A List of Things That Just Don’t Require a Replay

Why is it that for the past week the number one play on SportsCenter has been a beach soccer bicycle kick? Am I imagining this? Bicycle kicks are only moderately exciting in real soccer and I’m supposed to care about this? The replays are all the same too: One guy digs the ball out of a divot in the sand, blinding his defender and rendering him incapacitated. Then he kicks the ball into the net acrobatically and without any interference. Seems cheap to me. And lame too. The thing that makes a real bicycle kick so neat is the timing and teamwork it takes to actually pull one off. In this fictional league, all it takes is a decent pass to yourself. Hardly impressive stuff. The only thing these replays are useful as is fodder for some schmuck’s stupid blog.

In the never-ending revolving door that is the New Jersey Nets’ locker room, bench player extraordinaire Bookie Nachbar has jumped ship for a lucrative contract in Russia. That’s a shame. Not because the Nets need his seven points per game, but rather because he was a deadeye shooter in video games. My years of dominating the local “Virtual 3-Point Shoot-Out” competition are over. Thanks a lot, Bookie.

In lighter news, was anyone else surprised to see Greg Norman fold like a cheap tent on Sunday? He looked about as good as I did while playing mini-golf two weeks ago; an outing that saw me go six over par, shoot no eagles, and an even have a humiliating “DNF” on a par 3). So… not good for Greg… and even worse for me…

My fiancée Kennedy is what I like to call an “excitable” sports fan. If one of her teams (the Giants in football or the Mets in baseball) is involved in a game, expect to hear her shriek at a dropped pass and faint when a Philly (singular form of “Phillies”) hits a line-drive into the gap. At any point during a rally, she’s likely to be uncontrollable and will often shout outlandish praise (“go get him, David!” or simply “yeeeesssssss!”). Put on any sporting event not involving one of these teams, however, and she’ll pass out faster than you can say, “goodnight my angel close your eyes.” I like to think that I’m a much more even-keeled sports fan. I root for (and against) some teams, sure, but I never succumb to the stereotypical highs or lows commonly associated with fandom. I don’t call for a coach’s head when things are going bad and I never suggest ridiculous trades to Mike or the Mad Dog. (“Tell me what you think: Tatis and Easley for Cano, Damon and Hughes… I’ll hang up and listen.”) My Dolphins were 1-15 last year and I didn’t run to hide in my closet. My Mets had the most embarrassing collapse in Major League history and all I did was commend the Phillies on an impressive comeback (see this very site for proof). Even with sports like hockey and soccer my mood never changes drastically – I always hate them.

All that being said, last night’s debacle hurt. It hurt deeply. More than a protracted September swoon did a year ago. Maybe even more than Beltran watching a curveball drop in for a called third strike two years ago. It’s not the end of the world, to be sure, but it’ll sit with me for a while. And by “a while,” I actually mean “until the next heartbreaking defeat they’re sure to suffer.”

Lastly, I never thought I’d be able to call Jeremy Shockey “a saint,” but it looks like now I’ll have that chance. (Pause for laughter.) It’s probably for the best, too. Sean Payton loves him and the addition of a playmaking tight end will help spread out a Saints offense that so miserably underachieved last year. Kenny (my pet name for Kennedy) has had quite a love/hate relationship with Shockey. First she loved his passion, but hated his tattoos. Then she liked his tattoos because she realized they were patriotic, but hated that he dropped so many passes. Next she liked his new shorter haircut, but hated his tattoos again because she decided that the over-saturation of American symbols leads to a misperception of true values, which, in turn, perpetuates societal dysfunction. And finally she decided she didn’t need him on her team because they can win without him (as evidenced by them winning last year without him).

Sticking with the NFL, Jason Taylor isn’t a Dolphin anymore, which means that the Dolphins aren’t the Dolphins anymore. Without Zach Thomas or the Dancing Dolphin, all the Fins become are a team struggling to rebuild in a division they share with the best team in NFL history. (This scenario is comparable to a group of worms starting an uprising against the human race.) Good luck to you, Jason, and your ethnically insulting new team. And don’t worry about us… we’re still left with two “true” Dolphins: Ricky “THC” Williams and Bill “Dolphin-Safe Tuna” Parcells…