Newscoma

There are times that I love sports more than Bass Beer.

And last night when Lebron mouthed, when he only had 38 points on the board at Madison Square Garden to Spike Lee “50″ I just about wet myself.

LeBron, that was more than sexy.

Yeah, he was also cool to a fan that he probably shouldn’t have been (but I was cool with it) and score the 50, I was all hot and excited for LeBron.

I dig crap like this.

Better than the Oklahoma State coach Mike Gundy “I’m a man! I’m 40!” Yeah, it made me laugh though.

LeBron, you brought it my dear.

As I was driving into Nashville yesterday before I imbibed in an evening of good-natured debauchery with some truly fabulous people (IVY, I love my zombie Elvis more than I love cheese and I’m pretty damned fond of cheese. Mark, my hat is groovy and I’m wearing it right now in my pajamas), I turned the radio on and found several sports programs talking pretty much about one thing.

Rha-ger.

I called sports diva Squirrelly and gave her some of the highlights from some of the live updates that Colin Cowherd, Jim Rome and Mike Turrico were giving and it occurred to me that the Rocket, who was never one of my favorite pitchers by any stretch of the imagination, thinks this nation is rather stupid. Or at least that’s what I got out of it. I didn’t know we owed Roger anything but apparently we do. I’ll be sure to set up that shrine I’m apparently supposed to have when I get home.

Listen, he says he didn’t take steroids and that it was his wife who took HGH, yada, yada, yada … but Brian McNamee said he did. I’m thinking Rha-ger did something but who knows.

What grossed me out though is that Roger Clemens blamed everyone in the world for his troubles and owned nothing. To hear Clemens tell it, he is the most victimized man in America. I’ll give him an B+ for being defiant, but the self-righteous stuff was …

Wait, have I ever told you that self-righteous folks make my skin crawl? I didn’t. Okay, Self-righteous people make my skin crawl. There you go.

I don’t blame him for defending himself. But the whole “the president found me in a duck blind” and “I wore USA across my chest” statements then basically saying “How dare you? I’m Roger Clemens, Lord of Baseball and I’m also kind to kittens” just made me sort of go “Blech.”

Clemens basically had his day in the sun under oath and he flailed around like a dying trout. McNamee isn’t a saint either. But why is it everyone else’s fault in Roger’s world. Petitte “misremembered?” Knoblach?

Bueller?

Baseball has taken worse hits. But no one won yesterday, quite frankly. Not Roger, Not McNamee and definitely not baseball where we as fans forgive stupid crap but we don’t forget. And Roger, you looked like a tittybaby. Man up, dude. You don’t have to be so defensive and snarly if you didn’t do it.

But, I’m thinking you did something or you wouldn’t have reacted the way you did.

Wanker.

I’ve been working like a dog today. I know we all work like dogs but today has been me scrambling around like …

Well like Tom Brady on a bad night in Arizona.

Your regularly scheduled Newscoma will be back as soon as I let Mabel know I haven’t abandoned her.

Oh, and go see this. Hysterical.

Actually, after LeBlanc’s yucky evening, I think he might enjoy it. By the way, his take on his beloved New England Patriots losing last night is really excellent and very much the good sport with a broken heart.

We aren’t laughing. I’m not at least.

I’m a Vols and Cardinals fan. I know your pain on a yearly basis.

Yesterday, I saw that someone had stapled a story that Squirrel Queen wrote on a wall of a new restaurant in town. She didn’t think anything about it, but I thought it was pretty cool. When I write an editorial or a story, very rarely do I see it put on the wall, although I did find out on a bathroom wall once that I sucked. It made me laugh that someone, drunkenly, wrote what a butthole I am.

Sorta made me proud.

Anyway, SQ and I pondered for a moment why this particular story was honored in this new place. Neither one of us know the reason this was done.

Rumor has it that Mike Keith of the Tennessee Titans also has one of her stories up on his wall, although I have no idea if this is true or not, I like to think it is.

Back to seeing her story on the wall, it’s a new juke joint, chicken wing place that is open yet unfinished to a large degree. I asked her what was so significant about that particular story and she wasn’t sure.

With that said, sports, especially in small towns, brings people together. But as I write that, that’s not true necessarily. How many times have I sat in a larger venue and found instant, two-hour friends cheering for the same team that I will never see again?

Countless.

There is no rhyme or reason to this post, but every once in awhile, I find it very interesting, the business of sports and how it all connects.

And how that an eight inch story made a difference into the owner’s life enough to find a stapler and slam it into the wall.

Everything is connected in some way, even if we have no idea how that all works.