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!
Friday, February 19, 2010
Monday, February 8, 2010
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!
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!
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
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.
Buy Adidas, Champion or Reebok instead.
Straight talk. No static.
MIKE - thee American made voice on sports!
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!
Saturday, December 5, 2009
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!
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!
Thursday, December 3, 2009
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:
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.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
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
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
Friday, November 20, 2009
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!
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