In Brief: Ty Thomas Assaulted With Lip Balm

It's hard to believe that on a night we lost both Gilbert Arenas (a bona-fide national treasure) and Tracy McGrady (a bona-fide...tall guy) that the most harrowing NBA news comes out of Detroit during a Pistons-Bulls contest.

The game recap describes the scene: Rip Hamilton and Tyrus Thomas get double technicals with eight minutes to play in the game. Heated words are exchanged and the players are separated.

Then, without warning, a crazed fan lashes out at Thomas. Remember, these are the people that drove Ron Artest over the edge--which means this could just as well be you or I someday:

While walking off the court toward their locker rooms, both players had to be separated again.

Thomas said he was hit in the face with what appeared to be a tube of lip balm.

"I don't know what it was, but I'm OK," Thomas said.

Auburn Hills police Lt. James Manning would not identify the fan, who allegedly threw the object, but said he was a 24-year-old male from Southfield.

Ever since the Pistons starting playing in the Palace, all those suburban rowdies have created a Mecca of NBA violence. For shame, Auburn Hills, for shame.

You could have at least thrown a battery or a cell phone or something.

Who Is Scott Thorman?

"In answer to the blogger's question, Scott Thorman is one of our finest Canadian utility infielders in an Atlanta Braves uniform." - Sean Penn

Ryan Madson continued his streak of surrendering game-clinching extra-inning home runs today (a 3-2 loss in 11 to the Bravos) as the Phillies start 0-2 for the first time since...um...last year. And as if the sight of Edgar Renteria jacking a pair out of Vet II on Monday wasn't embarrassing enough, tonight's hero was the aforementioned and (as of yet) quite unaccomplished Mr. Thorman.

But you know what? Mad Dog's not gonna settle for being the goat every night. Right?

"I just feel bad for my teammates in letting them down. Hopefully, this is the last time I do it this season."

Glad to see some accountabil...wait a second. He actually said that on Monday. Yikes.

Bright spots: Cole Hamels absolutely dealing (in a non-criminal way) for 7 innings with 8 Ks. Carlos Ruiz(!) collecting his first homer of the year. The Phils' bats waking up a bit late in the game.

Downers: The "Phillie Killer"--the marginal player who suddenly thrives when playing against Philadelphia--is alive and well. Thorman is well on his way to joining the likes of Jeff Conine and Mike Mordecai.

Let's try nailing one down tomorrow, 'kay guys?

Take Me Out to the Used Vinyl Store

I don't know much about Minnesota-based indie outfit The Hold Steady except that they're popular with the Village Voice-reading coffeehouse crowd. They are apparently also huge Minnesota Twins fans, as their recently-leaked interpretation of the stadium standard "Take Me Out To The Ballgame" will attest.

Give it a listen, if you're man enough.

Done?

Hmm...kind of what you expected, no? It's interesting to say the least. It seems to fit the vibe of the franchise and its fans (i.e. paler than white). And though I'm wary of the self-conscious hipster set invading our nation's baseball stadiums with their roguish haircuts, corduroy sport coats, and black horn-rimmed glasses (even though they have 20/20 vision), I think this idea of team-specific theme songs has merit. Is there any way we can enlist Sufjan Stevens for this project?

On second thought, a team's theme song should reflect the local flavor and franchise history--like the way they do it in European soccer--and should therefore be performed by a native artist or in a style unique to the area. To wit, we could have a hyphy tune in Oakland, an R.E.M. ballad for the Braves, and whatever the hell Paul Wall does in Houston.

Of course, this gets me thinking about the possibilities in Philadelphia. Will Smith is out of the question. He's been dead to me ever since he said Philly was merely "jiggy" and characterized Miami as "bringin' the heat, fo' real." Turncoat.

I've narrowed it down to 3 possibilities: some nice blue-eyed soul from Hall and Oates, a funkafied instrumental from MFSB, or a wholly inappropriate and juvenile pop-rap song from the Bloodhound Gang (who have written song titles like "I Wish I Was Queer So I Could Get Chicks").

I think it's obvious what I would cheer loudest for.

Take Me Out to the Indie Rock Ballgame [Best Week Ever]

Bud Selig Is A Baller

Professional sports, it turns out, is just as lucrative for the haggard old white guys that sit in the skyboxes as it is for the guys on the field or court or rink or pitch or bullring or whatever.

The Sports Business Journal recently reported that Bud Selig earned $14.5 million for being the commissioner of Major League Baseball in 2006--or slightly less than the entire payroll of the 2006 Florida Marlins. Their source? MLB's tax return. It's nice to know that even huge corporate trusts have to play by the rules from time to time.

The publication, citing unidentified sources, said Selig received a $6 million base salary, an equal amount in a bonus and the remainder in expenses and personal fees.

Six million? That's Gregg Jefferies money right there. But why the bonus? Does a man that foisted interleague play and the unbalanced schedule on an unwary public deserve as such?

Bud's from Wisconsin, right? That's the cradle of American progressivism. I think it's time to demand executive recall in America's pastime. Consider this a call to arms. Or, if you're a Blue Jays fan, an excuse to write a sternly-worded letter.

Selig Earned $14.5 Million In Fiscal 2005 [FoxSports.com]

Joakim Noah, God of Thunder

Let's be real: like a Florida team returning all the key elements of last year's champions was going to lose to an Ohio State team featuring a relative of Sideshow Bob and a middle-aged Bill Russell.

Greg Oden really seems to be attracting a lot of ambivalence lately. My pal Slo-Mo, doing his best Napoleon Dynamite impression, remarked: "When I think about him, I think of the Norse god. Not basketball." Whatever that means, it's not entirely good.

He will, however, feature prominently in this year's schmaltzy "One Shining Moment" montage. For those who don't particularly like CBS's unique form of audio-visual torture, I offer an infinitely better montage from the legendary intramural leagues of Syracuse University.



Because, quite frankly, I'd rather see a chubby kid getting mercilessly stuffed in the paint than another Aaron Brooks jumper.

John David Booty Majors In Football

It's springtime at USC, which means the beginning of football practice, the inevitable realization that Reggie Bush isn't coming back to us, and the daily appearance of local news teams standing high atop the cherry-pickers sprouting from their vans.

You see, spring practice is closed to the outside public. There's always a skinny athletic department flunky in a red windbreaker standing in front of the gate like the Colossus of Rhodes and yelling at students who try to sneak a peek from the top of the track and field bleachers across the street.

So thank goodness for our collegiate journalists who go out and get the big scoops emerging from crucial early-spring scrimmages, as well as the student-athletes who are accommodating enough to provide their insight:

In addition to his own accuracy struggles, Booty and center Nick Howell had three botched exchanges - a recurring problem during the last two weeks.

"I take responsibility for (the fumbled snaps)," Booty said. "Obviously Nick and (graduated center Ryan Kalil) are two totally different people and snap two totally different ways."

I totally agree with JDB here. It's just like how Sartre and Camus are two totally different existentialists and extrapolate the function of angst in an inherently absurd world two totally different ways. It's good to know that when he isn't letting me into off-campus apartment complexes, he's still in solidarity with the daily struggles of his fellow students.

Gable Continues Solid Play [Daily Trojan]

I Want To See You Pass Four Times Before You Take A Shot

It's rare that I find the time to watch an NBA game, so I was glad the Cleveland Cavaliers' 112-108 overtime win over the Chicago Bulls yesterday did not disappoint.

Ben Gordon dropped 37 trying to outduel LeBron, almost obscuring some heinous shot selection and execution late in the game. He missed a game-winner at the end of regulation (and lost the ball after Kirk Heinrich got the rebound and gave him the dish) and another one--this time a 3-pointer--with one second left in overtime.

Clearly, Gordon is the Bulls' main scoring threat. He just happens to be shitting the bed in the clutch this season--a lot: Atlanta, Phoenix, Golden State, Toronto, Detroit, and now Cleveland. ESPN even ran a little montage of all his last-second misses during one of the fourth-quarter timeouts, making it clear that, oh, I don't know...somebody else should take the last damn shot.

It's not like the Bulls don't have any other scorers. Tyrus Thomas can get it done inside, and Heinrich stirs up the echoes of Steve Kerr every time he steps on the floor. Assigning one player to cover all these end-of-game situations only works with a rare talent. Gordon is good--without him, Chicago didn't have a chance to win--but he's not great yet. Don't name a leader just for the sake of naming one; team play clearly suffers when everyone else is the Second Banana.

The Ohio State-Georgetown game later that day proved this point yet again. Greg Oden gets in early foul trouble. No problem: Michael Conley is there to pick up the slack. Meanwhile, the most dynamic Hoya, Jeff Green, is only allowed to watch when Roy Hibbert lumbers into the game to take the most puzzling 16-foot jumper I've ever seen.

Coaches, please take note: basketball is a team sport. Not everyone is a Kobe or a Gilbert Arenas. I do not approve of any assumption otherwise.