THE LIVE ALBOM:
* It’s the season of the Bowl. There are many. There are more to come. We have a Peach Bowl, but no Canned Peach Bowl. A Fiesta, but no Siesta. A Cherry, but no Pit.
I could go on and on. And I will.
You might call it growing up, or, if your address ends in California, maybe mellowing out. Fair enough, since California is still an off-season home to Ron Duguay, a nugget of the glamorous life he once commandeered.
Gather round, Lions. Everybody grab a Coke. We’re gonna give out a sack of game balls for Sunday’s efforts against Minnesota.
Get comfortable. It’s a big sack.
But then, this was a big game, at least if massacre is your thing. Detroit was to Minnesota on Sunday what a Cusinart is to a potato masher. They pureed the visitors, 41-21, proving once again, that Dorothy knew what she was talking about. There’s no place like home.
Gather round, Lions. Everybody grab a Coke. We’re gonna give out a sack of game balls for Sunday’s efforts against Minnesota.
Get comfortable. It’s a big sack.
But then, this was a big game, at least if massacre is your thing. Detroit was to Minnesota on Sunday what a Cusinart is to a potato masher. They pureed the visitors, 41-21, proving once again, that Dorothy knew what she was talking about. There’s no place like home.
Just when you thought you’d seen it all, along comes a snowball.
I’m talking, of course, about the infamous snowball thrown by a fan in last week’s San Francisco-Denver game. It came flying out of the stands during a 49ers field goal attempt, landed a few feet from holder Matt Cavanaugh, and, he says, caused him to botch the snap and the play. The 49ers wound up losing by one point.
Not since Frosty has a clump of frozen mush gotten so much attention.
“We must do something about snowballs in football!” people are screaming. Of course. And here are some possibilities:
As a kid in Philadelphia, I played a lot of ice hockey. It came with the territory. The Flyers were the only winning team in town. So if you wanted to feel good, you put on skates, grabbed a stick and picked a Flyer to call your own.
The TV behind the bar flashed a picture of Gary Kasparov, who had just won the world chess championships in Moscow.
“What a bore,” said the man next to me.
Not really, I said. Chess can be exciting.
“Yeah? How?”
Strategy. Pressure. Timing.
“But there’s no action. They just sit there.”
Not all of them.
“Come off it,” he said, slurping down his beer. “Those guys are just a bunch of sissies in suits.”
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