The Sound of the Suburbs

I don't know how many people are reading my little blog, hosted by a bound-for-greatness site (and I say that sans bias) but I just wanna say let's all take a beat and appreciate the pure joy sports provides us all.

We live in turbulent times; political and economic strife threatening to suffocate all our positive life energy, but you gotta take a beat and just Dig It.

Life is short and it's later than we all think. That's why I am typing in my backyard listening to Storyville (ten points if you know 'em; if not, go buy their two essential CDs at once) rap it down with I Can't Keep A Handle On It.

The pure beauty of music equates with sports in such synchronous fashion it makes an old fart like me wanna cry. Golden Earring live spewing Candy's Going Bad ... the perfect antidote to Team Van Gundy's Game 4 collapse.

Lakers win, Figueroa parade, media scribes reaching to attach warmth to MVP Kobe. Yes, here in the land of the lost, where Will Ferrell's box office mojo is over, Laker car flags are flying wild, as well they should. They have been smarting since the TD BankNorth beatdown 12 months back, and as in so many instances, have rebounded from defeat to gutcheck their way to a title, and hats off to them.

My secret MVP, the greatest baller of all time IMHO, Earvin Johnson, whose pointed part-owner critiques have -- make no mistake -- been heard by the Staples 12 one way or another and motivated them in no small measure to victory.

Sports is life in microcosm. Motivation and aesthetic triumph outta nowhere like a Jeff Beck solo. Athletes dance to their own drummer but not really ... they are Just Like Us, but even more sensitive. They live in a fishbowl -- media, talk radio, internet, arena fans -- they earn every million dollar buck they make.

A good guy like Lamar Odom, harangued by LA glitterati et.al. for UnderDog performances ... how would YOU like to lose a child? This guy may not be a straight arrow performer but he is emotionally damaged like many of us, and it's great to see him Rock It Down like he did in Game 3, imposing his will with diffident post-up work, focusing on the task at hand, putting aside the parental baggage that would paralyze many of us permanently. I look forward to seeing the great Lamar Odom -- the Eric Clapton of the hardwood -- get his ring, be it in fall 2009, purple and gold or not. No one will be able to take that away from him.

My suggested takeway is let's give these great men and women -- Lamar to Rafi, Kobe to Venus/Serena, Tiger to Federer -- a break. We so live our lives vicariously through them, we are so quick to criticize their foibles, but let's have a heart ... Athletes Rock.

It doesn't matter what they make, it doesn't matter what WE make, they give us a thrill in our mundane lives and they deserve a hand. Or two.

Aberrant freaks like O.J. and Phil Spector are mere flies in the ointment. Accentuate the positive. Adore these warriors for their efforts.

As in ancient Rome and Greece, sport is to be savored ... and applauded.