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!

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!