The Sound of the Suburbs

10. Bob Seger
Yeah, I know it's Indy not Detroit but he's tour fresh, mainstream boomer and a killer performer. Set list: Ramblin' Gamblin' Man/Get Out of Denver/Turn The Page/Old Time Rock N Roll. I mean, who books these things? A Ouija board would do better.

9. The Sex Pistols
Old, decrepit punks who could still shock the world. Limey bastards who still don't give a #$%^ and would make Janet's wardrobe malfunction look like a Teletubbie moment with Johnny Rotten's mere presence. Anarcy in the UK/Submission/Problems/Holidays in the Sun. So what if Roger Goodell has to resign afterward?!

8. The Stranglers (with Hugh Cornwell reunited as frontman and Baz Warne on rhythm)
Of course the best selling punk band ever would draw a total blank from the Indy crowd -- more's the better -- as they decimate America. Jean Jacques Burnel would scare the piss out of the crowd. Sometimes(I wanna smack your face)/5 Minutes (and you're almost dead)/Walk On By (just IMAGINE it! Dionne Warwick could join for psychic vox)/The Raven (greatest song ever recorded). They leave the stage to stunned silence.

7. The Black Keys
'Nuf said.

6. The Blue Oyster Cult
"Oooh yeah don't they do that Fear The Reaper thing?" Yes, but who gives a crap it wasn't on the best live album ever, On Your Feet Or On Your Knees (which would be the PA announcer's intro, natch). The Subhuman/Dominance and Submission (quintessential football anthem you've never heard of)/She's As Beautiful As A Foot (just for massive confusion)/Don't Fear The Reaper (nothing like a song about death to preface the second half dissolution of Team Belichick). And as an aside, I'm sorry Gisele Bundchen, your prayers for TB are kind of like Obama saying Jesus would approve of a tax hike for "the rich."

5. Don Rickles
His greatest career challenge. A complete non sequitur. Imagine what he could do with Coughlin and Belichick alone.

4. The Dictators
Best band ever to come outta NYC (sorry, Ramones). Handsome Dick Manitoba superior frontman. Top Ten Ross The Boss Adny and JP deliver the goods like no one else. Search and Destroy/Faster and Louder/Baby Let's Twist/Slow Death (again, nod to Pats). DFFD. If you don't know what that means you're an idiot.

3. Queen w/Paul Rodgers
Yeah, Freddie's Dead (that's what I said) but so what. Two of their songs are biggest anthems in American arena history. And they had a few other tricks up their sleeve. We Will Rock You/Tie Your Mother Down/Crazy Little Thing Called Love/We Are The Champions (Giants).

2. KISS
Seriously, why they haven't been hired is a mystery and sign of disrespect a la the morons who run The Rock N Roll (sic) HOF? Gene spitting blood, hydraulic drum kit, pyro out the wazoo. Detroit Rock City/Strutter/Room Service (ode to life on the road for NFL players)/Rock N Roll All Nite. Hey Now! Tell me I'm wrong.

1. And the winner is ... Van F-ing Halen
Primed for their reunion tour. A troubled nation turns to Diamond Dave for solace, happiness and amps at 11. You Really Got Me/Everybody Wants Some/Panama/Aint Talkin' Bout Love.

Yeah, Madonna. That's what we need.

The red-faced militaristic taskmaster Tom Coughlin made his name coaching the Jacksonville Jaguars with Mark Brunell as his partner in crime. If you missed Brunell's 50-yard hurdling scramble to win an important postseason game, go to the Internet. It was a thing of a beauty.

Now, however, Captain Tom has a better QB and is on another mission. His Giants not only whupped a good Atlanta team last week, they went in to Lambeau Field on Sunday and destroyed the defending NFL world champions 37-20. If it wasn't for the zebras' clear partisanship, it wouldn't have been that close.

An obvious first-half fumble by Green Bay was not called, even after review. A politically correct and noxious roughing-the-passer call on Osi Umenyiora to a Green Bay drive alive ... pathetic. Team Coughlin kept going and put the Ubangi Stomp on the champs.

Here's saying they go to the Bay Area next Sunday and put the whupping stick on the Niners, whose brilliant comeback v. New Orleans reminded us all why this is the game we Americans love above all.

The Jints will prevail in S.F., and then go to the big dance to meet Baltimore, which could be problematic. If Joe Flacco plays the game of his life, the Ravens make Edgar Allan Poe proud. If he doesn't Eli, has more rings than his brother.

If I had to put money down, I'd bet on Eli.

There is just something about this team.

And while Eli is the main stem the real reason is Tom C.

The most revealing moment today was when Lawrence Tynes shanked a kickoff out of bounds, giving Green Bay first and ten at its 40. Most coaches -- including the old Tom C -- would have been in Tynes' face, lambasting his sorry ass.

Instead Tom was clapping his hands, shouting support. This will payoff in spades when Tynes makes a big kick next week and/or at the big dance.

Tom Coughlin, a military brat to the casual watcher, is none other than the new Vince Lombardi. He is the best coach in football, with all apologies to the Harbaughs and The Hoodie.

He has learned to handle his players, love them, discipline them, lead them.

He and Eli Manning are about to make history. They will beat SF and advance and probably clip the Ravens leaving EAP reciting "Ulalume" in his sleep. Because Tom Coughlin is the f-ing Man!

Not to slight Eli. It fascinates me how a great QB like Eli can succeed without Plaxico Burress or another Pro Bowl receiver. Eli has Hakeem Nicks, Victor Cruz, Mario Manningham, Travis Beckum and Henry Hynoski. It reminds me of the 1969-70 Knicks, which had great players but was even better as a team because of the close-knit way they played together en route to the promised land.

This team has outstanding big men in the trenches -- Chris Snee, Jason Pierre-Paul, Umenyiora, David Diehl -- a solid tight end in Jake Ballard who replaced stud Kevin Boss, one unsung hero after another. They are hot at the right time. They are going All The Way.

My only concern is Baltimore, an equally hungry and overdue team. Still, I expect NYG to win it all.

This trio of receivers ... wow. Nicks has a knack for making a catch and shedding tacklers. Cruz can get open anywhere anytime. Manningham just has the gift. His catch v. Atlanta in the end zone to put it away was a thing of beauty.

Ahmad Bradshaw ... his run today at the end of the first half against the Packer was off the charts, leading to the Hail Mary that gave the Jints all the momentum going into the intermission. And there was Brandon Jacobs at crunch time, going left off the take then changing course right all the way to the TD that put the game away.

God, I love football. Not to mention the New York Football Giants.

Who is this Tim Tebow clown?

Doesn't everyone know he was lucky to do a thing in college at Florida?

I mean you know he can't throw the ball?

Come on ... those two BCS titles meant nothing ... he would have done nothing without the greatness surrounding him, right?

So what he got drafted? He won't do squat in the NFL. He doesn't belong there. Duh?

Oh, so they put him in there over Kyle Orton, big whoop, eh? And you watch, Orton will come back and beat him someday, wanna bet?

So he got lucky and won a game starting, so what?

Hey, anybody could go 7-1 with that defense at that altitude right?

Told ya! They lost three in a row. Who's right now?

They have zero chance against the Steelers. How much you wanna bet?

No freaking way this 20-6 halftime lead holds up, you moron?

What I tell ya: The Steelers will kill 'em in OT, just watch.

That ... that stiffarm was illegal, right?

Well, no way they beat New England. Wanna bet???

It's a new year in the world. 2012. A fresh start. A clean slate. A blank page.

And yet here in the good old USA, it is different. This is indeed the land of the free, so unlike many other countries around the world.

Here we celebrate Christmas. Here we play the national anthem before our sporting events. Here we commend achievement, respect performance but most of all we all live for the F word: FUN.

The angry people around the globe who hate us and want to kill us will never have what we have.

We have Tim Tebow, Drew Brees, Maurice Jones-Drew, the Pittsburgh Steelers, the New England Patriots, the Green Bay Packers. We have The Hoodie, Rex Ryan, The New York Post, The Drudge Report, talk radio, ESPN.

We have Kobe, LeBron and D Wade, Madison Square Garden, Derrick Rose, CP3, Blake Griffin, Tim Duncan, Tony Parker and the San Antonio Spurs.

We have Derek Jeter and the Bronx Bombers, Lou Piniella (come back Sweet Lou!), the Dodgers and the parking lot attendant, Tim Lincecum and The Beard, the Cubs and the Bosox.

We have holidays of love: Mother's Day, Valentine's Day. We have Halloween where we scare one another in good spirits, candy for the kids, elaborate costumes and parties celebrating -- that word again -- FUN.

Terrorists only know negativity, only know keeping the other guy down. They believe in death. We believe in Life and all its possibilities. That is why we are Great.

We celebrate the new year when the clock strikes 12 on the last night of the year. We embrace, kiss and high-five into the next chapter of our lives. We look out for the other guy, do the right thing.

We aren't perfect, to be sure. But aside from the aberrant sector of society endemic to any civilization by and large when we err, we apologize. Detroit Lion loses his temper and stomps on an opponent's arm but quietly calls him later to apologize. Pitcher beans a hitter but inevitably reaches out to make amends.

We are not perfect, we Americans. But we are damn straight the greatest place to live work and play.

We drive to work, ride the train or the bus, stroll down the sidewalk minding our own business. We don't go looking for trouble but when it comes -- wherever it is around the planet -- we are the first to offer a helping hand.

It's not easy being A Giant, as Wilt always said. But it's what we know, what is right.

We embark on a new year full of promise and hope. Promise that we will retain our integrity, disdain our detractors. Hope that we will somehow make it all right.

Sports is so emblematic of everything great about America. Win, lose, but play the game, then shake hands and go on. That is our way. That is our credo. That is our life.

God Bless America.

Every time I'm watching TV and I find "Gladiator" on, I will sit and watch the damn thing all the way to the end. The Spaniard Crowe, the slavemaster Oliver Reed in the last of his cinematic appearances in a long, storied and inebriated career, Joaquin Phoenix at his apex sticking the knife into Crowe before their final bout ... genius.

Reminiscent of the holy triumverate that was The Clash, Sex Pistols and Stranglers in the late 70s, the most furious rock n roll bands in history. No More Heroes, No Submission, No Safe European Home.

Gods.

What we are left with in this NBA season are the three wise men: James/Wade/Bosh. They are sure to win the title this season and numerous times to come. I dislike them, but it is inevitable unless a similar holy alliance forms.

Boston's trio is aging and done. Dallas still has a chance if it somehow lands Dwight Howard. The Lakers and KB are finished, much like his marriage. The Clippers are comers but it will take time.

The Heat are in perfect position. The lockout and requisite fallout helps them since they've been ignored and picked up Shane Battier, who can guard any 3 in the league and knock down big shots at crunch time, being a Dukie.

And they are also enabled by the short season. They will be the top seed in the East, run the table in the conference playoffs and vanquish whatever Western squad survives the post, probably OKC in 5. It's elementary.

But back to the Stranglers/Clash/Pistols.

I really don't think history has yet realized the importance of these three units. But it will.

The Pistols ... one record and yet one eternal record snapped by the consummate snarl of John Lydon, the greatest voice in the history of rnr tied with Elvis Presley. A massive vicious curl.

The Clash, the most powerful live band ever, a sound that felt like it would truly blow the walls apart and I know becuz I was there. First time I saw'em Boston in '79, they open with Complete Control/Cadillac/London Calling. I was thrown out of the gig immediately after for pushing a rockhead security guard and my friends and I went down to Worcester's Clark University next night for an even better gig opened by Gang War featuring Johnny Thunders and Wayne Kramer. Ramblin' Rose indeed.

Somehow we got inside, the place was oversold, white riot in the air, explosive vibes that carried us up up and away. Armagideon Time premiered on the second 3x encore and I thought I would die from pleasure. Nothing could be better except ... except ...

The F-ing Stranglers. Three Limeys and a Frog. The angriest and best band EVER. Get a Grip. Dead Ringer. Burning Up Time. And on.

Peaches stripped down for encore, best bass line ever.

Down in the Sewer to end it all.

These were the days.

These were the days when punk rock reinvented the music genre. The best days/nights of my life.

Aesthetic fire and genius.

This is what the Heat must live up to.

I Feel Like A Wog.

Get it done already.

First of all, I loathe the Lakers.

I grew up a Knicks/Sixers/Pistons fan (I like Team Basketball regardless of geography) and the Lakers were always there thwarting my team. Three of my favorite five NBA games are/were: Knicks and Willis Reed in Game 7 beating Wilt, West and Co.; Sixers completing sweep for Dr. J, Moses Malone, Bobby Jones and Andrew Toney's (fave player ever) lone title with Maurice Cheeks executing the only dunk of his pro career to seal the deal at the Fab Forum; Pistons Game 4 finisher over injury-riddled Laker team again at the Forum, me up in the cheap seats, Chuck Daly letting Rick Mahorn play until he fouled out with a ring, Daly no doubt aware he was going to have to release the guy two days later in the expansion draft ... Memories.

Loved it last season when Dallas swept Kobe and Co., with Artest and Bynum's cheap shots at the end (World Peace my ass) humiliating Laker Nation.

Nonetheless, voiding the CP3 three-way trade is just wrong. Dan Gilbert?!? How is it he gets to control the doings of the Hornets?! They got a fistful of players in the deal, LA lost its frontcourt, Houston made a sound move -- what's up with that?

I mean if you're going to void this deal how the heck do you allow Pau for Kwame which resulted in Laker titles and major success? Absurd.

If the Buss family and Kupchak are going to relinquish Odom and Gasol for Paul let them. Who knows what will happen> Hardly an unequal trade. Now the Hornets will get nothing close to this kind of substance and you've got unhappy players all around.

This is not like Bowie Kuhn voiding Oakland-Yankee deal decades ago. Not at all.

This is a case of jackass envious owners (Gilbert) stomping their petulant feet to kill a deal that makes the league more exciting across the board.

Paul in Lakerland with Kobe and Bynum? Run-and-gun fun. Pau a Rocket for a franchise that is always in the mix? Man in the middle they need to keep them competitive. Odom, Martin and Scola in The Big Easy? Again, competitive fire.

David Stern has gone from first to worst sports commissioner in a matter of months. First he fails to brook a deal betwixt owners and players that could have been settled long ago, now this. What's next, tell Blake Griffin he can't jump over a car to dunk for Black Thanksgiving? Absurd.

I sincerely hope he comes to his senses and approves the trade, if only to see the Lakers become the worst rebounding team in the league and run and gun their way to failure.

Moving along ... What is Mark Cuban thinking? Letting Tyson Chandler and possibly JJ Barea leave Dallas? What can Dirk and Jet be thinking? Just plain stupid unless they somehow land Dwight Howard, which doesn't appear likely.

Speaking of whom, would be great for the game to see him in Jersey with Deron Williams. But seems to me DH and Hedo for Brook Lopez and two No. 1's is a lot more lopsided than the CP3 three-way.

So who knows.

** Also ... I predict here and now Albert Pujols will be a bust in Anaheim. Maybe three good years before age and injury do him in. Remember Alex Rodriguez. And C.J. Wilson ...really? A mediocre money pitcher. Edwin Jackson is a far better prize.

Wow. What a kid we have here. A Winner in every sense of the word.

I sat there Thursday night watching this fairly dull game, but then it was Tebow Time.

Leading his Broncos nearly the length of the field vs. the vaunted Jets' D, this kid blew me away. A few passes, one a wobbler, no sacks, moving around the pocket like the artful dodger, sweeping right and putting a shoulder into All-Pro Darrelle Revis (he of the boastful talk this week, vowing to shut Tebow down -- how'd you like being bowled over at crunchtime, Revis?!) for an extra three yards instead of veering out of bounds like every other QB in the pros would do.

And then, on third down from the New York 20, just when you thought it'd be FG time and OT, this stud sees a blitz coming, looks it in the eye, wheels around left end and runs almost untouched for six. It almost looked like the Jets defenders were afraid of him; nobody stepped up to even try and tackle him.

And then Tim Tebow did what makes him so hated, so awful in the minds of hateful, awful people: He raised his hands and fingers to the sky and Thanked God.

Terrible, isn't it? There's a fine young man who's never been in trouble in his life, never broken the law unlike several "star" Jets, never fathered multiple children by multiple women like Mr. Cromartie, who was nowhere to be seen. Yeah, Tim Tebow. What's wrong with him?

And then, following a failed Jets' last try, Tebow celebrates, congratulating teammates and opponents before joining an impromptu prayer circle comprised of players from both teams near midfield. A sight that warmed my heart.

This country was founded by people fleeing religious oppression, a mere 200-some years ago. And now we have a sports star who is a Christian and makes no bones about it. As well he shouldn't.

All he did in college -- from which he graduated -- was lead his team to two national championships amongst fierce competition. All he's done as a pro is win.

And yet all we hear is "he can't throw," "he's not a pro quarterback" and "he sticks his beliefs in your face."

All lies.

All the product of jealousy and bigotry.

Say what you will, and they will continue to do so, but Tim Tebow is a hero for these trying times. He is not a great passer. He is not the pro archetype. He is not perfect.

But there's something about him.

He's a leader.

There was his boss, Broncos legend and GM John Elway, who was the NFL QB archetype, standing, smiling and applauding this fine young man after he had led Denver to a major upset victory.

The news is awful: Tough economy, anarchists in the streets, a revered college football program rocked by scandal.

The good news:

Thank God for Tim Tebow.

Amen.

The Jets will never win a Super Bowl with Mark Sanchez.

Eli Manning, despite a late loss to SF in a terrific game, is at his peak. Peyton must have given him a pep talk after he went down.

This guy Forte on Chicago hits the hole like Emmitt Smith and Mercury Morris. POW!

If the Falcons don't make the playoffs, Mike Smith will never hear the end of it when it comes to going for it Sunday on his own 29.

Why does San Diego get worse every year and Norv Turner keeps his job? The Chargers never should have whacked Marty S.

Oakland, meanwhile, could not only win a weak division but be a real threat to make it to the big dance once Carson Palmer finds his groove.

Same old Steelers ... they just win. Still, Big Ben ain't what he used to be and the run game is lacking. The D continues to carry them.

Albert Pujols a Miami Marlin? Sounds wrong on many levels. Stay home, Albert.

Watching excellent HBO doc "Thrilla in Manila" reminds how great boxing once was. Pacquaio-Marquez III does the opposite.

If Chad OchoJohnson and Tom Brady get rhythm, look out AFC.

The Packers look invincible but still a long way to go. Has that clown on ESPN, Colin Cowherd, ever confessed he was wrong about Aaron Rodgers?

The LA Times reported Sunday Frank McCourt's forced sale doesn't include the parking lot at Chavez Ravine. Wonder what Bryan Stow's family thinks about that.

Speaking of the LAT, dueling columnists T.J. Simers and Bill Plaschke wrote polar opposite stories about Mike Scioscia's role in trading Joe Napoli. Simers says guilty, Plaschke innocent. I'm going with T.J. Scioscia runs the Angels.

Dallas has awakened and should provide great football down the stretch v. the Jints. I may be in the minority but still think Tony Romo will one day lead them to the promised land.

Speaking of Dallas, where's Dirk in the NBA negotiations? At least Jason Terry's in there fighting for the mid-level exception.

And is it me or are the NBA players going to symbolically align themselves with these Occupy morons and call themselves the 99 percent v. owners 1 percent ? I hope there's no season so they can all roll around in their greed in the midst of a historically bad economy. Hey, it worked for the NHL.

I've watched sports all year and still say the most intense, dramatic competition has come on the professional men's tennis circuit. Nadal, Federer, The Joker ... it just doesn't get any better when it comes down to mano a mano.

Isn't it time for the World Cup? I actually miss that damn thing.

I know he was on the outs in Beantown but Jonathan Papelbon's move to Philly stunned me. Another great move by the Phillies, who will be favored again, and I can't wait to see Pap at the bat.

I know it's not even on the radar but I bet Pudge Fisk would make a great Red Sox manager.

Indy may wind up with the top pick in the NFL draft and take Andrew Luck, but I bet the Redskins take Matt Barkley, and Mike Shanahan finally finds the QB who will make them relevant again.

Did I mention the Chargers stink?

The horror, to quote Joseph Conrad.

What could possibly have prevented Joe Paterno, Graham Spanier and other grown men -- parents -- when they were told of the 2002 incident of Jerry Sandusky allegedly sodomizing a boy? A boy??

It is beyond unspeakable, beyond incomprehensible, beyond belief.

And this monster Sandusky, with his charity organization ostensibly helping children ... who was minding that store?

We are all angry. We all want answers. And, now, they will dribble out, one worse than another. So awful.

We love sports. We love the figures who fill the sports pages. But a story like this calls it all into question.

No more role models. No more heroes.

They're as flawed and complicated as you and me. Tragic.

I remember listening to the first Frazier-Ali fight on the radio when I was a kid. Since it was shown on closed-circuit TV, the radio broadcast wasn't live but a recreation, round by round, blow by blow, from some nameless announcer no doubt watching a feed from MSG and reporting slightly after the fact.

For some reason I never liked Ali. Too cocky. Everybody's darling. But mainly, untouchable.

Then there was Frazier. "Human hamburger" in Hunter Thompson's words. Nobody's favorite. A true working class hero from the mean streets of Philly. Inarticulate. Blocky. All he did was slug it out.

Always with a chip on his shoulder. Always punching. Never knocked off his block.

Despite Howard Cosell's obvious bias toward Ali, there was something about the way he enunciated "Smokin' Joe Frazier!" that gave me a thrill. The guy was a true fighter, a competitor, a human hamburger all right -- medium rare.

Those were the golden days of boxing, when "And now the heavyweight champion of the world!" meant something. Now it's over. I couldn't tell you who holds that title now.

Then it was Ali, Frazier and George Foreman. And even with guys who didn't hold the title -- Teofilo Stevenson and the punching bags Jerry Quarry, Gerry Cooney, Duane Bobick -- the sport meant something then.

Never glamorous, never a media darling, Joe Frazier simply put his life on the life every time out in the ring, leading with his chin and a monster left hook. Salieri to Ali's Mozart he was unpoetic, unflinching, uncompromising.

For his heart to stop and his dying means we all will die (obviously) but I mean it in the grand scheme of things. He was a punishing unstoppable force in his day, withstanding abuse and the brutality of great fighters as he dug in, took it and dished it out.

Boxing peaked with him and Ali. It hasn't been the same since but perhaps will be some day.

He was in a class with Pete Rose, Jim Brown, Charles Oakley, Wayne Cashman. Tough guys who just ran over you without the style, grace and elan of the ruling class.

A true giant of our sporting times, Joe Frazier deserves every accolade that can be bestowed on a consummate fighter.

Sleep well, Smokin' Joe.

Let us consider, for a moment, the curious case of Alex Rodriguez.

Here we have one of the most gifted athletes ever to play the game of baseball.

He emerges in Seattle and then explodes in Texas as a great shortstop and an even greater hitter. He slugs like The Babe. He is exceptional in the field. He is in the midst of a mediocre team and takes advantage of the free agent system and is signed to the most lucrative deal in baseball, if not all professional sports.

He moves to New York, to Mecca, Yankee Stadium. He pisses on his alleged good friend, Derek Jeter, a pinstripe icon, on the way in. Kind of like Reggie Jackson pissing on Thurman Munson in a similar situation.

Except Reggie delivers, and then some.

A-Rod, as he is known, a poetic moniker given that he is a lightning rod for controversy and fan hatred, becomes a Yankee and selflessly changes positions, moving to third so as not to supplant Jeter. He becomes a fine third baseman. Not Graig Nettles but good enough in the field.

He hits the heck out of the ball during the regular season. Big numbers.

Yet, during the postseason, which is all that matters in the Bronx, he flames out. He tries to knock the ball out of the Red Sox first baseman's glove and winds up on the Drudge Report with a doctored photo showing him with a woman's purse on his forearm as he makes a play.

He becomes an object of mockery, disdain, loathing -- in Yankee Nation. And that's just the home crowd. Elsewhere he is utterly reviled and disrespected.

Under the scrutiny of the microscopic Manhattan media he is photographed leaving a Toronto strip club with a buxom blonde while his wife and children watch from home.

He divorces the wife. He dates one movie star after another. He becomes a further object of scorn.

2009 rolls around. Finally his potent bat delivers when it counts. He lashes hit after crucial hit. Dingers galore. The Yankees win it all. Alex Rodriguez is a hero.

But still, somehow, unloved by Yankee Nation.

Perhaps it is the presence of Derek Jeter a few feet away in the infield. But doesn't Captain Jeter date movie stars too? Sometimes two at a time, literally, from what the tabloids report?

Still, Alex is anathema. He can do no right.

And yet ... and yet ... the crux of the matter is Alex Rodriguez does nothing to be loved.

He does not make the right moves off the field. He does not get the right endorsement deals. He does not make the right TV commercials that help endear sportsmen to the masses. He is ... awkward. He is unlikeable.

And then the worst happens: he is linked to The Juice. He becomes a pariah, and that's just among Yankee Faithful. He cannot make it right.

Now, two years in a row, he whiffs in his last at bat to end the Yankees' season. Ignominious. The boos rain down. A-Rod walks off the field popping his gum, devoid of emotion. Yankee fans want their heroes to go out with a bang -- throw the bat, throw the helmet, confront the ump -- something. A-Rod walks to the clubhouse, his carefully arranged toothpasted toothbrush waiting as he goes out into the night on the arm of this week's starlet.

He swears the team, and himself, will be back "with a vengeance."

Nobody buys it. Yankee Nation wants him gone: The man who may yet surpass Barry Bonds -- who remains beloved in the City by the Bay -- for greatest home run hitter ever.

It is clear Alex Rodriguez is not ready for prime time -- at least in New York, the greatest city in the world. He needs to ply his trade and exhibit his considerable talents where the sun doesn't shine 24/7. On the other hand, if the Dodgers were owned by anyone other than Frank McCourt an exchange of Ethier and Billingsley for A-Rod would make sense. But Frank can't afford him.

He belongs in Kansas City or Seattle or San Diego, somewhere he can prosper without the media glare. And at 36, his future prowess may not even appeal to small market teams. He is damaged goods.

Curious, indeed.

To the tune of Boston's finest, Aerosmith, and "Same Old Song and Dance" ...

Get yourself a cooler, lay yourself low
Fenway is a graveyard, oh don't you know
The Yanks are in the playoffs, Sox left for dead
Theo's on the chop block, fans want his head
It's the same old story, same old song and dance

Gotcha with the choke job, now you're all alone
Faithful in despair with no Combat Zone
We don't know how it happened but it's what it is
Fox in a panic but that's just the biz
It's the same old story, same old song and dance, my friend

Fans come a knockin'
Doors start rockin'
Francona's pay might be dockin'
We thought they were a lock in
But now it's all over
Crawford runs for cover

Muddy Chicken couldn't save em
Gonzalez too was cavin'
Big Papi's in a panic
Papelbon's a fake and
The whole town's dyin'
Not to mention cryin'
And who do we blame
Cuz the franchise is in flames and
It's Groundhog Day all Oh...ver again

(GUITAR)

When you're low down and dirty from walkin' the streets
Daniel Bard a guy you just don't wannna meet
JD Drew is a loser, dead on his feet
Youk on the DL, no longer sweet
It's the same old story, same old song and dance
Ells came up big but it don't mean a damn
Josh couldn't do it, he aint The Man
It'll all fall on Crawford, he threw it away
The Town won't forgive him, that's just the way
Of the same old story, same old song and dance
It's the same old story, same old Red Sox, same old gosh darn curse ...

So this clown has changed his name to "Metta World Peace." Yet another sign of The Decline of Western Civilization.

It was only a few months ago that Ron Artest showed his true colors as Dallas closed out the Lakers in four at Staples. I can cut Andrew Bynum some slack for his body blow and wrestler shirt toss off cuz he's what, 12? But then again when he's playing next to RonRon, it makes sense. Sleep with dogs and wake up with fleas, as they say.

Lest we forget that Mr. World Peace took out Shawn Marion into the Mavericks' bench with a major cheap shot before flooring JJ Barea with a forearm shiv in the backcourt. Christ, at least Rick Mahorn did it in the paint to defend a bucket. Shameful.

Memo to World Peace: The Hoop World hasn't forgotten Malice at the Palace when you behaved like a thug, punching fans and behaving like a drunk in the Dodger Stadium parking lot. In his defense some knucklehead threw a beer in his face so the first hit I understood. But to go into the stands and do a beatdown on a moron ... over the line.

What Artest did to Barea was just another merit badge for this Boy Scout.

Defaming the proud Laker franchise with a blatant hit to injure -- which could have been far worse if Barea wasn't himself a tough cookie -- was bad enough. Then to read that this guy is changing his name to this ... this epitomizes why many sports fans desert the game and hope the lockout eliminates the season.

Why didn't Jerry Buss fire this guy after Game 4? If he was an employee at any private or public company in the real business world, he would be out the door without a cent of severance and be extremely lucky to find another job. Instead his actions are ignored and, by proxy, encouraged. He embarks on a comedy tour -- yeah Ron, your act is just hilarious -- where I'm sure the yucks were aplenty. "And then this punk is bringing the ball upcourt as we're getting our butts kicked so I wind up and try to knock his block off ... hahaha!"

Laughing all the way to the bank as he paychecks his millions and gets ready for another season of thuggery. Of course he hit a lucky three to beat Boston in Game 7 in 2010 and made himself permanent ink to the purple and gold. What a joke.

I mean, Metta World Peace?! What is this garbage?

Here's a few suggestions for a more appropriate name change for Mr. Artest:

Bring The Pain
Metta Cheap Shot
Bad Tempered Wacko
Killer Elite (oh, that's cool, aint it Ron?)
Pariah (one name, just like Madonna, Beyonce and Jay-Z -- ultra-hip)

All kidding aside I know it's a free country we live in. The individual has free reign. And look where that's got us.

I may be a crotchety old moralizer but this just boils my blood. And then, of course, there's the kicker that he couldn't change his name before paying off a host of unpaid parking tickets.

Unpaid. Parking. Tickets.

Us common folk would have ended up picking up trash on the side of the road for ignoring the laws of civilized society. But Ron Artest? No.

It's become a rite -- or wrong -- of fall. Charlie Brown goes to kick the pigskin and Lucy pulls it away. Brown Goes Down.

The painfully obvious analogy for Irish Nation occurred once again over the weekend. At least last year Notre Dame beat Nevada in the home opener. No such luck this time.

Vaunted South Florida, led by Skip Holtz, son of Lou, the last coach to lead ND to a title 23 years ago, came in to South Bend and dispelled the by now annual ND hype machine. What an embarrassment.

Not that SF isn't a good team; it is. Very solid.

But this was to be the year, we've been told. Lofty preseason rankings and prestige bestowed upon Brian Kelly's squad. And what do we get? Bupkis.

ND takes the opening kickoff and marches down the field like good Roman Catholics. They're on the 1-foot line and -- I fault Kelly here -- instead of a QB piledriver, Dayne Crist hands off to a guy touching the ball for the first time this season (I forget his name and deservedly so) and he not only fumbles but an SF defender picks it up and runs 99 yards for a touchdown. Embarrassing.

And that was just the beginning.

Halftime tally:
SF 16 ND O.

And then the rain came.

Hours later the second half starts and Kelly pulls Crist for Tommy Rees, who led the Irish on a solid stretch run to close last season. A good move.

Rees takes them down and scores. D holds. Rees takes them down and scores again. But time is running out, they're down ten, go for two, fail. One too many times to the well with Michael Floyd (no jokes, please; it's bad enough as it is).

And then it was over. ND, ranked 18th in the AP poll, will doubtless plummet out of the top 25 as well they should. Plus Kelly now has a QB controversy on his hands. The only way they can salvage the season is to run the table with maybe one loss (Hello, Stanford).

It's the optics that hurt us Irish fans. Big hype, good recruiting class, strong finish last year and yet they come out of the box at home and get beaten -- soundly. Burn the green jerseys.

What is it about this esteemed program? They just can't get it done.

Maybe the academic standards are too high. But then, we Irish pride ourselves on kids who actually have to go to class and do their homework, unlike other major programs that own the spotlight.

But there is no excuse for this. None.

Again, SF is a quality team but you just don't lose to them in a home opener. Period.

I, for one, have spent so many Saturdays glued to the tube rooting for ND but that's it. I'll read about it from now on. I'll watch the SC game (Trojans didn't look great against Minnesota either but at least they won) but aside from that I'm tired of wasting my time.

Notre Dame football defines mediocrity in the 21st Century. As Colin Cowherd said this week they have two NFL players in Floyd and Manti Te'o and aside from that they might as well be Minnesota.

It may seem like a kneejerk reaction to one loss but there's too much recent history here, too much hype and promise of greatness.

Adios, Irish. Bring on the NFL.

AC/DC.

The greatest rock-n-roll band in history.

And yet ... underappreciated in the sports world. Yes, the bell rings from "Hells Bells" in our stadiums but why is it Queen ... Queen???!!! gets all this exposure with "We Are The Champions" and "We Will Rock You"? JFC, they made about three real rock records especially "Tie Your Mother Down."

Yet Angus and Malcolm, Brian and Bon, Cliff and Phil, take a backseat.

This is wrong

We Americans pride ourselves on being the greatest country in the world. Because We Are.

So why don't we demand the best, most rousing music in our athletic arenas? Nothing to do with patriotism, because the greatest American RNR outfits -- Aerosmith, KISS, Nirvana -- don't necessarily lend themselves to sports emporiums (though "Shout It Out Loud" and "Livin' On The Edge" certainly lend themselves to the occasion. Oops, I forgot those nihilists Guns N Roses, but their anthem "Welcome To The Jungle" is without doubt the most overplayed overrated piece of crap we sports fans hear on a regular basis. And the taint of Eric Gagne lingers.

AC/DC just has SO many anthems to offer.

If I owned a sports team, I would just pummel the fans and participants with Angus Young.

"Stiff Upper Lip," for instance, would simply drive Rex Ryan or Erik Spoelstra mad. And can't you see Ray Lewis leading the Ravens onto the gridiron to this driver? Melo ripping off his sweats as Malcolm takes it down ... down ... and DOWN ... you mofos ...

Lest we forget Bon Scott. I wept when he died. One of the greatest frontmen ever. "It's A Long Way To The Top" ... perfect for the Atlanta Falcons or Miami Heat or Texas Rangers.

A few more suggestions from the peanut gallery:

"Down Payment Blues" ... Hello Frank McCourt!

"It's A Meltdown" ... Where's Milton Bradley when you need him?!

"Hell Aint A Bad Place To Be" ... Cam Newton would surely enjoy the boost.

"(Come into) The House of Jazz" ... Kobe would dig the vibe.

"Shot Down in Flames" ... Perfect for Joe Girardi after another AJ Burnett failure. Last outing at Fenway was a mirage.

"Night Prowler" ... LaMarr Woodley and the Steelers' D would eat it up.

"Can't Hold Me Back" ... Universal.

"Gone Shootin'" ... Plax is Back!

"I Feel Safe In New York City" ... A-Rod Squared.

The possibilities are endless. I mean, let's face it: The key figure in pop culture is a 5-5 Aussie without a driver's license because he can't reach the pedals.

But he knows how to rock.

ANGUS! ANGUS!!