A moment of silence

The death of Daytona Beach Thunder player Javon Camon after Monday night's game against the Columbus Lions serves as an unfortunate reminder that helmets and shoulder pads don’t guarantee invulnerability.
Camon, who had intercepted three passes in the game, was knocked unconscious by Columbus’ Cedric Ware. Nobody has taken issue with the cleanliness of Ware's hit. It was simply a matter of two fast, strong men of comparable size colliding violently.
Those who witnessed it, from Columbus coach Jason Gibson to Daytona Beach team officials, described it as being no different from any of the forceful blocks and tackles routinely featured on the ESPN highlight loops.
Quarterbacks get decked from the blindside every day. Special teams players get knocked off their feet during kick returns.
We're used to seeing them get up. Some of them are woozy and wobbly-legged, but they always get up.
Ware got back on his feet Monday night with a concussion. Camon, who was treated on the field by paramedics, died of cardiac arrest en route to a nearby Daytona Beach hospital.
Both young men are victims of circumstance. Camon was described by his coach at South Florida as a bright young man with a ready smile. A life full of promise was interrupted far too early.
Meanwhile, Ware will try to play on while battling through the cruelest sort of emotional trauma.
There will be unimaginable grief in knowing that a chance collision on the football field resulted in a death.
And, undoubtedly, there will be a mix of guilt and relief in knowing that he was able to get up afterward.
Please remember both young men in your prayers.

Fore play

We've heard of soccer riots and soccer players head-butting opponents in the World Cup.
This week, however, there was an entirely new example of a soccer player behaving like a butthead.
Craig Bellamy, reputedly a hot-tempered player for English Premier League power Liverpool, is in hot water for attacking teammate John Arne Riise with a golf club.
According to the Associated Press, Bellamy must pay a $155,000 fine after belting Riise in the back of the legs during an argument that took place at a team training camp in Portugal.
The cause of the argument could very well make professional sports history.
Bellamy bludgeoned Riise because of an argument over a karaoke contest.
We can only hope the team doesn’t place bets on the outcome of the next ‘‘American Idol’’ episode or else it could lead to a riot.
Bellamy’s future with Liverpool is in doubt, but Riise wasn’t seriously injured.
He can still play, but he might think twice before he grabs the microphone again on karaoke night.

Center of attention

Before the other day, I didn’t know the difference between former NBA center John Amaechi and actor Don Amechi.
Amaechi had an unremarkable NBA career with such teams as the Cavaliers and Magic, but he took one extraordinary step last week.
He admitted he's gay.
ESPN exploited, I mean reported, his big news. The more cynical among us might wonder whether the timing of Amaechi's self-outing had anything to do with the release of his book, ''Man in the Middle,'' which contains his personal reflections on being a gay NBA player.
In the aftermath of Amaechi's announcement, there was a rush to praise him for his courage and his openness.
Let's get real for a moment.
This wasn't any sort of Jackie Robinson moment in which a barrier came tumbling down. Gays remain unwelcome in locker rooms.
Amaechi made his revelation from across the Atlantic Ocean, from his home in England, four years after retirement. It's admirable that Amaechi decided to be honest with the public, as well as himself.
At the same time, real bravery would have been exhibited by ''coming out'' during his NBA career. Saying, ‘‘I'm gay. You got a problem with that?'' to a locker room full of teammates would have made a far more emphatic statement and done far more to foster a climate of inclusion in professional sports.
So far, only a handful of pro athletes have admitted to ‘‘playing for the other team’’ — Amaechi, major leaguers Glenn Burke and Billy Bean, as well as NFL veterans Esera Tuaolo, Ray Simmons and David Kopay. All had retired from their respective sports before revealing themselves to be gay. All fit the description of being journeymen in their respective sports.
It's naive to think that homosexuality in the NBA, NFL or major leagues is confined to bench-warmers. It's likely that active gay athletes in all professional sports will shroud their sexual preferences in secrecy until a high-profile player makes the sort of announcement Amaechi did four years too late.
If such an athlete came out and then proceded to dunk all over punks during a 30-point night or rush for 150 yards or throw a two-hitter, it would encourage players, coaches and fans to worry less about questions of sexuality and spend more time appreciating athletic ability.

King at the rink

Legendary NASCAR driver Richard Petty will be in attendance at Saturday night's Columbus Cottonmouths game the Civic Center as part of what is being marketed as a ''Racin' Weekend.''
That begs the question of: What the heck do NASCAR and hockey have to do with each other?
The sports are more similar than you might think.
Both are played on an oval surface and both place a premium on speed.
Drivers and hockey players rely on uncanny hand-eye coordination and endurance.
NASCAR drivers make multiple pit stops to change out tires and refuel. Hockey coaches make line changes every minute to freshen up lineups that have become rubber-legged from end-to-end exertion.
Some NASCAR fans come to the track to see spectacular crashes in the corners. Some hockey fans come to the rink just to see spectacular crashes too, in which defensemen generally pin a forward's face to the Plexi-glass with a nasty body check.
NASCAR has caution flags and lap penalties, hockey has the penalty box.
Most hockey players lack at least one tooth, which gives them instant kinship with denizens of the infield at Bristol.
And the No. 1 shared trait between the sports ...
The mullet is a perfectly acceptable haircut.

Parting thoughts on Agua-gate

Discussion of Atlanta Falcons quarterback Michael Vick’s run-in with Miami International Airport security eventually winds its way to the subject of race.
A few readers who reacted negatively to my recent columns on Vick suggested my views were shaped by racial bias.
Never mind the fact that no quarterback of any shade — Tom Brady, Peyton Manning, Vince Young or Byron Leftwich — would have been allowed to carry a 20-ounce water bottle beyond an airport security checkpoint. That's the age we live in. And, it's worth emphasizing that any quarterback -- whether black or white -- would have been subject to a law enforcement investigation if their water bottle had carried a hidden contraband compartment and a stench resembling marijuana.
It's true that Vick was neither detained nor charged with a crime. The Miami-Dade police lab tested his bottle and it tested negative for the presence of drugs. He's in the clear and, frankly, it wouldn't have mattered if he'd been caught using it as a bong. The worst he would have faced as a first-time offender would have been a fine. The Miami-Dade police department doesn't operate like David Caruso's CSI: Miami unit. They don't devote endless scrutiny to possible misdemeanor offenses.
But what so many of Vick's defenders fail to acknowledge is that it still could have been used to hold drugs or used as drug paraphenalia. It's reasonable to ask those questions based on the behavior of Vick and his employer, as well as the Miami-Dade police's erasing of an airport security evidence tape (which violated state law).
Atlanta general manager Rich McKay stated last week that he, team owner Arthur Blank and new coach Bobby Petrino expressed their ''displeasure'' in a meeting with Vick. What could they possibly be displeased with again?
If Vick had told them he was simply the victim of a misunderstanding, they likely would have given him the benefit of the doubt.
The most nagging questions, to me, are created by the silence. Neither Vick or his employer have been heard from since Miami-Dade police completed their investigation. Vick has never said he was unjustly accused and the Falcons haven't come forward to defend their quarterback.
The prevailing sentiment has been one of "Move on, nothing to see here.'' The more it's said, the more it sounds like a carnival barker who doesn't want anyone to peek at what's underneath the big top.
The one truly unfortunate aspect of this surreal situation is that Vick has been branded a ''thug'' in some quarters. That brings us back to the issue of black and white.
This latest incident doesn't make him a thug. In fact, until this season, he'd largely navigated his way off the field without so much as a ripple. The only Vick mentioned in police-related stories was his brother, Marcus.
But the last few months have raised questions about Vick's capacities as a leader. Before the season, he settled a lawsuit filed by a woman who claimed he knowingly gave her herpes. Then came his obscene gesture to Atlanta fans, the second-half collapse of a once-promising season, his awful play against bottom-feeders like Detroit and Cleveland, his silence on the subject of coach Jim Mora's job performance and, finally, Agua-gate.
There's no question Vick is a great talent, but his judgement can apparently use some work.
Vick’s lawyer released a statement saying his client is ready to move on and put the Miami incident behind him.
He now has the chance for a fresh start. He can't afford to fumble it.

Strange week in Atlanta

In the latest plot twist involving Atlanta professional sports, it appears as if Falcons quarterback Michael Vick will be able to stiff-arm any comparisons with Snoop Dogg.
ESPN, citing an anonymous source, reported that Miami police did not find any traces of marijuana in the water bottle Vick tried unsuccessfully to carry through Miami International Airport security last Wednesday. The container, which Vick discarded, reportedly held a hidden storage compartment. According to police, it contained a trace amount of residue that smelled strongly of marijuana.
That led to Vick having a tense face-to-face meeting with team officials, including new coach Bobby Petrino, on Thursday.
If the ESPN report is true, the Falcons will have been saved from an unbelievable headache. An arrest or solid evidence that Vick had used drugs would have likely forced the team to consider unloading a star and absorbing a severe salary cap hit because of his $130 million contract.
Still, it's strange that Vick would have been expected to carry a water bottle with a hidden storage compartment onto an airplane.
The incident marked the most compelling aspect of a good news/bad news week for Atlanta professional sports:
* The good news: Jim Mora got a job in Seattle. The bad news: It's not as the University of Washington head coach, his self-described dream job. He'll coach defensive backs for the Seattle Seahawks, but could emerge as a prime head coaching candidate when Mike Holmgren retires.
* The good news: A Georgia Tech football coach will move to Miami next season. The bad news: It's not Chan Gailey. Gailey didn't get the Miami Dolphins head coaching job, which means the Yellow Jackets are likely doomed for more 7-5 seasons. Instead, offensive coordinator Patrick Nix jumped to the University of Miami to run the Hurricanes' offense.
* The bad news: Atlanta Hawks forward Josh Smith flipped a couple middle-finger salutes to a booing crowd after being ejected from Saturday's game against Charlotte. Did this man learn nothing from Vick? The good news: It happened at a Hawks game, which means nobody noticed.

Finally ...

The only thing longer than my absence from sports blogging was Alabama's head football coaching search.
My hiatus stemmed mostly from a month-long illness, an accumulation of unused vacation time and the feeling that I needed to add "Blog more often'' to my list of New Year's resolutions.
Alabama's 38-day gap between firing Mike Shula and hiring Nick Saban ended early this morning after multiple declarations from Saban that he wasn't interested in the Alabama job, wouldn't be talking about it now or five years from now and wouldn't be coaching anywhere but in Miami next season.
Saban's misdirection play isn't the issue of this blog, however. Coaches lie all the time.
What I find amazing is that Alabama president Robert Witt, athletic director Mal Moore and several trustees laid an eight-year, $32 million deal at Saban's feet.
This after Alabama trustees vetoed an attempt by lil' brother Alabama-Birmingham to hire LSU offensive coordinator Jimbo Fisher for its head coaching vacancy.
They balked at paying Fisher $600,000 a year.
Naturally, they won't so much as issue a single squeak about loading up a Brink's truck on Saban's behalf.
All of which begs the question -- How much is too much for a college coach nowadays?
Saban will become the NCAA's highest-paid coach, elbowing his way past $3 million club members Kirk Farentz of Iowa, Pete Carroll of USC and Charlie Weis of Notre Dame. He'll receive almost double the salary of Auburn head coach Tommy Tuberville, which means Auburn athletic director Jay Jacobs can expect a visit from Tuberville’s agent (coincidentally Jimmy Sexton, who also represents Saban) if the Tigers beat the Crimson Tide for a sixth straight season.
NCAA president Myles Brand has expressed grave concern over the skyrocketing salaries of college football coaches, but this is starting to look like the old Cold War nuclear arms race. The money involved will only escalate from here.
How much is too much?
What do you think?
Are there too many multi-millionaire coaches and should Alabama have paid so much to land Saban?

A word on the bird

Forgive Atlanta Falcons quarterback Michael Vick for displaying the wrong kind of Dirty Bird after Sunday’s home loss to New Orleans. He wasn’t around when the Falcons created the Dirty Bird touchdown dance craze during their Super Bowl run in 1998. He probably heard ‘‘Dirty Bird’’ and thought it meant the sort of middle-fingered salute he gave a jeering fan as he left the Georgia Dome.
Vick has already issued multiple mea culpas for his inexcusable act of anger and the NFL has fined him $10,000. Normally it fines players $5,000 for an obscene gesture, so we can only assume the league bumped up the penalty because Vick executed a double digit defense.
We don't know what Vick heard from his heckler. There are certain trigger words that would set off any normal person, but athletes are conditioned over the years to block out crowds. At the same time, Vick and his teammates have little reason to bother with booing fans. They deserve the jeers, having lost four straight games — including a pair to the terrible duo of Detroit and Cleveland. Remember, this was a team that thumped its chest and declared itself a playoff contender when the season began.
The best course of action for Vick would be to focus his anger on different targets -- the wide receivers who dropped five passes Sunday and the offensive linemen whose porous pass blocking kept him on the run all day.

Slapped silly

I'm no fan of basketball coach Bobby Knight.
He was a Neanderthal and a bully at Indiana and he's a Neanderthal and a bully at Texas Tech.
You can change his XXL V-neck sweater from Hoosier red to Raider black, but you can't change who he is on the inside.
He's done plenty of juvenile things over the years, abusive acts worthy of censure, from throwing a chair to making an inappropriate comment about rape to kicking his own son to choking a player to grabbing a student who smarted off to him.
So it comes at no surprise that TV cameras and writer's tape recorders are poised at the ready to catch his next volcanic meltdown.
This week, he's catching heat for allegedly slapping a Texas Tech player during Monday's home game against Gardner-Webb. As the players gathered around Knight during a time out, the coach saw the attention span of player Michael Prince wandering. Prince dropped his head, losing eye contact with his coach and Knight lightly tapped him beneath his chin to regain his attention.
Because it was caught on camera, it's now the Slap Seen Around the World.
This thing has been played and replayed ad nauseum on ESPN.
Never mind that the player in question and his parents have no problem with what Knight did. Never mind that the supposed slap was more of a tap.
The incident is suddenly being treated as yet another example of Knight's rage uncaged.
I don't like Knight and don't like feeling the compulsion to defend him.
In this case, however, Knight is being penalized for his past.
He really didn't do anything all that wrong in this case, but it's a near certainty that he will do something abusive and utterly stupid in the future.
So save the outrage until then.

A real air scare

This qualifies as a Twilight Zone moment. On Friday, the charter flight carrying the Marshall University football team to its road game at East Carolina was delayed for two hours after smoke began pouring out of one of the engines.
Fortunately, none of the 150 people aboard the plane were injured but there were more than a few rattled nerves because of the timing of the mechanical malfunction.
Almost 36 years ago to the day, a plane carrying the Marshall football team home from a game at -- cue spooky music -- East Carolina crashed on Nov. 14, 1970, killing 75 people aboard. Most of the football team perished in the crash. A movie about the tragedy, ‘‘We Are Marshall,’’ opens Dec. 22.
It's frightening to think that something like that could have happened to that university again.
If I'm a Marshall player, however, I think I would insist on going Greyhound from now on.

Relationship in the rough

With all the tabloid and TV hullabaloo over Britney Spears finally coming to her senses and seeking a divorce from K-Fed, her backup dancer/wannabe rapper/couch anchor, it was easy to miss another significant celebrity marital transaction.
John Daly, everyone's favorite long-driving, hard-partying PGA Tour player, now finds his love life buried deep in a sand trap.
He's headed for divorce No. 4, which means that the number of ex-wives in his life will continue to outpace his number of major championships (two).
The Associated Press reported that Sherrie Miller Daly filed for divorce last month.
This comes on the heels of her rejoining society after serving a federal sentence for her involvement in an alleged drug and gambling ring.
Long John’s life continues to resemble a mournful country music song, something about how all his exes drive a Lexus.
But Daly shouldn’t fret for long. Never mind the con that will be walking out of your life. Think of all the pros you can offer the ladies.
Granted, he's not much to look at these days. The last time I saw him at the Masters, he was wearing an 84 Lumber polo shirt (pimping his sponsor) and smoking an unfiltered Marlboro during the par-3 tournament. His ample gut hung far over his beltline, a testament to his time at the Hooter's on Washington Road during Master's week.
It's not as if he doesn't offer anything, however. He's in the midst of his worst year on the PGA Tour with just one top 25 finish. With him missing all of those cuts, there's plenty of time to cuddle with future ex-wife No. 5.
The man also appreciates fine foods (ie. his affinity for Hooter's wings) and offers palatial digs (the Winnebago he sleeps in during Master's week. It has a stove and a bathroom inside). What woman wouldn't jump at the chance to meet him?
Now that it appears the lovely Ms. Spears is back on the market, perhaps it’s time to put these two crazy country kids together.

Releasing a pent-up blog

Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to mourn the passing of Florida State football.
Remember when the Seminoles were relevant and occupied a spot in the top five every year? Well, they just lost to Maryland to fall to 4-4. That means they’ve fallen off life support and into a pine box. Now they're just waiting to be covered by that last shovel full of dirt.
It's gotten so bad in Tallahassee that a long-time Florida State fan started www.retirecoachbowden.com in an effort to get Bobby Bowden to do what men his age usually do -- wear Bermuda shorts up to their necks, hit the early bird special at Piccadilly and drive slow in the left lane.
The Web site, which breaks from others like it in that it hasn't actually called for the coach's firing, reads: ‘‘We mourn the demise of Florida State University Semonoles football at the hands of its most trusted builder ...’’
Naturally, Bowden won't retire as long as Joe Paterno keeps plugging along and threatening to pass him as college football's winningest coach. Maybe they should form a gentleman's pact to both retire when they're tied atop the list. Then they could save their fan bases from watching two legends taking a wrecking ball to their respective legacies.
* I have a lot of pent-up blogging to do, so this will get kind of long. Between traveling and taking care of a couple home maintenance chores (ie. wife says ''Clean the gutters, dear'') there hasn't been much time for puttering around on the Internet.
Now that I'm in puttering mode, here are some other completely unconnected thoughts:
* Georgia football coach Mark Richt had this to say about his team's ugly offensive effort against Florida -- ‘‘We just got stuffed in the first half. It starts with me.’’
All season, Richt has conspicuously avoided self-criticism as his offense has sputtered against the likes of Colorado, Mississippi State and Co. He always chalked it up to dropped passes, turnovers and the like. Now that he's turning some blame inward, it's worth wondering if he'll turn play-calling over to a dedicated offensive coordinator next season.
* Strange thing in the aftermath of the Florida-Georgia game. Florida coach Urban Meyer said Sunday that the Gators’ scoreless second half and luckluster offense might have had something to do with a knock that QB Chris Leak took on the head. Meyer contends Leak played with a concussion, unbeknownst to coaches and trainers.
Leak maintains he didn't have a concussion, but says he had a severe headache and blurry vision.
Hmm. Blurry vision, severe headache, burned three second-half timeouts unnecessarily. I'm not doctor, but those sound like symptoms of a concussion.
* NBA commissioner David Stern provided the following advice to league players last week. When heading out in public, please, please, please leave your guns at home.
Wonder if he added that they shouldn't shoot the messenger.
It's silly that a pro sports commissioner would have to tell adult athletes to lock up their Glocks when going out night-clubbing, but recent events compelled him to say something. Indiana Pacers guard Stephen Jackson faces felony and misdemeanor charges for allegedly firing a handgun like Yosemite Sam outside a nightclub last month.
The world would be a much better place if NBA players would carry something less lethal instead, like nun-chucks or cans of silly string.
* A colleague of mine votes in the Harris Poll. As he input his ballot on the Harris web site after Saturday's Georgia-Florida game, he ommitted the Bulldogs from the top 25. A computer alert flashed on his screen: ''You had Georgia ranked 24th last week. Are you sure you want to do this?''
Uh, yeah, he did.
I guess the Harris Poll folks use the Hal 9000. All of those prompts could come in handy, however.
You could be in a press box, finalizing your ballot 300 miles from home, and the computer could ask: ''Did you remember to turn off the iron before you left home?''

Saturday ramblings

CLEMSON, S.C. — I never thought I would have a reason to cover a Georgia Tech road game played anywhere other than Athens, but the Yellow Jackets’ surprising season necessitated a change.
Under usual circumstances, an uneven start by Georgia Tech in an audition for the Champs Sports Bowl, I would have stuck with my original plan of covering Alabama against Tennessee. While I’m not familiar with ACC territory, it’s proven to be a nice change of pace so far. Clemson’s pretty, tree-lined campus looks vibrant in the late-afternoon glow, especially with the leaves changing.
I saw a few examples of the unusual on my walk to the stadium -- an orange-and-white Clemson-decorated Cadillac hearse with the slogan ‘‘Paw Bearer’’ emblazoned on the doors and at least 15 Clemson fans wearing orange overalls.
I know Clemson’s booster club goes by the acronym IPTAY for ‘‘I Pay Ten a Year,’’ as in thousands of dollars. But with the prevalence of farmhand togs around here, it might stand for ‘‘I Plow Ten Acres Yearly.’’
Having established that small John Deere tractors might be more likely to decorate the polo shirts of Clemson fans than Izod alligators, allow me to provide some additional enlightenment about this football Saturday:
• No Georgia fans, the Tennessee and Vanderbilt games aren’t aberrations this year. If the Bulldogs’ 27-24 win over Mississippi State taught us anything, it’s that they’re really mediocre in what has proven to be a year of transition.
It took a late fumble recovery to save them from overtime or, quite possibly, a third straight loss.
As difficult as the last three weeks have been for Georgia fans to stomach, it will get better. Matthew Stafford threw for more than 200 yards against the Bulldogs. By allowing Stafford to play through the mistakes a first-year player makes and accepting whatever results come with them, Georgia will profit next season.
• Alabama’s up 13-7 on Tennessee. Nothing against Mike Shula, but defensive coordinator Joe Kines in the brains of that operation.
• Did you see the highlights of the Miami-Duke game? The Blue Devils were driving on the suspension-depleted ‘Canes at the end of the game, gave up an interception and lost 20-15. I’m just amazed that the Miami player who intercepted the ball didn’t take off his helmet and start swinging it at a Duke player during his return.
• UCLA 14-13 over Notre Dame in the third quarter. Surely, that can’t hold up. On the off chance it does, would that mean the Irish won’t play in the BCS title game?
• Game of the day: Texas 22, Nebraska 20. I’m not saying Nebraska coach Bill Callahan made a bad decision calling a third-down pass play that led to a late fumble, but let’s just say Tom Osbourne would have called something different.
• Anybody else think the Pittsburgh Steelers will pound the Atlanta Falcons tomorrow?
The matchup to watch will be Pittsburgh receiver Hines Ward against Atlanta cornerback DeAngelo Hall. Hmm. Didn’t the Falcons have a chance to select Ward in the third round of the 1998 draft?
Oh yeah, they passed him over for Jammi German. That worked out well.
German had 20 catches in four seasons, which makes you wonder why the Falcons didn’t persuade him to extend his career. At their current pace, Roddy White and Michael Jenkins might combine to produce the same result in five seasons.

Falcons crashing to earth

I was beginning to re-think my preseason prediction that the Atlanta Falcons would go 8-8 and miss the playoffs.
Then a couple of things happened.
They played a New York Giants team with legitimate playoff potential that was at full strength (unlike the banged-up Carolina Panthers outfit they beat in Week One).
They failed to protect an 11-point second half lead and lost handily, giving up somewhere in the neighborhood of (and I’m just estimating here) 5,243,763 yards to Tiki Barber in the second half. They failed to protect Michael Vick, who was sacked seven times despite being the league’s most mobile QB. They struggled to mount any semblance of a passing game, which is astounding given that wide receivers Michael Jenkins, Roddy White and Ashley Lelie were all first-round draft picks.
When it was over, coach Jim Mora rushed to proclaim that the obvious flaws on display weren't nearly as awful as they seemed. That only adds weight to the claim that, yes, they really were that bad.
And then Tuesday arrived and it became known that starting left guard Matt Lehr violated the NFL’s steroids policy and would miss the next four games.
I’m wondering what sort of juice Lehr was on, because the offensive line’s performance has been so erratic this season. The Falcons lead the league in rushing, but have allowed 18 sacks. Do they make a time-release steroid that only works for run-blocking?
I’d love to ask an Atlanta offensive lineman about this, but the unit has abided by a foolish no-talking-to-the-media policy introduced by former O-line coach Alex Gibbs a couple years ago.
Can’t say I blame them for their silence. I’d hate to have to answer questions about steroids too.

Saturday ramblings

Given the way Gov. Sonny Perdue reacted to the headline the Atlanta Journal-Constitution ran last Sunday morning over the Georgia-Tennessee game story, we shouldn’t be surprised if he sends national guard troops to various newspaper offices around the state today.
Perdue ripped the AJC last week because it topped its sports section with the head ‘‘Dogs get put in their place.’’
Perdue wrote in a letter to the editor that the newspaper must await ‘‘lousy news about all things Georgia and pounces with their poison pens’’ when it develops.
After Georgia’s 24-22 loss to Vanderbilt, I’ve decided to suggest some less incendiary, sure to be Sonny-approved headlines that might allow the gov to get back to the business of running the state.
* ‘‘Georgia tries really hard’’
* ‘‘Georgia lays egg Sonny side up’’
* ‘‘Dogs would have won if Vandy hadn’t paid off refs’’
* ‘‘Georgia loses game, tops Vandy in graduation rates’’ (Oops, never mind)
* ‘‘Hey, they didn’t lose by 18 this week’’
* ‘‘Dogs now second-best in Georgia, No. 1 in our hearts’’

Gotta play hurt
By the way, the feel good story in college football this year just might be Indiana coach Terry Hoeppner. I know people down this way don’t care about the goings on in Indiana since Bobby Knight quit throwing chairs.
Here’s why you should care about Hoeppner. The guy coached the Hoosiers to a 31-28 upset of No. 15 Iowa Saturday, the program’s first signature win in close to 20 years.
He’s coaching despite the fact that he underwent brain surgery for the second time in nine months only a few weeks. Let that marinate for a moment.
They cut his skull open to remove a tumor and he’s back coaching within a month. If you’re one of his players, it would be unconscionable to think about missing a game due to turf toe.

Runaway litigation

I know I’m supposed to be writing about sports, but it’s my blog and I reserve the right to take a detour now and then.
The story of former ‘‘runaway bride’’ Jennifer Wilbanks suing her former fiance for $500,000 marks such an occasion.
Wilbanks reportedly wants $250,000 as her share of a home she purchased with John C. Mason, the guy she left at the altar when she decided to tour the country by Greyhound a year ago April. She’s also seeking $250,000 in punitive damages.
A thought came to me as I read the story. When Mason was served with the court papers, did his eyes bulge out of their sockets the way Wilbanks’ seem to in every published photo?
Let’s do a quick review of the Wilbanks saga. Mason proposed, she said ‘‘I do.’’ They set a wedding date and plan a ceremony that apparently had something like 7,000 guests and 300 bridesmaids (my math might be a little off). She wigs out, goes AWOL on a bus, doesn’t leave a note and disappears for four days while hundreds of police and volunteers conduct a search for a presumed kidnapping victim.
Then, to top it all off, Mason forgives her vanishing act and buys a house with her. Now he’s getting dragged into a courtroom.
My first instinct was to sympathize with the guy, but upon further review (a phrase used by college football refs ... see, this is a sports blog!) I’m not so sure who is the bigger headcase. Her disappearing act was looney, but so was his decision to forgive her.
The more you think about them, the more sane Terrell Owens seems.

The name game

This week’s sign that the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse are in full gallop:
A family in Mississippi gave birth to a boy over the weekend.
They named the kid ESPN.
It gets even better (or worse, depending on whether you think these folks are total whack jobs). According to the Associated Press article that ran in the Ledger-Enquirer this morning, the dad, Rusty Real of D’Iberville, Miss., worships former pro quarterback Joe Montana almost as much as he does SportsCenter.
So the boy will go through life known as ESPN Montana Real.
Apparently, there are at least at least three other lil’ ESPNs soiling their diapers around the country. A 2005 report about the 25th anniversary of ESPN found indirect offspring of the network in Pampa, Texas; Corpus Christi, Texas; and Michigan.
I suppose I should rant about the idiocy of naming a child after a cable channel, but it shouldn’t really surprise any of us given our society’s addiction to TV.
In the movie ‘‘Talladega Nights,’’ the sons of the NASCAR driver played by Will Farrell are named ‘‘Walker’’ and ‘‘Texas Ranger’’ as an homage to the crime-fighting, butt-whoopin' and roundhouse-kickin’ extravaganza starring Chuck Norris.
It’s only a matter of time before maternity wards are filled with bawling babies named CNN, NASCAR, Cold Pizza, Sopranos, Deal or No Deal or Bravo.
I'm just glad that Fox News Channel didn’t exist when I was born. Otherwise my late father, a staunch conservative, might have been moved to name me O’Reilly Factor or Fair and Balanced Johnson.
My wife and I haven’t made plans for children yet, but rest assured we have potential names covered.
American Idol if it’s a girl.
Pimp My Ride if it’s a boy.
Two and a Half Men if it’s a really, really big boy.

Frank-ly, it's surprising

One of the more amazing developments of this baseball season has been the re-birth of former Columbus High School star Frank Thomas, who was forced to start over with the Oakland A’s after 16 seasons with the Chicago White Sox.
Thomas received a World Series ring last year despite making a minimal contribution and didn't do much to endear himself to general manager Ken Williams. The White Sox were perfectly willing to put up with Thomas’ grouchiness as long as he was supplying 30-homer, 100-RBI seasons. When injuries made his number of DNPs keep place with RBIs, however, it was easy to let go of a player who had always been thought of as a clubhouse cancer.
I remember writing at the start of the season that Thomas should have made a graceful exit from the game and retired while he was still mostly well thought of by White Sox fans.
Turns out a lot of us misjudged Thomas.
Many of us still want to think of him as the me-first, stats-over-championships player he seemed to be in the prime of his career. But this season with Oakland, Thomas has subjugated his ego and re-established himself as the sort of player who can carry a team.
On Monday, in the opening game of Oakland's American League playoff series at Minnesota, Thomas delivered a pair of home runs, including the game-winner in the ninth.
More importantly, the 38-year-old has taken the time to become a mentor to younger players like first baseman Nick Swisher and outfielder Milton Bradley.
About eight months ago, it looked like Thomas' career might be over. Now, it looks almost as strong as it did when he was winning AL MVP awards in 1993 and '94.
There's no question, however, that he's still stat-driven. One reason why he might have wanted to extend his career is the belief that he needed to reach the 500-homer plateau to get serious consideration for the Hall of Fame.
He'll undoubtedly get there. His career .305 batting average and one-time status as the most-feared right-handed hitter in the game should make him a lock when his name finally appears on a ballot.

The cult of football

GAINESVILLE, Fla. -- I learned years ago that college football is a religion in this part of the country, but what I saw on my walk to the Ben Hill Griffin Stadium press box certainly reinforced it.
It was very possible that I was just invited to join a cult. I couldn't be sure. In any event, a 12-person troupe of Hare Krishnas encouraged me and several other nearby pedestrians to join their chanting, dancing drum circle.
If I didn't have a football game to cover, I might have put on one of their pale orange robes, shaved my head bald except for a small ponytail on top and strapped on some comfy sandals.
One of them toted a sign: ‘‘Say Hare Krishna -- It's good for you.’’
Some other activities might feel even better.
A group standing on the lawn of a fraternity house brandished a sign for passing cars.
‘‘Honk and we'll drink.''
Just a guess here, but I think they'll drink anyway.

Take a T.O. to remember Nelson

I don't want to blog about Terrell Owens today or any other day for that matter.
Must ... resist ... temptation.
I don't want to waste cyberspace on Owens when I could be writing about the anti-T.O.
Golf legend Byron Nelson died Tuesday at 94.
I want to give him props for being a gentleman as well as a champion.
Think of all the sports records that people say will never be broken.
There's Wilt Chamberlin's 100-point game and Joe DiMaggio’s 51-game hitting streak.
Now put Nelson’s 11 straight tournament victories in 1945 at the top of the list.
He won 18 that year and won 31 of the 54 tournaments he played in from 1944-45. And, ladies and gentlemen, it wasn't as if he was winning these things by putting through a clown's mouth or beneath a windmill.
Rarely is there such a thing as an unbreakable record. Hank Aaron passed Babe Ruth's home run record and padded the total, but he's in danger of getting passed by Barry Bonds. And, eventually, Bonds will likely get passed by another product of the Better Baseball Through Chemistry generation.
There have been a few runs made at DiMaggio's record. And Kobe Bryant could threaten Wilt's single-game scoring mark given his shot-making ability and reluctance to pass.
But Nelson’s 11 straight victories may remain untouchable.
Jack Nicklaus and Arnold Palmer couldn't get there. Tiger Woods won't either.
And that's why Nelson will forever be known as Lord Byron.