I Don't Care If You Know This, But...

...it wasn't Lawrence Tynes' fault. The last one he missed, I mean. Bad snap. That said, I was stoked that Fate gave him the chance to redeem himself.

...the Giants are not better than Green Bay, but they were better on this night. That said, they will get freaking rolled by New England.

...Eli is playing out of his mind. And out of three-plus hours of television coverage on Sunday evening, the most relevant comment regarding Eli came from the criminally underrated (and under-utilized) Pam Oliver, who asked him an incredibly insightful question during the pregame nonsense: "Normally, at this time of year, your entire family is focused on what Peyton is doing. What's the reaction now that you are still playing and he is not?"

As the parent of two children, I am totally down with this line of questioning. Where the hell has Pam Oliver been all season?

And where was Peyton tonight?

...as of this writing, I do not know the line for the Super Bowl. As it stands, I will be flying back to Orlando on Super Bowl Sunday, returning from a Magic game in Indiana the night before. I should arrive shortly before kickoff. My wife, Mrs. Red Sox - slash - Patriots Nation, who was last seen bouncing down Palmer Avenue in Winter Park, has already invited her fellow New England refugees to our house for a Super Bowl party upon my return.

In short, I will be grossly unprepared for the Big Game. But write this down:

Take the Giants and the points. They might lose, but take the points, which will be stupid long. You can thank me later.

My Guys

After five seasons of the "Chevy Tailgate Weekend" block of college football programming on Sun Sports, the so-called "talent" -- me, Brady Ackerman, and Terry Norvelle -- have grown to know each other pretty well.

We have our little in-jokes, our habits, our subtle shots at each other that show up on the air every week. We're like fraternity brothers, or an extended family -- we get on each other's nerves, sure, but it's all in fun.

One of our repeated themes is "Your Guy." Whenever a player makes a bonehead mistake, somebody on the set will holler at someone else, saying "That's Your Guy!" Conversely, when a player has a breakout performance, we all kill each other in our haste to claim him as "My Guy." It's akin to Ahmad Rashad's tired line about "my main man" -- hopefully, without the gratuitous self-indulgence.

Anyway, now that college football is gone and I'm free to think hoops, here's the list of "My Guys" in the NBA. There's no rhyme or reason to this, and no order. Note that if I omit any obvious superstars, it's not because I don't respect their game -- these are simply the players that I would pay to watch, or the players I'll want on my roster when some NBA owner comes to his senses and finally hires me as a general manager. Which should happen any day now.

Carlos Boozer, Utah Jazz: If you play fantasy basketball (ahem), you know that Boozer is the ultimate stat hound. Not in a selfish way, mind you -- he simply puts up monster numbers. He's averaged about 22 points and 11 rebounds per game over his last two seasons. Not bad for a second-round pick. Always seems to be around the ball, much stronger than you think, and a great finisher.

Chris Paul, New Orleans Hornets: At 21 points and 10 assists per game, he's having his best season, and he's the primary reason why the New Orleans Hornets are A. interesting and B. making Dallas and San Antonio sweat in the Southwest Division. His team may be struggling at the gate -- the Hornets have been rumored as a relocation project, with Seattle and Anaheim among the suitors -- but it's not Paul's fault. There's not a team in the league that wouldn't love to have Chris Paul running the offense.

Tim Duncan, San Antonio Spurs: Yes, I know, he's a superstar. He's a lock for the Hall of Fame. He's hardly a stretch to be included on this roster, and he's on everyone's "Best Of" list. I include him because I could watch him play every night. There's just so little that he does wrong. He's a seven-footer who plays below the rim and makes it look pretty. Go ahead, find me another one.

Chris Bosh, Toronto Raptors: All he's doing is saving NBA basketball in Canada. That's it. And yes, I just noticed that I have an ACC-heavy roster. Not sure what that means, but I'll look into it.

Richard Jefferson, New Jersey Nets: In seven years in the NBA, all with New Jersey, Jefferson has averaged 17 points and 5 rebounds per game. When healthy, he's a workhorse, averaging at least 35 minutes per game in every season except his rookie year. There's no question that the presence of Jason Kidd has helped R-Jeff's career tremendously, but nonetheless, I love the way he goes about his business. He's also a great locker room quote, which counts for quite a bit in my book.

Mike Miller, Memphis Grizzlies: He's on my list mostly for his jump shot, which is one of the most fun to watch in the league. If I were producing an instructional video on shooting, Miller and JJ Redick would be my co-stars. Plus, he's much bigger than you think, and presents an interesting set of skills. But mainly, I love to watch him shoot.

Brandon Roy, Portland Trail Blazers: Is there any player in the league more directly responsible for his team's surprising success than Roy and the Blazers? Is there any second-year player with more poise? Any young gun who you'd be more comfortable with in a big-shot situation? Have I used enough question marks yet?

Dwyane Wade, Miami Heat: Much like Lamar Odom below, I got to watch Wade up close during his rookie season, when I covered the Heat in the NBA Playoffs. He's a cold-blooded killer with exceptional leadership skills. Players naturally flock to him. He's in a category with Kevin Garnett as a superstar who practices and plays every day as if he's in danger of losing his job. The league needs more guys like that.

Lamar Odom, Los Angeles Lakers: I've always had an irrational attachment to Lamar. It goes back to the pre-Shaq days in Miami, when he was a member of the Wade-Haslem-Brian Grant-Stan Van Gundy Heat squad that went into the second round of the 2004 Playoffs. Wade was clearly the best player on the floor as a rookie, but Odom was the glue that held that team together. He's perhaps the most underrated player in the NBA, and his transformation from perceived Head Case to Calming Veteran Influence rivals the career arc of William Shatner among the greatest 180's of our time.

David Lee, New York Knicks: As of this writing, averaging about 10 points and 8 rebounds in less than 27 minutes per game. Were it not for Isiah Thomas's hell-bent mission to ruin everything we ever knew about Knicks basketball and the NBA, David Lee would be a freaking superstar. There's nobody on the Knicks' roster -- nobody -- who will benefit more from a change of scenery than Lee. Once he escapes from Isiah (and mark it down, he'll be out of there as soon as his contract allows), Lee will explode. I'd love to see him in Orlando.

Matt Harpring, Utah Jazz: Of all the players that Orlando has let get away, Harpring is the one that galls me the most -- and yes, I realize the list is long and illustrious (see Mike Miller above). He's just a warrior. Plays hurt, but sticks it out -- at least 71 games in each of the last three seasons, which is remarkable for a guy who's seen more surgery than Michael Jackson. He's the perfect Jerry Sloan player.

Keyon Dooling, Orlando Magic: The epitome of a Professional Basketball Player. Want him to play the point? He'll play the point. Want him to guard the two? Done. Need him to swing to the three? No problem. Whatever you want, Coach. Plays hard, plays smart, and makes his team better. Terrific locker-room guy. He may not have the greatest skill set, but you never have to worry when he's on the floor -- and in this league, that's saying something.

Anderson Varejao, Cleveland Cavaliers: Love the hair, love the energy, love the exuberance. I also like Tony Battie, but this is one more player I wish the Magic had kept. I can clearly recall saying on the old "Sports Talk Live" show on Sun Sports that Orlando fans would fall in love with Varejao once they saw him -- which never happened, thanks to that trade.

Gilbert Arenas, Washington Wizards: I've included Agent Zero on my roster for his skill set, which is considerable, but also for his persona, which is pleasantly insane. He makes everything he does entertaining. Takes too many dumb shots, sure, but fun to watch. Plus, you have to love an All-Star who gets as much attention for his blog as he does for his play on the floor.

Robert Horry, San Antonio Spurs: No list of "My Guys" is complete without Big Shot Rob. Fifteen years in the NBA -- he was part of the same rookie class that included Shaq, Mourning, Laettner, Harold Miner, LaPhonso Ellis, Tom Gugilotta, Walt Williams, and Clarence Weatherspoon, among others -- and not only has he outlasted almost all of those players, he has piled up the hardware: seven NBA titles. He was a spectacular interview as a rookie with Houston, and is half of one of the greatest pieces of trivia in league history: from 1994 through 2003, every NBA champion had either Horry or Steve Kerr on its roster. Beyond that, up to and including the Spurs last year, Horry and Kerr won 12 titles in 14 years. My squad needs the winning influence.

The roster above would never happen, of course (thanks to the salary cap), but if assembled, this team would win 75 games a year. These are My Guys.

Brush With Fame

As soon as I posted my entry into the NBC/USGA/Golf Digest "play a US Open golf course" contest, I got an e-mail from Sun Sports contributor and national sports radio host Todd Wright, questioning one of my (all true) claims:

"You actually met Shania [Twain] in a bar? Was her navel exposed and/or was she wearing tight pants? You always say you want my life...well, now I want a piece of yours."

Oh, ha, says the man who has been married for ten years. Yet, the story is worth telling.

Scene: 1996 NBA All-Star Game, San Antonio. I was producing features for the Magic TV Network. They sent me to Texas for the weekend because we had Shaq and Penny in the starting lineup, and Darrell Armstrong about to make his ill-fated attempt at the Slam Dunk contest.

It was just me and a cameraman, Rick Price (who is still with the Magic today). Our job was to shoot everything, including some standups and some packages, for use in halftime features and on "One Magic Place," the weekly show on WESH-2 in Orlando (which has transformed over the years into "Midnight Magic," on WKMG-6 in Orlando and on Sun Sports).

So we go to the Alamodome on the day before the game to get b-roll and scenics. We happened to walk into the empty arena at the exact moment that the game-night crew was doing dress rehearsal for the game itself the following night. That included the anthem singers. The girl who sang the Canadian national anthem caught my eye -- she was very cute, extremely short, and sang her guts out. Rick and I both noticed her, but thought little of it.

That night, with our work completed, we headed out to the Riverwalk in San Antonio to catch a few adult beverages. After hopping a few places on the river, we ended up at Dick's Last Resort, which had a multi-level dance floor and cheap food. We settled in with drinks and Tex-Mex and were pretty happy.

At one point, I looked over at the bar and saw the Canadian anthem singer herself. She was dressed to kill, with black tights and a white lacey top, and she was surrounded by her "entourage," which was all of two people -- a matronly, silver-haired lady that I took to be her mother, and a flitty little dude of questionable sexuality who was leaping back and forth to get the singer drinks and food.

Emboldened by the adult beverages, I walked over to the bar and introduced myself. I commented on how much I enjoyed her rendition of "O Canada." She was very appreciative, looked me straight in the eye, but was clearly not interested -- or, at least, her "entourage" was keeping me at arm's length. After a few minutes of chit-chat, I sorta wandered off. She was very nice, however, and I made a note to find her again the next day.

Which never happened. The All-Star Game comes and goes, and I never manage to catch up with the Canadian anthem singer. Many years later, I'm watching MTV or something similar, and I see a biography piece on a hot young star who grew up in Canada and has become a total celebrity. I had never heard her name, but as soon as I saw her on TV, I jumped off the couch -- "That's the girl who sang the Canadian national anthem at the All-Star Game!"

Yep -- Shania Twain. Swear to God. As I live and breathe, everything above is the honest truth, and I can give you Rick's phone number if you don't believe it.

Now, you know the story. A story, by the way, that my wife REALLY hates. Every time we see Shania on TV, she says something to the effect of "there's your girlfriend."

Thus endeth my brush with fame. And...scene.

Winning Entry

Golf Digest, NBC Sports, and the United States Golf Association are sponsoring a doozy of a contest.

Last year, at the US Open at Oakmont, Tiger Woods famously commented that with the way the course was set up for the second round, "a 10-handicapper wouldn't break 100." Thus, the magazine and the network mentioned above are giving us a chance to prove him wrong.

The "winner," if you can call it that, will play 18 holes at Torrey Pines in San Diego with three celebrities in the days leading up to the 2008 US Open -- in other words, a round on an Open course, under Open conditions. The whole thing will be videotaped and shown during Sunday's final round.

The hook? You have to write a 100-word entry explaining why you should win. Right in my wheelhouse.

Here's my entry:

"Why me?

I've interviewed Bobby Knight. I've run the Boston Marathon. I've climbed the Eiffel Tower. I've watched the Indy 500 from the infield. I've been to the Artichoke Capital of the World, the Indoor Foliage Capital of the World, and the Norman Rockwell Museum. I've placed my children onto the back of a live alligator. I've caught a lemon shark and body-surfed with dolphins. I've ridden a cafeteria tray down Libe Slope at Cornell University. I've seen Springsteen live. Once, I met Shania Twain in a bar.

But I've never played in Open conditions. And I'll break 100, dammit."

Should we go ahead and engrave the trophy now?

If you'd like to beat it, here's the link. Good luck. See you on the first tee.

Taking A Breath, Finally

BCS game over, "Tailgate Overtime" over, "Chevy Florida Fishing Report" starting at the beginning of February -- time to stop and take a look around, for the first time since August. Wow, I have TWO kids?

In order to keep things interesting this month -- in between thrice-weekly meetings to discuss what we're doing next -- I will be appearing on the much-heralded "Dante & Galante Show" at orlandomagic.com on Thursday at 3pm. For those who haven't caught the fever yet, it's an Internet-only interview show produced by Magic radio producer Dante Marchitelli and Director of Communications George Galante. The format is, umm, loose. I've already been warned that it could mean the end of my broadcast career -- and that warning came from Dante. Good times.

One follow-up to my great Capital One Bowl adventure -- more than one reader, including Orlando Sentinel columnist Jerry Greene, took me to task for sending my wife back to the parking lot on the bus to look for the mysterious missing ticket whilst I sashayed into the Hospitality Tent looking for refreshments. In my defense (and as I explained to Jerry) -- that was her idea. In her words, "I lost it, I'll go find it."

Which may partially explain why we celebrated our 10th wedding anniversary last week. She's a warrior. Clearly, I overachieved, or as I like to say, "outkicked my coverage."

By the way, the traditional wedding gift for the big one-oh? Tin, aluminum, or diamond. That's a hell of a range, no? Can you guess what direction we went? Actually, we adopted an intriguing policy for all gift-giving holidays, one that I'm happy to share: I buy what I want, and she buys what she wants. Everybody's a winner. This worked beautifully at Christmas. I'm all about the spirit of the season.

It's pretty much planning and housekeeping for the rest of the month around here. The "Chevy Florida Fishing Report" is back on January 31st; I will miss the season debut, as I booked a vacation for that final week of January. Don't worry, there's only 36 shows left after the opener.

Meanwhile, the Magic still stink at home, while the Heat simply stink. And I know it's way after the fact, but I had to throw this in:

I watched the Magic-Rockets game at home on Friday night (thank you, DirecTV!) and went suitably apoplectic when Adonal Foyle's apparent game-tying tip-in was waved off, eventually. The game crew was all over it -- excellent looks at the replays from the truck, David Steele and Matt Guokas wondering out loud, as I was, how the refs could possibly have missed it. Once the smoke cleared, the FSN Florida broadcast went to a commercial break.

During those 120 seconds, a thought dawned on me -- for some reason, I kept interpreting the fact that Foyle had started his shot before double-zeroes as proof that it should have been good, when, as all hoopheads know, the ball must be clear of his hand before double-zeroes for it to count. Despite the twenty replays, I was too worked up to consider that fact. And here's the interesting part -- once David and Matt came back from break, it sounded like the same thought had just occurred to them.

You have to understand, a call has to be particularly egregious for David Steele to jump down a ref's throat. He's just not a screaming-homer type. Yet, as bonkers as they both had gone when the play occurred, he and Matt were oddly subdued when they came back for the postgame -- as if they had just remembered the same thing that I remembered.

Of course, the more likely story is that our FSN truck found a more definitive replay during the commercial break and showed it to the talent, who realized that the refs had (eventually) been correct. Still, it was interesting.

Maybe I should get into broadcasting or something.

I'm Just Sayin'

All of the following are facts. The conclusions are up to you.

-Florida Atlantic was the only school in our state to win its bowl game this year, defeating Memphis 44-27 in the New Orleans Bowl. The Owls, who started playing football in 2001, earned their first bowl victory faster than any other Division I football program in state history.

-In the Liberty Bowl, UCF's defense held a Southeastern Conference offense (Mississippi State) to 199 total yards, including 39 passing yards. Against the Knights, the Bulldogs were 2 of 13 on third down and had only seven plays that covered ten yards or more. And they won.

-The top two ballot-winners in this year's Heisman Trophy vote, Tim Tebow of Florida and Darren McFadden of Arkansas, combined for 316 total yards and five touchdowns in their respective bowl games. Both lost.

-Heading into Thursday's Orange Bowl matchup between Kansas and Virginia Tech, the Atlantic Coast Conference is 2-5 in bowl games this year. Heading into the BCS Championship Game between LSU and Ohio State, the Southeastern Conference is 6-2. The Big Ten is 3-4 prior to that same BCS title game.

-South Florida gave up 533 total yards to Oregon in the Sun Bowl, the Bulls' worst defensive performance of the season and the only time all year that South Florida allowed over 500 yards in a game.

-The state of Florida produced five Division I bowl teams this year: Florida, Florida State, South Florida, UCF, and Florida Atlantic. Bowl record: 1-4.

-Of note to nobody else but me: during the national telecast of the Sun Bowl this weekend, CBS threw up a graphic with the title "Big Four?" -- asking out loud if South Florida should be included with the so-called "Big Three" of UF, FSU, and Miami. Not that I had a patent on it or anything, but allow me to welcome CBS to the party, albeit two years late. Seriously, would it have killed them to give credit where credit is due?

I'm just sayin'.

Postscript: as mentioned, my wife and I had tickets to the Capital One Bowl in Orlando on New Year's Day. We also had passes to get into the hospitality area on Tinker Field prior to the game. Having secured a baby-sitter for our two kids for the entire day, we drove to the Amway Arena parking lot on Tuesday morning to catch a bus to the Citrus Bowl and avoid the parking crush.

Halfway through our bus ride, my wife jumped up and began fishing in her pockets for our game tickets. One of them was missing. Somewhere between the parking lot and the bus, she either dropped one or had it picked -- more on that in a moment.

Armed with only one ticket for the two of us, we ventured to the stadium. She stayed on the bus, teary-eyed, and rode back to the parking lot to look for the dropped ticket (fat chance) while I waited for her in the tent area. After about ten minutes, she called me on my cell and told me that the other ticket was lost.

She rode the bus back to the stadium and we devised a strategy. She went to the Citrus Bowl ticket office with the one legit ticket and a story -- finding someone wearing a Florida Citrus Sports shirt and a welcoming smile, she told her tale. There was nothing we could do to replace the lost ticket, she was told, but she was offered the chance to buy another ticket, at face value, in order to get her into the game. She accepted. One thousand thanks to the Florida Citrus Sports staff who took pity on her. Their grace will not be ignored, or forgotten.

So we went into the stadium with our one "real" ticket and her one recently purchased ticket, and sat in the seats that we were supposed to have for the game. As the pregame festivities were going on, we noticed a young 20-something kid sitting by himself in the row in front of us. We were in the southwest corner, right next to the Florida band.

This kid was looking around nervously, calling and texting his buddies on his cell. My wife, who was a total wreck by this point, nudged me and said, "I'll bet that guy has my ticket."

Sure enough, as the section filled up before the game, the kid was bounced from seat to seat until we all figured out that he was holding the offending ticket -- OUR ticket. Bear in mind that I bought these seats from a group of Bull Gator lawyers who were all aware of our situation. Once this poor sap turned around and tried to claim his (our) seat, the entire row behind me jumped down his throat, accusing him of stealing it. The dude was terrified. I took over.

"Where did you get that ticket?" I asked.

He looked at me sideways. "At the hotel," he said.

"No, you didn't."

Dramatic pause. I waited for a moment to allow his situation to settle in. I should mention that one of my fellow ticket-holders is six-four, 200-plus, and was four beers into the morning by that time. This was not a fight that anybody wanted.

"You didn't get that ticket at your hotel," I continued. "You stole it, or you bought it from some guy outside the stadium. That's my wife's ticket, and I already had to buy another one just to get her into the game."

He's sweating bullets now. Kickoff is about three minutes away.

For reasons that I cannot explain, I let him off the hook.

"I'll make you a deal," I said.

"How much?" he asked.

I shook my head. "Here's the ticket that I had to buy for my wife. It's in the end zone. Take it, and go away. Give me back my freaking ticket." Or something like that.

He looked at me, and looked at my linebacker-sized buddy, and said -- and I quote -- "I love you."

In fact, he said it again: "I love you."

He took the crappy ticket and bolted. My wife sat next to me, undisturbed, for the rest of the game. And I never saw the kid again.

I don't know, and I don't want to know. Sure, I could have squeezed him for some money. But the end result is, I watched my first live college football game of the season, with my wife, in Orlando, and we had a ball. May there be a place in heaven for me, and for that dipstick who had my wife's ticket. It was worth every second, and every penny. Screw it.

College football. Is there anything better?