Well slap me silly and call me Gertie, Torn Slatterns and Nugget Ranchers
No sooner than I post my rant on how bad they are, trailing by 27 at the start of the fourth quarter, the Los Angeles Lakers pulled off the second-biggest fourth-quarter comeback in NBA history to stun the Dallas Mavericks 105-103 on Friday night. That’s greatest comeback since Bob Dole started taking Viagra.
Tampa Bay receiver Keyshawn Johnson returned to practice after being excused to handle his divorce. Remember Keyshawn’s book “Just Give Me the Damn Ball?” Look for Johnson’s latest book; “Just Sign the Damn Prenupt.”
Speaking of sports rants, you want a rant? You can't handle the rant. Here it is:
My vast independent sports-writing journalistic integrity aside, I hate the Oakland Raiders. Not as in fun to hate, like U.S.C, or Kathy Lee Gifford, or boy bands. No, the real, deep-down, bile-tasting, fevered loathing as you had for that moronic, dirty, ugly, neighborhood bully or the officious, dried-up and cruelly strict substitute teacher.
For me, the Oakland Raiders are to football what the Mullet is to hairstyles, what call-waiting is to communication and avocado-green leisure suits are to fashion. And that’s without including the ultimate lowlife in sports, besides Don King, their old, mean, greasy and tacky owner, Al Davis.
But, as a friend of mine likes to remind me, my opinion and a nickel will buy you a steaming cup of who-gives-a-rat’s-ass?