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First, an admission: What follows is probably laughably naïve. I know someone is going to throw out some economic figures that make me look foolish, but it wouldn't be the first time.
|  | | Might Charlie Hustle be giving up the best gig in sports? |
So the deal is this: I'm feeling a little sorry for Pete Rose these days. I have a hunch he might be in the process of ruining the best gig in the history of sports.
If he cries a little more and says he's sorry a little more definitively and chalks it all up to a disease, he's liable to find himself in the Hall of Fame. Bud will concede and Pete will toss the HIT KING cap and start wearing a Cooperstown model everywhere he goes.
But what happens then? After a few years, Mr. Hit King will become just another famous guy. He'll no longer be the most well-known miscreant in the game, and he'll no longer command the lengthy standing ovations like the one he got in San Francisco during the 2002 World Series. He won't be the guy everyone either loves or loves to hate.
The veneer of persecution will give way to a new reality. He won't change, but the public perception of him will. His endless quest to sell anything and everything related to Pete Rose will no longer be shrugged off as an attempt to make a living. He'll be seen for what he is: Crass. His sudden, financially motivated decision to come clean will be seen as the manipulative ploy that it is.
As a ballplayer, there's no question: He deserves a spot in the shrine. Still, Pete might want to consider the many implications of being Pete Rose, Hall of Famer.
Fight the establishment to become the establishment? Probably sounds good now, but be careful, Pete. Be very careful.
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Like I've been saying all along, if you only had sense enough to listen: Brandon Stokley.
Let's just say, in the interest of taking things far too far, they recomputed the BCS standings after the bowl season: USC gets credit for Washington State's win over Texas, plus they beat Michigan, which beat Ohio State, which beat Kansas State, which beat Oklahoma.
And the best part of all those ridiculous hypothetical computations?: No Hawaii-Boise State involved.
Hey, Edna, a blue field: Answer this -- how on earth did Boise get a bowl game?
You know how it is, these days guys will do anything to compete with "Grand Theft Auto": I didn't catch their names, but the guys doing the national radio play-by-play for the Colts and Broncos described the game as if they were narrating "COPS."
Honest-to-God examples from our sadists in the booth: 1) They likened the play on the field to a two-by-four to the back of the head, then; 2) suggested a penalty-prone offensive lineman for the Broncos might want to "get out a revolver" on the sideline, just to be done with it before Mike Shanahan could get to him.
The best play-chart-to-the-face man in the business: Andy Reid.
Close runner-up: Mike Shanahan.
Note to potential Raider coaches -- this is what you're facing if you take the job: A recent radio advertisement beckoned fans to something-or-other by promising them a chance to meet "Raider Legend Mervyn Fernandez."
Come to think of it, did those two guys from Colts-Broncos do this game?: The Texas Tech offense took honors as the most classless group in the bowl season by 1) running a flea flicker up 31-14 on Navy, and; 2) doing an embarrassing drop-a-bomb-and-everybody-falls-down celebration number after scoring to make it 38-14.
Time-honored football theorem 1,103: If you give commentators and experts enough time to dissect a game, they'll find a way to make you believe a vastly inferior team really has the "momentum" and "intangibles" to pull it off.
Most recent case in point: "Oh, yeah -- I really think Michigan has the kind of personnel and coaching ingenuity to knock off USC."
Not giving off much of the gracious-loser vibe: Bob Stoops.
The solution is simple -- figure out a way to have the BCS computers do the officiating: You've got to love a national championship game that leaves both coaches griping about the officiating.
Just one more question: Does the New York Times computer still have Notre Dame No. 1?
I'm guessing -- and hoping -- the answer is yes: Keith Jackson says he isn't sure whether he'll be back in the booth next year for his sixth post-retirement season.
Whenever I hit the bars and try to pull off what I like to call The Oscar Gamble Gamble, it works every time: A 40-year-old guy from Michigan successfully impersonated former Giant tight end Mark Bavaro in four Minnesota bars.
However, he should be commended for merely finding one: The Bavaro wannabe's downfall -- honestly -- was trying to pull off the stunt in a bar in Utah.
Just for the heck of it: Linville Elliott.
When it comes to the Snoop Dogg Nokia commercials, there's only one thing I can figure: I don't possess the proper chemicals to properly comprehend the deeper meanings.
One thing's for sure, though: It's fo-shizzle I'm not the target demographic of those commercials.
Still: The whole Horned Frog thing remains unsettling.
Put Pete Rose in the Hall of Fame, under one condition: He is forbidden from ever appearing on our televisions again.
Unless, of course: He's wearing one of his classic HIT KING ball caps.
And finally: Did the guy on my television really just say the words, "Live from The Dunkin' Donuts Center in Providence, Rhode Island ..."?
Tim Keown is a senior writer for ESPN The Magazine.
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