Enough of Kobe's Beefs!

OK, I've had enough of Kobe's "beefs!"

No, I'm NOT referring to Japan's Kobe Beef... as in the finest steak in the world.

However, I am lamenting Los Angeles Laker Kobe Bryant's non-stop bickering beefs; i.e. the murmuring, complaining, whining, sulking and moaning we witness every time this loquacious Laker steps on the hardwood.

Right now, Boston Celtic fans are probably scrambling to canonize me as the new patron saint of Beantown for my audacious, long overdue proclamation, while loyal Left Coast Laker fans are boiling mad with plans to excoriate me somewhere on ritzy Rodeo Drive for all of SoCal to see.

Hey, I'm the first to admit that Kobe Bryant is arguably the best player on the planet. Sorry, Lebron-lovers. But, hear me loud and clear Laker faithful, Kobe's pissy attitude, once again, during the recent Laker - Suns Western Conference Finals was totally inexcusable.

Coach Phil Jackson should bury a baby's binkie in Bryant's mouth instead of tippy-toeing around the Lakers' $30 Million per year Prima Donna. What a disgrace that Jackson goes along with his star guard's glaring, glowering and grimacing every time he misses a shot - or sanctions the sulking sewage that flows offensively out of his mouth toward the refs just as effortlessly as BP's blundering oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico.

Why don't we hear Marv Albert or Kenny The Jet Smith or Charles Barkley or Jeff Van Gundy step up with some stones and speak out against the belly-aching Bryant? Sadly, we see plenty of other sniffling television sportscasters like Stuart Scott and Doug Collins molly-coddle Kobe's contentious conduct and carelessly condone his condescending comments aimed directly at his very own Laker teammates.

Basketball fans, here's hoping the diminutive NBA Czar David Stern, always eager to pontificate before a camera, bottles up the bickering, babbling Bryant before the Boston - Los Angeles series begins tonight.

Enough of Kobe's "beefs," so we can all enjoy a great NBA Finals!

MIKE - thee American made voice on sports!

What CBS Misses in its March Madness Coverage

Going into this weekend, the NCAA Men's College Basketball Tournament has been officially trimmed to four fantastic teams, and this year's CBS March Madness television coverage has once again frustrated the lucid, logical thinking of reasonably intelligent college basketball fans everywhere.

Big Dance diehards have fallen fast for the foolish fodder and boyish banter beaming from the CBS broadcast booth without ever questioning the corny, cliche cloaked commentary and overt omissions of CBS' celebrated basketball announcers.

At times, CBS ignores the blatantly obvious right at the tip of your nose stuff, while hypnotically hounding fans with hokey, hyperbolic play-by-play analysis, subtly sucking viewers brains right out of their cranial cavities.

So, college basketball fans, put the Panasonic plasma on pause and ponder these missing March Madness oversights, compliments of CBS' college basketball announcers.

Here are my first 4 forgettable picks:

#1. The Missed Free Throw Party - OK, so why can't we find anyone in the CBS broadcast booth with some bravado to decry the dubiously dreadful display of celebrating shooting ineptitude nearly every time a free throw shooter misses a gimme from the charity stripe?

Doesn't anybody else on the planet find it utterly ridiculous when teammates enthusiastically approach the brick-laying free throw shooter and congratulate him with high fives and pats to the butt after he just clanged an important freebie from 15 feet? Imagine if MLB infielders raced to the pitcher's mound to bask in the embarrassment of a pitcher who's last fast ball wound up 450' away as some fan's souvenir in the center field's stands!

CBS' silence on the Missed Free Throw Party makes no sense whatsoever to me.

#2. Tattoos - Once again, why doesn't someone in the CBS broadcast booth blurt out the obvious and bemoan the proliferation of butt-ugly tattoos blanketing far too much of the basketball players' exposed skin? After witnessing Northern Iowa's upset of Kansas, I'm all for lobbying for an NCAA ban barring big, beefy boys without a tan from ever sporting multi-colored tattoos on any part of their bodies.

My second petition will be for the NCAA to mandate long-sleeved, turtle necked shirts to cover any future fashion paux of all heavily inked players because it seems like inebriated frat house friends frolicked with Etch-a-Sketch art on the chiseled players' forearms, biceps, backs, necks and shoulders!

Perhaps CBS should initiate a think before you ink campaign to spare viewers at home from witnessing these unsightly tattoos.

#3. College Basketball's Teflon Coated Coach - OK, why aren't college basketball conspiratorial crazies feasting on the journalistic blackout concerning Kentucky coach John Calipari? Never heard a peep from any of the boys in the CBS broadcast booth scrutinizing this slippery and unscrupulous coaching cad from Lexington. College basketball's highest paid coach is historically a walking NCAA infraction-in-the-making with a well-chronicled resume of recruiting players with no regard for collegiate consistency, scholarship and integrity within their university's basketball program.

Perhaps the CBS boys believe Kentucky actually recruited Coach Calipari to improve its anemic 9% graduation rate or that the muck that Just in Time Johnny (getting out of the place before your sordid history catches up with you) left at Memphis and Massachusetts was merely coincidental. Duh!

#4 - There's a Lid on the Basket - Doesn't anyone else agree that this is one of the most over used cliches in sports? CBS sportscasters need to remove from their repertoire this ritualistic excuse for poor shooting. Come on, CBS, give the opposing team's defense better credit and mute any mention of this trite expression citing a metaphorical metal disk hermetically soldered to a rim. There isn't anything physical attached to the rim prohibiting the ball from going into the basket.

The only things preventing better shooting are better shooters or even better defense from the opposition..... and it doesn't require a handsomely paid former player wearing a thousand dollar suit sitting in a broadcast booth to figure it out.

Maybe CBS should put lids on the lips of some of their basketball broadcasting boys in the booth before they blurt out any more corny cliches or totally overlook the obvious.

OK, college basketball fans, email me your selections of slack CBS sports casting and blatanly obvious omissions from this year's NCAA Men's Basketball Tournament.

Straight talk. No static.

MIKE - thee American made voice on sports!

Can You Say Ali Farokhamesh?

Can you say Ali Farokhamesh (Ah'-lee Fa-rook'-ha-mesh)?

After this past weekend, absolutely! Even if you're only a casual college basketball fan, you're probably proclaiming the name Ali Farokhamesh everywhere you go.

As a matter of fact, with unabashed confidence you're more than likely repeatedly rattling off the tongue-twisting name Ali Farokhamesh, but you're also spelling it, properly syllabicating it, and quickly correcting the butchery of those who stutter when they can't make it past the first three letters of this stellar guard's last name.

Ali Farokhamesh. The Rook to his team mates - is arguably the number one story in this year's NCAA Men's Basketball Tournament and the one player mostly responsible for manufacturing America's first bout of mania during this Spring's March Madness.

Expect Farokhamesh-a-mania to flourish for at least another five fabulous days until the Sweet Sixteen resumes next Saturday in St. Louis. Little Ali's created the kind of Big Dance buzz that rivals the likes of Cincinnati's Big O's scintillations of the early 60's, Michigan State's Magic's mesmerizing moves of the 70's, Jimmy V's vanquishing the vaunted Phi Slamma Jamma in the 80's, Duke's dazzling Laettner turn-around in the early 90's and the Cuse's Freshman Phenon Carmelo's captivation of college fans earlier this decade.

Ali Farokhamesh. The only thing wrong about him is his six foot height generously exaggerated on the Northern Iowa Panther basketball team roster. However, in spite of this one accepted abberation, everything else is soooooo very right about this thick, hairy-legged, under-sized, midwestern kid with the receding hairline and barely pronounceable last name willing to take crazy, calculated, career-defining shots on the biggest stage during the biggest game of his life against heavily favored opponents before a national television audience.

Ali Farokhamesh. A name never to be forgotten for a lifetime of Big Dances. Forget the March Madness Heroes of NCAA Tournaments past. Move over, Magic (Johnson), Michael (Jordan) and Manning (Danny). Wipe Wilt (Chamberlain) and Walton (Bill) off your list. And don't even challenge me with the name of Kansas' Mario Chalmers. Ali has emerged as the Hero of Heroes and Prom King of the Big Dance.....even if he never makes it past the Sweet Sixteen.

Ali Farokhamesh. Get used to hearing and seeing a lot of this alphabet soup of a name. Ali's two tournament game heroics will be constantly replayed, analyzed, dissected, fawned over and endlessly enjoyed in our living rooms for all of America . . . at least until he and his Panthers lace 'em up again next weekend.

Ali Farokhamesh. The reason why teams play the game . . . any game . . . is because even the number 1 seeded, more highly touted, athletically gifted, tremendously talented teams on PAPER must show up every night to take on unknown, over-achieving underdogs. But when the nationally ranked titans don't show up, little-known Goliath-killer mid-major teams like Northern Iowa with unheard-of players like Ali Farokhamesh rise up, seize the moment and write their own chapter in NCAA Basketball Tournament history.

Ali Farokhamesh. Yup, I love writing this name as much as I love saying it. Thanks to this Iowa City native and Kirkwood, Iowa Junior College transfer guard for making my March Madness so memorable already.

Ali Farokhamesh. All the best to you in St. Louis next weekend, Mr. Fearlessly Firing Shooting Guard with the twin fire hydrant legs, when your Northern Iowa squad squares off against another heavily favored team for a spot in the Elite Eight.

Trust me, at tip-off, sports fans across America will know who you are and will eloquently and effortlessly be able to say your name - Ali Farokhamesh.

Straight Talk. No Static.

MIKE - Thee American Made Voice on Sports!

Let the Nail Biting Begin!

Maddened by another early March malaise, munchers, crunchers and nibblers alike will be unwittingly fidgeting and feasting on fingernails while watching their favorite schools participate in College Basketball's Big Dance of 2010.

I say, let the Nail Biting Begin!

MIKE - thee American made voice on sports!

www.theemike.com

......MIKE's "Let the Nail Biting Begin" post was selected as a finalist in the nationally recognized Last Fan Standing 2010 Sports Blogging Contest. To read MIKE's "Let the Nail Biting Begin" blog in its entirety, click this link at www.lastfanstanding2010.com/articles/pages/5/

Caught up with the Kardashians

I just caught up with the Kardashians.

How ironic! A month ago I had absolutely no idea what a Kardashian was. But now I do...even though I wish I never did...catch up with a Kardashian that is.

OK, sports fans, with the Saints' recent Super Bowl success and the Lakers looming large to repeat as NBA Champs, the name Kardashian has become synonymous with sports.

Because a Kardashian is someone who has mastered a new sport; namely, Gold Digging for Athletes!

Lusting for luxurious lifestyles and seeking second-rate celebrity status, Khloe and Kim Kardashian have struck gold.

Yes, the Kardashian girls have hit the motherlode with Khloe landing Laker Lamar Odom in an E! sponsored wedding and Kim reuniting with Saints Running Back Reggie Bush.

These two reality show drama divas demonstrate for shiny toothed, buxom babes everywhere that there’s a fortune to be had in sports . . . even if you don’t play one.

To keep up with these Kardashians and become a Kardashian yourself, just follow these simple gold digging guidelines:

SHUT OUT…any discussions of ever having to work a real job.

GO DEEP. .. into the wallets of multi-million dollar athletes.

FAST BREAK…to an MTV crib you’ve never contributed a dime to build.

KNOCK OUT…your new man’s Platinum Card balance while shopping on Rodeo Drive.

TOUCH DOWN . . . in your hubby’s private jet and step out on his red-carpeted runway.

The tawdry tale of gold digging as sport won’t be fully told for another decade or so…’til these dabbling divas’ vocabulary fails to evolve past manicures, pedicures, texting and clubbing, and their men desire to discuss details other than shopping, shopping & more shopping.

When the clock winds down (and it will), we’ll be able to test the long term carat value -10, 14 or 24 carat, that is - of this sport known as Gold Digging for Athletes. Unless there’s some true burnishing going on and the players refine some nuggets within themselves, we might learn that Lamar and Reggie don't want to extend the game. . . in which case, “keeping up with the Kardashians” will be a short-lived sport after all.

Straight Talk. No static.

MIKE - thee American made voice on sports!

The "Olympic" Sport of Curling

While watching the Hammer Throw finals at the 2008 Beijing Summer Olympics, I never imagined my sports spectating standards could sink any lower . . . until I caught this week's comedic competition called Curling at the 2010 Vancouver Winter Olympics.

Maybe - just maybe - somebody could cajole me into believing that flinging a chain linked projectile resembling some medieval instrument of torture by a big burly boy named Boris from Belarus actually constitutes an Olympic sport.

But, I'm sorry, nobody is ever going to convince me that the skinny Norwegian glee club members clad in those ridiculous red, blue and white harlequin pants, and swooshing plastic kitchen brooms across an ice skating rink, are genuine Olympians!

Who on planet Earth, other than their mothers, would ever consider these swashbuckling, Broadway wannabes . . . Olympians?

Just how inebriated were IOC members when they sanctioned Curling as an Olympic sport? If Curling is an official Winter Olympic sport, could ice fishing, snowman building and snow angel making be very far behind? Word has it on the slushy, just-about-snowless British Columbian hills that, after watching this week's Curling competition on NBC, beer pongers and frisbee golfers are now petitioning the IOC for their sport's inclusion in the 2012 London Summer Olympics.

Is it just me or do you also view Curling as scandalously skirting the sanctity of sports by not requiring even the slightest semblance of athleticism?

Let's be honest. Have you ever heard anybody say, "I'm playing in a real competitive inner-city Curling league this season." Or, "Who will you pick as your Sweeper in next season's Fantasy Curling League?" Or, worse yet, "Let's run on over to Dick's Sporting Goods. I hear they just stocked their shelves with the latest Curling gear - and their Curling Broom assortment is awesome!"

Listen, as far as I'm concerned, any sport that rhymes with twirling can't be any good at all. So, enough of this nonsense! All this talk of Curling makes me think about hurling . . . my lunch.

Straight Talk. No Static.

MIKE - Thee American Made Voice on Sports!

Let's NOT Be Fooled Again!

OK, football fans, let's NOT be fooled again........when the NFL announces that another by-gone generation of geriatric, gyrating rockers will be entertaining us during future Super Bowl halftime celebrations.

Expecting to see myself and feel myself mesmerized by rock luminaries Roger Daltrey and Peter Townshend during yesterday's highly anticipated football game intermission, I instead found myself traumatically touched - as if visiting ancient uncles in their South Florida retirement home - given the languished lyrics in their opening rendition of "Pinball Wizard."

As Daltrey sequed from his strained, off-key, slow motion intro into his second sluggish song, the clownishly striped coated old codger sounded more like a tired turtle trudging through the neighboring South Florida Everglades swamps than the iconic British vocalist of the late 60's and early 70's.

To compound an already discordant performance, Daltrey's next Greatest Hit was anything BUT. Who'd a thunk the aging Brit's 2010 vocal version of Baba O'Reilly would vex some viewers about as vilely as a Bill O'Reilly vociferation.

Moving onto the group's third song which seemed to stick around for hours, I embarrassingly broke out into my own chorus of "Who Are They?" rather than "Who Are You?" and simultaneously prayed for the New Orleans Saints and Indianapolis Colts to prematurely race back on the field.

Sadly, if not for the halftime show's pyrotechnic and laser lighting displays, 74,000 stunned Sun Life Stadium spectators and 100 million tepid television viewers may have abandoned these comical caricatures completely for an obligatory bathroom break.

So, football fans, when the NFL announces performers for its Super Bowl XLV halftime celebration, we all need to remember the lackluster lyrics that Sunday evening's fossilized British rockers recited while closing their Super Bowl XLIV halftime set........................let's NOT be fooled again.

Straight talk. No static.

MIKE - thee American made voice on sports!