Normally I'd pick a subject and give you my views. But, nothing jumps out and motivates me to begin another Don Quixote quest to right the evils of sports. So, with that in mind, I'll thrash and ramble about things that confuse, bemuse and amuse me.
Boxing has always brought out the best and worst in sports mankind. Two men standing toe to toe, trying to render the other helpless and unconscious goes against all sense of humanity. But when looked at as man against man, power against power and will against will, there's a special beauty about boxing. In my years of covering major sporting events, never have I witnessed the excitement, electricity and energy like I've witnessed at heavyweight championship fights. Where else could you find a reverend sitting next to a pimp, a CEO chatting with a convicted gambler and Jimmy the Weasel trading boxing tips with a Baywatch babe? Boxing is America's psyche on parade.
Having set the scene, add the athletes, managers and promoters - who remind me of Mad Magazine characters - and you have the complete cast of One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest. As bizarre as boxing is and can be, it got even more so with the recent Oliver McCall-Lenox Lewis WBC championship fight. Boxing is the only sport where you can make millions if you've used drugs, killed someone or done prison time. The more charges on your rap sheet, the more likely you'll get a shot at making millions of dollars for 36 minutes or less of work.
Boxing's motto is "Use and Abuse." Promoter Don King didn't care whether McCall was physically or mentally ready to fight Lewis. He just saw another million dollar payday for himself. McCall's tearful surrender to his inner demons will in the long run only add to the lore and mystique of boxing. In years to come, fans and those in boxing will reflect on McCall and the incident as merely "that crazy dopehead's embarrassing moment." The fact that no one cared about why McCall loves dope or broke down is what is the worst in sports and mankind.
If pro sports leagues were regular business operations, their executives would be in jail. Personal Seat Licenses (PSLs) are the latest sports goose that laid the golden egg. You can dress this pig up any way you want to, but the bottom line is, it's legalized extortion and extortionists go to jail. Blue collar fans have been the backbone of pro sports. Work hard, save your money and buy season tickets. Now, PSLs let you work hard, save your money, pay us to give you the right to pay us again to buy a ticket. This is not a victimless crime. This is an out and out, in your face, "give me your money and if you don't like it there's another sucker that will" crime. The pro leagues are no different than drug addicts. Their drug of choice is green and has a picture of Lincoln, Washington or Franklin on it. They live by the golden rule: those who have the gold, rule. When will it stop? Not until they've sucked the fans financially dry. Then they'll deliver the final indignity. They'll tell the fans how much they really mean to their sport.
I feel better now.
I'm Ron Barr.
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