

Absolutely! Da da Dunt!

ESPN's cheeky chatter preceding the Oregon / Boise State matchup foolishly fomented this fated football fracas.... like churning chum in shark laden waters. The Worldwide Leader in Sports erred in its responsibility to deliberate pending trouble............ instead of instigating it. You bet execs in the Bristol's hallowed halls know it, too!

Expect ESPN to exercise more cautionary coverage of tonight's pre-game handshake of two rabid rivals Miami & FSU in another classic college football kickoff. Otherwise, continued chippy chatter from the Network could incite a potent punch far more horrific than Kermit Washington's haymaker in Houston.

Straight talk. No static.

This is MIKE - thee American made voice on sports.

The Grunting's Gotta Go!

Never knew tennis was such an obnoxiously loud sport.

Whoa! Tennis…loud? I know what you’re thinkin’. MIKE’s lost it ‘cause all sports fans agree that tennis is dignified, cultured, quintessentially British with polite clapping for pretty pony-tailed girls sporting shapely short skirts.

Well, that’s NOT the tennis I experienced last night from my $1,000 nosebleed seat at the US Open. Yup! The normally distracting drone of JFK jets overhead couldn’t drown out the ridiculous racket on the court below.

You see, my only expectation of noise at a tennis match was the bop of the ball off the racquet or the squeak of sneaks on the hard true surface. But, I never anticipated the unanticipated…. the grating grunting and groaning of a statuesque Russian blond careening around the court.

Witnessing this Canon Camera Cover Girl methodically manage her match against an upstart 17 year old sounded more like a wounded deer extricating itself from a bear trap.

Every serve seemed like the Russian’s last as primeval screams emanated from her very core. Every return volley resonated with a guttural bellowing burst. And individual hairs on every fan’s neck stood at attention every time Miss Sharapova shared her shuddering shrieks for all of the Flushing Meadows’ faithful to forbear.

I’m sorry, but grunting doesn’t add another 25 mph to your serve, doesn’t perfectly place a return volley, and certainly doesn’t enrich the overall fan experience, especially when paying for a ticket mirrors that of making a mortgage payment!

Hey, I’m all for cheering on pretty pony-tailed girls sporting shapely short skirts, but let me be clear, “The Grunting’s Gotta Go!”

Straight Talk. No Static.

This is MIKE – thee American made voice on sports!

Should Schilling Stay or Run?

Yesterday’s Boston Globe reported that Curt Schilling, retired Red Sox ace, admired 2004 World Series Champ and outspoken Independent thinker with Republican leaning political views, is ruminating a run for the Massachusetts Senate post recently vacated by the late Edward M. Kennedy.

The venerated Seat, a bastion of the late Senator’s Democratic values and liberal leaning ideology for nearly 50 years, will be filled in January 2010.

Schilling is savvy enough to understand that a political run of this magnitude will be far more turbulent than any MLB Wild Card Race or any hotly contested World Series Game. Like a rookie pitcher, he’d be entering a new Major League field, better yet, quagmire fraught with innuendo, veiled accusations and outright lies, not even closely resembling the diamond shaped field where he excelled for so long.

On the other hand, Schilling just might possess the passion, poise, patience, and plethora of political pitches to punctuate his foray onto the Senate scene. Perhaps we’ll see Curt emerge as a World Series Champ in politics, too.

OK, sports fans, Time for you to VOTE on my first poll.

Should #38 stay in the “dugout” of his cushy suburban life in New England he’s created for himself? Or, should Curt espouse the Obama campaign line that “Change is Needed” in Massachusetts and dive headfirst into a ceratin to be spirited Senate run?

Straight talk. No static.

This is MIKE – thee American made voice on sports!

Fanatic Favre Faithful

ESPN reported today that its Monday Night Football telecast earlier this week captured the Network’s best ever audience for a pre-season NFL game.

Whoa! Hard to fathom that so many fanatic Favre faithful still follow this oft retired, frequently un-retired grizzled QB recently signed by the Minnesota Vikings.

Just when we all thought this double-minded Mississippi Gunslinger officially hung up his cleats after last season’s NY Jets debacle, we find good ol’ #4 (in desperate need of some Grecian Formula for Men) back in our living rooms struttin’ his stuff and crack-backing an opposing team’s receiver during prime time coverage!

Once a faithful Favre fan myself, I’ll be watching very closely how the 39 year old Favre fairs against the much younger fellas from the defensive side of the ball. Plus, how Favre’s new teammate loyalty evolves in the Vikings locker room greatly intrigues me. A team schism surrounding a Vikings’ QB controversy has already surfaced.

However, all that who should be our QB non-sense will immediately evaporate when the vaunted Brett justifies his cool $12M salary by tossing touchdowns and leading the Vikes to victory after victory.

Viking Management signed Favre to a lucrative deal because they think #4’s still got what it takes to win in the NFL. Barring injury, Brett will win, schisms will be quickly forgotten and fanatic Favre faithful will become….. even more fervent!

Straight talk. No static.
This is MIKE – thee American made voice on sports!

Who Am I?

MIKE here.

Originally created as Michael Anthony Raffone, I now just go by MIKE.

No last name. Just MIKE.

Like Lebron, Tiger and Shaq, I don’t need a last name.

Sports fans everywhere know me, and chicks love my bowtie!

Why am I so famous? And why does the Media refer to me as Thee Long Awaited Microphone Messiah…poised to save America from its own self-induced sports coma?

Because NOBODY knows more about sports than me….and NOBODY reports on sports in the ridiculously honest way I do!

You see, I was built to be THEE man with THEE big voice on sports!

Fans love me because I always report on what I know, what I see and what I think in my straight talk, no static style! Plus, I'll make you laugh too!

So, sports fans. . . LOOK for me, LISTEN for me and LOVE me for who I AM…

THEE American Made Voice on Sports!

MIKE