Tom Talks

Are we supposed to rank atrocities?

  One of the arguments defenders of Michael Vick make is that there are lots of things worse than dog fighting, and they're right. But dog fighting is an atrocity. What are we supposed to do, rank atrocities? If so, is dog fighting fifth, 15th or Among Other Atrocities Receiving Votes?
   If somebody asks you what you did today, and you say, "Sat on a chair while two dogs ripped each other up for my viewing pleasure," you need to get up, walk way and start over.

   Winning NBA teams like to have three stars on which they can depend. Kevin Garnett, Paul Pierce and Ray Allen give the Boston Celtics the threesome they require. But the Celtics probably will be more interesting than effective. Danny Ainge is the Matt Millen of the NBA. If he's running the team, it's not winning. 

   I was talking to a television reporter I respect and without meaning to went into Tom Knotts' coaching history, PSLs and stadium financing and a few other subjects.
   "I'm getting a history lesson," the reporter told a co-worker.
   He asked, "I suppose you remember black-and-white TVs."
   I am not ashamed to say that I am familiar with black-and-white televisions. Veteran writer and colleague Stan Olson was nice enough to show me his. 

Sounds of football fill the air

Although teams work through the summer to get in shape and memorize plays, the first day of high school practice still is compelling. Former players, some lean and fast and young and some bald and thick and old, return to see the new stars or offer sage and helpful advice.

   At Independence High Monday, the grass was as short as a buzz cut, the white lines faded, the plastic cones plentiful.

   But you didn't have to look to know where you were. Close your eyes and listen. Where else could you be?

   Here's some of what I heard:

   "Tuck your jerseys in!"

   "Look, listen, think!"

   "Feet down, feet down, push up, let's go!"

   "Get your butts down!"

   "Explode off that line!"

   "There you go, great catch!"

   "Let's go, let's go, go, go, go, go, go, go!"

   To the defense: "Stop playing like offensive guys!"

   To the defense four plays later: "Hey, you guys are getting smart!"

   "You just look scared right now!"

   "I told you this is going to be hard!"

   And my favorite: "Summer's over. Time to go to work!"

   As a guy that just came off two weeks of vacation, I can relate.

   But if you have to work, the first day of high school practice, especially one led by the Independence staff, is a fine place to start.

Best fights, best books, best e-mails

  I'm on vacation the next two weeks. A few things before I go:

   (1) The fight of the summer was Paul Williams upset Saturday of Antonio Margarita. Williams, out of Aiken, S.C., is 33-0. He stayed undefeated against Margarita, a tough, tough guy, by jabbing and changing angles and throwing wicked combinations. Even when Margarita landed big punches late, Williams didn't lose his composure. The fight was on HBO.

   (2) Everybody talks about summer reading. I read the same things in the summer, fiction, that I read the rest of the year. But for a change I read Mark Kriegel's biography of Joe Namath.

   If you came of age when Namath ruled the world, I recommend it. Like all good books, sports or otherwise, it takes readers to a different time and puts you there. I put the book down after reading several chapters and walked outside. I expected to be in Manhattan.

   A former New York sports columnist, Kriegel is an excellent reporter and writer. The book is as much about the constant pain with which Namath contended as the constant good times he had.

   Kriegel also write Pistol: The Life of Pete Maravich. Kriegel passed through Charlotte on a book tour, and I wanted to finish Maravich before he arrived. I fell behind, and to catch up read his work the way I read texts in college. I got the gist but failed to appreciate the words.

   Stuck at the airport in Tampa for seven hours, I went back and read Maravich the way I should have the first time. It was like reading it the first time. If you have any interest in eclectic sports icons, I recommend it.

   (3) I don't hate soccer. I just don't like it. And I've tried. I watched Ecuador make its first foray into the World Cup with an apartment full of Ecuadorians, and was in Mexico before the most recent World Cup. Wish I could summon that passion for the sport they have. But I can't. And there's no reason to pretend.

   Here's one facet of the human condition I fail to understand. Why do you care if I don't like what you like? I like to run and read. I like dogs, blues, Led Zeppelin and the White Stripes. I like to drink wine and coffee, the good stuff.

  I don't care if you like any of those things. I promise. I don't buy the strength in numbers theory. If there really were strength in numbers, we'd all wear khaki pants and drive SUVs and give our kids the same names -- oops.

  (4) I know that in terms of spectator sports these are the dog days of summer. But, man, I love July.

   (5) I don't say this enough: thanks for reading.

   Email lately has been off the charts. There's nothing like starting the day with hate mail from Toronto. I can always tell it's going to be hate mail when the first sentence includes MANY CAPITAL LETTERS AND multiple exclamation points!!!

   It's not all hate mail, of course. Many of you have nice things to say. There's also email from readers who disagree but don't deal in hate, CAPITAL LETTERS or exclamation points!!! Not everybody wakes up bitter.

   One reader, a regular emailer whom I respect, ripped a column I wrote, said it was whiny. I went back and read the column. It was whiny.

   Another regular emailer, MC, always causes a problem. The problem? His responses to my columns are always better than my columns.

   As a columnist, I'd rather be liked than disliked. But I'd rather be disliked than ignored.

   Have a great summer.

   And go outside.

Why they say: Don't try this at home

There’s always a risk when amateurs try to imitate the professionals. Somebody will see a big-time athlete do something on TV and decide he can do it, too. The result isn’t always pretty, as Dizzy Dean can attest.

Dizzy (not his real name) watched the Nathan’s Famous hot dog battle between Joey Chestnut and Kobayashi, athletes who are to their sport what Federer and Nadal are to theirs. Dizzy thought he, too, could eat a bunch of dogs, and he told the friends with which he watched the hot dog duel. Dizzy announced he could eat 10 in 12 minutes.

A bet was made and money was pledged. Dizzy was to get some money if he ate five, much more if he ate all 10, provided he kept them down for 30 minutes.

The crowd gathered at 7 p.m. and filled Dizzy’s suburban Charlotte driveway. Spectators brought video cameras and beer. A banner was hung (My Daddy is a Weiner). Trash was talked. Beer was swallowed.

The timer was ready and so was Dizzy. Go!

I told onlookers that he would be fine until he reached his eighth dog. As somebody who knows what IFOCE stands for (International Federation of Competitive Eating). I was entitled to share my expertise.

Dizzy tore through the first three dogs, the first five, even six and seven. Then it happened. Time didn’t stop. Dizzy did. Even the people in the driveway who had been joking about oysters and odd food combinations to make him queasy shouted encouragement.

Now there was a minute left. There also were two dogs and three buns. Dizzy flurried, but it wasn’t enough. An inspection of his paper plate revealed one dog and a piece of at least one other dog and bits of bun.

But there was good news. He kept the food down for 30 minutes. He said he felt fine but did not expect to eat in the near future.

HBO has me hooked yet again

I don’t want to depend too heavily on my TV, but I’m usually in front of it Sunday night and I’m usually watching HBO. I worried about life after "The Sopranos" but, as always, the network keeps ticking.

The best days of "Entourage" have ended, but it’s hanging in.

"Flight of the Conchords," about two musicians from New Zealand, is hilarious. It’s understated. It doesn’t do what so many shows do and say, here comes the funny part and this is the funny part and the part you just watched was the funny part as the laugh track attests.

"John From Cincinnati" is compelling. John is the oddest and maybe the most interesting character on TV. The surfing scene in which the show is set, and the attendant characters, are a great backdrop.

My fear is that the shows will quickly fade, another HBO characteristic. "Deadwood" started strong and went in the tank. And "Six Feet Under" went from innovative to unwatchable. By the last season, it had devolved into a whinefest. There wasn’t a likeable character on the show.

HBO’s "Big Love" doesn’t come on until Monday, but I have to watch it. I had always wanted multiple wives, preferably four to six, although I acknowledge that back-to-school clothes would kill me. After watching "Big Love," however, I concede that multiple wives might not be the way to go.

Maybe I’m becoming mature. Or maybe I’m just getting old.

Hot dog! Thursday's gut-busting competition had feel of a major sport

Even if you don't consider hot dog eating one of our major sports, you witnessed magic if you watched the Nathan's Famous competition Wednesday.

It came down, as we knew it would, to two athletes - the wondrous Kobayashi, who had won six straight, and the great challenger, Joey Chestnut, who last month broke Kobayashi's record by eating 59 1/2 of the things.

Because it was Independence Day, the crowd was zealous in its support of Chestnut, a Californian. Kobayashi is from Japan.

It was dog eat dog on that Coney Island stage, with Chestnut moving to an early lead and Kobayashi drafting him, all Jeff Gordon like, before catching him late.

The setting only enhanced the drama. Coney Island is an old-school beach town full of hustlers who invent ways to take your money. On a trip there long ago, I had (with much prompting from my date) my fortune told. But I only had half of what the fortune teller wanted. No problem, she said. She told it anyway.

She nailed it, too. She said I was troubled. What are the odds of a guy who can afford only half a Coney Island fortunte being troubled?

She got halfway through the fortune and quit. Pay me the rest and I'll tell you the rest, she said. In her spare time, the woman probably goes to libraries and rips the last page out of books.

Kobayashi and Chesnut were't troubled. Each broke his personal record and then the world record. That still wasn't enough. How much drama can you pack into a 12-minute competition? We were finding out.

But suddenly Kobayashi, who had fought jaw and tooth problems, couldn't keep the dog and bun down.

Ever see instant replay of a guy not being able to keep a dog and bun down? It was tough to watch. It was like watching Joe Theisman's leg being taken out by Lawrence Taylor on Monday Night Football, except that Kobayashi is likeable.

Chestnut prevailed 66-63. As long as hot dogs are eaten, July 4, 2007 will be talked about. If competitive eating was not a major sport when the competition began, it is now.