Michael Phelps broke another world record today down at the FINA World Championships in Melbourne, lowering the record he set last month in the 200 fly by a full 1.62 seconds, a jaw-dropping improvement. Phelps now owns the eight best times ever posted in the 200 fly. The second-place finisher in Melbourne came in a full three seconds behind him.

And here it was just yesterday that Phelps made headlines around the world by breaking Ian Thorpe’s 200 free world record from 2001 – defeating Dutch rival Pieter van den Hoogenband, erasing Thorpedo’s mark from the books, and serving historical notice to Mark Spitz all in a single race. After all, at the Athens Games Phelps was only one gold short of Spitz’ record seven Olympic gold medals, and one of the races Phelps did not win in Athens was the 200 free. That race forever will be remembered as one of the great swimming showdowns of all time, as Phelps took third behind Hoogie and Thorpe. (Was I in attendance you ask? Why yes, oddly enough I was… the podium shot up there is from the Large archive).

If, as seems evident from his World Championship performance, Phelps has seized control of the 200 free (he’s now the only man to crack the 1:44 barrier in the event) while maintaining his utter dominance of his other signature events (the IM’s and butterflys) he seems almost a cinch to equal and potentially break Spitz’s record in Beijing. Whether he manages that or not, I think a lot of people will agree that Phelps’ performance in Melbourne the past few days has cemented his status as the greatest swimmer who ever lived. Which is some serious shit.

Thirty years ago today, Marquette won its only NCAA men’s basketball championship when Al McGuire’s Golden Eagles defeated Dean Smith’s Tar Heels in the final, 67-59. Marquette was led by its stars Bo Ellis and Butch Lee (who was named the tournament’s most outstanding player). North Carolina’s Walter Davis led all scorers with 20 points, but legendary Tar Heel point guard Phil Ford (a.k.a. The Truth) had a sub-par evening, 3 for 10 from the field for six points.

It was the second final in four years for McGuire and the Golden Eagles – they lost the championship game in 1974 to David Thompson and N.C. State. In ’77, they very nearly didn’t even make it to the final, winning their semi-final over UNC-Charlotte with a last-second court-long inbounds pass from Lee to Jerome Whitehead, who dunked the ball off the fingers of Charlotte’s Cornbread Maxwell.

An uber-New Yorker, Manhattan-born and a player for both St. John’s and the Knicks, McGuire broke down in tears and wept in the final minutes of the ’77 championship, and then retired immediately after the game, making his last outing one for the ages. Much beloved in the basketball world, he went on to have a second career as a broadcaster before dying of leukemia in 2001.

Here Comes Mr. Jordan
TCM, 1:10 a.m.
The movie that Warren Beatty remade into that classic of my childhood, Heaven Can Wait. In the original version, released in 1941, Joe Pendleton is a boxer not a quarterback. Mr. Jordan is of course the angel who brings Joe back to life, in the body of the millionaire Farnsworth (yes, all the names are the same.) The 2001 Chris Rock movie, Down to Earth, was also a Mr. Jordan remake.

Kentucky v. Duke, 1992
ESPN Classic, 7 p.m.
The Laettner game. The whole freakin game.

Master Highlights, 1997
Golf Channel, 8 p.m.
Hard to believe it was ten years ago that Tiger Woods blew all of our minds at the ’97 Masters. Golf Channel runs an hour-long review of the tournament followed by a half-hour interview with Tiger as he reflects on winning his first green jacket.

U.S. v. Guatemala
ESPN2, 9 p.m.
Coming off their 3-1 victory over Ecuador last Sunday (courtesy of a hat trick from Landon Donovan), the U.S. soccer team hosts Guatemala in Frisco, Texas.

UFC Ultimate Knockouts 4
Spike, 9 p.m.
If you possess some sort of sick fetish for seeing a 1-hour montage of guys getting their clocks cleaned well, then, this is the show for you. By the way, this particular installment features the best knockouts from 2004 and 2005.

Today we send our heartiest birthday wishes to Budd Schulberg, the author, fistic enthusiast and all-around No Mas All-Star who turns 93 years young today (that’s Budd on the right getting a little work in back in the day). I-Berg and I recently saw ole Budd at the Salita fight last Thursday, and let me tell you something – he doesn’t look a day over 90 (ba-dump-bump). Seriously though, he’s still out there ringside at a fight near you, scoring the rounds and taking no shit from nobody. He’s a true living legend, and as far as I’m concerned he doesn’t get the credit he deserves from the literary community, not that I imagine he cares much about that. But let me just say that if flippin Zuleika Dobson belongs on the Modern Library’s Top 100 novels list, then The Harder They Fall does too. It’s not only the best boxing novel ever written, it’s also one of the great American novels of the 20th century.

But that’s an argument for another day (and perhaps, another place). If you’re unfamiliar with Budd Schulberg, then I suggest you familiarize yourself pronto, although you are already probably more familiar with him than you know. On that count, I’ll just say “I coulda been a contender” and leave it at that. Beyond the silver screen, however, Schulberg had a marvelous career in print, the aformentioned The Harder They Fall (which made it to film as Bogey’s last picture), What Makes Sammy Run, The Disenchanted, and countless boxing pieces, all rendered in Schulberg’s characteristically taut and vibrant prose that has long been an ideal to which Large has applied himself daily.

For the No Mas set, I recommend checking out his collection Sparring with Hemingway, if you can get a hold of it, or the more recent boxing collection Ringside. Today, to celebrate all things Schulberg, I want to print this excerpt from his introduction to Sparring with Hemingway, a passage that fills me with excitement and inspiration and in and of itself could serve as the No Mas mission statement. Happy Birthday Budd, and the sincerest thanks.

NBA’s Greatest Games – Suns/Celtics, 1976
ESPN Classic, 5 p.m.
Many would argue that this is THE NBA’s greatest game, game 5 of the ’76 NBA finals, a triple-overtime smackdown between the mighty Celtics and the upstart Suns. We’re talking Hondo, Dave Cowens and Jo Jo White, not to mention Paul Westphal, Alvin Adams, and a grizzled veteran named Pat Riley. Some serious shizzam is what I’m trying to say.

Lennox Lewis v. Oliver McCall I & II
ESPN Classic, 8 p.m.
Two very strange fights. In the first from 1994, Lennox coughed up his WBC belt when he got careless and walked into a wild right-hand counter in the second round (McCall delivered this blow with his eyes closed). Determined never to be so cocky again, Lewis promptly stole McCall’s trainer, one Manny Steward. The second fight, held in ’97, is about the craziest thing you’ll ever see. Shit is like Prince of Tides in a boxing ring. That’s all I’m gonna say.

Bloodfist
FlixE, 8 p.m.
If recently you watched the epic Bloodfist III, and you happen to subscribe to FlixE (whatever that is), then you have the golden opportunity tonight to see how the whole blood-fisted journey began with the original Bloodfist. The caption description is “A kickboxer stalks his brother’s murderer in Manila.” Yeah he does.

ECW Sci-Fi, 10 p.m.
All eight members of the Wrestlemania Money in the Bank Ladder Match are in action tonight in an eight-man tag match featuring: The Hardys, C.M. Punk & Edge vs. Randy Orton, Mr. Kennedy, King Booker & Fit Finlay.

It’s been a good week for boxing. Roger Mayweather’s out of jail back training Lil Floyd, Barrera/Marquez did surprisingly robust PPV numbers, and the best news of all by far, ABC is getting back into the fight game, scheduled to broadcast Antonio Taver’s return to the ring against Elvir Muriqi (“The Kosovo Kid” – nickname pantheon alert) on Sunday, April 22nd at 1:30 p.m.

We here at No Mas greeted this news by dancing around the offices in our pajamas and hugging each other like Promise Keepers. Boxing on ABC takes us back to the glory years of our childhoods – we learned to love the sport from watching those Saturday and Sunday afternoon matches and listening to Cosell’s listless, self-promoting commentary. We saw Howard and Ali clown together on ABC, we saw Sugar Ray Leonard TKO Wilfred Benitez on ABC. Bobby Chacon and Bazooka Limon, Boom Boom Mancini knocking out Arturo Frias (not to mention Duk Koo Kim), Mike Tyson annihilating Marvis Frazier… all on ABC in the glory of our youths.

So to celebrate boxing’s return to network television, we thought we’d hype the bout a little and take you back to Antonio Tarver’s finest moment for our No Mas Knockout of the Week. We’re not the biggest Tarver fans here at No Mas, but this one was pure magic for the Magic Man, and but for Douglas over Tyson, maybe the most shocking knockout of our lifetimes. I still vividly remember watching this and not being able to BELIEVE what I was seeing. It was the end of an era, to be sure.

It’s been so long since last we met,
Lie down forever, lie down;
Or have you any money to bet,
Lie down forever, lie down.
Despite attending the hated University of Pittsburgh I grew up in the bosom of Georgetown basketball (if nothing else it sure beat the hell out of the next closest alternative). So even though my favorite team got bounced in the Sweet 16 (again) the tournament could still provide some of the joy I’ve missed out on since 1985…when I was 2. For the past couple of years I’ve taken up residence in the heart of Georgetown, just a few blocks from the heart of campus. So yeah, last night was kind of awesome.

If you missed the game my pity for you runs deeper than Stillwater. Well fear not, YouTube and Viacom have put their billion dollar bitch-fest on hold so that you the viewer can experience the majesty all over again. But alas, Mr. Redstone is no fan of embedding videos (enemas on the other hand…). Follow the link to check out some quick highlights including J-Wall’s game tying three (I called it long before the release and I have a No Masian witness).

As soon as that final buzzer sounded I grabbed my cigarettes and stepped outside to take in the revelry, I was not dissapointed. The Jesuits had taken to the streets.

What a field day for the heat.
A thousand people in the street,
Singing songs and carrying signs,
Mostly say, ‘Hooray for our side.”
It’s time we stop, hey, what’s that sound?
Everybody look what’s going down.

Thank God they didn’t riot. Rumor has it the blogosphere’s own Dan Steinberg served as an armed guard to defend Dean and Deluca’s selection of artisanal cheese. By the grace of God my car was spared from the trampling. Let’s just say that a little bit of lamb’s blood goes a long way.

So at this point there are a few thousand college students clogging the streets, but what were they to do when the bottle rockets ran out? Well if you’re celebrating the madness in DC the answer is simple, you march.

But wait! Where the hell are they going? If you aren’t familiar with the area I’ll break it down. That street you see in the video, that’s M Street. Once you pass the Four Seasons it turns in to Pennsylvania Avenue, then it’s just a mere thirteen blocks…

Oh you whacky Hoyas, like W is actually home. Maybe you should have marched to Crawford.

So yeah, it was a pretty crazy night but it was enjoyed by all. Of course Terps and ‘Eers fans think they’re all a bunch of pussies, not a single flaming sofa to be found.

To wrap up the lyrical theme of this post I’ll turn it over to O.A.R. They’re a decent band (if you like that kind of thing) from the DC area but they hit their stride as students at Ohio State, the very same school attempting to block the Hoyas from a return to the Finals.

What a long, long time.
Long, long time.
It’s been a little old while since I felt so fine.
Wanderin’ in the rain,
Losing my mind.
What a long, long time.
What a long, long time.

The best column of the day can be found at the WaPo. When Sally Jenkins is on her game she can be as good as it gets.

Note: I did not shoot these videos myself, I began the morning with a YouTube search and found some great stuff. There’s plenty more goodness if you search around a bit.

NCAA Men’s Basketball Final, 1979
ESPN Classic, 2 p.m.
Michigan State v. Indiana State. Couple of dudes by the name of Magic and Bird in this one, in the game that changed college basketball forever. Not much of a game really – Bird’s Sycamores were overmatched from the start. But a joy to watch anyway.

Friday Night Lights
FX, 7:30 p.m.
The 2004 movie of Buzz Bissinger’s classic book about the football culture at Permian High in Odessa, Texas. I’ve never seen this thing – people tell me it’s good. People tell me the TV show is good too. I’m highly skeptical.

WWE Monday Night Raw
USA, 9 p.m.
It’s here boys and girls: The final stop on the road to Wrestlemania 23. Usually these “go-home” shows are uneventful but things might be a little different tonight because Vince McMahon will be taking on Bobby Lashley. Here’s hoping they don’t test for steroids before this contest.

UCLA Dynasty
HBO, 10 p.m.
A new HBO doc about the glory years of UCLA basketball under coach John Wooden. Bill Walton, Sidney Wicks and Gail Goodrich are among the interviews.

Tonight Show with Jay Leno
NBC, 11:35 p.m.
Pete Rose is on with Jay. Lately Pete has swung the complete other direction from his years of denial about his baseball gambling habits – these days he’s bragging all over the place about how he bet on the Reds damn near every night. Banged a lot of hookers too, God love him.

Check out Barry Bearak’s piece on former Cubs prospect Adam Greenberg. On the very first pitch of his very first major league at-bat, Greenberg was beaned by journeyman reliever Valerio de los Santos. The pitch damaged Greenberg’s inner ear which temporarily threw off his equilibrium and set in motion a chain of events which permanently damaged his prospects of making it in the bigs. His tragedy combines Cubs fans’ and Jewish mothers’ worst nightmares and eerily parallels the misfortunes of Dr. Archibald “Moonlight” Graham, who never made it past the on-deck circle (but was immortalized in baseball’s favorite tour de schmaltz: “Field of Dreams”).

“Head Trip” is a fascinating story, told very competently by Bearak, who can’t quite seem to get the quotes he wants out of Greenberg, whose discussion of his offseason business in housing foreclosures frustrates a story line that seems to want to head towards either high tragedy or inspirational comeback and doesn’t quite achieve either. Regardless, we will be checking the Royal’s minor league stats this summer and rooting for brother Greenberg, who deserved better treatment than he got from the Chicago Cubs, who will undoubtedly now have to add the curses of legions of Times reading Jewish grandmothers to the Curse of the Goat. They’ll deserve it.

Onto the self-congratulation department…Check out page 40 of the T: Travel supplement where our homepretzels Jay, Oliver and Dan up at Bodega in Boston get big love and spread some in a No Mas direction. Mickey Duzyj’s “Kid Dynamite” No Mas x 5Boro deck is up in the cut. Congratulations my dudes, and thank you for the light.

On this day in 1995, Mike Tyson was released from prison in Indiana after serving a three-year sentence for the rape of Desiree Washington in 1991.

Recently, I re-read a Pete Hamill article written for Esquire during Tyson’s prison stay. Titled “The Education of Mike Tyson, ” the piece documents a trip Hamill made to visit Iron Mike at the Indiana Youth Center in 1994. In retrospect, it’s chilling reading, particularly in view of what has become of Tyson in the past few years – champion turned savage turned tabloid clown.

The picture Hamill paints of Mike in prison is that of a hungry-minded man who has woken from a nightmare and begun to reckon with the true essence of himself. Haunted by the spectre of his lost surrogate father, Cus D’Amato, Mike heeds the old trainer’s words about the mind being just another muscle, and in confinement discovers that muscle’s application. In the course of his discussion with Hamill, Tyson alludes to his reading list frequently, not as a man eager to show off his accomplishments, but as a wide-eyed student wrestling with a maelstrom of new ideas. Among his references are George Jackson’s Soledad Brother, a history of the Haitian revolution, The Great Gatsby, Machiavelli, Candide, The Count of Monte Cristo (“I identify… with Edmond Dantes in the Chateau d’If. He was unjustly imprisoned too”), Hemingway, Francis Bacon, Tolstoy, biographies of Mao, Ghengis Khan and Cortez, Maya Angelou, Arthur Ashe’s Days of Grace, and of course, the Koran.

This is a side of Tyson that rarely has been reported upon, the solitary searcher with a much more active and able brain than America ever wanted to believe of its feral, ghetto-born warrior. Mike converted to Islam in prison and for at least the duration of his sentence seemed affected by its tenets, discovering a potential for humility and discipline in himself that led to him look back on the excesses of his life outside with wonder and disgust. “It was all unreal,” he says. “Want to go to Paris? Want to fly to Russia?… Let me have two of those and three of them and five of those. Nobody knows what it’s like – fame, millions – unless they went through it… I had a thousand women, the best champagne, the fanciest hotels, the greatest meals – and it got me here.”

He tells Hamill that when he gets out of prison he wants to go to college, that he wants to go back to Paris so he can visit the Louvre, that what he misses most about his life is bullshitting with his friends and flying his pigeons and talking to Camille Ewald (Cus’s companion). All in all, he sounds like a crack addict who has gotten clean and is dizzy at the prospect of a different, more rewarding existence. “The pink cloud,” they call it in recovery, the beginning of the journey to freedom.

Looking back, it’s heartbreaking to know how soon after his release Tyson was puffing again on the vainglorious pipe, how soon college and the Louvre and the pigeons were sacrificed to the gods of hubris and chaos. Maybe the most ironic and saddest thing there is to say about Mike Tyson is that in all his misguided lifetime there was only one brief period when rays of sunshine dawned on his mind and he experienced intimations of what it might feel like to be a free man. And those were the years he spent in jail.

(Pete Hamill’s Esquire article isn’t available anywhere on the web. It appears in the collection Iron Mike: A Mike Tyson Reader)