Lists! What kind of half-assed journalist would I be if I didn't cram my own personal top 10 list down your gullet before the apple drops and you tongue-kiss a stranger? The sissy communist kind, that's what. Presenting the Top 10 thought-provoking sports stories of the year 2010 according to me (catchy, huh?).
LeBron screws Cleveland, himself. In the most obscene example of media-created hype since David Beckham, LeBron James teamed up with ESPN to produce an hour-long TV special based solely on which hellhole he would play basketball in: Miami or Cleveland. The country gasped at his decision to play for the Heat. Moments later it was discovered the gasps were merely the beginning of a yawn.
Return of the zubaz. Arena Football, the league described as a party where a football game breaks out, took a leave of absence in 2009 only to shock trailer parks everywhere with an unlikely economy-shmeconomy return, in which our own Tampa Bay Storm made it to Arena Bowl XXIII and lost 59-67 to the dreaded Spokane Shock. Arena Football: Where the tickets are cheaper than the cheerleaders and you may actually get punched out by a player. True story.
Saints bump out of the never category. And then there were 14 teams remaining in the NFL that never won a Super Bowl (yep, 14) after the New Orleans Saints beat the mighty what's-the-head-coach's-name-again Indianapolis Colts in Super Bowl XLIV (seriously, how much longer must we endure the Roman numeral shit, it's getting ridonkulous).
Don't pretend you didn't watch. The 2010 Winter Games in Vancouver taught us three things: We're pretty apathetic about hockey unless it's against another country, nobody likes skateboard punks but Shaun White was pretty f*****g amazing, and female curlers are (say it with me in a falsetto voice) h-o-o-o-o-o-t.
Quarterback Ben Roethsliberger was given a six-game suspension for violating the NFL personal conduct policy, or in layman's terms, raping a fan. Yep, I said it. What, this is my opinion, not a court of law. He raped her. Suck it, Cochran. The really neat part was that because Big Ben managed to make it through the off-season virtually rape-free, his sentence was reduced to four weeks. Oh, and I think he said he was really sorry, too. No rapey this month? Who's a good sexual predator? Yes you are, Ben. Yes, you are.
Tiger does Dallas — and Orlando and Vegas and possibly Des Moines. Here was a guy who made bazillions playing a sport most men work their whole lives so they can retire and play every day, who was loved and respected by millions and married to arguably the hottest wife in professional golf (and if you've watched enough golf, you know that means something). But it wasn't enough. If Willy Wonka was accurate, the last line would have been, "Don't forget what happened to the man who suddenly got everything he always wanted." "What happened?" "He banged a Denny's hostess in a truck-stop parking lot and now it hurts when he pees."
Favre follies. Not since Lindsay Lohan has a public figure gone so drastically and violently from darling to dumbass as number 4. Brett Favre had a Hall of Fame career that will no doubt be resurrected once he retires his cleats, the coach-killing and the cock-shots once and for all. His streak of consecutive starts ended at 297 with about as much hoopla as a fart in a Mississippi men's room.
The Rays make history. You know your baseball team is good when they make the playoffs twice in three years and your fan base is pissed off. Granted, their hitting philosophy never quite translated successfully in the post season (don't swing… ever), but Merlot Joe has given the franchise relevancy, respect and a fertile and popular talent pool ripe for the picking (Carl Crawford? Don't mind if I do). Oh, the history part? Yeah um, some putz named Braden pitched a perfect game against us in Oakland. Good times.
Dagummit, what do I do now? As a Florida grad, there was never a person I loved to hate more than Bobby Bowden, who involuntarily hung up the headphones after the Florida State Seminoles 2009 season. Folks think he deserved better. I say men like that never quit. Men like that never stand up at Thanksgiving dinner and voluntarily proclaim that it's time to put them in a home. They leave to hopefully make a movement before nap time, leaving the family with the inescapable discussion of what to do with grandpa. It was time. Enjoy a long retirement, bubba. You've earned it.
He's firing slackers in heaven. Before Donald Trump there was George Steinbrenner. In an Oprah-fied world, the boss was one of the last of a dying breed of real men who could express themselves directly, intelligently and if necessary top it off with a knuckle sandwich as a convincer. You will be missed, George. (On an unrelated note, the Yankees still suck.)
Happy New Year, everybody. Now get your fake intellectual on and pretend you know Auld Lang Syne. Chicks will totally be all up in that.
This article appears in Dec 30, 2010 – Jan 5, 2011.