I’ve Never Been a Fan of Gimmicks (And By That I Mean “I Use Gimmicks All the Time”)

By a show of hands, is there anyone here who is getting really sick of the “I’m an unathletic girly-man and this is my former-athlete and current-husky-guy-who-likes-to-eat co-host” routine everyday on Mike and Mike in the Morning? No one? Just me? Oh well…

On the topic of loudmouth radio hosts, the rumors surrounding the dissolution of the Mike and the Mad Dog radio show can’t come as too big of a shock to anyone who’s ever listened to the show. The undercurrent of hatred has always been there. In fact, it’s one of the things that makes the show irresistible. Half of the time they’re fighting and the other half neither of them makes any sense. They just end up shouting down callers so that it appears they have credibility on a given topic. Whenever someone points out a stat they botched or misinterpreted, they just hang up on the guy. I’d be lying if I told you that I actually valued their opinions. I’d also be lying if I said I didn’t listen. Losing them would mean losing a large part of what it has meant to be a New York sports fan in the past two decades. An integral part. And that, Dear Readers, would be a shame.

Michael Vick filed for bankruptcy. [Insert obligatory “those poker playing dogs must’ve wiped him clean” joke here. Or something about how he couldn’t handle “the dog days of summer.” Really anything to do with dogs getting the best of him fits. And serves him right.]

In what can only be described as “a soap opera with helmets,” Brett Favre is apparently taking steps to return to the NFL and the Green Bay Packers. By no means am I surprised by this development; I basically predicted it would happen on this very site a few months ago. A lot of athletes make comebacks, even marginally relevant ones. The names are familiar: Magic Johnson, Michael Jordan, Muhammad Ali, George Foreman, Roger Clemens, among others. Even people like Reggie Miller and Allan Houston have toyed with the idea of returning. The difference between these folks and Favre, you ask? THEY HAD MISSED AT LEAST ONE GAME BEFORE WANTING TO RETURN. Those retired people had actually retired. Favre has barely missed a single team meeting since he called it quits. Far be it from me to tell anyone when it’s time to walk away from their career. All I’m saying is that Favre’s Hamlet gimmick is really getting ridiculous. Retire or don’t. You can’t do both.

All that being said, I feel no great sympathy for Aaron Rodgers. In the past I’ve stood up for him on the grounds that his career was evaporating faster than a bucket of water would on the sun. Sympathy, though, doesn’t seem like the appropriate reaction. I edit a pen and pencil catalog for a living and I’m supposed to feel sorry for a guy who gets to make piles of money for not throwing a ball? Doesn’t really strike me as a situation calling for sympathy. Still, I’d like to see him get his chance at a starting NFL gig. And if not that, then at least I would like to see Favre officially retire before Rodgers does.

Congratulations are in order for my fiancée, Kennedy. Next step: Supporting me for the rest of our lives. Good luck with that…

It seems trite at this point to say this, but Sunday’s Wimbledon final was by far the best tennis match I’ve ever watched and easily the single best sporting event of the year. From the middle of the third set on, every point felt like Championship Point and each clip of the tape seemed more perilous than the last. I’ll admit that I both predicted and was rooting for a Federer win. It didn’t happen. But what did happen was a display of athleticism and determination I’m not sure I have enough words to express. There have been times when a single athlete rises to an unimaginable challenge and conquers it. Magic Johnson played center in the 1980 NBA Finals. Michael Chang served underhand to alleviate leg cramps at the 1989 French Open. Tiger Woods overcome his knee injury at this year’s US Open. Michael Jordan’s legendary “flu game” in 1997. Never before in my lifetime, however, had two athletes simultaneously given everything they had on a single moment or day.

I watched almost eight full hours of tennis coverage on Sunday and still I wanted more. More drama, more miraculous shots, more match points. The winner, after the longest Wimbledon final in history, turned out to be Rafael Nadal, but by that point it didn’t even matter. The victory was in getting there. And we all won.