KICK BALL!!!

OK all you PIG Bleacher Bums, we're here to talk sports, competition, winning, losing and some properly-PIGish sports takes.

Why are we writing about sports here at the Free State Of PIG? Because Korrectniks far and wide found a way to toss their crappy stick in the mud on anything from dodgeball, kickball, marbles, hopscotch and team logos and mascots.

If Redskins, Fighting Irish and Atlanta Braves Tomahawk Chops ruffle your sensitivities, well then pick up your tiny balls and little stick and start walking, because YOUR'E OUTTA HERE!

PIG's Whacked Out World Of Sports Section will not only deal with the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat, but who got their clocks cleaned by whom, on more out of the way topics. For instance, how many of you watch NASCAR to see how many points Jeff Gordon will get per season as opposed to those who watch NASCAR in hopes of seeing some red cement?

If the concept of two teams or individuals doing battle with each other on the field of competition with the spirits of a gladiator, with the outcome being one winner, one loser bothers you, we'll be more than happy to drop kick you back to Sensitivity Memorial Stadium.

What is a "Sport?"

A sport can be considered a recreational pastime involving an individual, an individual against another individual or a team versus another team, in the conventional sense of the word. But when big game hunters chase down elephants and kill them just for the sake of bagging the poor beast and stuff and mount it's head on your wall, that's not a sport, not even if your'e going to eat the damn thing. Why? Because the elephant didn't have a chance.

A sport usually involves two or more willing participants ready to do battle with victory being the primary objective. Hell, tiddlewinks IS a sport that does not involve athletism as much as it involve coordination and concentration.

Is blasting sports-phobic korrectniks a sport? If you answered 'no' to that, consider yourself ejected from the PIGDOME. Forever.

Pastimes.

Most of the PIG staff's hobbies are eating pizza and drinking tubs filled with beer. That's really not a pastime, but what happens AFTER we drink the beer could be considered a pastime.

Winning.

Winning. It's what it's all about in the arena of competition. Any area, but we're talking sports, PIGsters. From Gladiators and chariot races to today's Ultimate Fighting Competition and female mud wrestling, you gotta love the spirit of competition involved.

PIG'S CHEERLEADING SQUAD

Examples Of Winners:

Vince Lombardi inspired a winning attitude among his Green Bay Packer championships teams.

Al "Just Win Baby" Davis, owner of the Oakland/L.A./Oakland Raiders, scumbag that he is, did the same.

Leo Durocher, coined the term "Nice guys finish last."

Tiger Woods continues to bulldoze his competition in his sleep.

Larry Bird, well, we know what he did for the real Beaners - (Bostonians) Sports.

Jesse Owens: Snatched Olympic Gold in front of Hitler.

Whoever bags those cheerleaders pictured.

Let's get our balls rolling and in high gear.

Item # 1: George Steinbrenner - New York Yankees Owner

Love him or hate him, New York Yankee owner George Steinbrenner has passed on.

Normally, baseball owners don't make many headlines, but in the case of George Steinbrenner, this guy dominated the Big Apple's headlines for years with his managerial meltdowns, most notably with Reggie Jackson, Billy Martin and PIG favorite, Yogi Berra.

Prick and prima donna that he was towards his micro-managing tactics in the pursuit of World Championships, the guy had one hell of a fat checkbook, and rewarded his players and staff handsomely.

Sure, he had his idiocincracys (no facial hair on the ballplayers or ball girls, and if you've ever been to New York, some of those Italian and Puerto Rican chicks sure could use a shave), but with the amount of money he paid his players for nothing less than stellar performance, he was probably tolerable, to a point.

Steinbrenner, on a serious note was instrumental in taking advantage of free agency in the mid-1970's by signing high profile castoff's like Reggie Jackson and Catfish Hunter, for example in his quest to rebuild the Yankees, which he did, winning 7 World Series titles and 11 pennants during his regime.

Steinbrenner was one of the sports world's colorful characters alright, and nothing he did escaped the New York press.

Most famous for his hiring, firing, and re-hiring manager Billy Martin 5 times, Martin had this quote regarding Reggie Jackson and Steinbrenner during one of their famous on-field feuds.

"The two were meant for each other. One's a born liar, and the other's convicted."

Howver you regard George Steinbrenner, he and his tyrannical antics will surely be missed in the world of sports.

R.I.P., George, and that comes from a Red Sox fan.

Item # 2: LeBron Be Slavin'...All The Way To The Bank, Je$$e

Gee, I was on such orgasmic pins and needles last week awaiting free agent LeBron James' decision to sign with the Miami Heat, that during all the excitement leading up to his announcement, I had to be excused and go wipe myself. Silly me.

Pretty good career move, one would say, but the ink barely dried on the contract before it got really PIG-worthy.

James fulfilled his contractual obligations to the Cleveland Cavaliers, thus making him the most sought after free agent in the NBA at the tender age of 24.

During his time in Cleveland, he took the laughingstock Cavaliers thisclose to the NBA promised land.

Well, when it came to the off-season contract talks of nuts and bolts, and Lebron wanting market value for his services, his one objective was to play for a winning team, which the Cavaliers were obviously not.

Cavalier owner Dan Gilbert alluded to LeBron being a 'traitor' when James abandonded and 'betrayed' Cleveland for Miami.

Enter Je$$e Jackson, for whatever reason, and his comments toward Gilbert:

“His feelings of betrayal personify a slave master mentality,” Jackson said in a statement released Sunday. “(Gilbert) sees LeBron as a runaway slave.”

“(Gilbert’s) accusations endanger LeBron,” Jackson wrote. “His jersey is being burned in effigy, and he is being projected as a betrayer by the owner. ... LeBron is not a child, nor is he bound to play on Gilbert’s plantation and be demeaned.”

WTF Je$$e! Are all those zero's on LeBron's new contract whetting your whistle and blinding you to some sick, race-wrangling payday, all in the name of civil right$?

Where in the world does this 'runaway slave' mentality come from, outside of Je$$e'$ miserable, dwindling world.

Je$$e, if you're goal is to siphon, or extort money on another one of your prefabricated non- issues or targets, you're chasing the wrong ambulance, dude. You, Je$$e, are the last thing on Lebron's mind right now.

Item # 1: World Cup Crap-Ola

Why Soccer Sucks
If you think you're alone and unenlightened in thinking soccer sucks, there's good news Cro-Magnons! There now exists a website cleverly titled: Soccersucks.net Their tagline: "Soccer Sucks. It Doesn't Get Any Simpler Than That"

They say there is nothing more difficult to do in sports than to make contact with a 90 m.p.h fastball coming straight at you.

I disagree, big time.

The most difficult thing to do in sports is to sit through a World Cup Soccer match and not fall asleep or go nuts, until today, that is.

Argentina just became my favorite World Cup soccer team by beating the burrito stuffin's out of the Mexican's in a 3-1 (Wow!) do-or-die scoring orgy.

I have no connection with either team, but as a SoCal (Mexifornia) resident, anything that keeps the red, green and white mexican rag from being waved in my face is good enough for me to give props to the team that shut their fans the hell up.

But the action probably isn't over. Win or lose, the Mexican fans will use any excuse to run amok and burn, loot, rob and riot the streets of L.A.

I'll be watching my step in the morning, doing my best to not step in those pesky piles of day-old refried beans and beer cans.

Item # 2: Tennis' Marathon Men

For those of you that think tennis is a sissy sport just because male tennis players wear "un-manly" attire, think again.

This week at Wimbledon, history was made when American John Isner defeated France's Nicolas Mahut to win the world's longest tennis match, dubbed "The Match That Would Not End."

The match itself took 11 hours, 5 minutes over three days, lasting so long it was suspended because of darkness - two nights in a row. Play resumed Thursday at 59-all and continued for more than an hour before Isner won the match.

Three-time Wimbledon champion John McEnroe, who took it in from a third-row seat said, "It's Herculean what they're doing. I had to come pay my respects."

After Isner finally won, 70-68, he told the crowd, "You know, it stinks someone had to lose."

I don't care who you are, but a regular game of tennis is grueling enough, but eleven hours over three days? That is tough.

It just goes to show you that you need more than balls to play tennis. You need stamina, and lots of it, in this case, and The F.S.O.P. salutes both players for their valiant efforts and 'Never Say Die' attitudes.

Item # 3: L.T. Update: Not A Team Player

The on going tragedy known as Lawrence Taylor's life continued this week when L.T. was indicted by a grand jury on rape, criminal sexual acts, sexual abuse, endangering the welfare of a child, and patronizing a prostitute.

If you remember, L.T. was arrested in at a hotel in New York back in May

L.T. and his lawyer contend that he did not have sex with the girl, but masturbated in her presence, instead, and is confident he will beat the rap.

That's one whack-job of a defense strategy.

L.T. better hope his lawyer isn't a jerk-off and doesn't choke by rubbing the jury the wrong way and that this chapter of the L.T. saga has a happy ending.

PIGsters, I simply couldn't help pleasuring myself with those way intended puns.

Item # 1: Bullfighter Busted

The Scene: You're standing all alone in a packed arena, face-to-face with a pissed off bull, armed with only a red cape and a skin-tight pink sequinned outfit, (and probably having a bad hair day, too), and you're wondering, "What would Jesus (the Taco vendor) do?"

Run for his F**king life!!!

That was exactly what 22 year-old Matador Christian Hernandez did recently at a bullfight held at Plaza Mexico in Mexico City.

In a split second decision, all facades of Matador machismo Hernandez ever had vaulted over the bull ring wall with him as he hightailed it out of there, and into the hands of Mexican police and bullring officials who had him arrested for breach of contract.

According to AOL:

After paying a fine, he was later persuaded to return to what is the world's largest bullring -- but only long enough to put his hands over his head, pointing upward to the heavens, shaking his head and making exit No. 2.

"There are some things you must be aware of about yourself," the 22-year-old Mexican said later in a television interview, according to the Times of London.

"I didn't have the ability, I didn't have the balls, this is not my thing."

Hernandez later announced he had retired.

This is not Hernandez's first brush with infamy in the bullfighting arena. Earlier this year, he was injured after being gored in the leg by a bull.

For those in attendance at the bullring that day that jeered Hernandez for doing the SMART thing, I wonder what they would do under the same circumstances? I'm sure that if fueled with enough beer and tequila, any drunken moron would climb in the bullring, roll up their sleeves and personally invite that ornery bull to a fight-to-the-finish steel cage match, all while wearing that skin-tight sequinned outfit, huh?

Item # 2: Boston's Meltdown Leads To L.A. Rioting

The cause of that giant sucking sound that eminated from downtown Los Angeles Thursday night was twofold.

First, the Boston Celtics choked big time in the fourth quarter of Game 7 (a game in which Boston lead for the first 3 quarters) of the NBA finals against the hated Lakers and lost.

That right there sucked bad enough, but, second, was the mayhem that ensued on the streets of downtown L.A. in the form of tipping and burning cars, pelting riot gear-clad cops, looting stores and overall public drunkeness which lead to numerous arrests and thousands of dollars in personal and property damage.

Typical day in L.A., anyday, you say, so what's the problem, you ask?

Maybe I'm myopic, maybe I'm naive, but I had no idea that so many pissed-off Celtic fans lived in L.A. and would take out their frustrations on the usually docile, peace-loving, law-abiding Laker fans in such a manner

Tsk. Tsk.

Seriously, it was the usual high achievers taking to the streets after their team won, and just to show that L.A. rioters never get it right, they were burning down their own 'hoods and barrios. Talk about lack of strategy and game plan.

Oh, and just to make Los Angeles a doubly pleasant place to be, earlier that same day, Mexico defeated France in the World Cup tournament, so it's really no surprise that the LAPD were just getting finished wiping the refried beans off of their riot gear when the call to Staples Center came out.

Item # 3: F.I.F.A.: Flagrantly & Intentionally F**king America

At last, some (yawn) World Cup drama that's worth mentioning.

It seems the United States was blantantly robbed of a victory in front of the entire world by the mother of all bad calls and the mother of all bad referee's, Koman Coulibaly in the 86th minute.

In a game against Slovenia, the United States battled back from a 2-0 halftime deficit to tie the match, 2-2.

Late in the game, Team U.S.A. was awarded a free kick, whatever that is, which was successfully kicked into the net. Should have been game over and a 'W' for Team USA, right?

Not when you're Team USA and the referee gets the Mr. Magoo Award for International Ineptness and should be tarred, feathered and hanged from the highest yardarm.

>>> Read More & View Clip @ Foxsports.com>>>

Now, as far as free kicks go, since FIFA officials won't reverse the call, and the referee does not have to explain his ruling, I say, all members of the United States soccer team, waterboy included, are hereby awarded ONE FREE KICK to the nads of referee Koman Coulibaly.

Item # 4: Manute Bol - R.I.P.

Former Sudanese NBA star, 7 foot 6 inch Manute Bol passed away yesterday at the age of 47 due to accute kidney disease.

Bol, a true humanitarian, played in the NBA for 10 years for the Washington Bullets, Golden State Warriors and Philadelphia 76ers.

Due to his height, he was known as a prolific blocker throughout the NBA.

Unlike most NBA stars, Bol spent his time and personal fortune altruistically for the benefit of his homeland, the Sudan by visiting refugee camps and writing big fat checks out of his own pocket. His actions so impressed the Sudanese government, he was offered a post as Minister of Sport, but turned the postion down as one of the requirements for the post was that Bol (a Christian) would have to convert to Islam.

Apparently, he told them to kick rocks as he eventually had to apply and appeal to the United States to allow him entry back to America as a religious refugee.

In case you don't know the name, you sure wouldn't be able to miss him if he were to walk into a room. all 7 feet, 6 inches of him.

Bon voyage, Bol.

Item # 5: This One Is Personal

It's no secret that I do not like the Lakers, and Kobe Bryant in particular.

I will admit, he is perhaps the greatest basketball player of his era, but with that being said, I found this goodie from a like-minded Laker/Kobe critic.

This one's for you, Laker fan!

Item # 1: The World Is Fun!!!

WANT SOME CTFL SMACKDOWN?
Check out the official CTFL website, complete with everything from celebrity testimonials to battle tested techniques.

If you want some no-shit fun this weekend, scratch the NBA Finals and World Cup festivities off your sports viewing calendars, get off the couch and head on up to Seattle, Washington where you can either watch or participate in Cardboard Tube Fighting, which benefits The World Is Fun, a Seattle nonprofit that aims to get people in their 20's and 30's off their asses and interested in charities.

Organized Cardboard Tube Fighting is the brainchild of Robert Easley and has leagues and tournaments worldwide.

According to Wikipedia, Robert had childhood memories of hitting friends and family with cardboard tubes in mock sword fights. He came up with the idea of starting regular tournaments around the act of cardboard tube fighting.

This idea comes from three core beliefs:

1) People need more ways to play and take themselves less seriously.

2) This is only fun when you are drunk.

3) Cardboard sword fighting is fun, but deadly as well. It could be quite vicious and lead to brain injury and head trauma. Only real men don't use helmets.

You can create your own costume and persona as well, a lot like the WWF. You can go as a Samurai Warrior, Ninja, Jedi Knight, Darth Vader, Viking, Vandal, pissed off wife or even a Tea Party Protester.

C'mon. What are you waiting for? Don't let all those other Dueling Dweebs, Dorks and Dilberts have all the fun!

So, if the NBA Finals between the Boston Celtics and Los Angeles Ladies are a "been there, done that" ritual or the World Cup is just another excuse to waste 3 hours and get rip roaring drunk in the process, release and unleash your Inner-Tube Warrior and go Postal AND Medieval on your friends, family, co-workers and neighbors by participating in, and even forming your own band of CTF Warriors.

Now. Let's get out there, open up a tube of whoop-ass and have fun!

Item # 2: Boobs

Apparently, Lady Gaga isn't getting the attention or face time she thinks she deserves, so she had some quality tantrum time at a New York Mets/San Diego Padres game in New York this past week.

The attention starved, overhyped Pop-Tart sure wasn't acting very lady-like when she had a meltdown of Major League proportions by treating Mets' fans to a strip tease, followed by a high, hard double-barreled barrage of one fingered salutes.

Gaga showed up during the fifth inning of the day game and was furious that her front-row seats were so close to photographers covering the game and began hurling F-Bombs at the photographers.

Instead of sitting, she vanished into a lower-deck concourse - only to reappear in the seventh inning in the empty luxury box owned by Met super-fan Jerry Seinfeld.

By the time fans and photographers spotted her, she had shed her coat to reveal bedazzled undies...

GAGA GOES GIRL-GIRL AT BALLGAME

The festivities didn't stop there, either. Amidst her meltdown, and for added effect, she also began kissing a random woman.

The beer-swilling diva - who has professed her love for the Yankees - proceeded to repeatedly salute the crowd with her middle finger.

When fans rose for the seventh-inning stretch, she did, too -- dancing and giving onlookers the double-bird salute.

She watched the rest of the game in just her undergarments without incident.

What possessed her to have that meltdown could have been the fact that she was originally seated close to photographers and equally shocked that they were there to cover the game, not her.

That would be a devastating blow to anyone who had an ego the size of New York's Citi Park.

Item # 3: Big Baby, The Heart Of Boston's B-Team Bench

THE SHREK & DONKEY SHOW
Glen "Big Baby" Davis as Shrek, and sidekick High-Flying Nate Robinson as Donkey celebrate against the L.A. Ladies in Boston. Robinson brought the house down during his postgame interview with Davis when he said, "we're like Shrek and Donkey. You can't separate us."

If you're a Boston Celtic fan, L.A. Laker hater, or a combination of both, you had to be in Beantown Heaven after Thursday's Game 4 of the NBA Finals.

The game was pretty close, and actually boring for a while, and neither team seemed to have any life until Boston coach Doc Rivers put his superstar caliber starting players on the bench and put in his B-Team.

Boston's B-Team began dismantling the Laker's starting lineup with a combination of pure hustle and surgical precision.

Among the Boston substitutes were Nate Robinson, all 5 feet, 9 inches of him and Glen "Big Baby" Davis who led the Celtics rally with a combined 30 points and 4 rebounds.

During a fourth quarter fight for a loose ball, Davis ran down the court like a man possessed, letting out a primal scream and drooling all over himself a bit. Then Robinson jumped on his back (pictured) creating an iconic moment for the Celtics.

Later in the 4th quarter, Coach Rivers almost sat his dynamic bench duo down to put his starters back in the game, but for some reason, let them stay in. Probably figured as long as he had the knife in the Laker's backs, why not give it few more twists. Tee-hee.

To re-cap and summarize: Boston's Bench Beats L.A.'s Elite.

Final score: 96-89

Sweet.

Item # 4: Boogers

NBA players are known to create unique, career-defining patented moves.

Kareem Abdul-Jabbar had his "Sky-Hook."

Pete Maravich got the nickname "Pistol" for shooting the ball from the side, as if he were a gunslinger.

Magic Johnson had his "No-Look Pass."

Now Kobe Bryant is getting in on the act with a "Smoov Move" all his own.

We can call it the anything from the "Bryant Booger", "Sportscaster Snotrag" or as some bloggers are calling it, The Old Snot And Booger Trick, caught on camera here.

It seems His Kobe-ness takes a lot of time in his post game interview prepping, and wanted to share a few of his grooming tips by rubbing his snot on ESPN's Ric Bucher following Game 3 of the NBA Finals in Boston.

What class, but would you expect anything less from Kobe Bryant?

Now, O'Sports Hack is wondering, how long before kids on basketball courts across the country start emulating the "Bryant Booger?"

What's more, knowing how fickle, gullible and star-struck adult Laker fans are, when will Kobe's new smoov moves start "rubbing off" on them?

Pun intended, PIGsters.

Item # 1: The Wizard Of Westwood Has Left The Building: Legendary Basketball Coach John Wooden Passes On

The name John Wooden will always be synonymous not just with unparalleled basketball success, but also personal integrity, poise, humility, perseverance and all-around class. A man of unshakable faith and conviction, Wooden had a Midas-like impact not just on the basketball court and his players, but the reverence most folks had for him went way, way beyond his ability to motivate his teams to victory.

John Wooden is best known for leading UCLA to 10 NCAA basketball titles, including 7 in a row, an 88 game winning streak and 4 undefeated seasons from 1964 to 1975. His UCLA Bruins routinely mopped up the court with any, almost all opponents during that incredible stretch.

He didn't stop there, either. John Wooden took his winning, inspiring ways with him after his retirement from UCLA and went on to become a mentor, author and motivational speaker, using his Pyramid Of Success as a model for character building not just in sports, but in business and life in general.

John Wooden's life was filled with so many accolades, awards and acheivements, we'll simply stop here and refer you to his official site (link below) where you can learn more about this amazing man and the impact he's had on countless people.

Before we go, The F.S.O.P. has this to say: We liked John Wooden for many, many reasons, but in the context of PIG, we REALLY liked John Wooden because John Wooden was a Slacker's worst nightmare. There were no free rides in John Wooden's world. There was no room for lame excuses or passing the buck in John Wooden's world. There was no blaming and finger pointing in John Wooden's world, and God help you if you thought otherwise. If you want to live in the self-imposed safety and cocoon of "Mommies Basement" all your life, without taking a chance at either success or failure and being second best instead of stellar is Okey-Dokey in your world of mediocrity and half measures, well, we don't think you would last a nano-second in John Wooden's world.

Now, we'll leave you with some of Coach Wooden's more memorable quotes, or, "Woodenisms":

"Be more concerned with your character than your reputation, because your character is what you really are, while your reputation is merely what others think you are."

"You can't let praise or criticism get to you. It's a weakness to get caught up in either one."

"You can't live a perfect day without doing something for someone who will never be able to repay you."

"Success is never final, failure is never fatal. It's courage that counts."

"Consider the rights of others before your own feelings, and the feelings of others before your own rights."

"Do not let what you cannot do interfere with what you can do."

"If you're not making mistakes, then you're not doing anything. I'm positive that a doer makes mistakes."

"Never mistake activity for achievement."

"Failure is not fatal, but failure to change might be."

"It's not so important who starts the game but who finishes it."

"The worst thing about new books is that they keep us from reading the old ones."

"Adversity is the state in which man mostly easily becomes acquainted with himself, being especially free of admirers then."

"Don't measure yourself by what you have accomplished, but by what you should have accomplished with your ability."

"Ability is a poor man's wealth."

"Talent is God given. Be humble. Fame is man-given. Be grateful. Conceit is self-given. Be careful."

R.I.P. Coach
John R. Wooden
October 14, 1910 - June 04, 2010
• • • • • • • • • • •
http://www.coachwooden.com
• • • • • • • • • • •

Item # 2: The Perfect Game That Wasn't

When is a perfect game not a perfect game? When Blind-As-A-Bat Major League Baseball's Clown Commissioner Bud Selig says so, that's when.

On June 2, Detroit's Armando Galarraga was pitching what would have and should have been a perfect game.

After retiring the first 26 batters, all he needed was one more out for a rare baseball perfecto.

With 2 outs in the bottom of the ninth, Batter #27 was Cleveland's Jason Donald who grounded to Detroit first baseman Miguel Cabrera, who cleanly fielded Donald's groundball and tossed it to Galarraga, who was covering first base.

The throw was accurate and beat the runner by a mile, but, umpire Jim Joyce made the bad call heard round the world when he ruled Donald safe at first, thus blowing Galarraga's bid for a perfect game.

Replays show that the runner was out by a mile, but the blown call stood.

No perfect game for Galarraga, and, after the game, and watching the replays and realizing his mistake, umpire Joyce tearfully said, "I just cost that kid a perfect game."

Joyce asked to speak with Galarraga, emphatically said he was wrong and later, in tears, hugged Galarraga and apologized for his error and Galarraga accepted the apology.

First, most pitchers would be furious at the fact that a once-in-a-lifetime achievement was snatched right out from under them in the form of a bad, blown call. Galarraga graciously accepted the reality of the situation, acted like a man and moved on.

It would be easy to blame the umpire for the blown call, for which he took responsiblity for, but the outcome of the Perfect Game That Wasn't could have been over ruled by Baseball Commissioner Pud Selig based on instant replay.

As of today, June 5, Pud's decision to let the blown call stand will remain. No perfect game.

Pud will not reverse the call, which he could have and should have done, and for that, The PIGdome awards Pud Selig it's first, and hopefully only Mr. Magoo Lifetime Achievement Award. (Selig recieves 'Lifetime' status for also being blind to rampant steroid use and his blown call of the 2002 All-star Game)

Pud could have used this incident to invoke instant replay into Major League Baseball and as an opportunity to redeem himself for his past boneheaded calls.

The silver lining in this whole thing is the graciousness of Armando Galarraga, who, in his accepting his fate, showed the world what Sportsmanship is all about, and perhaps removed some of professional baseball's tarnish with his humility.

That, plus the fact that the Detroit Tigers awarded him a brand new 2011 Chevrolet Corvette at home plate the following day.

That shiny new Corvette can easily crush any sour grapes Galarraga may have thought of chewing on and is perhaps the perfect ending to a bad situation for a Good Guy like Galarraga.

Lawrence Taylor Busted...Again

Former New Giants linebacker, former Dancing With The Stars contestant, former Nutri-System spokesman, former tax evader, former crack addict, (among other things) Lawrence Taylor was arrested Thursday, May 6 on charges of raping a 16 year old runaway prostitute.

With an impressive resume like L.T.'s, one would think that the rape allegations would be a slam dunk for the prosecution, but there's a little more to the story that may lead one to believe that the whole thing is a set up, and that L.T. is an easy target to railroad, has deep pockets and a less than stellar personal past.

The alleged victim was beaten up by a man, Rasheed Davis, (her pimp) who forced her into prostitution, then driven to Taylor's hotel, paid $300 by Taylor for sex, where he was arrested early Thursday, said Christopher St. Lawrence, supervisor of the town of Ramapo.

Taylor was charged with third degree rape and patronizing a prostitute, posted $75,000 bail and through his lawyer proclaimed his innocence.

With a little luck and a sharp-toothed shyster, maybe L.T. can add 'former accused rapist' to his profile.

This type of story is nothing new for athletes. What makes this worth staying tuned into is which Media Slut is going to get to the victim and the glory of "Lights! Camera! Action!" first. Gloria Allred or Al Sharpton?

Stay tuned.

Flaming Arizona

In the wake of Arizona Senate Bill 1070 and Cinco de Mayo, the Phoenix Suns went and caved in to Arizona's Colonista's by wearing "Los Suns" on their uniforms for Game 2 of the Western Conference semifinals. Owner Robert Sarver said, “...to honor our Latino community and the diversity of our league, the state of Arizona and our nation...”

How noble.

What they really did was not only sellout and symbolically side with Arizona's Colonista Coddlers and Crybabies, they also showed hints of PC racism and patronizing.

After all the hot air from other Sports Hacks and political pundits, O'Sports Hack has to wonder why didn't Los Suns go all out in their symbolic gesture of solidarity by changing their name to the Border Jumpers or Reconquistadors, wear sombrero's, serapes, bandolleros, parade up and down the court on burros, substitute a mariachi band for cheerleaders, resurrect the Frito Bandito or Speedy Gonzalez as their mascot and serve free tequila shooters for everyone in attendance and have center court knife fights during halftime?

And, as a parting shot and grand finale, why not lower and burn any American flag in the vicinity of the arena and raise the Mexican rag, “...to honor our Latino community and the diversity of our league, the state of Arizona and our nation...” of course.

Buenos noches!

Don't Taze Me!: Brotherly Love Style

Philadelphia Police used a taser gun to subdue 17 year old Steve Consalvi who hopped the fence at Citizens Bank Park in the eight inning of the Phillies-Cardinals game on Monday night.

Consalvi, waving a white towel on the field, eluded a couple of stadium security guards before one of Philadelphia's finest put an end to Consalvi's on-field shenanigans by whipping out his taser and rendered him into submission.

Consalvi got his 15 minutes, but what about the cop? Why isn't he, and more like him being deployed by Homeland Stupidity and I.C.E. along our southern border tasing Border Jumping Invaders?

Talk about America having a home field advantage, huh?

Living In Mommies Basement Pay Off

ESPN reports that Gaming Dweeb Wade McGilberry of Semmes, Alabama won $1,000,000 for pitching a virtual perfect game.

MLB2K10, a baseball simulation from 2K Sports sponsored the contest, and McGilberry simulated the use of Atlanta Braves pitcher Kenshin Kawakami to secure his 'victory.'

Not being a Gaming Dweeb myself, I just wonder if there is a league of Dweebs out there that spend their days and nights in the basement honing their gaming skills to one day make the big time in their little virtual worlds.

Wade's achievement must be really cool, after all, a million dollars is a lot of money for doing almost nothing and his feat will cement his place on the gaming pedestal among his fellow dweebs.

That's all good, I suppose if you're a high achiever like Wade McGilberry, but in the spirit of sportsmanship, one has to wonder if he will share any of the prize money with Kawakami, and most importantly, pay his Mommy back rent for use of the basement.

Congratulations, Wade. Enjoy your glory and being the toast of the Gaming Community. You have struck a universal victory for Gaming Dweebs, Nerds, Geeks and other assorted lazy lumps living off of Mommy with no ambition or skill whatsoever.

Your Mommy must be so proud.

Word has it, that there is a growing movement to introduce Pole Dancing to the Olympics in either 2012 in London, or more fittingly, Rio De Janiero in 2016. And no, it's not a bunch of drunks dancing to polkas, either. It's the other, fun to watch kind.

That's right, pole dancing considered for the Olympics. You know, that For-Adults-Only activity that goes hand-in-hand with back room, private lap dances, strip teases and crumpled up, beer soaked one dollar bills stuffed into G-strings at Gentlemen's Clubs and Jiggly Rooms around the globe.

Seriously, there is an actual International Pole Dancing Fitness Association (as seen on Oprah) that seeks IOC recognition.

Given the lack of enthusiasm many already have with the Olympic Games, I say that Pole Dancing is just what the IOC needs to attract more spectators. The networks no doubt are are already wiping the drool off their chins at the mere prospect of televised Olympic Pole Dancing events. But really now, if synchronized swimming and curling are accepted as sport, why not pole dancing?

The IPDFA actually has some creds as they do have an international competition every year. The reigning pole dancing queen is Mai Sato, pictured.

Sato would be the ideal spokesdancer to hold up to the public due to her training and background in ballet, jazz and contemporary dance from an early age.

But let's be real. Most competitors probably don't or won't have that sort of background, and probably hail from humble beginnings in a trailer park in Pomona, California to crack smoking parents.

First, we seriously doubt that her parents are going to get her out of bed and into leotards at the crack of dawn at the tender age of 6 to begin her daily training.

The parents are either, A, too ashamed to have their little princess train for such a stigmatized activity, or B, too strung out or drunk to even care.

That's why we decided to create ficticious aerial athlete we'll call 'Destiny' and take a hypothetical journey with 'Destiny' on her march toward Olympic Pole Dancing Gold and Glory - The PIG Way.

Sponsorship: First, she'll need financial sponsorship so she can dedicate herself to the rigors of Olympic training. Outside of tips from her night gig, she'll be under the financial guidance of a greaseball Sugar Daddy that will provide all the Bling she needs.

Training Facilities: Like any other dedicated 'athlete,' it's all about training. By day, 'Destiny' can train and get toned and loose at any gymnasium or health club. By night, however, is where she can get paid training and learn the moves and tricks of the trade at any Jiggly Room-like adult entertainment emporium. That's PC for strip club.

Judges: Let's see. Who comes to mind when it comes to mind when it comes to judging a pole dancing competition? Why none other than Al Bundy and his NO-MAAM crew, who the hell else? Unfortunately, Porcus has to disqualify himself as a judge for conflict of interest reasons, i.e. Mrs. Porcus.

Judging Criteria: Like figure skating, all pole dancers will be judged by routine, musical selection, costumes, form and overall performance.

Unlike figure skating, where spectators toss bouquets of roses onto the ice, what ultimately gets 'Destiny' in the winners' circle is the amount of one dollar bills she can collect from the fans, and maybe even judges.

Technique: Again, like figure skating, there have been some memorable, trademark, pioneering moves that have all become standard issue. The triple axel. The double lutz. And who can forget the Hamel Camel?

Pole dancing would be no exception. We may just see 'Destiny' perform some mind blowing patented moves and techniques incorporated into her routine.

Can 'Destiny' hold up a "Free Car Wash" sign while shimmying her pole? Does she have the right stuff to do the always risky, acrobatic Camel Toe Wraparound? Can she perform an entire set with a tray of cold beer while spilling nary a drop?

Doping Issues: Since 'Destiny' is a dedicated performer, we won't feel that a drug test on her would be warranted.

We may, however, be randomly testing the male members of the audience for exceeding the recommended amount of Viagra prior to taking their seats. We do that for crowd control. After all, we wouldn't want any hootin,' hollerin' and God forbid, catcallin' now, would we?

Medal Ceremony: Let's suppose an American wins the Gold. Naturally, there is the medal ceremony where the 'Destiny' stands upon the pedestal accepts the Gold and then the playing of our National Anthem.

Can't you just picture the glorious event, as the opening bars of The Star Spangled Banner is played, the mandatory close-up of 'Destiny'' as her eyes tear up. Then the quick camera shot to her proud parents as Daddy swells with pride.

Be honest. Wouldn't you too be a proud American at that 'pass the hankie' moment?

Then, the victory lap...dance? Seriously.

Endorsements: I don't think the folks over at Wheaties will be breaking down doors to get 'Destiny' on their cereal box, nor do I believe Disneyland will come-a-knocking, either. all hope is not lost on 'Destiny' endorsement-wise, though.

We see some potential lucrative possibilities for her pitching Viagra, Go-Daddy, Victoria's Secret, K-Y Jelly, Malt Liquor, All-Stop® Female Jock Itch products, or maybe even a future in law, politics or more suitably, a News Nit-Wit.

Protests: This is as predictable as Gloria Allred pimping herself for the cameras.

You just know that there will be the usual NO-NAD shrills whining and crusading against either A, men exploiting women, or B, men watching women 'degrade' themselves by showing off their elastic bodies writhing around on a pole in a provactive, acrobatic manner.

The other type of NO-NAD protester would be all in favor of a woman exercising her rights as a woman by freely expressing herself through Pole Dancing as long as men don't watch.

Then of course, there are the "Holier Than Thou" stoned on morality police squadrons staunchly against this sort of sinful, suggestive, gyrating display being showcased on TV internationally as a bad example of what young ladies should aspire to be.

Finally, I know what you're all thinking. Just another excuse for O'Sports Hack to exploit women who want to 'empower' themselves through fitness and sport, huh? Well, you're all wrong, because guess what? I'll need the barf bag for this...there is a Men's Pole Dancing competition, too. Tee-hee.

So sports fans, if you want to become a serious pole dancing aficionado and learn all the techniques and terminology and what to look for in a routine, frequent visits to your local Jiggly-Room is highly encouraged...when safe to do so, that is.

If Pole Dancing actually makes it as an Olympic event and you plan to attend, don't forget those one dollar bills.

All joking aside, Pole Dancing gets an official F.S.O.P. Two Thumbs and a crusty dollar bill donation.

You Go, Girls!!!

If you're like me, you find the Winter Olympic games a great cure for insomnia.

Until now.

On Thursday, the Canadian Women's Hockey team won Gold against the United States with a 2-0 victory.

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Big deal, O'Sports Hack.

That's what I said, until I heard what these gals did AFTER the medal ceremony.

The team took back to the ice with their medals, cracked open some brewskies, sparked up some stogies, and relished in their hard won triumph.

How damn cool is that?

Of course, the usual suspects are up in arms about setting bad examples by (some underage) drinking of beer and champagne, smoking cigars and squawking,"What about the children?" and "What a disgrace to our ..."

SHUT THE F**K UP already! Those young women probably went through hell to train, sweat, sacrifice, and go without on their quest for the Gold.

They earned those smokes and I hope they enjoyed them.

O'Sports Hack finds it a bit ironic, if not hypocritical to criticize a little on-ice celebration that features cigar smoking, beer drinking athletes in a sport that has violence as a main attraction.

Canada, you just kicked yourself up a few notches in the PIGDOME by introducing the world to your way cool PIGals. But please, no bikini calendars, eh?

Light 'em up ladies, you earned it.

Initially, O'Sports Hack did not want to post on the New Orleans Saints Superbowl victory over the Indianapolis Colts.

But upon further review, referee O'Sports Hack decided that this particular victory went beyond the realm of sports and is way worthy of a PIG posting.

That victory lifted the spirits of a long suffering city and state still licking their wounds over Hurricane Katrina.

Since their inception and introduction into the NFL, the Saints were synonymous with being terminal losers.

That all changed with the signing of the new sheriff in town, quarterback Drew Brees.

He came, he saw, he conquered, or Veni, Vidi, Vici in Latin terms, and was dedicated and determined to the city of New Orleans to pull the folks out of the rubble and take them to the moutaintop.

PIG props and hats off to the not only the New Orleans Saints, but also the fine folks that call Louisiana home.

Here's some images for all to enjoy.

WTF???

THE MAN!!!

THE SIDELINE LOVLIES

HALFTIME SHOW...BEST EVER

A BAKERS DOZEN?
We heartily applaud Mike Caldwell's novelty golf ball collection, "The Tail of the Tiger" Mistress Collection, and the increased publicity he has received on behalf of attorney Gloria Allred probably hasn't hurt sales either. The FSOP thinks Mr. Caldwell could take his endeavor a step further by gratefully acknowledging Gloria Allred and create a Limited Edition Baker's Dozen featuring a likeness of Gloria Allred to whack around, just for sport of course. Why not tee off and order yours today? Simply go to: >>> The Tail of the Tiger >>> You better hurry and order yours as soon as possible, because that cease and desist order may take effect at any time.

It seems an enterprising Canadian Novelty golf ball maker Mike Caldwell has created "The Tail of the Tiger" Mistress collection of golf balls devoted to Woods' alleged mistresses.

The following is from The Orlando Sentinel:

A novelty golf ball set that features cartoon likenesses of Tiger Woods' alleged mistresses has led one of those women to call for an end to their production.

Former adult film actress Veronica Siwik-Daniels (aka Joslyn James), who claims to have had a long-term intimate relationship with Woods, says the balls are insensitive and promote violence toward women.

Attorney Gloria Allred appeared with Siwik-Daniels in Los Angeles on Wednesday arguing that putting the face of a woman on a ball which golfers hit with full force could result in marks on the image that might resemble bruises and may lead to inappropriate jokes about hitting women. Siwik-Daniels says that she loved Woods and had reason to believe that he loved her. She has been in seclusion and has not talked to the press until now.

The golf ball set, "Tail of the Tiger -- The Mistress Collection," bears caricatures of several women who have been linked to Tiger Woods, whose alleged affairs came to light after getting injured in an early-morning car crash at his Isleworth home in Orlando on Nov. 24, 2009.

The Canadian company Creative Classics is selling the set of 12 golf balls with images of Jaimee Grubbs, Rachel Uquitel, Siwik-Daniels and nine others. They sell for $44.95 and the set has already made the company $40,000, according to news reports.

This 12 count collection, each with a different one of the PGA star's claimed mistresses printed on the side, was debuted last week at the PGA Merchandise show at Orlando's Orange County Convention Center.

Caldwell says his design was inspired to lift the spirits of golfer's who are saddened this season by Tiger's absence and his indefinite leave from the sport.

The basic set costs $44.95 or an ornate display pack for $5 more.

In the first three days of selling, $40,000 worth of the balls were sold.

If you think that's funny, it gets way better.

One of the women, Joslyn James, a porn star, retained renowned media glutton Gloria "Lights! Camera! Action!" Allred and sent a cease & desist letter to Creative Classics, the company that is producing the golf balls, requesting her face removed from the collection.

Says James: "It is wrong for a golf ball to have my picture on it — because golfers hit their golf balls with a lot of force. As a victim of violence myself, it bothered me to think that someone would be standing with a dangerous club hitting a ball with my photo on it. I don't think that Tiger would want my picture on a golf ball."

"Hitting a woman or an image of a woman is not a sport…this would be no different than using a picture of a woman's face for target practice."

So, a woman who made her living being "objectified," having an affair with a married man and probably profiting from that affair is now objecting to her likeness being used by golfers "objectifying" her likeness on a golf ball in the false belief that this would lead toward violence toward women?

What a whack job. All we can say is...Fore!

We're all familiar with Ronald "The Gipper" Reagan's portrayal of terminally ill Notre Dame football player, George Gipp in the movie, Knute Rockne: All American. A very inspiring movie which spawned the phrase, "Let's go out there and win one for The Gipper."

This week, our crack locker room snitch dug up some other inspiring quotes.

#1. 'After you retire, there's only one big event left ... And I ain't ready for that.' (Bobby Bowden/Florida State)

#2. 'The man who complains about the way the ball bounces is likely to be the one who dropped it.' (Lou Holtz/Arkansas)

#3. 'There's nothing that cleanses your soul like getting the hell kicked out of you.' (Woody Hayes/Ohio State)

#4. 'I don't expect to win enough games to be put on NCAA probation. I just want to win enough to warrant an investigation' (Bob Devaney/Nebraska)

#5. 'It's kind of hard to rally around a math class.' (Bear Bryant/Alabama)

#6. 'I make my practices real hard because if a player is a quitter, I want him to quit in practice, not in a game.' (Bear Bryant/Alabama)

#7. 'I never graduated from Iowa, but I was only there for two terms - Truman's and Eisenhower's.' (Alex Karras/Iowa)

#8. 'My advice to defensive players: Take the shortest route to the ball and arrive in a bad humor.' (Bowden Wyatt/Tennessee)

#9. 'I could have been a Rhodes Scholar, except for my grades.' (Duffy Daugherty/Michigan State)

#10. 'Always remember... Goliath was a 40 point favorite over David.' (Shug Jordan/Auburn)

#11. 'I asked Darrell Royal, the coach of the Texas Longhorns, why he didn't recruit me and he said: 'Well, Walt, we took a look at you and you weren't any good.' Walt Garrison/ Oklahoma State)

#12. 'Son, you've got a good engine, but your hands aren't on the steering wheel.' (Bobby Bowden/Florida State)

#13. 'Football is not a contact sport - it is a collision sport. Dancing is a contact sport.' (Duffy Daugherty/ Michigan State)

#14. After USC lost 51-0 to Notre Dame, his postgame message to his team: 'All those who need showers, take them.' (John McKay/USC)

#15. 'If lessons are learned in defeat, our team is getting a great education.' (Murray Warmath/Minnesota)

#16. 'The only qualifications for a lineman are to be big and dumb. To be a back, you only have to be dumb.' (Knute Rockne/Notre Dame)

#17. 'It isn't necessary to see a good tackle. You can hear it.' (Knute Rockne/Notre Dame)

#18. 'We didn't tackle well today but we made up for it by not blocking.' (Wilson Matthews/ Little Rock Central High School)

#19. 'I've found that prayers work best when you have big players.' (Knute Rockne/Notre Dame)

#20. 'Gentlemen, it is better to have died as a small boy than to fumble this football.' (John Heisman/Auburn)

Soccer. I know I'm not alone in not getting it, at all, especially on TV. As fun as it is to play, and the exercise is great, I can't for the life of me figure out the fascination of watching a bunch of dudes running up and down a field, kicking a ball back and forth to each other with the hopes that someone will kick the damn ball past the goalie into the net.

The time and effort spent by both teams to weasel the ball past the goalie into the net for a single goal just isn't worth wasting 3-4 hours of my time for.

Wow, what with those 1-1 scorefest orgies, and game ending cheap-ass shootouts designed to either to determine a winner, or put everyone on the field, in the stands or at home out of the sheer misery of even watching a snoozefest by determining a winner is still a foreign concept to me, but makes me realize why soccer fans riot.

When O'Sports Hack was a wee lad, Pele was on his way out, a one-named coke snorter named Maradonna was in and Beckham was a gleam in his Dad's eyes, and frankly, soccer was not very popular with us Yanks that don't get it.

O'Sports Hack had the opportunity to be in Europe and Middle East during the 1990 World Cup when the (then) West German squad, led by Jurgen Klinsmann, took the cup against Argentina, led by Maradonna. I have to say that everyone on the continent was hypnotized by the ongoing tournament. If a TV or radio was on, you can bet your last lira that anyone with a pulse was transfixed to the game in play.

On my flight home, I happened to be flying Lufthansa Airlines, which as it happened that day, were flying the entire West German champs to Los Angeles for some North American Soccer prep work for the 1994 World cup to be played in Pasadena, California, I guess.

Photo: Alessandro Abate @ Sandrophotos.com

I happened to recognize the squad as I had in my hand a Euro-Fishwrap that had their photo on the cover and met Jurgen Klinsmann, who saw me, an American as we all approached customs and I remarked to him, "You will go easy on us Yanks in 1994, won't you?"

To my surprise, he very gentlemanly and jokingly replied, "Of course" as he signed a souvenier World Cup T-Shirt for my girlfriend.

Sorry for the digression.

The saving grace that soccer is the side show entertainment - drunken hooligans, rioting, looting, and of course, the soccer babes.

Mia Hamm removing her jersey and spawning a girl's soccer movement in the United States doesn't count as either inspiration or entertainment.

I will concede and give a hearty two thumbs up to international, or FIFA fans, for their ongoing loyalty and passion towards their teams and countries.

That's where O'Sports Hack takes interest. These nutcase's will die for their teams, and maybe kill you, too, if you get in their way while either celebrating their teams victory, or flat out pissed off when their team flames out in defeat.

The fans activities provide for quite a "pictures at eleven" violent, drunken sideshow on news broadcasts, and it's worth watching.

From Holland to Honduras, South Korea to Saudi Arabia, the the fans' fervor of the futbol phenomenon seems to be some sort of common denominator that's alive and well.

The term Soccer Hooligans seems to conjure up images of UK-Style post game activities from either the British, Scottish or Irish fans getting drunk and taking to the streets with torches and pints of ale, tipping cars and looting stores after a match.

Is watching normally mild-mannered sorts torch local businesses after a game worth watching? You bet.

Or how about when the fans start stomping in their stadium seats and half the structure collapses in Mexico City and the fans fall onto the field.

Priceless.

The list of mishaps is endless and you can count on seeing on many more in the future.

Now, about their cheerleading squads. See if you can guess, or care what country these die hards are in support of based on their insignia.

Answers below.

You actually thought there were answers?

Ever wonder what might inspire a team to victory?

Local, community support?

That works, for a while, at least.

The real diehards are those lovley gals with pom-poms, bright smiles and high kicks.

Just think for a moment about all the hard work those women do to not only keep in shape, but to chroreograph all of their moves, inspire the players and crowd at the same time.

Here's some real team spirit from these ladies that make a boring game tolerable.

Worth the price of admission, huh?

“There are three kinds of men. The one that learns by reading. The few who learn by observation. The rest of them have to pee on the electric fence for themselves.” Will Rogers

From swallowing goldfish and kissing pissed off rattlesnakes and cobras, to flaming sword swallowers and bungee jumpers, there's always, always going to be that certain type of person that thinks they can defy gravity, laws of physics and mother nature.

Hell, we've all been inspired after watching an episode of Superman, to grab Fido's flea infested blanket and making a cape out of it in an attempt to fly off of the garage roof.

With all of your friends and family gathered 'round with morbid curiosity for the inevitable to happen, you pound your chest like Tarzan and hollar, "Up, up and away!" and blindly hurl yourself to the earth, flat on your face.

Down you go, after learning a valuable lesson about gravity. 99.9% of the kid's that do that, realize they have some nasty boo-boo's and find other activities and hobbies to occupy their time.

However, there will always be that certain type that has to find out the hard way. This posting will go beyond the realm of sports, but rather human nature and the extremes certain people take. Some are examples of a roll of the dice that result in triumphant victory, some are so damn stupid, they're tragic and some are just plain fun.

From wannabe daredevils in Greek mythology, like Icarus, to dummies, we're not going to post a "Do not try this at home" disclaimer.

Why bother. In fact, we encourage some of the following activities for those so inclined.

The entertainment value alone is what breaks up dull days for us civilians when we read, see or hear about off-kilter people doing extreme, unnecessary stunts, pranks and death defying, and sometimes death inviting/inducing antics.

There are two types of Xtreme daredevils. Those that take well planned, calculated risks. For some Mother Nature defying reason, they survive. Maybe not in one piece, but after months in traction, they make it and do it again. Probably masochists. The attraction and entertainment value of the Evel Knievel's of this world end up at the bank at the end of the day.

Then there are those that end up on Jackass videos. Terminally gullible, "I'll do anything on a dare, dude" types that end up in emergency rooms, or morgues.

Leading off: Xtreme Pogo Stick Jumping. O'Sports Hack had a trusty colleague dig this head scratcher up:

London Telegraph
Pogo artist aims to widen hobby's appeal.

An extreme pogo artist has learned how to leap over cars as he seeks to
bring his hobby into the pantheon of extreme sports.

Published: 9:04AM BST 24 Sep 2009

Able to clear eight foot of air on his stick, Fred Grzybowski also holds
the world record for the number of consecutive back-flips, which stands
at nine.

"I am so keen to push the pogo stick out there as a recognised extreme
activity," said Mr Grzybowski, 20, from Los Angeles.

"The technology behind the sticks has improved dramatically in the past
decade, so now we are able to make those heights and jumps."

Believed to be the first to combine height, back and front flips, Mr
Grzybowski skill is compared with pioneering skateboarder Tony Hawk.

Using heavy duty rubber bands to provide extra lift, he uses a "Flybar'
pogo stick, which was created by SBI Enterprises and is capable of
launching a 250-pound man five feet in the air.

Mr Grzybowski and his pogo stick are already making a name for
themselves outside his native America.
"I was on film pogoing in the film Mr Magorium's Wonder Emporium and I
hope to do more television and films," he said.

Stupidity does.

One look at the picture tells the whole damn story.

Sheer, Xtreme, out and out suicidal stupidity is actually more like it.

What in the world would compel anyone to play with a deadly, venomous snake? Must be a death wish.

O'Sports Hack does encourage certain people to absolutely try this at home.

Broadway Joe "Willie" Namath's guarantee of a Superbowl III victory over the mighty and heavily favored Baltimore Colts in 1969 is perhaps the most Xtreme statement ever made.

During a pre-game press conference, Joe Namath didn't predict, but boldly stated, "We're gonna win the game. I guarantee it."

Making a statement like that on the eve of the Superbowl would not just rally his troops, but also inspire his opponents to want to bury his face in the dirt.

True to his word, with his reputation on the line, he lead his team to victory.

But there's one other thing that only a guy like Joe Namath could get away with that grants him Xtreme Nads status. Posing in a panty hose commercial.

Hell, it inspired O'Sports Hack to get a few pairs himself, for, oh never mind why.

We've all seen those Xtreme "I'm not afraid of heights" tightrope walkers do their thing without a net.

For what reason this breed of Xtreme types do that, O'Sports Hack hasn't a clue.

They're fun to watch at a circus with all of the safety precautions, but when someone takes it upon themselves to attempt a little public stunt like walking between two high rise skyscrapers working without a net, well, they are on their own.

For an extremely disturbing video clip of the consequenses, click the link below.

Warning: It involves a 73 year old man falling to his death.

http://www.tooshocking.com/videos/2141/Tight_Rope_Walker_Falls_To_Death

1988. Underdog Los Angeles Dodgers against the Mighty Oakland Athletic's in game one of the World Series at Dodger Stadium.

Kirk Gibson, the League's MVP was sidelined and considered out for the Series due to injuries and sitting in the clubhouse.

Bottom of the ninth, two out, one man on, Dodgers down by one, manager Tommy Lasorda asked an injured Gibson if he would pinch hit. The Oakland A's had the leagues top, and most feared relief pitcher on the mound, Dennis Eckersley.

Gibson answered the call and said "Yes."

He hobbled and gimped to home plate from the clubhouse tunnel with his bat in hand and worked the pitcher to a full count.

Then, it happened. Gibson stated later he knew this pitcher, and was waiting for the magical back door slider.

Talk about throwing a lambchop past a hungry wolf.

He got his pitch and one armed the ball into the right field bleachers, the ball sailing into the October night, limping around the bases and setting the tone for a Dodgers championship victory.

"The impossible has happened!" Vin Scully cried that night from Dodger Stadium, as Kirk Gibson limped around the bases.

Here are the words of the late Jack Buck:

"But, we have a big 3-2 pitch coming here from Eckersley. Gibson swings, and a fly ball to deep right field! This is gonna be a home run! Unbelievable! A home run for Gibson! And the Dodgers have won the game, 5 to 4; I don't believe what I just saw! I don't believe what I just saw! Is this really happening, Bill? One of the most remarkable finishes to any World Series Game...a one-handed home run by Kirk Gibson! And the Dodgers have won it...five to four; and I'm stunned, Bill. I have seen a lot of dramatic finishes in a lot of sports, but this one might top almost every other one."

For an Xtreme inspirational look at perhaps the most Xtreme home run's ever hit, click below.

Watch and listen as the great Vin Scully narrates.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ULq3Pg6GNAE&feature=related

Instead, it's Sunday! Sunday! Sunday! and chock full of potential red cement.

Hell, any half drunk kid with a motorcycle on a dare, can attempt to meet the challenge, and not just act like act like Evel Knievel by jumping 20 Go-Karts on a makeshift, home made ramp, but also experience the agony of being in traction.

Take the guy pictured to the right. I'll bet a dozen donuts he's the type of guy that drags his children out, fires up a bike, and says, "Hey kids, watch Daddy do this!"

People like that are not only potential Red Cementers, but the law of averages just may qualify weekend warrior types to potential Roadkill status.

If you like to watch grown men duke it out in either a boxing ring, on a wrestling mat, in a steel cage or even an NHL rink, go grab a cold frosty and your remote and sit down.

This also has nothing to do with MMA (Mixed Martial Arts) or the old time gang rumbles with chains, tire irons and swithblades.

This an up and coming new venue in the world of professional sports.

Bum Fighting.

O'Sports Hack already knows what you're thinking and the question you're going to ask.

"How is Bum Fighting a professional sport?"

Apparently, a pair of enterprising young men, equipped with a camcorder would approach down and out men living out of a shopping cart, desperate for a drink, or some money would stage back alley street fights and tape them pummel each other.

After the fight, both bums get paid with either a bottle of rotgut or a few bucks cash for their services, thus making them professionals.

Congratulations, Michael Vick, Mr. Dog Fighting/Torturing Ringmaster, you served your debt to society, and as a convicted felon, somehow managed to cement a lucrative contract upon release.

Your mom must be so proud.

But guess what? Cujo needs a fresh chew toy and you seem to be public enemy number one for all dogs and dog owners and lovers.

O'Sports Hack won't lecture or preach about what a crappy human being you are, because I'm sure many people have already told you what a turd you are.

Wait!!! That's an insult to turds.

But sincerely, we hope you get blitzed, smacked, cracked, sacked and bitch-slapped any and every time you take the field.

No pity for people like you. You're ranking in the penitentary septic system must have been right above the other human crap like rapists, snitches and child molesters. With that thought in mind, I was just wondering, since a female dog is called a bitch, how many "Bubbas," "Hacksaws," "Stabwounds," "Scarfaces" and "Chainsaws" made you their bitch?

The people O'Sports Hack feels sorry for are your new teamates. Wherever you go with your team, your teamates may be subject to the you being the target of anger directed his way, and your teamates will be accused of guilt by association.

Enough of that. I just wasted enough of my time on a sub-human thing like Michael Vick.

I just hope the next time he takes the field, after the anticipated rounding of boo's and fuck you's, someone decides to release the hounds and make him a chew toy.

Later, "bitch."

O'Sports Hack signing off with a foaming mouth and loud "Woof woof."

Have you ever had the misfortune of working with someone who calls in sick due a stubbed toe, slight cough or broken fingernail and still expect, sometimes demand to get paid?

We all have.

On the other hand, have you ever had the pleasue of working along a true warrior that "walks it off" even while burning up with fever, having a broken bone or debilitating illness against doctors' orders?

Rarely.

This week's edition will take a look at some real warriors in the sports world that played hurt, got hurt, didn't snivel and came back to play through the pain again against all odds.

Here are some bone crunchers, ball busters, nose bleeders and even career enders that that have stood out in recent memory.

* O'Sports Hack wrote some of the following, but lifted the text for the rest. I'll designate what I lifted with an asterisk.

RONNIE LOTT AND HIS FINGER

Everyone knew All-Pro San Fransisco 49er defenseman Ronnie Lott was tough, but he took toughness to another level when he cut off the end of his own finger in order to continue to play.

* At the end of the 1985 season in a game against the Cowboys, Ronnie Lott, then in his glory days with the 49ers, mangled his left pinky in a brutal collision with running back Timmy Newsome. Bone fragments and parts of Lott's finger lay somewhere in the turf. Lott came out of the game briefly -- a game his team won to gain a wild-card berth in the NFC playoffs.

The next week, Lott had his fingers taped so he could play -- in a loss to the Giants. Over that winter, he remained in excruciating pain. He faced the next season with an awful choice: a complicated and delicate operation in which bone and skin grafting and the placement of pins in his hand might restore full use of his hand -- or, he could have the top of his finger amputated. Choice No. 1 meant missing playing time and risking reinjury. Choice No. 2 meant missing some finger but being ready -- Most football fans know how this came out. Lott chose to have the top of his finger chopped off and then went on to his third Pro Bowl season with the 49ers, leading the team to yet another playoff appearance.

DAVE DRAVECKY AND HIS ARM

* Dave Dravecky became a pitcher for San Francisco in 1987. However, after only one season with the Giants, he was sidelined by chronic pain in his left arm. To his horror, doctors located a malignant growth in his pitching arm. They were sure that his career was over. Miraculously though, after a successful operation, Dravecky returned the following season to pitch against the Reds. His 4-3 defeat of the Cincinnati Reds on August 10, 1989 is still remembered as one of the most awe-inspiring moments in baseball.

But Dravecky’s comeback was curtailed. One week later, in his second game back, Dave’s arm shattered while pitching to a batter for the Montreal Expos. He still has a vivid memory of the event: “Just when my control began to slip in the sixth inning, an all-star batter stepped up to the plate. I got the signal for a sinking fastball, started my windup and--CRACK--when I released the ball, even the fans heard the bone in my arm snap. I lurched forward and immediately crumpled to the ground writhing with pain.” Dravecky’s doctors believed briefly that Dave’s arm might heal and pave the way for another comeback. Tragically though, two years and three operations later, his shoulder and pitching arm had to be removed to save his life.

JOE THEISMANN AND HIS BROKEN LEG

In a 1985 Monday Night Football game, Washington Redskin quarterback Joe "Nobody in the game of football should be called a genius. A genius is somebody like Norman Einstein" Theismann's leg was snapped by New York Giants linebacker Lawrence Taylor in front of a nation wide audience and considered one of the most graphic sports scenes ever.

From Wikipedia:

* Theismann’s injury used to be the industry standard of gruesome sports injuries...

At the time, the Redskins had been attempting to run a "flea-flicker" play. The Giants' defense, however, was not fooled, and they tried to blitz Theismann. Taylor pulled Theismann down and his hip swung over and landed on Theismann's lower right leg, fracturing both the tibia and fibula. Reasons then joined Taylor in the sack.

"It was at that point, I also found out what a magnificent machine the human body is", Theismann said. "Almost immediately, from the knee down, all the feeling was gone in my right leg. The endorphines had kicked in, and I was not in pain."

As Theismann lay on the field, a horrified Taylor frantically screamed and waved for EMT's Initially, however, many Redskins personnel thought Taylor's screaming and pointing directed at their sidelines was a taunt over the fact that he'd successfully stopped their play. Taylor has said that his animated behavior was largely a claustrophobic reaction to having been trapped at the bottom of the pile that followed his tackle...

While initially only the players on the field could see the extent of the damage to Theismann's leg, the reverse-angle instant replay provided a clearer view of what had actually happened - Theismann's lower leg bones were broken midway between his knee and his ankle, such that his leg from his foot to his mid-shin was lying flat against the ground, and the upper part of his shin up to his knee was at a 45-degree angle as the two linebackers brought him down on the sack. The image of his lower leg bending at such an unnatural angle has become one of the most infamous football injury images ever.

The injury ultimately forced Theismann into retirement at the age of 36. Theismann has never blamed Lawrence Taylor for his injury. Taylor has said that he has never seen film of the play and never wants to. Below is Frank Gifford's commentary of the play as it unfolded:

CLINT MALARCHUK AND HIS JUGULAR VEIN

And now for the icing on the cake. Pun is way not intended as even The F.S.O.P. has standards. It's posted in the context of the subect and meant to illustrate what a warrior is.

* This is the one gruesome sports injury in which death seemed probable. Clint Malarchuk was a journeyman goaltender who had just been traded to the Buffalo Sabres and the St. Louis Blues were in town on March 22, 1989.

With the puck in the corner, St. Louis winger Steve Tuttle drove to the net with the Sabres’ defensemen Uwe Krupp giving chase. As the puck was centered, Krupp tackled and up-ended Tuttle, whose skate flew into the air and slit the jugular vein in Malarchuk’s throat.

After the net slid off its moorings, Malarchuk dropped to his knees and held on to his throat. Blood spurt between his fingers and formed a growing crimson pool on the white ice around the crease.

Although Malarchuk managed to stay conscious throughout this gruesome sports injury, nine spectators fainted, two suffered heart attacks and three players threw up on the ice. As Malarchuk fought off his desire to sleep, he prayed, asked if he was going to die, and told trainers to tell his mother he loves her. Four days later, with 300 stitches in his neck, Malarchuk returned to practice with the Sabres.

Caution: The following clips are very graphic, and you won't see these on any sports bloopers and outake DVD's anytime soon. You've been warned.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dT4PenDwiPo&NR=1

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=plvKlnguJVE

Tough hombres, one and all, huh?

With the Los Angeles Lakers clinching their 15th N.B.A. title, O'Sports Hack had to secure his residence with a nifty crowbar next to his front door.

Why? Because the hypnotized horde of Laker fans are out in full force, and it's common knowledge in my neck of the woods that A) I hate the Lakers and the behavior of their fans, and, B) the Mighty Boston Celtics, aka Laker Killers are the team of choice here at the Sports desk, and if certain elements of SoCal society get wind of that tidbit of info, I'm dead.

The other reason for Mr.Crowbar is that the usual menu of mindless suspects are out in the streets of L.A. tipping cars, looting and commiting other acts of larceny or vandalism, all in the spirit of celebration, of course.

Memo to Laker Loons: If you love your team and city so much, why stain their reputation and that of the City of Los Angeles with behavior befitting drunken, Irish soccor hooligans?

Psst. The only reason the Lakers won is because Boston, due to injuries, weren't the to administer a spanking this year.

Enjoy your glory. Fly those idiotic, annoying Laker flags from your car, because next year, well, we'll wait and see.

See ya next year.

Hey, if the shoe fits...

Sports Illustrated is well known for it's annual Swimsuit Edition.

Good for them, until now.

Move over, SI, there's a new kid in town called the Lingerie Football League that came up with their own calendar, except it's not a Swimsuit Edition, it resembles a Birthday Suit Edition.

When you "sports fans" get done eyeballing and ogling our display, be sure to wipe the drool off your chins and support the lovely ladies of the LFL and order your calendar.

Tell 'em PIG sent you.

The only comment O'Sports Hack has is that she ought to follow fellow Tennis Babe Anna Kournikova and ca$h in on her nature made goodies, and then concentrate on tennis.

Here is one of her quotes on the subject of breast reduction.

"This fall I'll have a breast reduction operation. The breasts make me uncomfortable when I play.  It's the weight that troubles me - my ability to react quickly."

Listen, Simona, when you're seeded a paltry 317 with big boobs as your excuse for crappy tennis playing, don't condemn or blame your other marketable assets for your low ranking.

Embrace them, as would I and any other "sports fan."

To be honest, I never heard of the statuesque young tennis player until closet sports fan "Scoop" Hambo fed me this sports lead, link below.

http://www.thesun.co.uk/sol/homepage/news/2452761/New-boobs-please.html?OTC-RSS&ATTR=News

In researching her, I read many quotes, but by far the best came from Hambo, who in his alerting me wrote the following:

"Greetings,

She's 5-5, plays tennis and has 34DD headlights.

Your kind of gal?..."

Team PIG Player, PIGal Terri T. submitted the following breaking news from the NFL front office and Barack Obama.

Updated: March 32, 2009

Pittsburgh, PA. - The Super Bowl XLIII Champion Pittsburgh Steelers, the only team to win six titles, will soon be loosing half of those trophies. After a meeting between NFL Commissioner Rodger Gadel and President Barack Hussain Obama, Obama decided to redistribute half of their Steeler Super Bowl victories and trophies to less fortunate teams in the league.

“We live everyday in the country that invented the Super Bowl.” said Obama “We are not about to lose this Great American tradition in the wake of these difficult times.” Obama’s plan calls for the Steelers, who are a successful NFL team, to give half of their Super Bowl trophies to teams that are not successful or have not been as successful as the Steelers. “The Detroit Loins are just as much a part of the same fiber of the NFL as the Steelers and they should, no rather will, be entitled to a Super Bowl Trophy as well.” Obama explains in his plan that he has imposed on Godel and the NFL.

The Pittsburgh Steelers, who by virtue of hard work, excellent team play, stellar draft choices, responsible investing of free agents, careful hiring of coaches and excellent community service and commitment to their fans, has prospered greatly during the past 30 years and have won six Super Bowl Trophies. But President Barack Hussain Obama’s plan calls for the Pittsburgh Steelers to carry the larger burden of the NFL’s less successful teams. Obama went on to further proclaim, “In these difficult times we are all in this to work together. We must reclaim the NFL Championship Dream for every team, for every city and for every fan.”

“My plan will not affect 31 of the 32 teams in the league.” Obama assures. That’s over 95 percent of the teams in the NFL will not have to worry about loosing any Super Bowl Trophies. “The worst teams in the NFL and the teams that can’t seem to get a break and win a championship will no longer have to worry about going without a title.” Obama promises. “We are a country and league of hope. We all need to make a change. It does not matter the color of the teams uniforms, the personal decisions that the teams make or their performance but rather if they are a member of this great American league.”

The Super Bowl XLIII trophy will be redistributed to the 0-16 Detroit Lions. Through no fault of their own incompetence, the Lions could not manage a victory all season and this trophy will help ease the pain of their lack of performance and give them hope once again. The redistribution of Super Bowl XL trophy will go directly to the Steeler’s division rival the Cincinnati Bengals. The Bengals who also have fallen on hard times have never won a Super Bowl. This victory will bring a smile to hundreds of Bengal fans all over the world as they can now celebrate. Finally, one of the Steeler’s two Super Bowl victories over the Dallas Cowboys will go back to the Cowboys since the league needs to provide hope in the face of difficulty and provide hope in the face of uncertainty. This is a heavy burden for the Steelers but together we can all prosper.

All hope is not lost for Pittsburgh fans, Barack Hussain Obama has another plan in place. Obama has meet with MLB and commissioner Bud Selig on a similar plan. The New York Yankees will redistribute two of their world series trophies to the Pittsburgh Pirates as a supplement to their loosing 16 straight seasons and counting. This plan will help stimulate the Pirates and enable them to regain the American Dream. Barack Hussain Obama will be meeting with the NHL and Michael Phelps in the upcoming weeks as this issue is high on his agenda for “Hope and Change.”

MLB Commissioner, Bud Selig, is thisclose to making our esteemed publisher, Porcus, a very happy dude. Disgusted by the on-going steroid scandal, Bud Selig is considering a very bold move:

Major League Baseball Commissioner Bud Selig reportedly is considering restoring the crown to Aaron, who lost it in 2007 to Barry Bonds.

Bonds is set to go on trial on March 2 on obstruction of justice charges related a federal investigation into the BALCO steroid scandal. Bonds' trainer was indicted on charges he supplied steroids and other performance-enhancement drugs to baseball players through BALCO, leading to speculation that Bonds also had used steroids, allegations he denies.

"This is breaking my heart, I don't mind telling you that," Selig told USA Today in an interview published Thursday, disclosing that he is considering removing Bonds from the top of the home run list. (Fox News)

Just getting started, Selig might - he seems to be having second thoughts - thrill the players union spitless by suspending the Yankees’ All -Star third baseman, Alex ROIDriguez, who admitted that he used steroids from 2001-2003 while playing for the Texas Rangers.

Is Bud Selig finally getting ready to clean up Major League Baseball? It’s too soon to tell, but it’s a job that needs to be done, to restore the honor of the game.

In the case of A-Roid, there may be a loophole which would let him skate away into the sunset on the suspension matter, but the bigger picture involves his Hall Of Fame credentials and his maligning of baseball's fragile reputation.

Mega-rich, high profile players like A-Roid are darkening an already stigmatized sport with performance enhancing substance use, abuse, denial and lies.

Is he destined to join Bonds in the exclusive Home Run Asterisk Wing of Baseball's Hall Of Fame? Time will tell, as this load of stink will follow A-Roid for the rest of his cheating days.

FROM A-ROD TO A-ROID: THE DOWNWARD SPIRAL

FROM A-ROD...

TO A-HOLE...

FINALLY...A-ROID

"It's only cheating when you get caught" - Unknown

Alex Rodriguez, baseballs' highest paid player, on pace to break either Barry Bonds', or Hank Aaron's all time home run record - depending on Bud Selig's proposed actions.

Alex Rodriguez went from being a highly regarded All-American, once referred to as A-Rod for his impressive playing and once squeaky clean image.

He took himself down a few notches to Nim-Rod status, when it was discovered that he tested positive for a performance enhacing substance...not banned by Major League Baseball at the time. His association with Chipmunk-Toothed Madonna solidified Nim-Rod status.

Not content with mere Nim-Rod status, Rodriguez plummeted further down to A-Hole ranking when he insulted everyone's intelligence when he stated in a press conference after it was revealed that he tested positivein 2003, that his cousin repeatedly injected him from 2001-03 with a mysterious substance from the Dominican Republic.

"Amateur hour," 'Roid stated

"I didn't think they were steroids," the New York Yankees star said. Later, he admitted, "I knew we weren't taking Tic Tacs."

Yankees radio broadcaster Suzyn Waldman, had trouble believing him.

"Do I believe that Alex Rodriguez, who won't have a Snickers bar or a cookie, let his cousin inject him with something that he didn't know what it was? I find that really hard to believe," she told WCBS radio in New York, the team's flagship station.

She wasn't alone.

"I wonder if his cousin even existed," Kansas City pitcher John Bale said. "That was my first thought. Is his cousin made up?"

Rodriquez spent years denying any drug, or banned substance use, but doping authorities guess that Rodriguez was taking Primobolan - http://www.steroid.com/Primobolan.php

For his out-and-out flagrant lies, his further tarnishing the game of baseball, disappointing his teammates, employers and most importantly, the fans of baseball, may the cursed name of A-Roid will forever be a cast over you like a Scarlett Letter.

Mr. Rodrig-Roid, that giant sucking sound isn't those lost endorements bailing on you, it's not the fans giving you the Bronx Cheer. It's...YOU, and you're SOOOO outta here Mr. 'Roid.

This is one of our favorite poems.

Whether you like baseball or not, this prose works.

Casey at the Bat

By Ernest Lawrence Thayer ©

Published: The Examiner (06-03-1888)

The Outlook wasn't brilliant for the Mudville nine that day:
The score stood four to two, with but one inning more to play.
And then when Cooney died at first, and Barrows did the same,
A sickly silence fell upon the patrons of the game.

A straggling few got up to go in deep despair. The rest
Clung to that hope which springs eternal in the human breast;
They thought, if only Casey could get but a whack at that -
We'd put up even money, now, with Casey at the bat.

But Flynn preceded Casey, as did also Jimmy Blake,
And the former was a lulu and the latter was a cake;
So upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat,
For there seemed but little chance of Casey's getting to the bat.

But Flynn let drive a single, to the wonderment of all,
And Blake, the much despis-ed, tore the cover off the ball;
And when the dust had lifted, and the men saw what had occurred,
There was Jimmy safe at second and Flynn a-hugging third.

Then from 5,000 throats and more there rose a lusty yell;
It rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell;
It knocked upon the mountain and recoiled upon the flat,
For Casey, mighty Casey, was advancing to the bat.

There was ease in Casey's manner as he stepped into his place;
There was pride in Casey's bearing and a smile on Casey's face.
And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly doffed his hat,
No stranger in the crowd could doubt 'twas Casey at the bat.

Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt;
Five thousand tongues applauded when he wiped them on his shirt.
Then while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip,
Defiance gleamed in Casey's eye, a sneer curled Casey's lip.

And now the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the air,
And Casey stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there.
Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped-
"That ain't my style," said Casey. "Strike one," the umpire said.

From the benches, black with people, there went up a muffled roar,
Like the beating of the storm-waves on a stern and distant shore.
"Kill him! Kill the umpire!" shouted someone on the stand;
And its likely they'd a-killed him had not Casey raised his hand.

With a smile of Christian charity great Casey's visage shone;
He stilled the rising tumult; he bade the game go on;
He signaled to the pitcher, and once more the spheroid flew;
But Casey still ignored it, and the umpire said, "Strike two."

"Fraud!" cried the maddened thousands, and echo answered fraud;
But one scornful look from Casey and the audience was awed.
They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles strain,
And they knew that Casey wouldn't let that ball go by again.

The sneer is gone from Casey's lip, his teeth are clenched in hate;
He pounds with cruel violence his bat upon the plate.
And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he lets it go,
And now the air is shattered by the force of Casey's blow.

Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright;
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light,
And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout;
But there is no joy in Mudville - mighty Casey has struck out.

"Phin"

Casey at the Bat by Ernest Lawrence Thayer ©

This one crossed PIG's sophisticated radar system and O'Sports Hack had to post it.

It's a new tournament called...Beer Pong.

That's no typo, there really is a high stakes tournament in Las Vegas involving beer, ping pong, college students, alcoholics, beer drinkers, and more beer.

What are the rules and what's the object of the game?

Who cares, as long as you play, you win a free brewskie.

On a serious note, there really is a Beer Pong League.

Top that off while you blow the suds off you're cold one, because there's a Beer Pong World Series.

The following is from Wikipedia, which can do the new PIG Bunker National Pastime some justice far beyond a way thirsty O'Sports Hack:

Beer pong (also called Beirut, Lob Pong, BP, etc.) is a drinking game in which players throw a ping-pong ball across a table with the intent of landing the ball in one of several cups of beer on the other end. The game typically consists of two two-player teams, one on each side of a table, and a number of cups set up on each side. There are no official rules, so rules may vary widely, though usually there are six or ten plastic cups arranged in a triangle on each side. The number of players on a team can vary as well, from one to three or more.

When a ball lands in a cup, the defending team must consume all of the beer inside that cup. The cup isn't generally completely filled. It is also common to have a glass of water with the purpose of cleaning the ball between throws. An August 2008 Time article stated that cups were 1/4 to 1/3 full. The game is won by eliminating all the other team's cups before all of one's own cups are eliminated. The losing team must then consume all the beer remaining in the winning team's cups. The order of play varies – both players on one team shoot followed by both players on the other team, or players on opposite teams can alternate back and forth.

This new revelation has O'Sports Hack wondering why I spent so much time with secondary sports like baseball, football, hockey, girl chasing and frisbee?

I could have cut to the chase and been a contender in Beer Pong.

Hambo!!! Toss me my beer cap opener STAT!!!

Once upon a time, there was once concieved a few fellas that played ball, their way, by the names of Bill "Spaceman" Lee, Yogi Berra, Tug McGraw, and Casey Stengel.

These were all honorable ballplayers, dedicated to their skill and craft, but they seemed to have been an abstract breed that had originated from two left fields BEYOND left out field.

In other words, certifiably nuts, but downright genius and packed with talent to back up their lunacy.

Men that marched to the beat of a way different drummer.

Men that were screwballs first, and ballplayers second.

• • • • • • • • • • • • •

Ground Control To Major Tom: We'll start with the Spaceman, Bill Lee of the Boston Red Sox.

He was famous as a lefthanded junkball pitcher with his philosophical insights on life and baseball and love of smoking weed.

Nothing wrong with smoking weed, just share some and pass it Porcus' way, bogart.

Here is a great quote from the great Bill Lee:

“You take a team with twenty-five assholes and I’ll show you a pennant. I’ll show you the New York Yankees.” -Bill Lee

• • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Casey Stengel was a huge part of baseball throughout his long, colorful life.

Aside from his championship years as a player and manager, the only manager to win five consecutive World Series as manager of the Yucky Yankees Dynasty, only to end his career with the expansion New York Mets, the lovable losers.

While many agree that he was a baseball genius and innovator, he was also quite the clown.

It is said that while being introduced during a game, he acknowledged the fan's applause by tipping and removing his cap, only to have a pigeon fly out from underneath.

He is also responsible for creating what is known as "Stengelese."

Notable quotes from the Old Perfessor:

"Being with a woman all night never hurt no professional baseball player. It's staying up all night looking for a woman that does him in."

"All right everyone, line up alphabetically according to your height."

"Don't drink in the hotel bar, that's where I do my drinking."

"I feel greatly honored to have a ballpark named after me, especially since I've been thrown out of so many."

"It's wonderful to meet so many friends that I didn't used to like."

"Managing is getting paid for home runs someone else hits."

"Never make predictions, especially about the future."

"Oldtimers, weekends, and airplane landings are alike. If you can walk away from them, they're successful."

"You gotta learn that if you don't get it by midnight, chances are you ain't gonna get it, and if you do, it ain't worth it."

"You gotta lose 'em some of the time. When you do, lose 'em right."

"When you are younger you get blamed for crimes you never committed and when you're older you begin to get credit for virtues you never possessed. It evens itself out."

"The trouble is not that players have sex the night before a game. It's that they stay out all night looking for it."

• • • • • • • • • • • • • •

TWO OF A KIND

Student And Teacher: Yogi Berra With Manager Casey Stengel

Now we move to perhaps one of the most honest men to play the great game of baseball, Hall Of Fame catcher, Yogi Berra, and he has the championship rings to prove his greatness.

Besides catching and calling a perfect game in the World Series with Don Larsen, he also played under manager Casey Stengel, and distanced himself from the money seeking herd with his famous quotes, also known as Yogi-isms.

"This is like deja vu all over again."

"You can observe a lot just by watching."

"Think! How the hell are you gonna think and hit at the same time?"

"You've got to be very careful if you don't know where you're going, because you might not get there."

"If you can't imitate him, don't copy him."

"You better cut the pizza in four pieces because I'm not hungry enough to eat six."

"Baseball is 90% mental -- the other half is physical."

"A nickel isn't worth a dime today."

"If you come to a fork in the road, take it."

"Thanks, you don't look so hot yourself." -- After being told he looked cool.

"It ain't the heat; it's the humility."

He hits from both sides of the plate. He's amphibious."

Of course, his most famous qoute was,

"It ain't over, till it's over."

• • • • • • • • • • • • • •

The late Tug "You Gotta Believe" McGraw.

McGraw, father of Country music superstar, Tim McGraw was a left handed pitcher for the New York Mets and Philadelphia Phillies.

He won Championships for both teams, and coined the phase, "You Gotta Believe."

Tug McGraw was a colorful character off the field, and it's probably no coincidence that he was the last active major league player to have played under Casey Stengel.

To demonstrate what a loose cannon he was, he once rode to the pitchers mound on a motorcycle.

He once famously said: "Ninety percent [of my salary] I'll spend on good times, women, and Irish Whiskey. The other ten percent I'll probably waste."

"I have no trouble with the twelve inches between my elbow and my palm. It's the seven inches between my ears that's bent."

When asked whether he preferred natural grass or artificial turf, he replied "I don't know, I never smoked Astro Turf."

Does anyone recall when when defenseman Marty McSorley of the Boston Bruins pummeled Donald Brashear of the Vancouver Canucks?

Caused Brashear a concucussion and memory lapses. He got up and played again.

But not before Je$$e Jackson stepped in and demanded criminal charges be filed against McSorley in a Canadian court.

When O'Sports Hack heard that McSorley would be suspended for doing his job as a defensive hitman, and had to face criminal charges, O'Sports Hack couldn't believe it. He's doing his damn job for Pete's sake.

Why is this PIG-Worthy?

Because Brashear is black and McSorley is white and Je$$e had to stick his nose where it didn't belong.

Do you think for a moment that Je$$e, Inc. gives a rip about a sport he and his posse can't even play?

Nope. It's all about the Benjamins in Je$$e's world. And lots of them.

Granted, McSorley delivered a cheap shot, by hitting Brashear in the head with his stick, but crashing into the boards, and getting into fights is part of a professional hockey player's job. Especially, defensemen.

Promoting sports and the players is as old as dirt.

Who did the best baseball promotions with their antics?

Lots of players and owners, but those are bygone days. Baseball used to have some heavy hitters in the unique character spot in the lineup.

Bill Veeck, when he owned the Chicago White Sox took the cake with his one at-bat performance of a three-foot midget.

Local radio station WDAI went to an all-disco format, and fired popular disc jockey Steve Dahl. Dahl was subsequently hired by rival station WLUP. He created a mock organization called "The Insane Coho Lips Anti-Disco Army" to oppose disco, in which Dahl and partner Garry Meier regularly mocked and heaped scorn on disco records on the air. Dahl also recorded his own parody, Do You Think I'm Disco? (a satire of Rod Stewart's, Da Ya Think I'm Sexy?).

Meanwhile, on May 2, the Tigers-White Sox game in Chicago was rained out. League rules called for the game to be made up at the clubs' next meeting in Chicago. July 12 was to have been a single, Thursday night game, to kick off a four-game weekend series, the last series before the All-Star Break. The first meeting was switched to a doubleheader, and the extra game resulted in the unusual situation of a five-game series. (The White Sox would end up losing four of the five games.)

Dahl and Meier, in conjunction with Mike Veeck (son of then Chicago White Sox owner Bill Veeck), Dave Logan, WLUP Promotion Director, and Jeff Schwartz, WLUP Sales Manager, devised a promotion that involved people bringing unwanted disco music records to the game in exchange for an admission fee of 98¢, representing the station's location on the dial, 97.9. The records would be collected, placed in a large crate in center field, and blown up by Dahl.

The turnout for this promotion far exceeded all expectations. White Sox management was hoping for an additional crowd of 5,000, but a total of 75,000+ turned up instead. Thousands of people were climbing walls and fences in order to get into Comiskey Park, and others were locked out. Off-ramps to the stadium from the Dan Ryan Expressway were closed when the stadium was filled to capacity and beyond.

White Sox TV announcers Harry Caray and Jimmy Piersall commented freely on the "strange people" wandering aimlessly in the stands. Mike Veeck recalled that the pregame air was heavy with the scent of marijuana. When the crate on the field was filled with records, staff stopped collecting them from spectators, who soon realized that long-playing (LP) records were shaped like frisbees. They began to throw their records from the stands during the game, and the records often struck other fans. The fans also threw beer and even firecrackers from the stands.

After the first game, Dahl, dressed in army fatigues and helmet, along with a female "fire goddess" named Lorelei and bodyguards, went out to center field. The large box containing the collected records was rigged with a bomb. When it exploded, the bomb tore a hole in the outfield grass surface and thousands of fans immediately rushed the field. Some lit fires and started small-scale riots. The batting cage was pulled down and wrecked, and the bases literally stolen, along with chunks of the field itself. The crowd, once on the field, mostly wandered around aimlessly, though a number of participants burned banners, sat on the grass or ran from security and police. People sitting in the upper deck could feel it sway back and forth from the rioters.

Veeck and Caray used the public address system to implore the fans to leave the field immediately, but to no avail. Eventually, the field was cleared by the Chicago Police in riot gear. Six people reported minor injuries and thirty-nine were arrested for disorderly conduct. The field was so badly torn up that the umpires decided the second game couldn't be played, though Tigers manager Sparky Anderson let it be known that his players would not take the field in any case due to safety concerns. The next day, American League president Lee McPhail forfeited the second game to the Tigers, on the grounds that the White Sox had failed to provide acceptable playing facilities. The remaining games in the series were played, but for the rest of the season fielders and managers complained about the poor condition of the field.

For White Sox outfielder Rusty Torres (who had singled and scored the only Chicago run in a 4-1 loss in the first game), it was nothing new: Disco Demolition Night was actually the third time in his career he had personally seen a forfeit-inducing riot. He had been playing for the New York Yankees at the last Senators game in Washington in 1971, and had been playing for the Cleveland Indians at the infamous Ten Cent Beer Night in Cleveland in 1974.

According to the 1986 book "Rock of Ages: The Rolling Stone history of Rock and Roll" the event was the "emblematic moment" of the anti-disco "crusade" and noted that "the following year disco had peaked as a commercial blockbuster".

Steve Dahl himself said in an interview with Keith Olbermann that disco "was a fad probably on its way out" but that the event "hastened its demise."

Although Bill Veeck took much of the public heat for the fiasco, it was known among baseball people that his son Mike was the actual front-office "brains" behind it. As a result, Mike was blacklisted from Major League Baseball for a long time after his father retired. As Mike related, "The second that first guy shimmied down the outfield wall, I knew my life was over!"

To this day, the second game of this doubleheader is still the last game forfeited in the American League. The last game to end in this manner in the National League was on August 10, 1995, when a baseball giveaway promotion went awry and resulted in the Los Angeles Dodgers forfeiture.

Much later, on July 12, 2001, Mike Veeck apologized to Harry Wayne Casey, the lead singer for KC and the Sunshine Band, a leading disco act.

Did O'Sports Hack die in the end zone and go to heaven?

Hardly.

Recently, our local News Nitwits aired a story about the Lingerie Football League, or, LFL.

My initial reaction was "No way, thats too damn cool."

Being the somewhat serious, sometimes sober newshound, I think I am, I did some research, and indeed, such a league exists.

The most respectable Wikepedia provided this info.

The concept originated from the hugely successful Super Bowl halftime alternative television special called the Lingerie Bowl, a pay-per-view event which was broadcast at the same time as the Super Bowl XXXVIII halftime show. The event featured two teams of models playing an American football game while dressed in lingerie. The two original teams were Team Dream and Team Euphoria. Team Dream won the first game with a score of 6-0.

The League is an extension of this idea. The league was expanded to four teams in 2005:

* Atlanta Steam
* Seattle Mist
* Miami Caliente
* San Diego Seduction (originally planned for San Francisco)
* Tampa Breeze
* Phoenix Scorch

The Lingerie Football League will kick off its inaugural season in Fall 2009 with ten franchises including Los Angeles Temptation, Phoenix Scorch, Seattle Mist, San Diego Seduction, Dallas Desire, New England Euphoria, Chicago Bliss, Atlanta Steam, Miami Caliente and Tampa Breeze. LFL games are set to air on cable television in Fall 2009.

Now, if those franchises are hiring, I think I could moonlight for any of those "professional" teams as, say, a towel boy, locker room manager, stripper pole shiner, or choreographer for their end zone dances. Better yet, quarterback.

Now if the referees included O'Sports Hack, I must maintain a certain level of integrity as a professional.

Right. For about five minutes.

Seriously, we wish these ladies good luck, and good health.

The LFL seems to beat the socks of the WNBA, whatever that is.

O'Sports Hack just got a penalty flag tossed his way by Kommisar and Commandant, Mrs. O'Sports Hack who exiled me to the garage, but granted me parole after a minute in the hole.

Then, after she granted pardon, she attempted to go Peg Bundy on me. At that point, I ran like Jesse Owens back into the garage.

The Free State Of PIG recently posted a Top Story about Pete Rose-ing yourself into obscurity, and, sometimes into oblivion.

Shame on us for not including Bill Buckner-ing yourself into the Bonehead Hall Of Fame.

Bill Buckner's claim to all-time Bonehead Fame came during Game 6 of the 1986 World Series.

Boston Red Sox versus the New York Mets.

Two out, ninth inning, and the Bosox needed one more putout to allow them to scoop up all the marbles, jump for joy, kiss the trophy and claim victory as world champions.

But no, a slow, dribbling ground ball that anyone's grandmother could have picked up with her dentures, was for some reason, travelling right through Buckner's legs, allowing the tying run to score, breaking all Boston Red Sox fans hearts, as the Mets took that game, and the next game to claim World Series victory.

Ultimate Boneheads

Roy "Wrong Way" Riegels played for the University of California, Berkeley football team from 1927 to 1929. His wrong-way run in the 1929 Rose Bowl is often cited as the worst blunder in the history of college football.

On January 1, 1929, the Golden Bears faced the Georgia Tech Yellow Jackets at the Rose Bowl in Pasadena, California, USA. Midway through the second quarter, Riegels, who played center, picked up a fumble by Tech's Jack "Stumpy" Thomason. Just 30 yards away from the Yellow Jackets' end zone, Riegels was somehow turned around and ran 65 yards in the wrong direction.

Teammate and quarterback Benny Lom chased Riegels, screaming at him to stop. Known for his speed, Lom finally caught up with Riegels at California's 3-yard line and tried to turn him around, but he was immediately hit by a wave of Tech players and tackled back to the 1-yard line. The Bears chose to punt rather than risk a play so close to their own end zone, but Tech's Vance Maree blocked Lom's punt and Georgia Tech scored a safety, giving them a 2-0 lead.

Here's another one that registers with O'Sports Hack.

In a regular season game in 1964, Jim Marshall of the Minnesota Vikings also ran a recovered fumble into his own end zone. Riegels reportedly later sent Marshall a letter reading "Welcome to the club".

All-Star Boneheads

The last time the Cubs won the World Series, they had reached it only because, in essence, what the umpires term a "fan interference call" went in their favor.

That call ruined the life of a Cubs opponent, and led directly to the suicide of the president of baseball's National League, 10 months later.

The player was Fred Merkel, a 19-year-old rookie with the New York Giants, starting his first big league game ever against the Cubs on September 23, 1908. As the winning run for the Giants crossed home plate, 10,000 Giants fans stormed the field in New York in celebration. Rather than advancing from first base to second base, as he was supposed, young Merkel hightailed it for the safety of the clubhouse in centerfield. The Cubs got the umpires to call Merkel out, which nullified the winning run and turned their crucial pennant race loss to the Cubs, into a tie.

Merkel was forever after known as "Bonehead," and fans would yell from the stands, "Hey, Fred, don't forget to touch second base."

The Cubs and Giants wound up replaying that tie game to decide the National League Pennant. The Cubs won the replay, they advanced to the World Series and they won the World Series. But the appeals, the lawsuits, and the threats over the rulings on the controversy would lead the National League president, Harry Pulliam, to shoot himself in July of the following year. Merkel never shook that nickname, "Bonehead."

A Bonehead That Blew Chunks

Steve Howe, pitcher for the Los Angeles Dodgers. This guy, Rookie Of The Year and member of the 1981 Championship Los Angeles Dodgers, just couldn't keep his nose out of piles of cocaine and gallons of liquor.

What the hell compels a dude of Major League caliber talent to get suspended, oh, I don't know how many times, for cocaine use?

You were forgiven, and actually signed lucrative contracts with other teams, even after the Dodger's shitcanned you.

You died because you wouldn't accept the help offered to you for your addiction problems.

That is why you get status on PIG's radar as a Sports Bonehead. R.I.P. moron.

This page wouldn't be complete if we didn't recognize Bobby Knight, former coach of Indiana, and Texas Tech.

Bobby Knight instilled not just a winning attitude amongst his players, but a championship mentality.

And he did it three times with Indiana.

Notorious for his temper, battles with the ref's, or anyone that crossed his path, being arrested for assaulting one of his players, and most famously, inventing a game called Bowling With Chairs.

But O'Sports Hack, Bowling With Chairs isn't a sport. Around my house, it isn't just a sport, it's a survival method.

But when you're in Bobby Knight's warpath, Bowling With Chairs is a sport when he's pissed. Trust me, you don't want to be in the midst of one of his infamous outbursts.

Why, O'Sports Hack is Bowling With Chairs a sport in Bobby Knight's warpath?

Because, it's like dodgeball, you second stringers. If you don't learn how to duck, dodge, weave or hit the damn deck when a flying object the size of a chair is headed your way, you're either clumsy, slow, retarded or are going to get an unwelcome wake up call right between the eyes.

Oh, ye of fragile "self esteem," don't play on his team, because once he's done throwing things midcourt, when you hit the sidelines, he's going to scream at you until teardrops roll down your cheeks if you mess up.

All that said, all of his former players have nothing but respect for Bobby Knight, as he instilled a winning attitude in them, despite his notorious temper.

For some reason, I think Bobby Knight and Mrs. Porcus have consulted with each other, as objects get airborne around PIG's War Room on a regular basis, aimed at me.

Wait, the chair I'm sitting on could be put to way better use if I were to pick it up and toss it...out the door, dear.

The University of Washington State Beavers just upset the U.S.C. Trojans football team, again.

But O'Sports Hack, why is there any significance to this posting?

Okay, Coach O'Sports Hack is here to explain.

I'll explain.

Think about the two team's nicknames, Trojans and Beavers?

Two teenagers getting hot and heavy in the back seat of a car, and dude had better have some Trojans if he wants explore some Beaver.

"It ain't over till it's over."
-Yogi Berra

Yesterday was the end of something special in sports history, and yes Yogi, it's over.

The Yucky New York Yankees will play their final game at Yankee Stadium, as it is scheduled to be demolished by scumbag owner George Steinbrenner.

What a prince, huh? Tearing down the House That Ruth Built in the Bronx, New York.

Who can forget the great players that graced the Taj Mahal of Baseball, starting with Babe Ruth, who with Lou Gerhig formed Murders Row in 1927 and mowed their opponents down.

We can move on to the Joe Dimaggio era Yankees, where he made history with his 56 game hitting streak in 1941.

Then we have the great Yogi Berra, who was part of their championship dynasty, who has so many World Series rings, he could choke a dinosaur with them.

Enter The Mick, Mickey Mantle. All time switch hit leader in home runs. It is said that he once hit a home run that landed in New Jersey. How? He cleared the upper deck with a home run that landed on a southbound train headed for New Jersey.

We also have Don Larsen's World Series perfect game, Roger Maris breaking Babe Ruth's single season home run record. Whitey Ford's pitching feats. The list goes on.

And then IT came along. IT is scumbag owner George Steinbrenner, who with the advent of free agency, bought championship teams starting with Reggie Jackson and Catfish Hunter.

Treated his players and managers like dirt if they didn't win, but who can forget Reggie Jackson's three consecutive home runs, on three pitches, by three different Dodger pitchers in one World Series game?

How about those epic battles between Reggie Jackson, Billy Martin and Steinbrenner? Classic, especially if you're a Red Sox fan.

Enough of the Yankees history. O'Sports Hack's very first attendance to a Major League game was at Yankee Stadium. During summer camp, we were entered onto the outfield and got to touch the plaques of the greats in the outfield memorial garden. Awesome.

Add the immense size and beautiul design of the stadium and realizing all the history that took place there, it was captivating.

After last night's final game, I saw the players from both teams scooping up the infield dirt as souveniers. Hell, one dude even extraced home plate.

Was that a pass the hankie moment? No.

What O'Sports Hack is hoping for is the Yankees build a Red Sox friendly stadium where the Sox can bitch slap you in your new digs.

In all seriousness, O'Sports Hack has fond recollections of Yankee Stadium. Sorry you got evicted...but with all your millions, I'm really not.

Is this an ad for "Fast Actin' Tenactin" fungal foot medication? Hardly.

It's more than likely the result of combining Earl Weaver and Bobby Knight, and crossing it with one way pissed off Cuban Olympic Taekwondo medal contender, Angel Matos, seen delivering a wicked kick to event judge, Chakir Chelbat.

You can read for yourself, below, what I lifted from the online reports:

The guy on the left in the above photo is Angel Matos of Cuba, a taekwondo Olympian. But the guy he's kicking isn't an opponent, it's a judge.

Matos was declared the loser of the bronze match for taking more than the allotted one minute of injury time after he hurt his leg. He responded by pushing the referee, then attacking the Swedish judge you see in the photo, Chakir Chelbat. He was eventually dragged out, spitting on the floor as he left.

Cuban coach Leudis Gonzalez refused to apologize for Matos' actions and criticized the judge, saying, "He was too strict." The World Taekwondo Federation immediately announced lifetime bans for both Matos and Gonzalez for what it called "a strong violation of the spirit of taekwondo and the Olympics."

Judging in taekwondo has been under scrutiny in these Olympics, as American bronze medalist Steven Lopez said a judge showed "human error" in one of his matches, and China's two-time gold medalist Chen Zhong was initially declared the winner of a match only to have the result overturned.

But any legitimate concerns about the quality of the judging will likely be overlooked, as the lasting image of taekwondo in these Olympics will be Angel Matos kicking Chakir Chelbat.

Memo to future Banana-Boat-For-Life worker: You're supposed to kick your opponent, not the judge, even if he is incompetent, corrupt, or blind as a bat. When you are highly trained to administer major league physical boo-boo's to people, you are also trained to exercise an even more difficult discipline: Restraint.

While I do agree that you got what you deserved, a lifetime ban, O'Sports Hack has to applaud you for having the Nads to do what many athletes have long felt like doing to an umpire or referee after a blatantly bad call. Put them in their place.

Hope a lifetime in the sugar cane fields was worth it. You better hope Fidel doesn't have a "special" welcome wagon with your name on it when you arrive home to Cuba.

*Okay. O'Sports Hack stated in a previous posting on August 21 that there would be no more Olympic postings. That was until this dude had his meltdown. I simply couldn't resist posting this classic shot. If I plead guilty, can I be placed on double secret probation for a day?

Gluttony On A Grand Scale

The "sport" known as competitive eating that has been around forever, at least in my family, has slowly been gaining national attention, especially over at ESPN.

This one has O'Sports Hack scratching his head. How the hell did this ever become a "sport," televised on ESPN? It's more like a County Fair venue, worthy of a blue ribbon at the most.

I was wondering, do these "professional" eaters have agents? Is there a structured farm or draft system? Are there salary caps? Medical or dental plan? Do they receive pensions upon retirement? Like I said, just wondering.

I'll give them the benefit of the doubt, for a minute. Okay, you "professional" eaters have taken the easy way out by playing it safe and stuffing your face with hot dogs, pizza, chili, donuts, pretty much standard fare. Kid stuff.

Let's make it fun. Let's make it interesting. Why not make it a real contest by introducing more exotic cuisine like raw Afghani goat testicles? Yum.

How about live Phillipine hissing beetles?

Why not go Ozzie Osbourne and see how many pigeon heads you can eat? I would actually pay to see that!

Get the picture?

These competitve eating contests should actually be billed as two pronged Gastropalooza's. After all the eating, the 2nd event is as follows:

Now, the real fun begins here, with the encore and Grand Finale. If you guessed a Crap-A-Thon, you're right. After devouring all that food, it's got be digested and then spewed out, somewhere. If you professional pigs, oops, competitive eaters are willing to let the whole world watch you shovel it in, why not let the whole world watch you twist and sweat in pain as you force it out.

If I were commisioner, my rules would be simple: No laxatives. No toilet paper. No gas mask.

O'Sports Hack has a suggestion. If you "professional" human garbage disposals get paid to eat and regard what you do as a "sport," I want to enter competitive beer drinking as a "sport."

I have invested so much of my money in Anhueser-Busch, Heineken, Guiness, Foster's, and too many more to name, that Hambo and I already have honorary corporate sponsorship, and we will tag-team any and all comers, right under the table.

Gotta go! Mrs. O'Sports Hack is filling my trough with slop and I'm starved.

These Olympic games, boring as they have been, have really steamed O'Sports Hack. NBC has the broacast rights to the games, and seem to saturated the airwaves 24/7.

That's understandable. After all, NBC will generate millions, if not billions in advertising revenue and they want to scoop up all two weeks worth of broadcast time.

What really frosts me, is that every night for years, I have always watched Jay Leno, at least his monologue, but I keep forgetting about the Olympic games being on late at night due to international time zone considerations.

Crap. Who the hell wants to watch the equestrian events or synchronized swimming at 11:30 at night? You've got to be a real dweeb to even care. Almost every night the last week and a half, I automatically grab the remote and switch to our local NBC station only to find the games on. It's at that point, I launch into a mini expletive filled tirade.

If I want to watch some really cool equestrian events, I'll watch a damn cowboy movie. Hell, they can shoot AND ride at the same time.

Synchronized swimming? Bring a lawn chair and cooler and park it at the Rio Grande and watch as those Border Jumpers/Swimmers yell in unison, "Uno, Dos, Tres" and jump in the river like those herds of buffalo you see on National Geographic. That's what O'Sports Hack calls synchronization!

I'm Jonesing for Jay, alright. Hurry the hell up and get back to your show, dude.

My last word about the Olympics, Scouts Honor.

The most interesting story that would be deemed PIG Worthy is the Men's Spanish Soccer team posing in a Spanish (from Spain) newspaper ad making a gesture of what some, especially Asians, found offensive.

Apparently, the entire squad posed making a slant eye gesture. Maybe that's their way of telling the world, "Here we come, Beijing." Funny.

Big whoop. I don't see what the big deal is. Asian women go out of their way to pay big bucks for elective surgery to have their slanty eyes appear rounder.

Now, you don't hear non-Asians crying when we see an Asian opening a pizzeria or a taco joint. That's an "Enter At Your Own Risk" venture.

Sorry for the digression. Whatever most of this report had to do with sports, O'Sports Hack doesn't have a clue and you can red-flag me if you want.

Kindly wake me up when it's all officially over.

Hambo is going to start wondering about my "orientation", due to the fact that O'Sports Hack is posting on the Summer Olympics, again.

Wait, before I get condemned to the Land Of Hypocracy and Limp Wristers, this one has some merit and is a matter of national pride for America.

I'll backtrack and explain why your once trusty He-Man Sports Hack got interested in the 2008 Summer Olympiad.

See, Mrs. Porcus hid the TV remote and insisted on watching the games, and me being the warden of this asylum, allows her some "yard time" before lockdown. Being the generous dude I think I am, I patiently watched with my inmate, as long as she passed the damn popcorn and cracked open my beers.

Well, O'Sports Hack has been most impressed by the U.S. Men's Swim Team, more specifically, a young man named Michael Phelps, who seems to be an avid collector of gold medals - 8 total - and has a side hobby of shattering world records.

Mr. Phelps, you are a great ambassador, that represents your family and country with class.

You not only pissed in the international swimmimg pool by smoking and bulldozing everyone in sight, especially the French, but you are the Intimidator of the swimming world.

We here at The Free State of PIG are wondering, what the hell are you eating or drinking that makes you such a stud in the water, because whatever your pissing in the pool that keeps your competition away, either has razor blades or gasoline in it, and hell, nothing like sharing some of what you have.

Crap, Mrs. Porcus was peeking over my shoulder while I was writing this and all I can see is a glimmering object. Looks like a blade of some sort.

Wait...yep, plus she has a pot of boiling water that she says after lopping of some "vital" parts of mine, making a stew out of them, she's going to put the rest of the parts in a Glad Bag

FROM THE LAND OF THE FRENCH FREE

These American athletes did the impossible and punked the most arrogant, loudmouthed French Swim Team by snatching Gold. How cool is that?

Why? Because prior to what we here in the PIGdome consider an international borefest call the Olympics, we swore, "No Olympic stories."

However, something of note popped up and caught PIG's ear, always close to the rail radar, and if you haven't heard already, you're going to love this.

The Men's French swim team comes rolling into Beijing, with Frenchman(?) Alain Bernard made this comment when asked about Team USA: "The Americans? We're going to smash them. That's what we came here for."

O'Sports Hack had to do a double take when he heard that a Frenchman said he was going to smash American's.

Gee whiz and shiver me timbers, those words just would scare the life out anyone, (not really) but the fact is, they came from a Frenchy, who with those words, motivated and propelled the American's to not just snatch Olympic Gold, but wave it in Frenchy's faces.

Look Frog's, you need to realize, you are the stepchildren of not just America, but Germany, too. Germany has excerised some visitation rights, as we all know.

Now, for running your mouth, and undermining America and the can-do spirit of our athletes, on your collective way out to America's woodshed, grab Daddy's belt, because we are your Daddy, as of right now, bitch.

Congrats go to the American Men's 4x100 relay swim team. You not only won the Gold, but stood for your nation and showed the world, you don't ever underestimate the American Spirit. Ever.

We here at The Free State Of PIG say, "Thanks, guys, you made your country proud."

Now, you Frogs heading toward the airport, with your tails between your legs, words of advise: Avoid eateries, as you'll notice the lack of feral dogs, cats, bats and civets roaming the streets.

Why? Because you might be the next one in their pot, wok or frying pan.

Did O'Sports Hack mention French? If I did once to often, I apologize, but Tee-Hee, our guys stuck it to them.

WELCOME TO THE JUNGLE, MANNY!

Was our world rocked or bummed when Manny Ramirez split from the Bosox to defect to the Los Angeles Dodgers?

Not even.

What makes this PIG worthy is our genuine concern for the fact that he went from the cozy confines of Beantown and Fenway Park to Los Angeles, and what we call the real L.A. Zoo.

Manny, we want to introduce you to the leader of L.A's welcome wagon.This handsome fellow will be escorting you to some of L.A.'s Hot Spots, Bel Air and Beverly Hills not included, but a drive-by here and there ain't out of the question.

He's also going be a real good neighbor, too.

He and his Homies, when they're not picking your pockets, and stealing the rims off of your Ferrari, will be way glad to show you around.

Where to, you asked?

The Free Staters Tour Guide suggests you avoid, AT ALL COSTS, the crappy freeway system. If you can drive a car the way you hit 95 m.p.h. fastballs, you may stand a chance.

Eateries: Oh boy, you may be in for a treat, if you like Montezuma's Revenge. Stay with Momma's home cooking.

Breathing: Good luck with all the damn smog clogging us up, you too.

Protection: We're pretty sure that when the L.A. Dodgers picked you up, they insured themselves, and you, with some insurance policies. Cool for them, but how about you? As usual, we're about solutions, and your's would be in the form of a .44 Magnum, maybe a Glock.

Transportation: Ditch the Ferrari's, Lambroghini's, Maserati's, Porsches, and definitely any notion of a brand spanking new Hummer. Why? Because here in SoCal, freaking housewives drive Hummers, and still get carjacked.

What you need is a Sherman Tank or a modern military assualt vehicle. You can motor that mother right down Wilshire Boulevard, and you will by default, be given a wide berth.

Finances: Got you covered there too, Manny. How? O'Sports Hack has a pickup truck which can accomodate all of your extra money, cash only please for which you can deposit right in the bed of the truck.

Any extra cashola? No problem.We've got Hambo at the ready with his trusty wheelbarrows, just itching for some Major League green.

Manny, we wish you well during your temporary stay here in Hell-LA, as free agency and your quest for more jack will lead you to greener pastures with another team, in another city.

Manny, thanks for helping the Red Sox win two championships. Way cool.

Your loyalty factor, frankly...sucks.

What moron said women's golf was not a sport? That moron ought to be taken out and shot, on the spot for excluding such willing participants, as the lovely pictured.

We here at the PIG Open Invitational want to know who in they're right mind would exclude ladies, as pictured, from not playing a round?

That's downright crappy when you get down to the brass tacks of the reputation of the LPGA.

Everyone thinks alot of the ladies on the LPGA are estrogen deficient types.

In many cases, way true, but not in the case of the good sport wearing the official PIG Open Uniform, pictured.

Now, O'Sports Hack wouldn't care for a moment what this ladies score is, because combined, the Hambo and Porcus Team blow chunks, with a combined over 400 par average, mostly due to the pizza and brewskie intake, plus, visual assault from Mrs. mammary, pictured.

Now, what we could use from her is a good...

Oh screw it. Porcus is a damn horndog and wanted to display some mighty fine golfclubs...being wielded by a sweet young thing.

Golfsters of the PIG persuasion, hit the greens, tee off, say "fore" swing away, aim at a Korrectnik and keep your fingers crossed in hopes meeting a sweetie like her.

As usual, I'm hot water with the Mrs.

Today's weapon of choice is a nail gun, aimed right at my back door. Wait, she also recruited Pedro the gardener with a damn rototiller to rip up my little, Ladies Only miniature golf course.

Well she said she was sorry, and has commenced to taking a claw hammer to remove the nails.

When I said, "So, any chance those "woods" and "irons" that got locked up on our wedding day can ever be dusted off?"

Nails were quickly reinserted. Ouch!

Who is this, you ask?

An American who had more balls than brains, with lots of foresight in thinking, "I can scale the Great Wall of China with my skateboard."

Well Mr Danny Way evaluated the situation, and he, his trusty skateboard, with the help from some some American engineers who designed and built two ramps for him, one to allow him to build the necessary speed on the way down, and another to propell him skyward, over the wall.

Ta-Freaking- Da! This dude did what the Mongol hordes failed to do, did O'Sports Hack mention five freaking times?

For you ladies out there, we dug up personal info on Mr. Danny Way.

Nickname: Dude

Real Name: Dude.

Friend's Names: Dude

Girlfriend's Name: Dude

Pet Goldfish Name: Dude

Mom's Name: Dude

In all seriousness, Mr. Way, The Free State Of PIG salutes you in your creativity, innovation, and the set of Nads you displayed, doing what you did.

Eat your heart out, Ghengis Khan, and in your face, Ping Pongers.

We're going to set up a link, so that folks can read it in his words.

Danny Way: Great Wall

THE SHOT SEEN 'ROUND THE WORLD

Cubs center fielder Rick Monday runs with a U.S. flag after taking it away from protesters who intended to burn it. James Roark's classic photo of Rick Monday is one of the most famous shots in baseball history. James Roark/L.A. Herald Examiner

The article was written over twenty years ago, 1996 to be exact, in the Los Angeles Times.

At this time, the author's name is unavailable, otherwise we would gladly publish it.

This one goes way beyond peanuts and crackerjacks, Patriotic PIGsters, so we hope you enjoy.

RICK MONDAY: SPIRIT OF '76

Rick Monday remembers arriving at Dodger Stadium, opening a letter, reading the words of a Vietnam veteran thanking him for saving the American flag from burning on April 25, 1976.

"Letters every week," Monday said. "All sorts of letters. For a piece of cloth."

Twenty years, and Monday's smooth voice still trembles at the telling.

"I've gotten a thousand questions wondering if I'm disappointed being best known for something that had nothing to do with baseball," Monday said. "My answer is, absolutley not."

It was the bottom of the fourth inning at Dodger Stadium. Ted Sizemore was the Dodger batter. Monday was the Chicago Cub center fielder. The count was 1-0.

We could tell you what happened, but Vin Scully will always do it better:

"Wait a minute, there's an animal loose...two of them...all right...I'm not sure what he's doing out there...it looks like he's going to burn a flag...and Rick Monday runs and takes it away from him!

The animals were an unemployed 37-year-old man from Eldon, Mo., named William Errol Thomas and his alleged son. They got onto the field through the third base seats and ran to shallow left field.

Monday saw them stop there. Saw something being laid out, "like a picnic blanket." Saw the glare off the bottle of clear liquid.

"I said to myself, 'That's a flag, and that's lighter fluid,'" Monday recalled.

Monday had completed six years in the Marine Corps reserves. He had lost friends in Vietnam. He had heard stories of his father in the Army.

He knew all about the prices that were paid for something that allowed him to go from an average Santa Monica schoolboy to a very rich baseball player.

"It wasn't about having some military background," Monday said. "It was about appreciating your freedom."

While others stood and watched, Monday ran.

He saw William Errol Thomas light a match. For a moment, he thought he would be too late. Then he realized he would not have to save the flag alone.

"A gust of wind came along and blew the match out," Monday said.

Before the second match could be dropped, he had grabbed the flag and was carrying it off the field. He passed then-third base coach Tom lasorda, who was running towards the fools and cursing. He handed the flag to Dodger pitcher Doug Rau.

He returned to his postion amid a standing ovation.

Twenty years and Monday can still hear what even Scully missed.

"As the cheering died, everybody in the stands started singing 'God Bless America,'" Monday recalled. "I was stunned. I stood there and got chills."

Monday was invited to a couple of parades. William Errol Thomas was fined $60 for trespassing. The story figured to die.

But Monday soon learned that his story was about something that does not die.

"Every year I heard about it, every week, all the time," said Monday, a Dodger announcer for the last three years. "People thanking me. All sorts of people."

He retrieved the flag and hung it simply in his living room, in front of the only photo taken of the incident.

The Dodger computer people produced a replica of that photo that will greet him every time he turns on his laptop.

The man who took that photo, another hero named James Roark, fromer photo editor of the defunct los Angeles Herald Examiner, died last year after being beaten by four teenagers on the streets of Portland, Oregon.

But the story lives, because of something that does not die.

"That Vietnam vet wrote that he was in a jungle hospital for eight months, and the only thing that kept him going was thinking about the piece of cloth," Monday said. "Twenty years later, he wanted to thank me for saving it."

What would happen if somebody tried to burn a flag in a major league outfield today?

Barry Bonds would grab it, sign it and put it up for sale.

Brett Butler, knowing Betsy Ross was a non-union worker, would ignore it.

Albert Belle would forget about the flag and set fire to the hippe.

Jose Canseco would grab for the flag and miss. It would then bounce off his head and over the left field fence.

Rickey Henderson would drape it around his shoulders and immediately declare himself president.

Jim Edmonds would taunt it.

Kevin Mitchell would eat it.

Worse yet, if it happened today and Rick Monday tried to stop it, Monday would be arrested for infringing on the rights of others. The flag burner would be the hero.

Monday has only one thing to say to those such as Denver Nugget guard Mahmoud Abdul-Rauf, who recently refused to stand for the national anthem.

"I would tell him, 'If you want people to respect you, you have to respect them,'" he said.

Twenty years, and Rick Monday has not aged a day.

"People sometimes say. 'You're corny,'" Monday said. "I don't care if I am corny."

- Author Unknown

Ever want to kick back, open a cold frostie and watch a ballgame, but your significant other, usually a wife or girlfriend, or in some cases, your boyfriend insists upon watching figure skating?

You want to keep a peaceful and harmonious domicile, so you relunctantly give up the remote and figure, "What the hell, the sports bar down the road will have a broadcast of the game I want to watch."

That usually happens to non-whipped dudes as they're on they're way to the sports bar until they see the lovely pictured, with dropped jaw, and a sudden interest in figure skating.

Name: Anna Semenovich.

Nation: Russia.

Profession: Figure skater.

Accomplishments: Beyond her measurements, what dude really cares.

Quoted As Saying: " Behind the bust they do not see the person."

O'Sports Hack says, "Right, exactly."

So, next time your wife insists upon watching figure skating - with you - you may want to stick around and catch those glimpses of booty under those micro mini skirts during a triple axel, and we already know when you do, you're also checking the manicuring of her front yard, too.

I wish I had a doghouse to retreat to, because Mrs. Porcus saw this, after forgiving me for the Swedish Bikini Team posting, and has called in reinforcements for this one. They've got the car started and live jumper cables connected and aimed straight at the Porcus most personal marble collection, while another has fondue forks going for my eyeballs.

PIGster's, I'm about to take one for the team, and while I'm recovering, I hope you enjoy.

THE ULTIMATE PRIZE

Paul Pierce, Celtic Warrior, with his lifelong goal, in his hand, finally. You earned it, dude.

Did any of you PIGster's hear that giant sucking sound eminating from the Boston Garden last night? O'Sports Hack did. It was the sound of the L.A. Ladies laying down like stuck little pig's and squealing, begging for mercy. The sound of music.

Where were the real Laker's? In the opening minutes, Kobe Bryant was on fire, nailing three pointers from beyond the perimeter.

At that point, O'Sports Hack had to be restrained with a straight jacket by Mrs. Porcus, thinking I may harm myself if the Ladies beat the Celts, as I wanted to hurl a brick at my TV at what I thought was a Celtic defeat.

Obviously, not the case. The Mighty World Champion Boston Celtics must have saved up their extra special reserve cans of Whoop-Freaking-Ass, opened them up, and went downton Beantown on L.A. just for this momentous occasion, and was it ever.

The Celtics not only bent over, bitch slapped, punked, spanked and dismantled the L.A. Ladies, but stuck some old fashioned boots on their feet and after dislodging them from the collective Ladies' asses, drop kicked them straight to Boston's Logan Airport, with Ladies tails between their legs.

In the process, the Celtics wiped that smartass, "I'm gonna beat you" smirk off of Kobe Bryant's face.

Yes, what Boston did to the Ladies was not only brutal, but beautiful.

However, before the Ladies left, during the post game press conference, Kobe Bryant was asked the usual Numbnut, News Nitwits question, "How does it feel?'

Kobe's response: "It sucks."

Damn right, but not for the Mighty Celts and the city of Boston.

Congrats, big time, Mr. Pierce, Garnett, Allen, Rondo, Coach Rivers and the rest for delivering and earning yourselves the World Championship.

Now, about the parade and ensuing riots that are bound to occur in the city of Boston.

Bostonians of the maniacal, drunk persuasion that will no doubt get the urge to tip cars and jump in the Charles river, do you think you can save some of that enery long enough to catch a flight here to SoCal and do the same to some of our more delusional locals that still think the Ladies are still in it?

Memo To Lakers: Go home, nut up and admit defeat, play golf, make love to your beautiful wives that you cheat on, have Tony tune up your Ferrari's and we'll see ya next year, huh?

Memo To Celtics: Thanks for silencing the L.A. Lady Zombies. With your most triumphant victory, thanks to you, us SoCal residents have not been subjected to annoying horn honking and dumbass banner waving from the Zombies.

If a picture tells any kind of story, this one that Hambo captured, says it all.

Female pole vaulter? That pic has Porcus' heart a flutter.

Do you know how many metaphors we came up with regarding the term, "Female Pole Vaulter?" Your sick minds and imaginations would be pretty much in tune with the male members of PIG's Staff. Pun intended.

Let's see. We do not in any way want to demean this pole vaulters talents, just recognize them, and looks to us as if she has many, male pole vaulting skills or experience included, and she ever feels the need to practice her pole vaulting skills, the entire male PIG staff "members" are already fighting to get first dibs on Mrs. Long Legs.

If you horndog PIGsters enjoy that sweet bit of eye candy, stay tuned, as Sports Hacks Hambo and Porus will always strive to give you the latest in off-beat sports coverage.

Crap, gotta go. Mrs. Porcus, aka, The Exploder, saw me and she's approaching me with a cast iron skillet. Her target? The back of my head for drooling over that most beautiful young woman pictured.

If for any reason I don't make it out the intensive care unit after Mrs. Porcus administers her brand of discipline, my final words are, "Yum yum."

Pretty much, nothing, but what we're doing with this big fat steroid cheater is displaying an example of what "Pete Rosing" yourself can do to a once promising career.

Bonds, if your late father Bobby Bonds were alive, he should disown you. You have disgraced his good name by lying and comitting perjury.

Second, you cheated, you know it, and your so called "home run" record was not even recognized or acknowledged by the great, real home run king and gentleman, Hank Aaron.

Don't think you will make it to Cooperstown, Baseball's Holy Of Holy, The Hall Of Fame.

O'Hacks prediction is you may make it to Leavenworth.

That's right, a Federal joint, where you're going to need the bat you used to cheat and lie into the record books to defend whatever kind of manhood you have left with your cellmate.

Bonds, you have maligned your father's and family's name, gave America's National Pastime a bad name, and impugned your own name and character.

Good luck, washed up, asterisk liar, you're going to need it. Say Hi to Michael "I Pete Rosed Myself" Vick when you get where your going, liar.

PIGsters, we promise, no more Bonds on these pages.

NEED TO UP THE VOLTAGE ON YOUR SHOCK TREATMENTS?
THERE'S A BETTTER WAY.
GO DUMPSTER DIVING AND ENJOY PIG'S PRIVATE STASH.
UPDATED: 12/24/2009
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