by Brian

For my first post since my daughter was born in September, I thought I’d take things slowly, rail against the current goings-on in sports and pop culture that keep me up at night, and call it a day.

**Because I am a devoted fan of college basketball but equally as dedicated to my hatred of the NBA, I’m puzzled at what happens between the time sure-fire lottery picks sleep through the first semester of class (c’mon, you think DeMarcus Cousins is taking copious notes during College Comp 101?) during their freshman year and they walk up to the podium to accept the flat-brimmed hat of their new NBA team. My allegiance lies squarely with the ‘Cuse in the NCAA, but I couldn’t tell you what Jonny Flynn did this year in the NBA, and I’m certain the same will hold true for Wes Johnson. But, hey, at least they get to toil together as Timberwolves.

Now, as I watched the epic College World Series clincher by South Carolina last night, I had to wonder why baseball doesn’t suffer the same fate as its more athletic NBA counterpart. I mean these kids are going berserk after the third out of any inning, locking arms in the dugout during big at-bats, and donning rally caps while passing around superstitious Vanilla Wafers.

Put me in coach! I'm ready to give you 30% of what I got!

The answer really wasn’t that difficult—coaching. Without a self-aggrandizing John Calipari or Rick Pitino on the sidelines, these kids play for their coaches in college, so doing the same thing for the MLB managers isn’t a stretch. There is a respect for the game and for its elder statesmen in baseball that is conspicuously absent in the NBA. Again, does anyone think any of the players who just left Kentucky is going to miss Calipari or is amped for an opportunity to play for Stan Van Gundy? Doubt it.**

**When is Doc Halladay going to walk into the clubhouse after another start that only asked for three or four runs of support, which then resulted in a loss, and start cracking skulls? This guy does his job every fifth day and is rewarded with two runs, six hits, and twelve LOB. Blech.**

**Let me tell you what I think about this LBJ, Wade, Bosh “summit” in Miami last weekend—nothing. In fact, this bullet point is as much thought as I’ve devoted to anything NBA related in nine years. Go ahead, play together. Win together. Ride around on boats together. The NBA already has watered down 94% of itself (that’s right, I did the math), so creating a triumvirate of power in Miami means the other 5% can join in the irrelevant par-tay. Have at it, boys.**

**As a follow up to my months-old contribution to the Almost Punchable Celebrity

With a face like this...

column, I was just treated with a radio spot for 7UP voiced by none other than that lovable baritone, Brad Garrett. The commercial played on the dichotomy between Garrett’s surly exterior and his hidden love for the soft drink, so he’d grunt in his trademark voice and then take it up an octave to express his pleasure. If you’re bored by this bullet, you can join the six Garrett fans who feel the same way about his work.**