Stan "The Man" Musial- RIP

Lance, Chapter... The Fall

Gotta admit, I did love ol' Lance. Didn't have a sports' idol since I was kid till he came along. Conqueror of the Alps, victor of the hardest feat in all sports- repeatedly, decisively, like take it to the bank, superhuman style. He'd train and suffer and drive himself harder than anyone in the game, and when the money was on the table- Bang, he'd come through! Over, and over, and over again...

At first I thought it that all so rarefied combination of super human physicality, talent and heart. This was the man that had run the Big C straight outta his body for Chrissakes, practically by sheer force of will alone (along with a cocktail regimen of death defying... drugs)! He stared The Grim Reaper flush in the eye with that steeled hawkeye glare, and emerged intact, talent undiminished. What he set out to do, he did- and neither man nor nature could intervene. It's what we of mortal means dream of in any field of endeavor, in any enterprise or human undertaking large or small.

And then the rumors began. Petty little people with their petty little ways- jealous and envious of his success and determination. Better they tend to their own sorry lives. Lance wanted no part of these leeches and liars, and neither did I. 

The malignant rumors persisted however. No matter- Lance kept focused, jealousies and innuendo would have to wait. He would remain steadfast, and so would I. Life had taught me that contrary to logic, where there's smoke, there wasn't always fire. I had witnessed how fickle human beings can turn on those they love, encourage and admire. The most common of human failings.

I don't know when I started to doubt, or if there was any one single occurrence that precipitated it. I suppose having the doctor most renowned for doping on his team didn't help. Or the fact that seemingly loyal friends, team members and coworkers were being tossed aside in a constant procession like so many discarded, roadside cups of water. It was an overwhelming confluence of factors that slowly started to point the way from superhuman... to more than all too human. 

Somehow my loyal love and devotion transformed into a perverse curiosity and admiration. This man truly had no peers, neither in talent nor guile. He was perpetrating one of the biggest international con games worth hundreds of millions right in open public. And all but the losers were drinking the kool aid. Exalted in his blatant non chalance, he reveled in his success, all the while looking the public straight in the eye- challenging them like any mountain underfoot his ever advancing front wheel. Arrogant, self assured, ever the winner! To this day, to this very practiced apology, I remain- very much amazed...  (and soon @ a theater near you...)

Puntured Realities

Is it any wonder that someone who subjected himself to one of the most excruciatingly painful drug treatments ever devised by man to cure himself of a life threatening illness, and was in turn rewarded with life itself, would not then be lured by drugs that championed the promise of achieving the very thing he most wanted in that life?

A couple of years ago in the San Francisco MUNI subway system, the only advertisements plastered for months from one end of a subway platform to the other was for "the little purple pill;" giant, billboard sized posters of humongous purple pills enveloped and surrounded adult and underaged commuters alike in a totally captive environment!

I'm not making excuses for Lance Armstrong, he made his own decisions. But we're every bit as hypocritical if we allow ourselves to think that we've somehow bettered society by simply singling him out for punishment (however well deserved) while the pharmaceutical/industrial complex pumps hundreds of  millions of dollars into the body politic through its lobbyists each and every year.

If he is stripped of his seven titles, who amongst that hallowed band of dopers will then be subjected to equal scrutiny before being crowned the "clean" winner? Those seven years best remain vacant- or the governing bodies themselves should be subject to a most stringent review...

If only the banksters were pursued with such diligence and perseverance...

When There's Nothing Left To Give...

Hurts me to the core to see him today. He rose to the pinnacle of world attention by giving his absolute all, the man famous for "going to the well" when lesser men had long given up, turned tail and ceded surrender- whether in his personal life, or his professional... one often melded into the other. Still, so many of these photographs brought a welcomed smile to my face, I was fortunate indeed to have grown up in his era of youthful vitality, rebellion and accomplishment in the very short time he allotted himself. Happy Belated Birthday, Champ...

Make sure to read the humorous recounting by photographer Harry Benson...

Child Puts Adults To Shame...

Imagine, just imagine if Republicans thought and acted like this...

Congratulations, Mavericks!!!

I'm not much of a fan anymore, although I make the occasional effort come Finals or World Series time. And when I tuned in to the initial loss by Dallas, my only question was- how the hell did they make it to the finals anyway? They were hopelessly outgunned and outclassed- the Miami Heat were in a class unto themselves, the heirs apparent, the reigning gods of hardwood. A virtual superstar team unto themselves, led by the the sovereign power of Lebron and the force of nature called Wade- they simply had to show and unleash the spectacle, as they most surely did in Game 1 to no one's surprise. This series would be neither pretty nor easy to watch.

All the Mavs had going for them was an awkward looking white guy who was almost painful to watch even when he was doing good- but his shot was as good as his play was ugly. And the rest of his spectacularly unspectacular teammates never gave up, never rested, never stopped coming back- stealing and rescuing game after game at the very last second, the very last shot. They never considered the championship their birthright, over the course, they simply demonstrated they were- the better team.

Congratulations!

(from someone who never thought he'd ever root for anything from Texas)

Way Back Home

This will serve the perfect antidote to cleanse oneself from yesterday's abysmal dive into the netherworld. Filmed in Scotland (I'll take the rugged Scottish/Irish terrain over any tropical paradise)- if I could ride my bike like this, wouldn't need a camera to make me happy...

Congratulations- San Francisco Giants!

56 yrs. in the making...

Vive Le Tour!

Screw football- Vive Le Tour De France!!!



And please obey all dog leash laws!

Gotta Love This Guy...

I mean, you gotta, gotta love this guy...

All these years trying to get me a MacArthur Genius Grant, and all I had to do was award myself an even better one- that's genius!

No. 27!!!

Congratulations, New York Yankees! (New York born and raised folks)

Mariano Rivera (Photo: Dave Kaup/Reuters)

Vive Le Tour & Viva El Contador!!!

Photos: Jasper Juinen- Getty Images

Three weeks of torture, pain and discipline ends today with a triumphant Alberto Contador riding into the steets of Paris- a champion who was unjustly prohibited from competing last year in Le Tour despite being its previous year's winner, simply because he had the misfortune of joining a team which was then banned from participating for behavior prior to his joining! This year he took it all, despite competition even from within his own team, competition in the form of 7X champion Lance Armstrong. And despite what you may think of the latter (bully, cheat or ultimate champion) Armstrong's hawk like presence does add Drama with that capital D. Watching both ascend, along with second place winner Andy Schleck, trying to outpsyche and outpace each other up the vertical path to hell called Mont Ventoux was a cramp inducing spectacle of pain and persistence personified.

And they'll all be back for more next year...

Separating The Men From The Boys...

Well, Le Tour de France really starts today as they hit the Pyrenees. Will Alberto Contador finally announce himself as his young legs propel him up the mountains he's meant to dominate? Will the 37 yr old legs of Lance Armstrong remain as formidable as before? This battle for leadership, within one team no less, is tension and excitement enough... Or will someone else create their own drama and leave the favorites behind?