Did you see Ryan Lochte trying to tear-up during the Matt Lauer interview? Have not seen anyone try to fake-cry that hard since me when Mary Hamilton broke up with me when I really wanted to ask Susie Fox to the prom. 

At the Rio Olympics, the athletes were given 42 condoms each. Or as the US men’s badminton team calls that: “Hey, Mom. I’m coming home with 42 condoms. Neat, huh?”

At the Rio Olympics, athletes were given 42 condoms each. Or as the US men’s badminton team calls that, “Who wants to trade 42 condoms for Pokemon characters?” 

In Rio, nine Australian athletes were arrested and fined $4,000 each for tampering with their security passes to get into a basketball game. One athlete in particular is in trouble because he changed his security card name to “Ryan Lochte.”

Since you asked:

Not a big fan of the USA Olympic warm ups. The tiny stripes in the sleeve are kind of dorky and robot/spacesuit looking. The USA letters on the back look government issued. Too form fitting. They have way too much of a “Hipster on his way to yoga” look.

Big Olympic Winners:

Ashton Eaton and Brianne Theissen Eaton. (Imagine how they will do on Mother/Daughter/Daddy/Son Field Day?

Usain Bolt. Big winner here was Track and Field

10K Women Runners who helped each other. 

Whoever makes those bikini bottoms the women beach volleyball players use. That is one impressive garment. 

The name Simone. (Both Biles and Manuel) 

Allyson Felix. Class, class, and more class. 

Trey Hardee. His commentary was smart, funny and spot-on. Quite a contrast to the old days of Dwight "Lord I am a self-important tool" Stones. 

Big Olympic Losers:

Ryan Lochte

NBC. Why did I see more of women's synchronized swimming and Usain Bolt warming up in the tunnel than all of the Decathlon? 

Brazilian fans in the stands. Rude, booing a-holes.

Men's 4 X 100. They have been DQ'd nine times in Olympics and World Championship since '95. Who could imagine putting four egomaniacs together for a couple weeks instead of a practiced team is not a good idea?

The blue track. Looks like the track at Boise High. 

Chris Marlowe. (See: Dwight Stones) 

Ryan Lochte (Yes, I know I said him twice) 


In a second interview with Matt Lauer, Ryan Lochte said he “Over-exaggerated” his story. Which is also known as “Under Not-Lying.”

The important thing about getting caught lying is that people realize there are consequences. Ryan Lochte is losing sponsors. Mark Sanford lied about an affair and had to resign as Governor of South Carolina. Brian Williams lied about getting shot down in Afghanistan and lost his job as the NBC news anchor. Hillary Clinton lied about getting shot at by snipers in Bosnia and Donald Trump lied about his debt and they are running for president. 

Bad last examples. 

 A “New York Times” article claims Donald Trump has $650 mil. in debt - twice what he claims - and far less in assets. If it gets any worse, Trump will have to claim he was robbed by fake Rio police. 

After his Rio fake-robbery, sponsors are dumping Ryan Lochte. Ryan may have to resort to a proven means of a former Olympic champion desperate for publicity: Introducing Caitryan Lochte. 

In Rio, Gwen Jorgensen won the first US gold in the Triathlon. It was actually a Quadathlon when you include avoiding sewage as one of the events.

To say the naked Donald Trump statues in five cities are not flattering is an understatement. The name of the Trump statues is “Ode to Shrinkage.” 

The New York Yankees are paying Alex Rodriguez $20 Mil. not to play next season. Big deal? I’m getting paid $20 mil. not to write comedy for NBC. Except for the getting paid $20 Mil part.



A study claims ADHD often goes undiagnosed in adults. The study went on to say blah, blah, blah, yada, yada, yada. Oh look, a furry dog. 



The New York Yankees are paying Alex Rodriguez $20 Mil. not to play next season. The Chicago Cubs call that the Jayson Heyward Contract. 

The Chicago Cubs fired their DJ after he played an inappropriate song for Aroldis Chapman’s appearance Sunday.  Aroldis has a domestic violence suspension and the DJ played “Smack My Bitch Up.” The good news is the DJ is now working for Donald Trump’s Human Resources department.

Ryan Lochte dumb moments

This makes the whole fake cops story make so much more sense. He had a dancing banana moment.  We all knew Ryan Lochte is stupid, we just had no idea how stupid. 

Did you hear about the unluckiest sports agent in the world? After his client, Hope Solo, called Sweden cowards, he said, “Thank god for my other client, Ryan Lochte.” 

After Ryan Lochte’s claim of being robbed at gunpoint was a lie, he has been dumped by clothing sponsor, Ralph Lauren. But he has been hired as a fact-checker for Melania Trump. 

French race-walker, Yohann Deniz, suffered embarrassing intestinal problems during his race. How embarrassing? He actually took a Ryan Lochte in his shorts. 

Former Donald Trump campaign manager, Paul Manafort, resigned. In political terms this is known as calling for an Uber sea-cab from onboard the Titanic. 

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Ryan Lochte’s fake robbery is starting to clarify some of Ryan’s tweets: “Pain is temporarily. Pride is forever.” Well, at least he did not say formerly. 



Ryan Lochte’s Rio holdup story was a lie. Look for Ryan in “People” magazine’s “Where are they now?” issue in a year where Ryan says his 2016 fall from grace was a blessing in disguise or his life partner, Cooper, would have never have introduced him to his love of being a food service ceramic sanitation technician. 

In Rio, the US women swept the 100 meter hurdles. That should not be a shock. US women have been sweeping and clearing obstacles placed in their way their whole lives. 

(For my mom and Elayne Boosler on their birthday. Leo women are the best)

Ryan Lochte’s story about being robbed at gunpoint is becoming more and more unbelievable. Now Ryan is saying the thieves stole one of his books. And he wasn’t even done coloring it. 

Now it turns out Ryan Lochte urinated and vandalized a gas station. Even Hope Solo is saying they need to show some class. 

While the Rio Olympics have gone fairly well, the Brazilian crowds have been nothing less than awful. They are so rude and classless, they could be at a Trump rally. 

Dogs Talking To Other Dogs:

“Hey, guys. You know that really tall dog who is like a god to us? The one who feeds us, houses us, walks us, drives us around and plays with us? Well, get this. The god-like dog took me for a walk, I stopped and pooped and he picked it up in a bag. And carried it home. So .  .  . not so god-like.”

Here is Ryan Lochte as he continues on his journey of not being a member of Mensa.

It turns out Ryan Lochte’s wild story of being robbed at gunpoint in Rio by fake cops is not holding up. Especially now that Lochte's credit card has charges from "Rio’s House of Fun Chicas. "


In Rio, Japanese pole vaulter, Hiroki Ogita, knocked off the cross bar with his penis. To review, the sport with the largest phallic symbol, a 16 foot pole held by a guy using that pole to jump over another pole, the cross bar, knocked off that pole with his penis. You can actually hear Sigmund Freud dancing in his grave. 

The US beach volleyball team of Kerry Walsh Jennings and April Ross lost to Brazil. It was a great game. Especially that time our #1 hit it to their #2 who passed it to their #1 and hit it to our #2. 

Willy May is on the right finishing second to Lee Calhoun by less than a tenth of a second.

Here is my take on Shaunae Miller’s diving to beat out my daughter’s hero, Allyson Felix. The only person who has any claim or right to have an opinion on that finish is Allyson Felix. And I can guarantee you Allyson Felix, while shattered at finishing second by so close, has no problem with Miller diving to win.

In the 1960 Rome Olympics, Lee Calhoun dove at the tape to just beat out Willy May for the gold medal in the 110 Hurdles. 

Willy May went on to become the track coach and athletic director of our rival high school and sports powerhouse, Evanston Township High School. 

At a time when the end of the baby boom population explosion was causing other high schools to divide like ours - New Trier turned into New Trier East and New Trier West - in what many cynics and sour grapes people say was a scam to beat New Trier, Evanston combined four high schools into one. While there were four distinct and separate high schools, North, South, West and East, they all combined to have only one massive sports program. 

So to say Evanston was a sports powerhouse in the ’70’s was quite an understatement. They won a state title in track in 1979. And the coach was Willy May. 

Now, Willy May was a damn good track coach. He was more than a bit imperious and taciturn, but a great track coach. Once I got up the courage to ask him what it was like to run in the Olympics. He just looked at me and then said something like "I'm a little busy right now, son." Maybe he was shy, but I doubt it.  It would be easy to see why he would not want to talk to a long-haired cocky jock from the high school he hated. 

But I guarantee you Willy thought about that finish every day of his life. And it motivated him to go on to become a highly decorated track coach and eventually the athletic director of the prestigious Evanston Township High School. 

As amazing and successful as Allyson Felix is, that second place will hurt. And that hurt will motivate her to go on to do even greater things. 

On Shaun White being sued for sexual harassment. Here is what I know about Shaun White. He grew up on our neighborhood. He was a tremendous double athlete. A successful pro in both skateboarding and snowboarding. And he is a damn good recreational surfer. He has tremendous courage and guts to pull off the moves he pulls off.  His athleticism and balance is mind-boggling. 

Here is what I also know about Shaun White: he is a full-blown dick with a major case of short-man's syndrome. 

For my forty-eighteenth birthday this is me and my snake brothers, Mark and Bill back in our UCSB Decathlon days.

The way I see this is one runner, Shaunae Miller, won a well-deserved gold medal and showed her toughness, guts and desire to win. One runner won a silver medal and showed her guts, style, class and dignity.  There can be two winners in a race. #AllysonFelix

Here is my daughter, AC (the one on the left) with the classy and great Allyson Felix and her Torrey Pines 4 X 100 teammates. 

Hollywood has had a record 15 flops this summer. The worst flop? “Hope Solo and Ryan Lochte and the  Terrible, Awful, No Good, Very Bad Rio Day.” 

Some people are complaining about the dive at the finish by Bahamas’ Shaunae Miller that cost US’s Allyson Felix the gold in the 400. It’s legal, but I have not seen a dive like that since Chris Christie on the buffet table on Taco Tuesday.

At Rio it rained hard last night. It was great to see water in Rio that wasn’t green or two far worse colors. 

Since you asked:

About a hundred years ago, a popular writing technique was being taught that, while extolling proper reading and word construction learning as a foundation, it felt that spelling should be left up to the creativity of the far superior writer. 

Just like, thanks to the camera, paintings were breaking away from the rigors of realism with expressionism, thanks to the printed word, spelling of words, it was thought, should be left to the crafty writer to create and the intrepid reader to interpret. 

Like biskut for biscuit. Lafter for laughter. Sine for sign.

One hundred years later, the writers who adopted this once-advanced theory of boundless creative expression now look like complete and utter morons. (Or morans)

SMH at the WTF LOL of that. 

Anyone who believes Ryan Lochte’s story about fake policeman in uniforms pulling over their cab at 3:00 am and robbing them of just their cash and credit cards, and Ryan bravely standing up to a gun pointed at his forehead? Well, I have some blue hair dye I want to sell you for $5,000. 

Ryan got rolled by a hooker. 

That is how 99% of the people who lose their cash and credit cards in Rio lose them.  Same thing in Moscow. Same thing in Cuba. Same thing in Bankok.

Ten was a fascinating age

As a boy in the Sixties in the midwest, ten was a crossroads. At age nine you can be a cute little kid playing with toys. And when you cry, people hug and cuddle you. Because you’re still technically cute.

At ten, nobody announces it, but you are not supposed to cry in public anymore. And you can only play with toys in the privacy of your own room. It just happens. At ten, you’re not that cute anymore. Plus I was big for ten. 

Me, at ten? I loved playing pretend and I loved my toys. And I still felt like crying in front of people when I was upset. But now, suddenly, at ten I magically felt ashamed of all of those things. 

(The biggest hurdle prior to this was age 6. It is cute and encouraged to believe in Santa Claus at age 3 to 6. But believe in Santa at age 7, people look at you like you’re slow) 

At age ten, as a boy, you’re supposed to go from playing cowboys and pioneers - my favorite games - to playing baseball. Or playground sports like dodgeball, but not pretend games. Real games. No more cowboys. No more Daniel Boone. 

And baseball is by far the coolest game. At ten you’re too young to play real tackle football or basketball, sports  at which I would eventually be good.  So, suddenly, at age ten, the boys who are the best at baseball are now, without question, the coolest boys. 

But what if you suck at baseball at age ten, like I did? Your social stock plummets.  And I mean leper-level plummets. 

Cute girls who thought you were “kind of cute” now want nothing to do with you. Word of your getting picked last for softball at recess spreads during class like a gasoline fire. Which kind of rhymes with pariah. Which you suddenly are.

And it did not matter that, in fourth grade, I was one of the three biggest kids in school, including the fifth graders . The other two biggest kids, my best friends, Howie and Steve, were awesome at baseball. Even they gave me the cold shoulder when they found out how bad I was at baseball.

Even though I was never a bully, now, all of a sudden, the nasty, little a-hole kids who were bullied because they were small, but were coordinated and good at baseball, were allowed to bully anyone - even, me, the nice big kid -  if they sucked at baseball. And I did. Suck. Bad.

Tiny little mean runts, who I could have seriously hurt if I wanted to, but did not, like Pat Hayes, Jamie Benson and Dave Pickert, who were friendly before - because I was so much bigger and stronger than them - were now teasing and bullying the living hell out of me because . . .  I sucked at baseball. Not teasing in a nice way. Teasing in a mean, hurtful, wanting- to- make- you- cry way. 

One minute at age nine, I was the biggest and one of the coolest kids in school, and ten minutes later, when I turned ten, I was a picked-on and abused victim of mean, midget bullies. 

All because of baseball. 

The bullying- by- shrimpy- baseball- stars was unrelenting. That summer, when I turned ten, I was forced to go to an all-day baseball camp, North Shore Baseball School. Or NSBS for short. It was a living nightmare. 

I was picked last every single day. 

One day I wasn’t even picked. They just forgot me. I sat on the bleachers and did the only two things a boy can do at age ten to insure social suicide: One, I was not picked for baseball, and, two, I was crying. 

Being picked last was not bad enough. I had to invent being so bad I wasn't even picked last. I was forgotten. 

Not sure why I was so bad at baseball at ten, but I really was. Charlie Brown bad. Struck out every time up. Could not catch a ball with any reliability. I could throw fine, but that doesn’t matter much if you can’t catch. (My brother, John, I can honestly say never caught one single ball his entire life)

By age 13, I was good enough to make the seventh grade All Star team as the backup first baseman. Only because I had the guts to stick my face in front of balls that were one-bounced in the dirt. And, by then, I harnessed my strength and could hit with power. 

But at nine- turning- ten, I sucked. Kids-with-thick-glasses sucked.  And the good kids were cruel to us bad kids. 

Especially one tiny, but older 12-year-old kid, named Tony Pinella.  The camp was only supposed to be fourth and fifth graders. (Tony was an old fifth grader who had been held back one year) 

Tony's family owned and ran the only Italian restaurant in town. It always shocked me how nice Tony's mother, the hostess, was considering how mean Tony was. Tony was the worst. He was tiny and had a chip on his shoulder and he was great at baseball. Shortstop. Pitcher. Got a double every swing of the bat. Jet black hair. Handsome guy. Muscular. Tiny a-hole.

Tony teased and abused the hell out of me just out of pure angry meanness. Tony had two way older brothers who defended him no matter how obnoxious he was, so he became intolerably belligerent bully.  And Tony loved to pick on me because, A, I was big and, B, I took it. (Truth is I was too chicken to fight back)  And C, I sucked at baseball. 

One day NSBS was on a field trip to a Chicago Cubs game at Wrigley Field. This should have been fun for me because I did not have to play baseball and thus was not picked last. But it wasn’t fun because Tony Pinella was bored at the game and decided to ramp up his bullying of me. 

Finally fed up with the verbal abuse, I left to go get a 7-Up. Tony followed me with his three or four henchmen in tow.  Ragging me - as they call verbal abuse in baseball - mercilessly. 

(Why, you ask, is a just-turned-ten-year-old going to a concession stand at Wrigley Field by himself? Because the counselors of NSBS were high school kids and not very bright high school kids if memory serves) 

As soon as I bought and held the giant 7-Up cup, Tony knocked it out of my hands on to my white Converse Jack Purcell tennis shoes, soaking them to my socks. And my blue jeans. 

Tony and his thugs laughed with sheer delight. So, of course I started crying.  Tony and his gang laughed harder. Adults in line were consoling me and wiping my shoes and pants with paper napkins. 

Then I snapped.

In a pro wrestling move I had seen on TV by Dick the Bruiser, I picked up Tony in a bear hug, lifted him up in the air arching my back, when he was parallel to the ground, I turned and body -slammed him full force on to the cement with me on top. Body -slammed on the cigarette, cigar and mustard covered grey painted cement floor in the bowels of Wrigley Field. 

Tony was genuinely hurt, his head bounced. But his high-pitched crying for the rest of the day destroyed his street cred for the rest of his life.  (Soon after, the family restaurant failed, his parents got divorced and they moved out of town. No connection to the body slam, I do not believe) 

Yes, I got in serious trouble with the staff at NSBS and was not allowed to go to the next Cubs game. Yes, Tony’s brothers threatened to beat me up, but after hearing what I did to Tony, even they stayed away from me.

All the trouble I got in was worth it. And the trouble was not all that bad because, while he was a great ball player, everybody generally agreed Tony was a dick.  

The bullying from being crappy at baseball by Tony and everyone else? It stopped the instant I body-slammed him. And, oddly enough, when the bullying stopped, I started getting better at baseball. 

On the last day of camp, I got an award. Most Improved. That is the crappiest award in sports. It basically is the "You Don't Suck As Much As You Used To" award. 

Bullies, like Donald Trump and Tony Pinella, never stop being bullies. They enjoy being mean. And they only respond to force. Once bullies are subjected to force, bullies turn back into what they really are: frightened cowards.

Donald Trump was a crying bed-wetter at his military school. Donald Trump is a sniveling frightened coward, and the sooner he is proven to be a coward to the world, the better off this country will be. 

  

At Rio, the water at the diving pool is green. Green, the officially distant third worst color option of the water in Rio.

At Rio, US decathlon gold medal winner, Ashton Eaton, is under criticism for wearing a Canadian hat to support his Canadian wife, Brianne,  competing for a bronze in the heptathlon. There is a name for Ashton’s critics: Morons.