Looking for a few good fans


One of our faithful Ledger-Enquirer readers, Sam Ruffner, recently asked me about resurrecting a feature that used to appear in our sports section during college football season.

He proposed bringing back a weekly Top 25 poll as voted on by readers.

I figure our readers can't do any worse than a panel of sportswriters or coaches, although it wouldn't surprise me if our top 10 included Georgia, Auburn and Alabama in some order based on fan loyalties in this area.

Anyway, I pitched the idea of the poll to our sports editor. He liked it.

The next step is to determine what form it should take.

My thoughts are to make it online-only. We put a poll format on our web site and you log on and vote. I figure we can leave the polling open from Sunday morning until Monday night so those folks who lack computer access on the weekends can limit their productivity at work by deciding whether to put South Florida ahead of Missouri.

Anyway, let me know what you think about the concept.

And, if you have any ideas for a name, we're open to those as well (I think "Super Fan Football Extravaganza" might be a little wordy and sounds a bit too similar to a Japanese game show).

A distinctive voice goes silent


If you follow the Atlanta Braves, this particular call from Skip Caray will live in your imagination forever:

"A lot of room in right-center. If he hits one there we can dance in the streets. The 2-1. Swung, line drive left field! One run is in! Here comes Bream! Here's the throw to the plate! He is ... Safe! Braves win! Braves win! Braves win! Braves win! ... Braves win!

"They may have to hospitalize Sid Bream -- he's down at the bottom of a huge pile at the plate.''

I remember where I was when Caray called the moment during Game 7 of the 1992 National League Championship Series. I was sitting in the living room with my late father, watching Francisco Cabrera's line drive drop and watching Bream chug around the bases and just barely beat the throw. The great announcers frame such moments without overpowering them and, in that regard, Caray obviously learned well from his legendary father, Harry.

What made Skip Caray, who died in his sleep Sunday, stand out even more was the fact that he told it the way he saw it. Even though he was expected to be something of a homer while covering the Braves for TBS, he put his sarcasm to effective use when the team wasn't performing well. His wisecracks, about everything from Shea Stadium to the Montreal Expos' oddball mascot Youppi, provided the perfect balance to the prim and proper baseball scholar, Pete Van Wieren.

He represented one of the last members of a sports broadcast generation that existed without yelling, screaming and shameless self-promotion, a breed that included gruff but cuddly curmudgeons like his father and smooth stylists like Vin Scully.

"His legendary calls and trademark wit on TBS baseball are what resonated most with fans nationally and will not soon be forgotten,'' Turner Sports president David Levy said Monday in a statement.

Turner Sports will honor Caray over the next several weeks on its family of networks. There will be rememberances of hims during its upcoming telecast of the PGA Championship on TNT, a feature on its Aug. 10 Sunday MLB on TBS telecast and another set for an Atlanta Braves' game on Peachtree TV on Aug. 12 to coincide with what would have been his 69th birthday.

Those ideas are nice, but the best and most appropriate way to pay tribute to the impact of Caray's work would be enshrinement in the Hall of Fame in Cooperstown.

Today's dose of strange

LSU football coach Les Miles must be one straight-up, loped-out G.

You don't know what I just typed. Frankly, I'm not sure what it means either.

But know this: Les Miles has more street cred than any other Southeastern Conference football coach at the moment, and not just because he won the Bowl Championship Series national title trophy back in January.

He's rollin' with the homies. Or one rather famous homey.

It seems, based on a story that just came across the Associated Press wire, that Miles and rapper Snoop Dogg are buddies. Or, in hip-hop parlance, they're crew through and through.

The Doggfather visited Miles in Baton Rouge and -- get this -- accompanied him to a Rotary Club meeting. According to the AP's account, Snoop put on an LSU jersey and said he just wanted ''to give his love and support'' to Miles. Miles told the AP that he became a fan of the music and the man through his son, Ben.

Could you picture any other SEC head coach hanging with the Snoop D-oh-double-jizzle? Or any other rapper for that matter?

Nick Saban in Kanye West's venetian blind-style sunglasses?

Mark Richt in baggy jeans and gold chains?

Bobby Petrino busting a funky rhyme?

Nope, not seeing it.

Ailing in Atlanta

The headline atop our sports section this morning read: "Big deal: Braves trade Teixeira.''

To which I say, with more than a little sarcasm: Big deal indeed.

Take Tuesday's trade of first baseman Mark Teixeira to the Los Angeles Angels as confirmation that the Atlanta Braves' season is effectively kaput, a train wreck that rivals Tila Tequila's love life.

The Braves acquired Tex last season, thinking his big bat would invigorate their lineup and enable them to separate themselves from a tightly-bunched National League East race. It might have worked if Tex had been equipped with another skill set aside from his excellent fielding and power hitting -- say the ability to perform orthopedic surgery or fill in as a closer or starting pitcher in a pinch.

And this season has presented one interminable pinch, what with Chipper Jones and Tim Hudson on the disabled list, the bullpen's revolving door and the health issues affecting John Smoltz, Tom Glavine and Mike Hampton.

What the Braves got in return for Teixeira wasn't particularly remarkable: first baseman Casey Kotchman (.287, 12 homers, 54 RBI) and minor league pitcher Steve Marek. But, with this season spiraling further out of control after ghastly performances against Philadelphia and St. Louis, the Braves had to try to get something in exchange for Teixeira.

He was destined for free agency and its accompanying bidding war.

The Braves' gamble on Tex didn't yield significant gains for the franchise, largely due to circumstances beyond their control.

This season has been a disaster to date. It's time to set a new course and plan for 2009. There's no point in pretending there's still something to play for in the present when an 18-35 road record, four-game losing streak and crowded training room say otherwise.

It's all Greek to me

You might have visited my blog 'hood last week in search of updates from Southeastern Conference Football Media Days in Birmingham.

I had planned to oblige with anecdotes about everything from Tim Tebow saving orphans to Urban Meyer referring to himself in the third-person to Alabama fans tearing through the merchandise in the nearby Bama Fever store on the day Nick Saban arrived to Phil Fulmer looking as if he as trying to pass a kidney stone while avoiding questions about his subpoena.

All very entertaining stuff.

Unfortunately, technology did not cooperate.

For some reason, the wireless computer network at the Wynfrey Hotel in Hoover left me helpless and hopeless in an unsuccessful attempt to navigate a language barrier.

When I used google or attempted to sign on to my blog, the templates came up in German.

I kid you not.

I was left to try to decipher words like Bloggenglobben and Heffweisen.

OK, I made up those words. But it still doesn't change the fact that my screen was filled with characters that, when read, sounded a lot like a lead-in to a Def Leppard song: "Unduh gleeben globben globen ...'' Or something like that.

Anyway, I'm happy to report that my search engines and blog templates are in English again.

The fish are biting


Did you see the story that ran on page A2 of Wednesday's Ledger-Enquirer?

It seems a 6-foot catfish in Berlin, Germany, died after trying to consume a soccer ball. According to the Associated Press story, the fish was found floating atop the water in a canal with a blue and white soccer ball in its mouth.

A police spokesman said the fish tried to eat the ball and it got lodged in its mouth, leading to its death. Personally, I'm reluctant to bite on that story. The situation warrants further investigation because soccer fans in the country were undoubtedly riled up after Spain's 1-0 victory over Germany in the Euro 2008 championship.

Perhaps some German soccer hooligan took out his or her frustration on the fish -- especially if the catfish hailed from somewhere like Barcelona or Madrid.

Either way, it's fishy.

Point guard or power forward?


Very soon, lil' NBA commish David Stern will step up to the podium (and, being short, he will have to step up) to officially begin the NBA Draft.

Are you counting your goosebumps yet?

I'm not sure how many folks care about the draft in this part of the country, but I'll pretend as if a significant number actually do.

This year, we won't get to berate the Atlanta Hawks for their curious talent appraisals (Marvin Williams over Chris Paul AND Deron Williams?) since they will be sitting idly by, having traded away their first round pick (No. 15 overall) to Phoenix.

So, instead of hating on the Hawks, we'll busy ourselves with sorting out the question of Derrick Rose or Michael Beasley with the No. 1 pick.

Chicago will have to decide between Rose, the supremely gifted point guard who left Memphis after his freshman season, and Beasley, the double-double-producing power forward who left Kansas State after his freshman season (anyone notice a trend?).

Advantage Rose.

He's quick off the dribble, comes with a creative grab bag of passing skills and possesses the sort of speed, size and power that will have him an major physical advantage over most players at his position. He's not a great perimeter shooter, but does he really need to be given his ability to drive to the basket?

Beasley isn't a bad option, mind you. Sure, he shrank from his college-listed height of 6-foot-10 to 6-8 after pre-draft evaluations. At the same time, his ball skills and activity level on offense make regular 20-point, 10-rebound nights inevitable.

Still, Rose should be the pick because the way talented point guards can transform a mediocre team into a great one.

Strange week

Wow, you leave the country for a few days and all hell breaks loose.

First, the Columbus Catfish cleared the last hurdle in their way of leaving town after this season. When I read the story while on vacation, my initial reaction was, "Hmm, didn't realize there was a minor league baseball team in Columbus,'' but then I remembered that I had written, oh, about a year ago that they were going to be moving to Bowling Green. Based on attendance figures, it seems a significant number of folks are under the mistaken impression they had already moved.

It's a shame because I don't see any scenario that will allow Columbus to carry on with major league-affiliated baseball.

There are a number of culprits in the blame game, but the field personnel is exempt from the discussion. They put on a pretty good show. The failings of the previous owner have been chronicled, but what amazed me were some of the reader comments posted on our web site after Major League Baseball approved the Catfish's relocation request.

A couple readers suggested attendance was so moribund because of the proximity of a housing project to South Commons and suggested fears of crime kept fans away. I have to call foul on that. I've worked in Columbus for 11 years now and have covered a number of events at Golden Park, the Civic Center and Memorial Stadium. Generally, I'm leaving those venues late at night, longer after the last of the fans have filed out. I have never felt unsafe in that environment.

It’s a shame that some have chosen to stay away from South Commons because of urban legend and ridiculous prejudice. There may be a number of reasons why baseball has failed in our city, but the neighborhood around Golden Park is the least legitimate of them.

Speaking of preposterous comments, can you believe Don Imus opened his mouth again?

The guy just had to weigh in on Adam "Pacman'' Jones' race and somehow imply that his off-field misdeeds are somehow connected to his skin pigment. Imus should have abandoned his attempts at armchair sociology after the Rutgers brouhaha. I'm all for defending free speech, but I'm beginning to wonder how many Imus moments are required before duct tape should be invoked.

Perhaps the strangest story of the week involves Alabama running back-turned-linebacker Jimmy Johns, who was arrested yesterday and charged with selling cocaine and possessing ecstasy pills. Johns had been a regular occupant of Alabama coach Nick Saban's doghouse, which brings up an interesting sidebar to his arrest.

I ran across the web site www.JimmyJohnsPitBulls.com this morning (a recent check indicates it has been removed). Apparently, Johns was breeding and selling the animals. There were photos of Johns in his Alabama jersey, information about the breed and a visitor registry that proclaimed: ''Yo ass has been counted.''

Nothing illegal about breeding or selling pitbulls. Just fighting them, although there is no evidence that Johns has done that.

Still, it makes you wonder if Saban and his staff ever really knew Johns or had any chance of heading him off before he could find the sort of trouble that isn’t punishable by extra wind sprints and one-game suspensions.

And we're back on the blog


Based on the length of my absence from the blogosphere, you might have thought I'd been eaten by a grizzly or detained by immigration officials while in Canada. I'm happy to report that we're back from Montreal, although it was tempting to stay a while longer.

As a first-time visitor, I came away highly impressed with Montreal's diversity, its culture and its preservation of its history. We toured cathedrals, the city’s version of Central Park, the cobblestone-lined streets of Vieux Montreal, the wonderful botanical gardens and the Biodome complex that houses everything from penguins and lemurs. In addition to walking about five miles a day, we ate. A lot. Within a few blocks of our hotel, you could find Russian, Lebanese, Thai, French, Greek and Polish restaurants as well as corner markets with produce bigger, brighter and fresher than anything we've found in our home supermarkets of choice.

The people were wonderful as well even though they're comfortable speaking French and I'm not. It has a very European feel, naturally. A good portion of the men resemble Chicago Bulls center Joakim Noah right down to the ponytail. The women, mercifully, look much better.

The sports scene is rather remarkable as well. Instead of ESPN, the TV offers the Canadian version known as TSN. It's great if you want news on the NHL draft, Euro 2008, major league games or the CFL. If not, you can at least appreciate the lack of a Chris Berman or Stuart Scott.

We took a peek inside the Bell Center, home to the NHL's Canadians, and came away impressed. As for Olympic Stadium, uh, not so much. Built for the 1976 Summer Games, it resembles an ashtray from outer space. Still, the adjacent tower offers an incredible view of the city thanks to the cable car that carries tourists up the side.

Just make sure you look in the direction of the botanical gardens rather than Olympic Stadium.

North of the border, eh?

In an effort to expand my cultural horizons, I will be joining Mrs. Troy's Noise on a trip to Montreal this week.

I'm particularly excited about it for the simple fact that it's about 75 degrees there during the day as opposed to 98 here.

Anyway, that means I'll be out of touch with the blogosphere, the newspaper and the sports world in general for the next week. I'm not sure what sports Montreal residents preoccupy themselves with at this time of year. The Stanley Cup has been decided and the Expos no longer exist, so I'm thinking the options are limited.

I wonder if curling and/or hurling are popular at this time of year.

The Expos may be out of business, but Olympic Stadium is still standing. I plan on taking a look while I'm there, but I'm said that there won't be any Yupi sightings (remember the Expos' strange mascot?).

Atlanta's ailing arms


Just took part in a conference call with Atlanta Braves right-hander John Smoltz for an update on his post-shoulder surgery progress.

Smoltz underwent surgery Tuesday at St. Vincent’s Hospital in Birmingham, Ala. Dr. James Andrews, the renowned orthopedic surgeon who built a measure of his rep at Columbus' Hughston Clinic, repaired damage to Smoltz's right labrum.

The post-recovery prognosis for any athlete can be dicey, particularly for a 41-year-old major league pitcher, but Smoltz said his doctor didn't uncover any gruesome surprises during the procedure.

‘‘If he's pleased I’m pleased,’’ Smoltz said. ‘‘They think they have fixed it all, which translates into a chance to recover to whatever level I desire to recover.’’

What won’t be known for quite some time is whether Smoltz will pitch in another major league game. Smoltz said he plans to pursue ''aggressive'' rehab, but the possibility of returning to the game next season would most likely hinge on how well he regains flexibility in his right shoulder. He said he won’t be able to attempt to throw a baseball for four months. However, he was pleased to learn from Andrews that he could resume his golfing hobby in two or three months.

While the best-case scenario for a comeback by Smoltz would be spring training next year, he will rejoin the team after its current road trip in order to provide counsel to its young pitchers. Injuries have made the Braves’ season look increasingly bleak, with lefty Tom Glavine the most significant casualty of late. Atlanta sits 7 1/2 games out of first place in the National League East heading into Friday night, but have lost six straight and are 7-24 on the road.

During Friday’s media conference call, Atlanta general manager Frank Wren revealed that Glavine will be out for a month due to a torn flexor tendon on his left elbow. Wren said the earliest Glavine could be cleared would be the All-Star break (July 14-16).

"The only thing that will heal it is time,’’ Wren said.

When the Braves acquired Glavine in the offseason, it was celebrated as an opportunity for Atlanta to recapture some of its 1990s-era magic, when the lefthander starred in a rotation that included Smoltz and Greg Maddux. While Smoltz faces an uncertain recovery, he expressed sympathy for his teammate.

‘‘This is not in the script,’’ Smoltz said. ‘‘This wasn't supposed to be the way it was going to end (for both of us). There's still a little light at the end of the tunnel for him. With him, he's going to finish up his career and pitch again.’’

As for Smoltz, he reiterated Friday that he’ll retire with a clear conscience if his shoulder doesn’t heal well enough for him to continue on with the Braves next season.

‘‘I don't have to (pitch), but I still enjoy it,’’ he said. ‘‘If it's meant to be, then I'm going to do it. If not, then it's no big deal. I would welcome that if it's still afforded me. There's nothing I have to attain, nothing I have to prove. I look forward to seeing what the next four or five months hold for me.’’

He's ambulatory, folks


Granted, it's just the first day of the U.S. Open and there are three more rounds to negotiate.

That said, Tiger Woods did pretty well for himself on Thursday. Yes, he was all over the place with three birdies and two double-bogeys that reduced what could have been a solid opening round to a 1-over par 72. Still, the way people were postulating about his health, it's a wonder he could finish 18.

Woods underwent knee surgery two days after the Masters, which explained in part why he faded from contention in that tournament. He hadn't played 18 holes since then until being grouped with Phil Mickelson for Thursday's opening round at Torrey Pines.

It really shouldn't come as any surprise if Woods wins this thing despite all of the doubts about the durability of his knee.

Bodog, the online gaming emporium, rated him as a 5-to-2 favorite going into the U.S. Open.

If any other player in the world had undergone knee surgery a little more than a month ago, you'd have to discount his chances. But Woods has shown time and again that he's not the typical player, that he borders on the bionic. He's far better conditioned than most of the players on the Tour and burns with competitive intensity at all times.

‘‘Guess I don't need a cart after all,'' Woods said Thursday after his round.

Guess he's not out of the U.S. Open picture either.

Discount him at your own risk.

As for me, I wouldn't write him off even if his clubs were replaced by gardening tools and he was forced to negotiate 18 while hopping on one leg.

Courting Tebow's vote

By now, Florida quarterback Tim Tebow's exploits have grown from being simply outstanding to a borderline fairytale.

Forget about the jump pass he threw as a freshman or the Heisman Trophy he won as a sophomore.

Since he picked up the little stiff-arm trophy in December, he's flown 15,000 miles and been honored by 15 different organizations and nine states. He's also traveled to the Philippines and helped doctors provide circumcisions to poor children.

He also killed a grizzly bear by flicking it with his index finger, healed a leper simply by looking at him and fended off five would-be muggers with nothing more than a $5 footlong sandwich.

OK, we made up those last three.

But nothing seems all that impossible for Tebow anymore.

Apparently, his Q-rating is such that political candidates want a piece of whatever magic he contains.

When Tebow won the Heisman in December, President Bush sent him a handwritten letter congratulating him. According to an article by Matt Hayes of the Sporting News, Tebow responded with a handwritten letter of his own. Now, everybody wants to use Tebow as a political football of sorts.

Hayes' story noted that Democratic and Republican representatives asked him to campaign with them during Florida's presidential primaries.

‘‘I didn't feel it was right to publicly show support right now," Tebow told The Sporting News. "I am conservative. I am interested in politics, I pay attention. But there's too much on my plate right now. That may be something that comes in the future."

In other words, get ready for a possible political advertisement with the following addendum:

Hi, my name is Tim Tebow ... and I approved this message.

Brown-out at Belmont


The sport of horse racing seemed to be moving along at full gallop before Saturday afternoon, as if somebody had applied a strong whip hand to spur it back into public consciousness.

I tuned in to watch the Belmont, something I rarely feel compelled to do, because of the promise that history might be made. During the buildup to a race that would last no more than a couple minutes, we were led to believe that an event of seismic proportions would unfold if Big Brown became the first horse to capture the Triple Crown in 30 years. As if the weight of the troubled racing industry would be carried comfortably on Big Brown's four hoofs.

Big Brown's brash trainer, Rick Dutrow, guaranteed a Triple Crown.

So, naturally, it didn’t happen.

In fact, Big Brown's Triple Crown hopes crashed in slow, majestic fashion.

The magnificent beast that dusted the Kentucky Derby field and made the Preakness field look slower than wooden carousel ponies crumbled, either from the weight of expectations or from the fatigue of being pushed too hard for too long.

It's rare when a strong victory by a 38-to-1 shot like Da'Tara gets overshadowed by the underperformance of another horse, but Big Brown slow canter down the stretch raised questions about how it had achieved its impressive results at Churchill Downs and at the Preakness.

It became the first Triple Crown hopeful to finish dead last, a rather ignominous footnote to its foiled attempt at history.

‘‘I had no horse,’’ jockey Kent Desormeaux said of finding Big Brown unresponsive on the final turn.

It's possible he could have found one if he had a hypodermic needle handy.

On Friday, Dutrow told the media that he would not inject Big Brown with a shot of the anabolic steroid Winstrol before the Belmont. He admitted that he had given Big Brown a shot of the performance enhancer before the Kentucky Derby, but claimed he had not done so since. Dutrow said it was customary for him to give Big Brown and his other horses shots of Winstrol on the 15th of each month, but that he did not know what impact it had on their performances.

I'm no veterinarian, but it seems like it would enable them to run the way Big Brown did at the Kentucky Derby. Winstrol builds muscle mass, but it can also promote weight gain and recovery from injury. Although it's banned from being used in 10 states, it's fair game in the those hosting Triple Crown events.

After Saturday, it seems the 3-year-old colt's previous performances are as suspect as some of the feats of Roger Clemens, Barry Bonds, Mark McGwire or Marion Jones.

E-Jack gets slapped

Major League Baseball dished out punishment to eight players involved in Thursday’s brawl between the Boston Red Sox and Tampa Bay Rays.

Former Shaw High School star Edwin Jackson is among the group facing suspensions and fines.

Jackson, a starting pitcher for the Rays, received a five-game suspension and will begin serving it next Friday. Pretty stiff, but two players came out worse. Tampa Bay pitcher James Shields received a six-game suspension for plunking Boston outfielder Coco Crisp with a fastball and Crisp received a seven-game penalty for charging the mound and opening the floodgates on a massive pile-up of punching and (according to one report) hair-pulling.

The others who received the MLB-style call to the principal's office and detention are Jon Lester (five games), Jonny Gomes (five games), Carl Crawford (four games), Akinori Iwamura (three games) and Sean Casey (three games).

The Red Sox swept the series from Tampa Bay, but the Rays sent an unmistakable message during the free-for-all at Fenway.

If the Red Sox plan to win the AL East, they’ll have to fight their way through the Rays.

Chipping away at history


Atlanta Braves third baseman Chipper Jones took care of No. 400 Thursday night, so now we're left to wonder about the possibility of .400.

Of all of baseball's hallowed records, the ones that stand out most to me are Joe DiMaggio’s hitting streak and Ted Williams' .400 season. Those types of numbers can't be faked or bloated by steroids. It's strictly a matter of hand-eye coordination and consistency.

Right now, it's tough to bet against Jones becoming the first player since Williams to finish a season with a batting average over .400.

He went 4-for-5 against the Florida Marlins last night, raising his already resplendent average to .418. The 36-year-old even stole a base on the night when he hit the 400th home run of his career.

If he maintains his torrid pace, remains healthy enough to enjoy another four or five productive seasons, Jones may retire as the best switch-hitter of all time. Mickey Mantle and Eddie Murray have more home runs, but Jones possesses a higher career batting average (.310 and likely to rise). Pete Rose (.303 for his career) was the most prolific contact hitter in baseball history, but didn't possess Jones' ability to change games with one swing.

And what a flawless swing it has been.

Hooping it old school


Yet another piece of confirmation that I'm getting old.

An e-mail arrives in my inbox inviting me to attend my 20-year high school reunion in August.

High school wasn't a hellish experience for me by any means, but there are some aspects of 1984-88 that are best left in the time capsule.

Haircuts, for one thing. Those floppy, blond-dyed monstrosities that seemingly every wannabe surfer dude in Central Florida rocked despite the fact that no self-respecting Flock of Seagulls roadie would have kept such a do after its 1984 expiration date.

Ex-girlfriends, for another. That's all that should really be said on the subject.

In the end, curiosity will get the better of me and I'll go. I'll reconnect with friends I lost touch with since heading off to college. My wife will get to hear stories about me. Some of them might even be flattering.

I'm sure some of my friends and I will laugh about what we looked like in our yearbook photos. We'll assuredly laugh at the late-30-something paunch and male pattern baldness that defines so many of us now.

Since I happen to be a sports writer, they're likely to ask me about what I do and which athletes I've met. Eventually, we'll have to talk about the NBA Finals, about the Celtics and Lakers, about which team emerged from this nostalgia-coated seven-game series because those two teams fueled many a lunch room discussion back in the day.

This particular NBA championship series offers a trip in the Way Back Machine even if Kevin Garnett and Kobe Bryant have replaced Larry Bird and Magic Johnson as the headliners. It's enough to make your inner teen-ager escape to pump some Public Enemy or Beastie Boys on the boom box.

Twenty years ago, it was impossible to conceive of any other teams playing for the league title. Michael Jordan was on the scene, of course, but he had yet to transform the Chicago Bulls into a dynasty.

No matter where you grew up, no matter where you went to school, there were two kinds of sports people. You were a Celtics person or a Lakers person. You couldn't be both.

Truth be told, I was a Celtics person. I appreciated the Lakers -- the way Magic could see the court and squeeze bounce passes through the tightest openings -- but I related to the Celtics more. Even though I experienced some success as an athlete, I was gravity-bound and height-deprived. I couldn't run the floor like Magic, couldn't tower over everyone like Kareem. I also couldn't clear a Visa card with my vertical leap, which made me see players like Bird, Dennis Johnson, Robert Parish and Kevin McHale as not being so different from the rest of us stiffs (even though they were).

The Boston Celtics of today are far different than those of my youth, but I'm still a Celtics guy.

I'll pull for KG and Ray Allen, but I'll hold out hope that this series produces excellence and imagery that will be remembered 20 years from now.

Think of some of the classic outcomes and quirkiness that this series will try to live up to:

* 1984, Game 4: Celtics 129, Lakers 125

Mild-mannered Kevin McHale set the tone for the series by clotheslining Los Angeles ruffian Kurt Rambis on his way to an easy layup in the first half. The benches cleared and tempers flared. That swung the balance of the series and set the stage for ...

* Game 5: Celtics 121, Lakers 103

Bird blows up for 34 point, scorching the nets on a day when it was 97 degrees inside Boston Garden. That was a prelude to ...

* Game 7: Celtics 111, Lakers 102: Boston led by three points with a minute to play, but Dennis Johnson and Cedric ''Cornbread'' Maxwell saved the day with a pair of defensive takeaways. Boston beat L.A. in a Game 7, winner-take-all situation for the fourth time.

* 1985, Game 1: Celtics 148, Lakers 114

Journeyman Scott Wedman went off, going 11-for-11 from the field, and was never really heard from again.

* 1985, Game 4: Celtics 107, Lakers 105

Down 2-1 in the series, Boston gets bailed out by a sequence in which Bird passed out of a double team, finding Johnson for a game-winning 15-footer with two seconds left. But, ultimately, the Celtics' recovery went for naught because ...

* Game 6: Lakers 111, Celtics 100

Kareem Abdul-Jabbar became the oldest NBA Finals MVP at age 38 (which gives hope to all of us on the cusp of a 20-year reunion) after schooling Parish for 29 points, including 18 in the second half to clinch the series for L.A.

* 1987, Game 4: Lakers 107, Celtics 106

Bird drops in a 3-pointer for a 106-104 Boston lead with 12 seconds to go. Abdul-Jabbar cuts it to one with a free throw. McHale loses the ball moments later (with the help of a Mychal Thompson shove), then Magic breaks Boston's heart with a baby skyhook over McHale and Parish.

The Lakers clinched the series two games later, bringing an end to a remarkable period in NBA history in which the league became defined by East vs. West, by Bird vs. Magic, by Boston against L.A.

Twenty years later, we can still work up a good argument about which team and which superstars were better.

One thing we can agree on is that the sneakers Bird and Magic inspired were as awful as the haircuts we sported 20 years ago.

Black or purple and gold Converses.

No thanks.

Some elements of the past are best left buried.

Hazardous job


As if being an umpire at high school baseball games wasn't tough enough already with irate parents who live a little vicariously through their children and quick-tempered coaches who are convinced the men in blue are always conspiring against their respective teams.

Check out this video from last week's Class AAA state championship series between Cartersville and Stephens County:

http://www.workhorsevideoproductions.com/the%20pitch.mpg

The incident took place in the fifth inning of the deciding third game, won 13-1 by Cartersville. In the video, Stephens County catcher Matt Hill appears to duck and pull his mitt down, allowing a pitch to bonk umpire Jeff Scott on the noggin.

High school pitchers can be wild, for sure, but the Georgia High School Association is investigating whether Stephens County intentionally plunked the ump in order to send him a message. The inning before pitcher Cody Martin's pitch hit the umpire, shortstop Ethan Martin reportedly argued balls and strikes with Scott and threw his batting helmet in disgust after becoming the ninth straight Stephens County batter to strike out.

GHSA executive director Ralph Swearngin told the Atlanta Journal-Constitution that he expected to make a ruling as early as today on whether Hill acted intentionally in ducking and moving his mitt. Not sure what Swearngin would consider appropriate punishment in such a case. He could have the offending catcher stand over home plate in a batting cage, blindfolded, and allow the aggrieved umpire to feed balls into the pitching machine.

I'm just thinking out loud here, but expressing disgust at an umpire in such an over the top and potentially harmful manner seems counterproductive. What happened to old-fashioned antics like the chest-bump and Earl Weaver's practice of kicking dirt atop home plate?

Besides, when a team loses 13-1, chances are that it had far more troubling issues than an umpire's interpretation of the strike zone.

A vacation tour goes off track


There were quite a few amazing sights during my recent vacation cruise that included a stop in Belize.

While in Belize, I hiked through a lush rain forest and took an innertube cruise down a spring-fed river that wound through a network of caves. I ate local fare and even caught a distant glimpse of one of the Belizian keys that inspired Madonna to write the song ''Isla Bonita.''

Great place, Belize. It's an up and coming tourist destination.

There are plenty of things I was told to expect in Belize: Around 60 different varieties of snakes (only six or so of which are poisonous), monkeys, Toucans and the fast-food presence of Subway (but not KFC, McDonald's or Burger King). I did not, however, expect to find a monument to a disgraced American sports celebrity.

But there it was on the side of the highway leading out of Belize City: The Marion Jones Sports Complex.

There's even a silhouette of Jones in motion on the billboard perched alongside the road.

Jones, the American sprinter who won five medals at the 2000 Sydney Olympics, possesses dual citizenship. Her mother is a native of Belize. After Jones went crazy winning medals in Sydney, she made a goodwill tour to Belize and local officials renamed the 7,500-seat National Stadium in her honor.

It's not much to look at, but the locals make the most of the site. There are bleachers on one side, facing a soccer pitch. The field is encircled by a track used for running and cycling events.

Having covered Jones at the 2000 Olympics, it didn't surprise me that there were artifacts of her career in one off the countries that claims her as a citizen. But with Jones serving a six-month prison sentence after pleading guilty to lying to federal agents in the BALCO investigation, I thought most would have been well-hidden.

Jones' legacy has acquired a coating of tarnish in the last year. She's been stripped of her world and Olympic medals for doping offenses and, earlier this week, confessed steroids dealer Angel Heredia testified in federal court that her former coach, Trevor Graham, told him he wanted to administer a banned substances cocktail to Jones before the 2000 Summer Games.

According to the San Francisco Chronicle, Heredia testified that Graham wanted to pump human growth hormone, insulin and the blood-doping drug EPO into Jones' system befor the Olympics.

When I took notice of the Marion Jones Sports Complex, I happened to be on a bus bound for the rain forest and innertube cave cruise. I asked our guide about the complex and whether Jones' recent troubles had changed the way she's viewed in Belize.

The country hasn't made any plans to re-name its national sports stadium, which sort of goes along with what the guide told me. Most Belizians don't mind counting Jones as one of their own, partly because of the visibility she brought the nation in 2000.

For a nation so small and so hungry to boost its tourist appeal, any level recognition can't hurt.

Return of the delinquent blogger


You may have noticed that Troy’s Noise was uncharacteristically quiet for the last week or so, but there was a good reason for it.

Or at least I found it to be a good reason anyway.

I've been on vacation.

Just got back from a weeklong cruise that took the wife and I to Cozumel, Mexico, Roatan Island, Honduras, Belize and the Bahamas. I'm a little short of opinions regarding the happenings of the sports world right now because I've been out of touch. It's hard to keep up with the Atlanta Braves or the Indy 500 when you're climbing Mayan ruins, innertubing down a river that runs through a rain forest and a network of caves in Belize or developing sunburn on a beach in Freeport.

While I feel like I've been out of the loop for the last two weeks, it was nice to cut the umbilical cord that so often keeps me tied to a cell phone and computer.

I highly recommend doing so, even if you don't have access to Mayan ruins, a Belizian rain forest or the beaches of the Bahamas.