EX-PLAYERS SHOULD PAY THE PRICE FOR MISDEEDS

Everything Is A Billboard, Even The Cops

My ears are for sale. Left. Right. For the right price, you may have them both. Or, I should say, rent them. Your message here. On my ears. I am joining the 21st Century. I am becoming a billboard.

Hey. Why should I — JUST DO IT! — miss out — FLY THE FRIENDLY SKIES! — on the trend? — THINK FORD FIRST!

After all, things you never thought of as advertising space are now becoming
— OBEY YOUR THIRST! — advertising space. Like police cars.

Bonds’ Greatness Requires No Title

Bonds’ Greatness Requires No Title

Hat’s off. If you thought he was the devil, then give the devil his due. The Angels may have popped the champagne, but the biggest winner of this all-California World Series was, it turns out, on the losing team. A month ago, Barry Bonds was a giant with a question mark. Now he is a giant exclamation point.

EX-PLAYERS SHOULD PAY THE PRICE FOR MISDEEDS

Nowhere To Hide … Even At 40,000 Feet

Oh, please. No more. The places on Earth where you can actually find peace and quiet are already dwindling down to inches. Now this? Cell phone makers are on the verge of technology that would allow airline passengers to talk all flight long?

Where’s the oven? I want to stick my head in it.

See whether this sounds familiar. You get on a plane. You settle into your seat. You open a travel magazine. You begin to drift off, thinking of the places you are about to visit, the people you are about to see, and . . .

EX-PLAYERS SHOULD PAY THE PRICE FOR MISDEEDS

A Brave New World After Millen’S Miscue?

You don’t yell “fire” in a crowded theater, and you don’t yell “coward” on a football team. Not your own team. Not in public. Matt Millen knows that. He did it anyhow. “I knew it was trouble a nanosecond after I said it,” he admitted. But once the words were out of his mouth, there was no grabbing them back.

EX-PLAYERS SHOULD PAY THE PRICE FOR MISDEEDS

The Pen Isn’T Mightier Than Good Sense

Hang on. Let me get this straight. An NFL player, late in the game — and it’s a close game, and it’s “Monday Night Football” — asks the trainer for a pen, stuffs it in his sock, goes out and catches a touchdown pass, then pulls the pen out of his sock and signs the football for a man in the stands who happens to be his financial adviser. And I’m the one who doesn’t get it?

Sorry. I don’t think so. You can call me square, flat, unhip, old-fashioned, old-school, no cool or dull. When writing utensils become part of your football gear, things have gone too far.