"That was my skull"

Here are the 12 things you oughtta' know about the week that was.

12. I really hate to dwell on the steroid issue, but people around sports keep gift-wrapping me quality material. In the wake of the BALCO indictments, Cubs Manager Dusty Baker compared the "witch-hunt" underway to determine who's juicing and who's not to McCarthyism.

Not to be condescending (which means "to talk down to"), but in case you're not a history buff, McCarthyism refers to the anti-Communist hysteria brought about by Senator Joseph McCarthy in 1950. The inappropriateness of Baker's comment is stunning.

In 1950, much of the nation was genuinely concerned about the possibility of internal Communist espionage and the sanctity of the American way of life. Today, much of the nation is genuinely concerned with Barry Bonds ever-expanding hat-size and the sanctity of Henry Aaron's home-run record. In 1950, people who made it on to McCarthy's "black list" either lost their livelihoods or fled to Europe. Today, athletes subject to the steroid "witch-hunt" earn $6 million per year and can buy and sell much of Europe.

Don't get me wrong, I feel bad for these guys. Everyone is being tried in the Court of Public Opinion, and there's no longer an adequate defense. Two years ago, if you put on too much weight -- you were on steroids. Now, if you LOSE too much weight -- you WERE on steroids and now you're trying to clean up. It can't be fun.

At the same time, McCarthyism it is most assuredly not. But if Baker wants McCarthyism, I'll give him McCarthyism. The following is my own, personal black list of people I believe are, or were, steroid users... Barry Bonds, Sammy Sosa, Jason Giambi, Bret Boone, David Boston, Maurice Green, Carlos Boozer, A-Rod, Javy Lopez, Gary Sheffield...

11. I did something unheard of Thursday night -- I watched all 48 minutes of an NBA regular season game. I know -- I can't believe it either. Since it's so rare, I feel obligated to share my thoughts on the Sacramento Kings victory over the Lakers in LA.

-This may very well be hard-court heresy, but Peja Stojakovic is Larry Bird without the court-vision. The way he moves off the ball, his ability to score from anywhere, and most noticeably, his soft-as-church music jump shot are more reminiscent of Larry legend than anyone I've seen.

-Is Chris Webber ever going to play again? Does anybody care? Then again, we need him. The playoffs wouldn't be the same without that look of abject terror Webber dons as soon as the game enters crunch-time.

-Kobe hates playing on that team. He may say the right thing, but he hates Shaq, hates Gary Payton, hates Phil Jackson -- it's written all over his body language. Think he could join Jerry West in Memphis next year?

-Last off-season, the Lakers added Payton and Karl Malone to form a starting five with four future Hall of Famers. So why were Kareem Rush and Luke Walton launching shots in the final two minutes in the loss to the Kings?

10. Quick question. If you gave Danny Ainge the '96 Bulls and Matt Millen the '72 Dolphins, who would have their team in the cellar first?

9.... Pat Burrell, Brian Urlacher, the 2003 Oklahoma Sooners, Tiger Woods, the Williams sisters, Richie Sexton, Terrell Owens, Vin Deisel, Lebron James, the entire Tour de France...

8. Classic Syndicated Simpsons Moment of the Week -- A despondent Homer, bursting into tears after he was defeated in a steak-eating contest by Red Barclay -- "What's happening to me? There's still food, but I don't want to eat it. I'VE BECOME EVERYTHING I'VE EVER HATED!" Too funny.

7. Just when you thought no one could top Baker's steroid commentary, the Houston Astros' Jeff Kent goes ahead and does him one better. In a newspaper interview, Kent wondered aloud whether guys like Babe Ruth might have used performance-enhancing drugs. And I quote, "People are so pinned on the era now versus the era then," Kent said. "How do we know about then? Do we really know about then? I think we're starting to understand and learn more facts about now, so everybody's trying to relate the records broken, the way ballplayers are bigger and badder and better than ever now, but how do we know about then? We never really tested, so that was my reference. I apologize to all the Babe Ruth fans out there, but geez, I was just trying to make a point." Where is that principal from Billy Madison when we need him? -- "Mr. Kent, what you've just said is one of the most insanely idiotic things I have ever heard. At no point in your rambling, incoherent response were you even close to anything that could be considered a rational thought. Everyone in this room is now dumber for having listened to it. I award you no points, and may God have mercy on your soul."

6. The "Did He Just Say That?" Quote of the Week -- Believe it or not, neither Baker nor Kent was responsible for this week's award winner. That dubious honor goes to the attorney for Baltimore Ravens running back Jamal Lewis, who faces federal drug charges and could be looking at 10 years to life if convicted. When asked how Jamal was handling the situation, his lawyer responded, "He is as determined to win this case as he is to set records on the football field." Really? Honestly? You mean Jamal is as motivated to avoid a lifetime of sharing showers with rapists and random prison beatings as he was to break Corey Dillon's single game rushing record? Well then, he should be just fine. Why even try the case?

5....Phil Mickelson, Joey Lawrence, The British Bulldogs, Jeanette Lee, Ronaldo, everyone on the 01' Duke Men's basketball team, Secretariat, Jamal Lewis, Eddie George, the cast of Playmakers...

4. I'm feeling a lot of heat from my St. Joseph's connections for not giving the undefeated Hawks some props, but they shouldn't be pointing the finger at me, they should be blaming St. Joe's coach Phil Martelli. Look, I am a huge fan of what this team has accomplished. Anyone who claims that they haven't played as tough a schedule as the undefeated Stanford team obviously hasn't been watching the PAC-10 this season. But I find it hard to write a piece about their success when Martelli, who's never met a camera he doesn't like, continues to whine about the Hawks "not getting any respect." YOU'RE No. 2 IN THE COUNTRY! You trail only Stanford in the polls! What more do you want? This isn't the BCS, where you might get shut out of a national championship game for playing in a mid-level conference. St. Joe's will have a chance to prove it during March Madness, where they will be a No. 1 seed if they win the A-10 tournament. As if that weren't enough, after their escape at Rhode Island on Saturday, Martelli told a national television audience, "That's for those people that wondered what we would do in a close game." I think they meant a close game against Duke or Texas, coach, not URI.

3. One last steroid piece. Last week I reported that Greg Andersen, personal trainer for Barry Bonds and other athletes, admitted to authorities that he has supplied steroids to several major league baseball players. Bonds, as you might expect, continues to profess his innocence. What I don't understand is that if Bonds is indeed clean, and Andersen is any kind of personal trainer, why didn't he just put all his clients that wanted 'roids on whatever the hell workout plan Bonds was on? The guy is enormous. He's built like the Ultimate Warrior, when only 10 years ago he looked like Mario Joyner. If I were one of Andersen's clients, I would take one look at Barry and just say, "I'll have what he's having."

2....Summer Sanders, Tiger's caddy, Stuart Scott, Freddy Adu, Reggie Miller, Mike Tyson, Jimmy Chitwood, Dean Gray, Mike Mamula, Dean Palmer, Rick Pitino and last but not least, the Miami Hurricanes 1983-present. And the grand finale...

1. By the time you read this it will be old news, but it's still worth mentioning. I can honestly say that the feel-good, "anything is possible" story of the week comes not from the world of sports, but rather from Hollywood. A decade ago, who would have imagined that the overwhelming favorites to win the Best Actor award at tonight's Oscars would be Sean Penn and Bill Murray. One man's most famous role was a long-haired, go-nowhere high-school loser who ordered a pizza to history class, smacked himself in the head with a shoe so his friend could hear his skull over the phone, and smoked a whole lot of weed; while the other's most celebrated character was a voyeuristic assistant groundskeeper and "Cinderella Boy" who lived in the golf course maintenance shed, tried to blow up a gopher, and smoked a whole lot of weed. Yet by the time this article is published, either Jeff Spicoli or Carl Spackler will have an Oscar. Go figure.

The Best 24 Hours in TV History

It really shouldn't be that difficult. There are hundreds of thousands of options to choose from. Decades of sporting events so extraordinary, so memorable, they've become part of our shared heritage. So, why is it whenever I flip to ESPN Classic on my DirecTV, I feel like I'm stuck in "Groundhog Day?"

Honestly, if I see the 1992 NLCS Game 7 one more time, I'm going to throw my roommates remote right through his $3,000 plasma. Can someone please explain why this game is replayed every six hours? I understand it's the "Francisco Cabrera" game. I realize the Braves scored three runs in the bottom of the ninth to shock the Pirates and advance to their second straight World Series. That being said, this was as boring a Game 7 as you can imagine for eight and a half innings. As best I can tell, this game has historical significance for only two reasons.

1. It reminds us of a time when the Atlanta Braves actually won in the postseason, and, more importantly,

2. If baseball were ever to throw Barry Bonds in front of a tribunal on charges of steroid use, the footage from this game would be Exhibit A for the prosecution. Look at the tape! He's looks like Don Cheadle! He couldn't have weighed more than a buck-eighty. It's not like he was 22 years old and still filling out, either. He was 28! Now look at him. He looks like a freaking WWF wrestler. No human being on the planet has traps that size without enough horse testosterone running through his veins to qualify him for the Belmont. He's put on 55 pounds of muscle over the last decade with nothing but hard work and good nutrition? His season high for home runs jumps from 46 at the age of 23 to a record 73 at 37? His bat speed...

Sorry, sorry. I got distracted.

The point is, ESPN is sitting on a gold mine with the Classic concept, but they're going about it all wrong. Not enough variety. Their choices are too predictable. Sometimes it's the games that weren't on national TV, that weren't Super Bowls, Game 7s, or Final Fours, that we as a sports watching public long to see again. I know, I know. It's so easy to condemn, so difficult to create, right?

Not in this case. I have taken it upon myself to put together a full day of programming, just a sampler to give you an idea how it could be. In order to qualify, each event chosen had to meet all of the following requirements;

1. It can't be a part of the currently existing ESPN rotation. That won't prove difficult.

2. The ENTIRE game, match, or fight must be exhilarating, not just one moment. Take, for example, the 2002 first round NCAA tournament game between Florida and Creighton. Two overtimes. Eleventh seed Creighton knocks off the 5th seeded Gators with a three at the buzzer. Instant Classic, right? Wrong. The game was extremely sloppy, with Florida doing everything possible to give it away. On MY day, every minute is going to be TIVO-worthy.

3. No Super Bowls, Final Fours, NBA Finals, or World Series Game 7s allowed. These moments are likely already etched in your memory. I would like to spend my day airing the games that got away, the ones that may have been forgotten.

4. No skipping commercials. No editing out halftime. No, "Due to time constraints, we move ahead to the end of the fourth quarter." You should feel like you're watching it for the first time all over again.

5. Most importantly, when it originally aired, it should have made you do one or more of the following; stand up on your couch and yell at the television, call your dad or buddies to make sure they were watching, look away from the TV for a couple of seconds because you were so nervous, or-at the very least-make you rich for a day or leave you dodging your bookie.

We're starting at 6 a.m., so tell the boss you've got that rash again, set the alarm, and stock up on Capt'n Crunch. Send the kids to the neighbors, strap in, and enjoy.

6-8 a.m., 3/12/1995, ACC Men's Basketball Tournament Final, Wake Forest 82, North Carolina 80 (OT)

I can't think of a better way to start the day. In a game featuring Jerry Stackhouse, Rasheed Wallace (yes, he did have that "gum" in his hair back then), and Tim Duncan, three future top-five NBA draft picks, Wake Forest guard Randolph Childress stole the show.

I have never seen anyone as unconscious over a three-game stretch as Childress was in this tournament. He lit up Duke for 40 in the quarters, and hung 40 on Virginia in the semis. Then, en route to torching Carolina for 37 in the final, he did something I had never seen before and haven't seen since. After shaking Jeff McInnis at the top of the key, he stopped two feet behind the three-point line and waited for the UNC guard, who had fallen, to get up. He waved to him as if to say, "get you're a** up", and as McInnis charged towards him, drained the three in his mug. Unreal.

It almost wasn't enough. Stackhouse went nuts, tossing in 24 to keep Carolina in the game, including a long three-pointer with 4.5 seconds left to send it into OT. The rest of the way it was all Childress, who scored ALL 9 of Wake's points in the extra session. When Stackhouse missed another long three at the buzzer, Wake Forest had won an absolute Classic.

8-11 a.m., 1/4/1997, NFL Divisional Playoffs, Jacksonville 30, Denver 27

I can clearly remember watching this game on a Saturday evening with my partner-in-point-spread-crime, Jack. We, like the rest of America, had taken Denver, minus 10, and chalked it up as easy money. Jacksonville was in only their second season of existence and had backed into the playoffs. They had expended tons of emotional and physical energy in a 30-27 upset over Buffalo the week before. Denver, meanwhile, was 13-3, well rested, and playing at Mile High.

With Denver up 12-0 at the end of the first quarter and Jacksonville unable to get any offense going, Jack and I were already figuring out how to double up on Sunday's Cowboy-Carolina game.

Then something happened.

Natrone Means burst through the line for eight yards. Then seven. Then eleven. With the Denver defense on their heels, Mark Brunell started to pick apart the secondary. The game turned so quickly, the Broncos were stunned. By the middle of the third quarter, Jack and I were cheering wildly for the Jags. Any game that can make you root against your own wager has got to be a classic, so I'm putting it in my lineup.

11-2 p.m., 5/6/1998, Chicago Cubs 2, Houston Astros 0

This game should be televised every day until the end of time. Twenty year-old Kerry Wood, in only his fifth career start, struck out 20 Astros and gave up only one hit, a dribbler off the glove of Cubs third baseman Kevin Orie. It was, quite simply, the best game ever pitched. It was also the most dominant individual performance I have ever witnessed, and I defy anyone to watch it and tell me otherwise. I've never seen professional athletes so thoroughly overmatched.

Wood was throwing 101 mph bullets and 97 mph whiffle balls. Guys in the Houston dugout had that "opening scene from Saving Private Ryan" look on their face when it was their turn to hit. The 3-4-5 hitters went 0-9 with nine strikeouts. Wood struck out the side four times. His slider to Derek Bell to end the game was a moment I will never forget. The ball broke from right to left like those pitches Bugs Bunny threw against the Gashouse Gorrillas. I swear the end of Bell's bat was a good two feet from reaching the pitch, and it had started at his belly button.

2-3 p.m., 10/18/1991, Ray Mercer def. Tommy Morrison (TKO 5)

If you've ever caught yourself muttering, "Nobody could survive that kind of beating" when Ivan Drago is pulverizing Rocky Balboa during Rocky IV then you've never seen this fight.

In his first defense of his WBO Heavyweight Championship, Mercer was getting absolutely bludgeoned by the "Duke" from the opening bell. Every round I was certain it was only a matter of time before he went down or his corner threw in the towel. Mercer was dead on his feet. I'm not going to lie to you, it was hard to watch. It was a savage, brutal beating that you knew was always a possibility in the sport, but never seemed to materialize.

With Morrison ahead on all scorecards heading into the fifth round, Mercer went "Italian Stallion." He came off the ropes after a clean Morrison jab and unleashed the most devastating 16-punch flurry by any heavyweight in history not named Tyson. Morrison's face exploded. There was more blood than a Tarantino flick. Both guys could barely stand up. With one final brutal uppercut, Morrison was done, and although Mercer retained his title, NOBODY won this fight.

3-6 p.m., 11/23/1995, Detroit Lions 44, Minnesota Vikings 38

No self-respecting Fantasy Football owner could leave this game off his Classics schedule. With the entire nation watching on Thanksgiving Day, this game was a track meet from the opening kickoff.

In what was the Year of the Quarterback in the NFL (even Erik Kramer threw for 28 TDs) this game featured over 800 yards of passing. Everybody went nuts. Detroit had a 400 yard passer (Scott Mitchell), a 100 yard rusher (Barry Sanders, of course), and THREE 100 yard receivers (Moore, Morton, Perriman), the only time in history that's been accomplished. Warren Moon countered with 384 yards and three TDs of his own.

It was 28-24 Minnesota at the half, and the game never slowed down. I only left the room once, immediately following a Detroit incompletion on third down. By the time I grabbed some wings and reclaimed the couch, David Palmer had broken the punt return for a 72-yard TD. It went back and forth for four quarters, with Detroit escaping with the victory (and the cover) as they always seem to on Thanksgiving.

It's extremely rare that you can find an NFL regular season game without a "change the channel to Goonies for a while" moment. Since this one fits the bill, let's watch it again.

In all likelihood, the scintillating individual performances, stirring upsets, and brutal beatings you've witnessed throughout the previous 12 hours of TV programming on ESPN Classic have taken you on an unprecedented emotional roller coaster.

Bleary eyed and incoherent, your wife has just arrived home from a hard day at work to find you sitting upright on the edge of the couch, wrapped in a fleece blanket, slowly rocking and muttering the words "can't sleep-gotta watch" over and over again.

Despite the distraction, you try and ignore the sounds of her packing up her closet and confessing to her mother that she was right all along, because you're only halfway through the greatest day in TV history.

Next on the menu...

6-9 p.m., 6/12/1998, CWS Championship Game, USC 21, Arizona St. 14

This was no late night PAC-10 football game. This was, rather, the greatest tribute to the aluminum bat in baseball history. Coupled with weight training and the increasing availability of human growth hormone, it has turned the college game into that Nintendo classic, RBI Baseball. Every guy in the lineup weighs 230 and goes yard every other at-bat.

Now, I don't make it a point to watch the College World Series. To the contrary, I firmly believe that only the most socially mal-adjusted among us can enjoy sitting through nine innings of a baseball game. I flipped this game on during the bottom of the first inning while in search of something to keep me entertained while I wasted some time on the treadmill. On a Saturday afternoon in June, it was either this or "They Came from Outer Space."

Within 20 minutes, I was calling my old man at work, telling him he had to tune in to the game. Three-and-a-half hours later, the treadmill long since halted, I was still sitting on the basement floor, not wanting to miss a pitch.

This was the kind of game that made you fear for the health of the guys on the mound. Everything they threw was coming back at them 30 mph faster. Both lineups morphed into the '27 Yankees. Thirty-five runs. Eighty-five total bases. The two teams combined to break 35 of the 111 CWS records and tied 17 more. A second baseman had seven RBI's for God's sake! Second basemen aren't supposed to hit, they're just supposed to field their position, make the pivot when turning two, and struggle with the English language.

Any time you watch nine innings of a baseball game, particularly a game that's not even very close, you know it's something special.

9-12 a.m., 7/7/1985, Wimbledon Final, Boris Becker def. Kevin Curren 6-3, 6-7, 7-6, 6-4

I can always remember the specifics about a moment or moments that made me a fan of a player, team, or in the case of the '85 Wimbledon final, an entire sport.

My mother, perhaps drawn to the sport because it was the only one in which her Czechoslovakian brethren flourished, became infatuated with tennis in the early '80s.

Years later, when I had turned 10 and could finally comprehend the utterly illogical system that is tennis scoring, my mother forbade me to leave the house while the Wimbledon matches were being aired, for the sole reason of providing her updates over the phone when she was stuck at work.

When the tournament began, I resented the fact that I was stuck inside watching a bunch of communists smack a ball around while my schoolmates were out playing "Ring and Run." By the end of the fortnight, however, I was the only preteen in the country with an unhealthy obsession with Bud Collins and Mary Carillo. I had fallen in love with the game, and it was for one reason and one reason only -- Boris Becker, the German teen who had captivated the sports world during his two week run from obscurity to the brink of a championship.

Seventeen-years old. Unseeded. No one of that age or that ranking had ever won the Wimbledon title. As the match got underway, however, you knew that was about to change.

Despite the fact that Curren had knocked off John McEnroe and Jimmy Connors, two of the most hallowed names in the sport over his last two matches, he had no answers for Becker. The teenager fired ace after ace, finishing with 22. On the rare occasion Curren was able to muster a return, Becker was waiting where he was most comfortable, the net. Bringing athleticism to the game that had never been seen, he lunged and dove and volleyed his way into tennis history. It was only in those moments, when Becker would fully extend himself, parallel to the ground, to hit a winning volley and then pull himself off the court covered in blood, chalk, and dirt, that you were reminded that he was just a kid.

12-2 a.m., 12/14/1991, Duke 88, Michigan 85 (OT)

While every event in this lineup is memorable, I feel that this game stands out from the rest for the following reason -- I honestly don't think we'll ever see anything like it again.

Let me explain. Just the other day, I was watching Arizona-Stanford when they showed a close-up of 'Zona freshman Mustafa Shakur. I found myself thinking, "Man, look how young he looks. He looks like a little kid. It must be such culture shock when these guys leave high-school and start playing against real men".

That got me thinking about this 1991 Michigan team. They started FIVE freshmen. Five rookies, only one year removed from dunking on 5'8" scrubs that just wanted a Lettermen's jacket, were now being thrown into the fire against the best players and teams in the country.

What they accomplished will never be matched. Those five freshmen, Jalen Rose, Juwuan Howard, Chris Webber, Jimmy King and Ray Jackson, went on a heart-stopping run all the way to the NCAA Championship game before losing to the defending champion Duke Blue Devils.

It was their first meeting with Duke, however, that served notice to the rest of the world that these were no ordinary rookies. Duke came into Michigan sporting a "Who's Who in College Hoops" lineup, featuring Bobby Hurley, Grant Hill and Christian Laettner. (Yes, youngsters, Laettner used to be good)

The Fab Five, setting trends with their long shorts and black socks, found themselves down 17 early in the first half. After a shoving match between Webber and Laettner, the nation watched the freshmen grow up right before their very eyes and play the rest of the game with the insolence and arrogance that would come to be their legacy.

They stormed all the way back and took their first lead at 76-73 with 37 seconds left when Webber hit a long three as the shot clock expired. With victory nearly in hand for Michigan, Duke missed two shots, but grabbed the rebound each time. Hurley, easily the most annoying player in Division I history, threw up a last gasp effort and got fouled behind the arc. After the Blue Devil point guard nailed all three foul shots to tie the game, Webber launched a prayer from 60 feet that hit the front iron and broke the hearts of every Duke-hater in the country, which pretty much means everyone outside of Durham, North Carolina.

Even though they went on to lose in OT, it was surreal to watch five freshmen go toe to toe with the best team in America and almost come out on top. We've got to show the game, because it'll never happen again.

2-4 a.m., 5/5/1989, FA Cup Final, Liverpool 3, Everton 2 (OT)

I've got a hidden agenda here. I would be lying if I said it doesn't bother me that people in this country can't seem to look past the low-scoring games to see all the things that make soccer the greatest sport in the world. Maybe this match will help.

It had everything.

There were two of the most storied sides in England squaring off in the league Cup championship. Stars like David Seaman, Ian Rush and John Barnes in the prime of their career. Top it off with nearly 100,000 fans, each fiercely loyal to one side or the other to a degree that Americans could never comprehend. (By the way, there are few things in sports cooler than listening to 60,000 Liverpool fans singing, "Ian Rush, Superstar. How many goals have you scored so far?" to the tune of Andrew Lloyd Webber's musical)

Most importantly, there are five of the most brilliant goals you will ever see, four of them coming after the 90th minute of the match. If you watch this match and don't admit it's a Classic, you are either devoid of passion, or come from Texas and would sooner never give the Hook 'em Horns for the rest of your life then confess you enjoyed a soccer match.

4-6 a.m., 3/18/1990, NCAA Tournament 2nd Round, Loyola Maramount 149, Michigan 115

I've written and rewritten this part several times, and I know I still can't do this game justice. Loyola Maramount came into the tournament as the 11th seed in the West. They came into the game as decided underdogs against New Mexico State. They came in without their best player, leading scorer, leading rebounder, and team leader in Hank Gathers, the Lion's All-American forward who had died of a heart attack on the court two weeks earlier during a game against Pacific.

Think about that. Their best player had died. Only two weeks earlier. On the court. The team and sports world were devastated. Many thought Loyola would turn down their tournament bid, but they played on.

They played as if possessed. With Gathers' roommate Bo Kimble leading the way with 45 points, they routed New Mexico State 111-92 to set up a meeting with third-seeded Michigan, the defending national champion. It was a great story, we all thought, but it's going to end here.

Man, were we wrong. I can't explain it. I have no idea what you attribute it to. Maybe adrenaline. Maybe a sense of purpose. Whatever you call it, the Lion's parlayed it into the most shocking 40 minutes of college hoops you will ever see. They scored 150 points! On Michigan! Kimble went off for 37, shooting all his foul shots left-handed to honor his fallen friend. Some guy named Jeff Fryer, who would never be heard from again, hung 41, including 11 three pointers, on a Wolverine team that simply had no chance from the opening tip.

To top it off, they came back the next weekend and did it again, this time shocking Alabama 62-60 to advance to the Elite Eight, where they ran into the eventual national champions in UNLV and their amazing run ended.

The reason I chose this game is because it couldn't have happened. There is no way a team from the West Coast Conference scored 150 on mighty Michigan. There is no way a team who had to watch their best player take his last breath can make a run to the Elite Eight. I have always believed that if Gathers had lived, and Loyola had played Michigan with a full team, they would have gotten run off the court by halftime. This game is a testament to what people are capable of and the strength of human emotion. It gave me chills when I watched it 14 years ago, and I know it would do the same today.

So there you have it -- 24 hours of TV meant to incite the senses, warm the heartstrings, and alienate friends and family. Now if only I could get my hands on Comedy Central for a day or two...

Tiger Woods Kneed Me in the Nuts!

"I always turn to the sports section first. The sports section records people's accomplishments; the front page, nothing but men's failures." -Earl Warren

My buddy Jimmy, while a fantastic guy in most respects, is a bit of an elitist. He's the type to harass you to "read the book -- you might learn something" -- when you're perfectly content watching Frodo and the gang save Middle Earth in Surround Sound. He dismisses your favorite band as "garbage pop." He refuses to give in to the lure of Cable TV. And most pertinent to our relationship, Jimmy loathes America's fixation with sports entertainment. He finds it unfathomable that so many people spend the majority of their time and energy on what is -- as he describes it -- a purely voyeuristic endeavor. An "opiate for the masses" he calls sports.

As you might imagine, this ideology is a frequent point of contention in our friendship.

To his credit, Jimmy has never openly questioned my intelligence. He just believes that my knowledge and passion, while commendable, are misdirected. "What's the point?" he asks. "Why bother watching, cheering, celebrating and mourning the actions of OTHER PEOPLE? Wouldn't you rather spend that time bettering yourself?"

I'll be honest -- in some of my weaker moments, I have considered the possibility that I could have done more with my life. Maybe if I had spent the last two decades committing my considerable abilities and enthusiasm to more intellectual pursuits, I wouldn't be in the mess I'm in. Maybe instead of winding up a 28 year-old recovering CPA, forced to hang my hopes for career salvation on a reality show and writing pro-bono purely for the satisfaction that comes with seeing one's name in print, I could have achieved greatness. Maybe I could have owned my own Boston Market... or been an actuary... or even the inventor of a hilarious bumper sticker. That type of introspective reflection had left me wondering if maybe Jimmy had a point...

Until the last 40 seconds of Saturday's Arizona-Stanford game reminded me that Jimmy doesn't know shit.

Let me explain...

With Stanford trailing by four with just those 40 ticks left, the despondent Maples Pavilion crowd was as silent as Kobe's answering machine. One free throw, a steal, a game-tying three from the wing, a second steal, and a 35-foot-off-balance-buzzer-beating-heave-from-the-heavens later, 500 cardinal-clad fans sporting that classic Muhammad Ali, mouth agape, "I shook up the world!" look of disbelief flooded the court, and a still-undefeated team was at the bottom of the pile.

This, Jimmy, is why people dedicate so much of their lives to sports. What else can take you from abject misery to unadulterated joy in less than a minute? What other part of our daily lives offers the opportunity to start off a spectator and leave a piece of history? Without sports, what else would make you stand on your couch and wildly applaud the success of your enemy, as this long-time Arizona fan did on Saturday?

The simple truth is, every man, woman and child in the arena on Saturday will remember those forty seconds for the rest of their days. When their life story is written, while this game might not be in the same paragraph as their wedding day and the birth of their children, I can promise you won't have to look too far down the page. Like it or not, sports has that kind of impact. Now, I'm as big a fan of the written word as anyone, but how many times do you think a Jack Kerouac passage has moved someone to say, "Now there's one I'm going to tell the grandkids about!"

Do yourself a favor -- the next time you watch the highlight, check out Tiger Woods, who was sitting courtside. When that last miracle bottoms out, Tiger is so exhilarated, so overcome by an undeniable surge of emotion, that he actually starts rushing towards the pile. The guy's upper torso is worth the half a billion dollars, yet for a couple of seconds he wanted nothing more than to dive head-on into a rugby scrum! And this is a man that's widely considered the epitome of composure in a sport where excess emotion is your undoing. If, as Jimmy attests, DOING is so much more gratifying than WATCHING, then why is it Tiger never walks off the 18th green wearing the same look of unfettered glee that's captured on those five seconds of videotape?

Maybe sports are an opiate for the masses. So what? With the state of the world the way it is, we need any distraction we can get. For the rest of the day Saturday, I could simply hit the UP arrow on my remote control and let the channels dictate my reality. On 203, Court TV was covering the murder trial of an elderly man accused of killing his long-time friend. On 204, CNN was breaking the news that an 11-year old girl's body had been found two days after her abduction. And on 206, hundreds of delirious co-eds were turning the Stanford court into a 94-foot group hug. Which would you rather watch?

The point is, what gives Jimmy, or anyone else for that matter, the right to decide what is culturally redeeming and what isn't? Who's to say that Mozart was more awe-inspiring than Montana? What makes Dostoyevsky more brilliant with the pen than Deford? Beauty, as they say, is in the eyes of the beholder, and as long as I "beholding" the DirecTV remote, I'll take ESPN over A&E any day.

OK, I'm off my soapbox. Here are the 12 things you oughtta' know about this the week that was...

12. It looks like Mark Brunell is close to signing with the Redskins. Let's think about this -- 33-years old, coming off elbow surgery, playing for a team with no running game and behind a line that almost got two quarterbacks killed last year? God bless Daniel Snyder.

11. I would love to get my hands on the latest demographic study conducted by ESPN's marketing department. Judging by the never-ending cycle of Bowflex, Avacor and Enzyte commercials, it appears as though the worldwide leader in sports has narrowed their target audience to fat, bald, sterile men. How ironic.

10. Back to that Stanford game -- How did Arizona blow a four-point lead with 40 seconds left without even getting another shot off? I'll tell you how -- Salim Stoudamire is the single worst "big-name" player in crunch time since Chris Webber took his "deer in headlights' act to the NBA. 9. Far be it for me to take pleasure in someone else's misfortune, but I had to chuckle when I read the story of Milwaukee Brewers pitcher Luis Martinez, who surrendered Tuesday in his native Dominican Republic on charges he shot a man three times in a dispute over a parking spot. I just keep getting this mental image of a contrite Martinez giving the Brewers brass the same excuse George Costanza used when he got caught having sex with his cleaning lady on his desk. "Was that wrong? Should I have not done that? I'll tell you, I've gotta' plead ignorance on this one. If I had known that sort of thing was frowned upon..."

8. Classic Syndicated Simpsons Moment of the Week: Homer, high as a kite on medicinal marijuana, asks Flanders for help with a theological conundrum -- "Could Jesus microwave a burrito SO hot, that he himself could not eat it?" Too funny.

7. Let the countdown begin. In a mere seven months the Philadelphia Phillies will be popping the cork on their first Division title since 1993.

6. One final thought on that Stanford game. I know I've said this in this column before, but if you haven't seen them play, make it a point to do so. Pardon the cliches, but the whole is so much greater than the sum of the parts, and their season is starting to take on that "team of destiny" feel. They remind me so much of the Florida Marlins -- they force you to play a perfect game in order to beat them.

5. While we're on the topic of undefeated basketball teams, let me just say that this St. Joe's situation is officially out of control. Lately I've had to endure my girlfriend, who thinks Delonte West is a spring-break destination resort, reminding me on a daily basis that her alma mater is ranked #3 in the country.

4. The "Did He Just Say That?" Quote of the Week: Model citizen Ray Lewis telling ESPN reporters he was happy to see Playmakers go, as he "wouldn't want his kids watching that show." What about the episode where the star athlete lies to police to cover for his boyhood friend that had just killed a guy? Would that episode send a bad message to your kids Ray?

3. How quickly can things change in today's NFL? Only one year ago the Raiders were favored in the Super Bowl, and the Bengals had the worst record in the league. Now check this out -- according to Vegas, the Raiders are 50-1 to win the Super Bowl next year. The Bengals? 35-1.

2. Just a thought from someone who watches a lot of mid-afternoon ESPN programming -- if Rafer "Skip to my Lou" Alston is lighting it up for the Miami Heat, who's running the And 1 Mixed Tape Tour?

And the grand finale...

1. My brother Mike called me from New Jersey today to discuss the X-rated recruiting scandal that's unfolding down Highway 36 at the University of Colorado. The latest news has a Buffs recruit revealing to reporters that his host took him to a strip club, supplied free booze, and even offered to get him an escort for the night. Now maybe I've seen "He Got Game" one too many times, but aren't all recruiting visits like this? Am I really supposed to believe that this sort of thing is only confined to the CU program? I've got to think that a whole lot of coaches are holding their breath right now, hoping that the Buffaloes will play the role of sacrificial lamb. It all seems so senseless though. As Mike pointed out, this whole thing could have been avoided if the host had just had the foresight to pull this kid aside before he left and give him the Craig Kilborn speech from "Old School...

"What are you going to do, tell on me? You know you can't buddy -- it's guy code. Guys don't tell on other guys -- it's something chicks do. You're not a chick, are you? All right...good talk...see you out there."

Problem solved.

Dan Patrick and Gay Porn

As you may have read or heard, eSports' very own Casey "Sterno" Stern will spend the next few months donning makeup and rehearsing stolen catchphrases in Bristol, Connecticut as a finalist for the ESPN "Dream Job" competition.

I can honestly say, without a hint of jealousy, that I wish Casey the very best in his quest to add his visage to the Mt. Rushmore of reality show legends-- Puck, that fat gay who won Survivor, the first Joe Millionaire, and that dumpy Ritchie chick. I truly hope he is able to succeed where I failed miserably. (I was unceremoniously dumped in the ESPN competition during the round of 120 in Beverly Hills. I don't think the ESPN brass was ready for my "cutting edge" home run call inspired by Chris Tucker in "Friday," "You got knocked the F*** OUT!")

While nobody can replace the acerbic Stern's unique blend of sardonic wit and NY-centric commentary, I have taken it upon myself to play Shemp to his Curly, standing in as best I can. As a compatriot of Casey's both as an author and a Dreamer, I feel that it's my duty to make sure that eSports maintains its weekly quota of opinionated blather while he's off fetching Dan Patrick his coffee. (O.K. Maybe I am a little jealous)

So as my tribute to Sterno, here are the 12 things that you oughtta' know about the week that was...

12. There's nothing I can say about the Super Bowl that hasn't already been said, so I'm going to leave it at this -- I hope people appreciate what they saw from Jake Delhomme. Maybe he'll fade into oblivion, a la Timmy Smith, or maybe he'll use this game as a springboard to an All-Pro career, but I'm betting on the latter. Here's why -- how often does a player have his best performance during the biggest game of his career? I've watched Delhomme play half a dozen times this year, and never knew he was capable of doing what he did on Sunday evening. He nearly willed his team to victory against a Patriots secondary that had completely shut down co-MVP's Steve McNair and Peyton Manning. It's a shame John Kasay knocked that kick-off out of bounds, or we might have been spared all this Tom Brady-is-the-second-coming-of-Joe Montana ridiculousness.

11. Here's one that just hit me while watching "SportsCenter." Baylor transfer Lawrence Roberts is a double-double machine for 18-1 Mississippi St. and a leading candidate for SEC Player of the Year. Former Bears guard John Lucas Jr. has led Oklahoma St. to a 16-2 start and just finished hanging 27 on Texas A&M. So how is it Baylor went 14-14 last year and only 5-11 in the Big 12? We all learned what a remorseless liar, disgusting hypocrite, and all around despicable person Bliss is during his very public humiliation this past summer. What's only revealing itself now is the fact that he wasn't much of a coach, either.

10. While we're on the topic of unstable college coaches, has anyone stopped to consider the possibility that Bobby Knight might be just a little bit nuts? Who gets in a fight with someone paying them a compliment? I know Buddy Rivell went after Jerry Mitchell in "Three O'clock High" when all Mitchell wanted to do was interview him for the school paper, but Rivell didn't like being touched, and Mitchell put his hand on Buddy's back, you know what I'm saying?

9. About that Super Bowl -- where does Ricky Proehl's game-tying TD catch, when coupled with his tying TD in the 2001 Super Bowl and game winning grab in the 1999 NFC Championship game, place him among the pantheon of All-Time White Wideouts?

8. How superlative a coaching effort has Utah Jazz coach Jerry Sloan turned in this season? Look at it this way -- Vegas odds-makers, who stake their reputation on every line they set, had the total number of Utah wins at 23-1/2. As of Groundhog Day, the Jazz already had racked up 24 victories with a starting group that would struggle to find minutes on the Bulls. I think it's safe to say that this is the earliest in NBA history that a team has gone over the Vegas total. Why does this excite me so? You guessed it -- I had em'!

7. No Lebron or Carmelo in the NBA All-Star game. What's the big deal? I was just saying the other day that Jamaal Magloire and Andrei Kirilenko were the future of the league.

6. Sorry, one more thought on the Super Bowl. Can Adam Vinatieri legally kill people in New England now?

5. It turns out my brother Mike and his boyhood idol, Dan Marino, have something in common after all -- neither of them can stay at a job for more than three weeks. Apparently, Marino realized soon after accepting a position as Dolphins senior vice president -- a job specifically created for him by owner Wayne Huizenga, never a good sign -- that there really wasn't a whole lot to the ol' job description. Big smiles. Handshakes. Quarterback for the company flag-football team. If you ask me, Marino should have seen it coming -- Robin Colcort did the same thing to Sam Malone in a classic episode of "Cheers."

4. I'm confused. While watching the three-dozen college football All-Star games that justify Mel Kiper's existence, I continuously hear announcers, draft pundits, and scouts question whether quarterbacks like Phillip Rivers "can play at the next level." They dissect size, mobility, arm-strength, and intangibles as predicators for NFL success. Correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't I just watch Tom Brady (6th rounder) and Jake Delhomme (undrafted) light up the Super Bowl? Didn't Matt Hasselbeck, Anthony Wright, and Marc Bulger also make the playoffs? Maybe I'm oversimplifying things a bit here, but if Quincy Carter can lead a team to the postseason, ANYONE has a shot to play QB in the pros. End of story.

3. Trivia question. What Duke graduate has had the most success in the NBA over the last few years? Christian Laettner? Not a chance. Corey Maggette? Mike Dunleavy? Shane Battier? Not even. Grant Hill? Jason Williams? Come on -- if they were to race baseline to baseline right now, you'd have to time it with an hourglass. The answer, clearly, is Cleveland forward Carlos Boozer. (O.K. I realize the answer is Elton Brand -- but I'm trying to make a point here.) He rebounds, works hard on defense, and is surprisingly capable of contributing on the offensive end, as evidenced by his 32-point, 20-board outburst a few weeks ago. Thanks to his work ethic and leadership, he has survived the Paul Silas housecleaning, and now has a golden opportunity to play Horace Grant to Lebron's MJ for the next decade or so.

2. If you haven't already gone out and purchased "Fifty Years of Great Writing" by the good people at Sports Illustrated, you absolutely must. While you won't get the same sense of satisfaction and superiority you get from picking out all the grammatical mistakes in my columns, the quality of the articles more than compensates. Trust me, it's the best $25.95 you'll ever spend. And the grand finale...

1. While the story about Cleveland Indians minor league pitcher Kazuhito Tadano making an appearance in a gay porn flick is rife with comedic fodder, I was going to let him slide until he went a bit too far in defending himself. Even after his teammates made it clear that they were fine with Tadano's past, he felt the need to add this piece of testimony -- "I'm not gay. I'd like to clear that fact up right now." O.K. Stop right there. Look, I don't care if he's gay, and neither will Indians' fans if he can get lefties out on a consistent basis. But to say, "I'm not gay" in this situation is completely nonsensical. If he had claimed, "I'm thirty years old, single, neat, and thin -- but I'm not gay", I'd buy it. Even if he had insisted, "I'm a huge fan of moisturizing, show tunes, and the O.C. -- but I'm not gay", I'd give him the benefit of the doubt. But to say, "I'm not gay" when somewhere in the universe there exists GAY PORN with your name in the credits? C'mon, Kaz! Give us something we can work with! Sorry, buddy, but aside from winning gold in Olympic figure skating, there's really no more incriminating evidence that you are indeed gay than appearing in gay porn. Not that there's anything wrong with it, of course.