Sunday Sports Section

  Sunday morning is meant to relax. Listen to
"easy like Sunday morrrrrning," and picture it with a death-metal beat. Doesn't work. You need a more laissez-faire attitude. Acoustic guitar. Whispered conversation. Sleeping late. Yeah........

   Sunday is about kicking back and having a nice, slow chill. There are people we pay to entertain us on Sundays, and they are the only people who should be intense on Sunday...and even the NFL (much like an Irish drinker) waits until it's noon somewhere in the world.

   I'm all about a fat breakfast(all of Monponsett is breathlessly awaiting the opening of Pogo's II....which I hope will fill the Arthur and Pat's distinctively local breakfast place void I've had since I moved from Duxbury), an over-eager spoon in the hot cocoa tin, a bit of quiet reading with Gabrielle, a casual smoke and a nice walk with the dog once the sun's been out enough long enough to take the edge off the cold.

   I don't go to church much, but I never look down on the Good people hurrying off in their Sunday best. Much like me, I'm sure they are simply doing what makes them feel best. Which is what it's all about, even when you choose to stay home and worship in your own particular way.

   In fact, it is to these very same people that I dedicate my efforts today. Sunday is meant to go own easy, like a nice cold beer after hard labor in hot weather. There should be as little tension as possible.

   I grew up in a house that was absolutely stocked with girls- I'm one of four sisters, and my home was the gathering spot for the local mothers and daughters of the neighborhood .... especially on Sundays. One of the reasons I cook so well is because we usually entertained from 11 AM through dinner time, and often well after.

   In many houses, people get a huge Sunday paper to read while they eat breakfast or kill a lazy afternoon. The best parts of the paper often have a waiting list. You can learn a lot about a family by noting who gets the first crack at the Sports section.

   As the smallest and one of the youngest, there were two sections of the paper that I was lucky to see- the circulars and the sports section. Father took the sports section, and my older sisters would ravage the sales notices. I'd get the circulars after my sisters had scanned them- I often started with "Sears," looking at patio sets while they planned sweater purchases with the more desirable circulars.

   My older sister is really into plays, so the Arts section was out. I even lost out on the funny pages. Being the middle child sucks. Visitors would giggle when they saw a 10 year old Stacer reading the World section of the Boston Globe, not knowing that I had simply made a default reading decision. Eventually, I gave up, and just helped my mother in the kitchen.    

   I wouldn't even ask for the Sports section until the second football game started...and even then, I often had to slip it off the table when I was bringing him food. If I watched games with him, giving me the Sports section was a great way to shut me up during field goal attempts or 3-2 deliveries.

   There was great order in my house, even in the chaos of family, friend and pet. Many houses lack this order, and I'm sure several murders a year are caused by someone who was simply challenging the Sports page hierarchy in a particular home.

   Those murdered people of our present future may just well be saved. I'm thinking of using my quiet time every Sunday to do a Sports page. Nothing special, really...just a few things lurking around the edges of my mind. Maybe some middle child who was going upstairs to get the shotgun will instead log on and read my Sunday offerings...and by the time he's done, the Sports page is available a the coffee table. No one needs to be hurt.

 

  So....what's on the breakfast menu today?

Sacre Bleu!

- The Buffalo Sabres plan on using Blue Ice at one of their minor league arenas. The blue ice isn't in the picture yet, but notice the orange blue lines. If the blue line is orange, is it still a blue line?

   Supposed to be easy on the eyes, I suppose. This is actually a small market test of a broad concept designed to lure urban (black) teens into the sport. The inability of the NHL to break into the American black culture demographic is a marketing myth that the mightiest Madison Avenue minds can't explain.

   Malcolm X- who grew up in Boston- often spoke of the difficulties the NHL had in televising the game. "It's hard to see white people on ice" said the American civil rights activist. "Especially Canadian white people."

 

How's Yo' Hammy??

- Darvin Ham took a wine bottle to the head, courteousy of Mrs. Ham. A bit of disagreement got ugly at 3 AM, and deputies arrived to find the Hamster still on the floor. He refused medical treatment, and his wife was charged with assault.

   While domestic violence is no joke, you gotta like the woman who takes it at her 6'8" professional athlete husband. She'd make a terrific baby's momma.

Facial shields are optional at Darvin Ham's wine-tasting parties

 

Maple Syrup? Happen To Have Some Right Here

   Vermont knocked off Syracuse in the first round of the big dance, much to the delight of the good people of Monponsett. Vermont speaks more to the small town New Englander than the bigger programs at UConn or BC. When I played soccer or basketball at Duxbury High, I used to rock that color green on my uniforms. I cheered in a sweater/plaid skirt combo of that very same green. Thank God no Internet pics exist of that.

   I was pretty pissed when BC got the beatdown from those despicable miscreants in the Milwaukee uniforms, but a good run by Vermont would help ease the pain. If you've never been to Vermont, it's a trip. The whitest place in America, by the demographics. Mountain/forest-type people. As isolated as you can be these days. If you ain't from there, you don't come there.

   They are the last "local" New England team in the tournament. No one was paid $200,000 to play on the Catamounts. Before practice, they shovel out their cars. No head tripping in Vermont. It isn't Superstar country. Anyone who merits an entourage wouldn't be in Vermont.

  

 

- Don's Other Son

   Former Celtic Don Nelson pulled the truck over, and gave the keys to his protege. Don always valued Avery as a coaching candidate, and he essentially used his pull to make sure Avery got a shot running a good team.  You never know where or when Phil Jackson or Larry Brown will turn up.

   Don has a resume that few can match. He's Old School, and he's avant-garde. He played for Red, and went off and made a name for himself. He coached in Dallas, Golden State, New York and Milwaukee.

   Don was always a bit of a kook. He was a vehement supporter of Stickum(?), which pushed him over the top as far as being able to hold a ball well. He once stopped the mugging of his secretary by chasing the villain down on his Harley. He drove a tractor for charity. And he won wherever he went.

   He won a title in Boston with a shot that bounced a straight 5 feet off the rim before going in. He built a Mil-wocky team around Lanier, Moncrief, and Marques. He had Run-TMC in Cali. He built the Nash/Nowitzki team in Dallas, and he handed the ship to Avery in good order.

   Once a Celtic, always a Celtic...even if he coaches the bad guys for awhile.