Monthly Archives: July 2009

Skitch Hanson

Up the Middle with Skitch Hanson: McNair, We Hardly McKnew Ye

Scratchbomb hands over the reins to nationally syndicated sports columnist Skitch Hanson, as we’ve done many times before.You may know him as the author of the highly popular syndicated column “Up The Middle.” You may also have read his best-selling book What Does NASCAR Say About America?: Seriously, Do You Have Any Idea, ‘Cause I’m Totally Stumped Here. He’s also a frequent guest on ESPN’s sportswriters panel show My Voice Is Louder than Yours. Without further ado, here’s Skitch.

mcnair.jpgI think we’ll all remember where we were when we heard about Steve McNair’s death. I know I will. I was at a Panera bread, enjoying a delightful caffe mocha espresso. My editor called me on my cell phone, which I’m still getting used to. I still remember the days when you had to let your editor know where you were going, so they could reach you at all times! True story: Damon Runyon had an ear tag.

So I have my cell phone on vibrate in my left hip pocket, but I totally forget that I have it on me. So when the thing starts vibrating, I’m pretty startled. My leg shoots up and kicks the table, spilling scalding hot espresso into my lap. And when I finally fish the thing out of my pants, it slips out of my hand and crashes to the ground, smashing into a million pieces. Boy, was my face red! My upper thighs, too.

So I’d like to think I know something about what the McNair family is going through. Sure, getting first-degree burns on your legs isn’t quite as bad as losing a father and husband under tragic and mysterious circumstances. But when you lose a loved one, it’s as if someone has spilled searing, caffeinated liquid on your soul. No napkin can sop up that pain. No dry cleaner can remove that stain from the pants of your heart.

I know Steve McNair might have gotten mixed up in some stuff he shouldn’t have. He was only human, like all of us. Perhaps he made mistakes, but it is not up for me to judge him. Mostly because I’ve done that before and gotten into big trouble for it.

Like when I was reporter fresh out of college, and the news came down the wire that Thurman Munson had died. I got a hot tip that the Yankee captain had died after climbing over a fence at the zoo and baiting a grizzly bear. I ran with that story, blasting Munson for doing something so reckless and inhumane.

Needless to say, I’ve regretted writing that story ever since. Once something is in print, you can’t unprint it. And you can’t un-firebomb your house when it’s attacked by angry, grieving fans. Let that be a lesson to all of you budding reporters: cultivate reliable sources. For instance: Guys who huff paint down at the roundhouse are generally not reliable sources.

When I’ll think of Steve McNair, I’ll prefer to think of the Steve McNair I saw on media day during Super Bowl XXXIV. That game was played at the Georgia Dome, so when it was my turn for a question, I asked him if he was having a “peach” of a time. He gave me a funny look, so I repeated myself.

“I don’t get it,” he said. I told him it was an expression. “An expression of what?” he asked. “Where does that come from?” I had to admit I had no idea; it was just something you hear people say. “I’ve never heard anyone say that,” he said, and moved on to the next reporter.

It’s one of the treasured sportswriting memories that I’ll always carry with me. Not in my hip pocket, though. Things are still a little tender down there.

Politics Schmolitics

Tortured Transparent Sports Metaphors with Sarah Palin

palin2.jpgI’m struggling to find the right words to express how I feel about my resignation. Because words have never really been my friends. You know who likes words? The liberal media elite. They’ve always been big on words and sentences and paragraphs. They’ll never understand the solid American people that I know, people who talk to each other with handshakes, or grunts, or a series of shrugs and punches.

But if I have to use words, let me use the kind of words that real American people understand: sports words!

A lot of people wonder why I’m resigning. Well, just imagine you’re a point guard. And by “you”, I mean “me”.  You’re naïve if you don’t see the national full-court press coming right at you. A good point guard drives through a full court press, protecting the ball, keeping her eye on the basket, and she knows exactly when to pass the ball so that the team can win. I know when it’s time to pass the ball–for victory!

Granted, a point guard usually helps her team by passing the ball and staying in the game, instead of taking the ball and going home. My point is, by resigning, I’m keeping my eye on the ball that represents sound priorities: smaller government, energy independence, national security, freedom! And also, America, and flags, and freedom.

I don’t know if I’m really getting my point across. Let’s extend this idea. Imagine you’re an awesome, all-world point guard for a terrible team in some podunk town. The kind of place where the only exports are moose meat and meth. You know you could do some great things for a team in a big, flashy city where you can shop til you drop and have cosmos with the girls every night. If only you could get out of that rotten one-horse town!

Plus, you’ve been bitching about this horrible team and its ass-backwards city for a while, and all of the brain dead hicks who used to love you and begged your team to draft you suddenly think you’re a total diva who might have mental problems. So your value drops the longer stick around in this god-forsaken place.

Does this sound like a fair scenario for an all-star fox like me? No, of course not! The world should be this point guard’s oyster–literally! I mean, what’s a promising young Republican point guard to do?

You do what I do: say you’re gonna retire from point guarding. That way, the nasty liberal media stops doing its full court press, and after you’ve been away for a while, all those hockey moms and Nascar dads will remember why they liked you in the first place. And you get to play for any city you like! Even President City, god willing!

In conclusion, my still-fellow Alaskans, don’t think of this as me resigning. Think of this as me looking for a new free agent contract that reflects my true level of talent. In my heart, I’ll always belong to Alaska. You know, like how LeBron James will always belong to Cleveland, even though we all know he’ll wind up on the Knicks sooner or later.

Baseball

Baseball World Shocked, Outraged by Blown Jeter Call

jeter_steal.jpgNEW YORK (AP)–All of Major League Baseball came to a standstill Monday afternoon, when future Hall of Famer and titan of a man Derek Jeter was called out in an attempted steal of third base. Replays clearly showed that, though the ball beat the immortal shortstop to the bag, Blue Jays third baseman Scott Rolen did not apply a tag prior to Jeter’s blessed hands reaching the base itself.

Yankees manager Joe Girardi stormed out of the dugout, rending his garments in grief and disgust. “My Father, why have you forsaken us?!” he cried toward the seemingly deaf heavens. Third base umpire Marty Foster, an insensitive monster who surely has no soul, ejected the skipper for his insolence.

Mr. Jeter, ever the picture of calm and poise, pleaded his case respectfully to Foster, a pitiful excuse for a man, but to no avail. He walked back to the dugout, as grown men wept openly over his grace at a moment of such grave injsutice.

A candlelight vigil was held outside Yankee Stadium Monday night to mark this horrific event. “We have been shaken to the core,” said Dennis Ramirez, a Yankee fan from the Bronx, “but together, we can make it through this dark, dark time.”

A visibly shaken Bud Selig acknowledged the grievous error in a post-game press conference. “I realize this happens often,” he told reporters. “Umpires frequently call a runner out if the ball beats him to the bag, regardless of whether a tag was applied in time or not. But this has never happened to Derek Jeter before, and must never happen again.

“Therefore, I hereby award today’s game to the Yankees, regardless of the final score. In compensation for their pain and suffering, the Yankees shall also be awarded two games of their choosing which have already been played.

“I would also remind our umpiring crews that when Mr. Jeter does not swing at a pitch, it is not a strike.”

Following the game, Jeter calmed down a frothing mob of angry sports reporters with a gentle wave of his hand, and with words of profound wisdom that could have been spoken by the Dalai Lama, or perhaps Gandhi: “I just want to do my best and help this team win,” he said.