Thursday, April 25, 2002
Updated: May 31, 2:11 PM ET
Lord, he was born a ramblin' man
By Bill Simmons
Page 2 columnist
Thoughts while wondering why Buttermaker didn't bring Kelly Leak in to pitch in the sixth inning ...
I just want to be there 20 years from now when the guy who paid $10,000 for Luis Gonzalez's gum is entertaining guests and says, "Come into the den, I want to show you Luis Gonzalez's chewed gum."
Do NHL teams borrow the musical soundtracks during hockey games from local strip joints, or is it vice-versa?
When it comes right down to it, I've never had bad fries at a bowling alley.
We're in the year 2002, and there is still just one certainty in life: All hockey coaches dress like movie ushers.
All right, I'll ask: Do Tiger's girlfriends come off an assembly line?
Any SportsCenter highlight of Ken Griffey Jr. rounding third base during a home game has officially become my favorite "Uh-oh, something bad's about to happen" clip since the heyday of Shea Ralph.
Speaking of women's hoops, could somebody remind me to write a running diary of the WNBA draft next spring? Just pick after pick of female basketball players, followed by them walking awkwardly onto the stage in high heels. Can you put a price on that kind of comedy? Somebody needs to make the "Female Basketball Stars Walking in High Heels" DVD, with director's commentary from Lisa Leslie and Kara Wolters.
Can we call Padraig Harrington "Peja"? Or is that just a Croatian thing? Can I get a ruling on this?
Let's just say that if my kid wanted to take up pole vaulting, I'd probably talk him out of it.
Don't you get the nagging feeling that there's at least one guy working in the Maxim magazine office who's 5-foot-8 and 130 pounds, with yellow teeth and an unpopped whitehead on his forehead, and he calls everyone "Dude," and he tapes the "Craig Kilborn Show" every night, and he says things like, "Dude, you missed it, I was wasted last night"?
If I were Kevin Young, it would put a hop in my step every time Linda Cohn referred to me as "K.Y."
You know you're in trouble when Lester Munson and Don Yaeger call to say they're doing a story on you.
I wish you could buy the "Hitting a game-winning homer, rounding the bases, then jumping on home plate as everyone slaps you on the head" experience on eBay. And while we're at it, the "Getting restrained from attacking an umpire by three other players, then trying to still get at him while screaming obscenities," would be pretty good, too. They should have a theme park for this stuff.
Does the Davis Cup ever end? Does it ever start? Does it take place in a vortex? Has anyone ever actually won a Davis Cup?
Reason No. 4,563 why I'm not getting married without a pre-nup: Jeff Gordon. Yikes. Ouch. Mercy. Sweet Jesus.
The greatest reality TV show of all-time would be Andy Roddick and Tom Brady competing to see who could get hotter chicks over a 13-week span. The second-greatest reality TV show of all-time would be "White Trash Survivor." And the third-greatest reality TV show of all-time would still be "The Osbournes."
You know, if those crazy kids Britney and Justin can't make it, there's no hope for the rest of us.
If there were time travel, wouldn't we have met somebody from the future by now?
Watching an incoherent Magic Johnson stumbling as a studio guest on TNT this week was yet another reminder that Magic getting his own talk show was the second-strangest decision by a TV executive of all-time. And if you don't know what the first one was ... well, obviously you don't remember the "Pat Sajak Show." It happened. Trust me, I was there.
That reminds me, wouldn't you watch the "Davis Love III Show" every week? Just a talk show with Davis trying to tell jokes, interviewing guests, performing skits and getting hooked up to an EKG machine to see if he still has a pulse at the end of every show? They could even hire Vijay Singh as his sidekick. And Moby could be the head musical guy. It would be the most awkward TV show of all-time. I'm telling you, I should be running a network.
All right, "The Bachelor" is from San Fran, he doesn't follow sports and he threw up during a helicopter ride. Hmmmmm ...
If Page 2 ever runs "10 Burning Questions" with Tony Montana, I hope question No. 1 is: "Do you get disappointed when you're watching 'MTV Cribs' and a rapper doesn't have a 'Scarface' poster in his game room?", and question No. 10 is: "If you had to do it all over again, would you shoot Manny?"
Somebody needs to introduce Leelee Sobieski to Ashley Lelie, pronto.
You know, Chris Berman has been pulling the "I know what the next pick is going to be because my producer just told me in my headset, but I'm going to pretend that you don't know that, and I'm throwing out a random prediction for the next pick and act surprised when it comes through, and I know that you know that I know the next pick, but whatever" routine for 20 years, and frankly, it still hasn't gotten old.
The "Penalty Box Cam" is just plain seedy. It makes me uncomfortable.
Somebody needs to give the Expos a life-size jigsaw puzzle cutout of a naked Bud Selig, just to complete the "Major League" effect during this year's pennant race.
Don't you get the feeling that, if you dated any actress in Hollywood, it would just be a series of nights being a bystander to relentless chain-smoking, extended stints in the bathroom with the water running really loudly, and constant teeth-brushing ... before you finally gave up and dumped her? At least that's what I keep telling myself.
The Maloof Brothers seem like they've seen a Champagne Room or two in their day.
Does anyone else think that SI got Tom Brady drunk before they took that shirtless photo of him for the cover? Like one of those "No, no, we'll never use this ... here, have another martini ... just take it off ... you're so handsome ... come on ... just for fun ..." routines, like the kind that ruined Irene Cara's career at the end of "Fame"? You hate to see that.
There's hell, there's burning hell, and then there's the unprecedented experience of dating someone who gets picked for "The Real World," breaking up with her right before she joined the show, then watching her pull a Lacey Underall for six straight months when the show finally airs on MTV. I'm getting the shakes just thinking about it. Seriously, hold me.
"Instigating a hockey altercation, then wussing out of the actual fight" should be a five-minute major.
All right, am I the only person on the planet who can't figure out how to close an ironing board?
My favorite Bad Movie Rental of 2002 so far: "Domestic Disturbance." It's like a race to see who could mail in more scenes, John Travolta or Vince Vaughn. And if that's not enough, Steve Buscemi has an "I'm getting paid by the scene, right? That was the agreement, wasn't it?" glow for the first 45 minutes. Very enjoyable.
I'm still hoping that Mo Cheeks and Dick Harter end up on the same NBA coaching staff some day.
Do other NFL GMs regard the Bengals general manager the same way we regard the generic "Thanks for the 200 Bucks" guy in every fantasy draft? Like they're just happy he's involved, and they don't want to make fun of him or anything, because they want him to keep coming back ... so when they see him at NFL events and stuff, they make a point to go up to him and say things like, "Good move grabbing Levi Jones that high -- we were just about to take him"? This probably happens, right?
Here's something you won't hear someone say this week: "Man, 10 years of Jay Leno ... it's hard to believe the laughs have been coming for that long."
Fifty years from now, I'll remember where I was during OJ's Bronco chase, Game 6 of the '86 World Series, and when I first heard the news that Harrison Ford and Calista Flockhart were dating. That's the strangest couple of all-time. I'm not even sure what to do with this information. It's inexplicable. I'm speechless.
If my mom ever wrote a Ramblings, it would definitely include lines like, "What good is an $80 credit from Chanel when you still have to put another $1,500 toward it to buy a purse?"
I still can't believe that Marcus Giles is white. That's one of the more underrated sports moments, when you think a random baseball player is black and they turn out to be white, or vice-versa. Maybe the best one ever was Sidney Ponson. I'm still reeling from that one.
The first collision between Quentin Jammer and Bubba Franks next season should be simulcast on "Spice Hot."
Here's my idea for the week: Now that throwback jerseys are in vogue, somebody needs to release a collection for disgraced players and colossal busts. William Bedford's Pistons jersey. Brian Bosworth's Seahawks jersey. Steve Howe's Dodgers jersey. Yinka Dare's Nets jersey. Chris Washburn's Warriors jersey. And so on. These things would sell like hot cakes.
That reminds me, how long before we see Snoop on MTV wearing a replica Jung Bong jersey? I have June 23 in the ESPN.com office pool.
You know your career is officially over when they ask you to appear on "Politically Incorrect."
I'm sorry, the whole Tawny Kitaen-Chuck Finley saga has nothing on Lisa "Left Eye" Lopes burning down Andre Rison's house. That will never be topped. Probably deserved its own "Battle Lines" episode at some point.
I wish I could buy stock in things like "The Lions will regret signing Az-Hazir Hakim for $16.5 million."
Hey, do you think Dirk Nowitzki is one of those annoying German guys who wears bad clothes and bad cologne and gets obnoxious when he's drinking? Like the kind of guy who puts quarters up to play pool, finally gets on the table, and then takes five minutes between shots because he's busy hitting on someone's girlfriend? One of those guys?
If Phil Mickelson wrote this column, he would leave it three paragraphs short.
Ever since Jason Giambi joined the Yankees, how come it looks like somebody hypnotized him and forced him to swallow a bottle of Ecstacy pills? It's like his nipples are being constantly electroshocked. He looks like he's about to break into a Reggie Jackson impersonation from "Naked Gun" at any time. "I must kill ... the Queen ... I must kill ... the Queen ..."
Finally, even though Layne Staley dying of a drug overdose was the least surprising news of all-time, I'm still a little bummed out. Just had to mention that. RIP, Alice in Chains. Good bands these days are few and far between.
Bill Simmons writes three columns a week for Page 2.