I remember when C.J. Hunter tested positive for nandrolone before the Sydney Games, a minor story that became major only by right of the fact that, at the time, Hunter was married to one Marion Jones, Empress of Sydney.

Of course, in the press rooms, no one was surprised that a shot-putter had gotten nailed for drugs. It was the choice of his drug that baffled us. “Nandrolone?” we said. “What is this, 1974?”

Well, you might say the same thing about the recent spate of high-profile drug busts in sports – Roid Landis and Justin Gatlin for testosterone, and Marion Jones for EPO. This is pre-BALCO shit, classic dope that the BALCO boys thought they made obsolete. Now it’s back on the scene, and there’s a good article in the Washington Post today suggesting that it’s because athletes are shying away from BALCO drugs due to the notoriety of the scandal.

My favorite part of the article is when a chemist tells the Post, “I could come up with [an undetectable steroid] that Catlin (the USOC drug czar) couldn’t find if it were taped to his forehead. But nobody is interested in such substances.”

Dah… why not? Evidently these athletes are stupider than I thought, and I already thought they were pretty stupid.

Tests suggest revival of well-known drugs (Washington Post)

There’s a new ill-advised fistic career in the works, this one by the former captain of Sheffield Wednesday, 26-year-old British subject Curtis Woodhouse. He fights his first pro bout, a welterweight contest, on September 8th in London.

We’ll say this for Curtis Woodhouse – he has an excellent boxing name. “Curtis Woodhouse.” Sounds like a boxer innit? I mean, it’s not exactly “Mickey Rourke,” but then, mate, what is really?

Woodhouse poised for boxing debut (BBC Sport)

This was a motherfucking brawl right here. First of all, look at two of the principals – Juan Marichal and Sandy Koufax. Also note Marichal brandishing the bat. That would cost him dearly.

On this day in 1965, one of the ugliest fights in baseball history occurred, a donnybrook of mythic proportions between the Dodgers and the Giants. There had been some bean-balling in a game two days prior, and in this game, Dodgers’ catcher John Roseboro reputedly wanted Koufax to knock down Marichal. When Koufax refused, Roseboro took the job on himself, whipping a return throw to the mound very close to Marichal’s head. A screaming match ensued, and Roseboro threw off his mask to better express himself. At that point Marichal landed a couple of clean bat-shots to Roseboro’s head.

All hell broke loose. Bats were brandished by other players. Roseboro was led off the field by Willie Mays, bleeding profusely. His wound required fourteen stitches.

Marichal was suspended for nine days and fined the then-considerable sum of $1,750. But the damage stretched far beyond the immediate punishment – the incident would haunt Marichal the rest of his career and may have postponed his entry into the Hall of Fame.

One wonders if Robby Alomar will suffer a similar fate for the gob of spit he planted on John Hirschbeck’s face in 1996 . Somehow I doubt it. Outrage just ain’t what it used to be.

Dude check out this Ryder Cup team:

Tiger Woods
Phil Mickelson
Jim Furyk
Chad Campbell
David Toms
Chris DiMarco
Vaughn Taylor
J.J. Henry
Zach Johnson
Brett Wetterich
Stewart Cink
Scott Verplank

WTF? You feel me? You heard it here first – Tiger is going to drop out. He will not be seen on the course wearing the same shirt as Vaughn Taylor and Brett Wetterich. Tiger wouldn’t buy a hubcap from Brett Wetterich.

Cink, Verplank fill out U.S. Ryder Cup team (Toronto Star)

I’ll give you some clues as to who they are in the captions:

“I know… after I win the World Series MVP I’ll sign with the Rangers, where my career will only get better and better… meanwhile these stupid Yankees will go straight in the shitter, because they’ll never be able to find a closer as great as me…”

“I’m on my way to becoming a football icon, a legendary bad boy, and all I have to do is wear these gay headbands and hand the ball to Walter Payton. Here’s me in the huddle… Walter run right, Walter run left… I’m a fucking genius!”

“Yo, I’m the guy who won two Heisman Trophies. You hear that? Two Heisman Trophies! When you hear my name, what do you think… that’s right bitch… TWO HEISMAN TROPHIES! I’M THAT GUY YOU HEAR ME?!@!

“Points? Naw, mothafucka, I’m talking about bitches. I bagged one hundred BITCHES today. And look here, holms, don’t hold me to this shit, cause I’m going out after the game, and I seen at least twenty ho’s up in them bleachers look like they could use a good fucking…”

…won the very first Little League World Series on this day in 1947, defeating Lock Have Little League, 16-7. Back then there were 17 teams in two states, and yes, the final was held in Williamsport. There were 2,500 spectators at the game.

Check out that picture up there. How much more Bad News Bears can you get? Where the hell is Buttercrud?

The kid holding the trophy is Jack Losch, who went on to be a four-year All-American football star at Miami, where he still holds four rushing records. He was drafted by Green Bay and played one season with them, 1956. He died in 2004, and soon after Little League Baseball announced that the Little League World Series Team Sportsmanship Award would be named after Losch.

I did not watch the final round of the PGA. I had a prior commitment. I was up in Connecticut having lunch with some very well-heeled friends of my girlfriend’s family.

Usually, the idea of missing the final day of a major, a major with a tie for first and a leaderboard full of bigtime names, to go have quiche in Greenwich would have made me apoplectic. Usually, I would have been forced to turn to my bogus-excuse bag for a whopper.

But yesterday, I must say, it didn’t feel like it was worth it. Tiger Woods with the lead on Sunday? Playing with Luke “I’m not afraid of Tiger I swear” Donald? It’s amazing they bothered to play the round at all. Just give him the Wanamaker and get on the plane, save yourselves the humiliation.

How do these dudes look Tiger in the eye in the clubhouse? I was watching War of the Worlds last night on HBO, and thinking, this is kind of what golf is like now. Tiger is the big alien arachnid land rover with the all-seeing eye. Everyone else is Tom Cruise, running and hiding and shitting his pants.

August 19, 1917, legendary pitcher Christy Mathewson and manager John McGraw of the New York Giants got themselves arrested at a benefit game at the Polo Grounds for violating New York’s blue laws. According to the laws, no professional baseball or baseball players were to play the game on Sunday. Because of God. I tell you bruthas something f’real – shit was stupid different back in the dizzle.

The ’86 Mets reunion is tonight out at Shea, right before the current edition of the Mets take on the Rockies, opening pitch at 7:10. Of course, there will be some notable absences – Gooden, who’s doing time, Ray Knight, who’s hawking pharmaceuticals, and Davey Johnson, who has something else to do. But the other big names will be on hand – Ed Hearn, Danny Heep, Doug Sisk. And the Straw will be there to stir the drink, or so says Newsday, and Newsday never lies.

As a lifelong Mets-hater, and one who particularly loathes this team, I’m not exactly thrilled about the whole 20-year anniversary business, especially when you throw in that this is just the beginning of the hoopla. If the ’06 Mets make a run in the playoffs? Jesus, it’ll be Orosco this and HoJo that every five seconds. Here’s hoping they lose the NLDS in four and spare us all a lot of bullshit.

Straw will be at ’86 reunion (Newsday)

Or actually, don’t bother. Our idols seem to be doing a very competent job of killing themselves.

This one is personal for me, as I’ve mentioned before. I sat in press row in Sydney and watched Marion Jones with the pure awe that I imagine people felt when they watched Wilma Rupdolph, Jesse Owens… Christ, when they watched fucking Achilles. Sports have always had a classical aspect for me – what I want from them is some sign of otherworldly forces at work, the sense that the gods have intervened on some mortal’s behalf for the sheer joy of watching him or her achieve the unthinkable.

Now we have confirmation of what has been suspected for so long – drugs and not the gods were intervening for Maid Marion Jones.

I wonder how long it will be before the gods abandon sports entirely. There comes a point for everybody, mortals and otherwise, when you just have to say fuck the whole damn thing.