Opinion: These are my Rooneys
Following the Chiefs game Sunday afternoon, I drifted off peacefully for a little nap.
Life was good, the Chiefs won, the Jayhawks would be ranked No. 1 in the polls the following day and I decided it was time for some post-Thanksgiving, pre-Monday slumber.
But then, a strange thing happened. As I was drifting away, ready to dream of warm weather and year round golf (or a local golf course with stadium lights) I was interrupted by a little snippet on television mentioning something about a Lawrence Taylor interview on 60 Minutes.
The spot said something like he played hard, hit hard and lived even harder, or something like that followed by an annoying tick, tick, tick the show revels in broadcasting.
All right, I'd heard about the interview during the week and decided to wake up and check it out.
I was disappointed in the interview, not much there I or most sports fans didn't know already. (Hey, did you hear, Lawrence Taylor used drugs! Yeah, I know and can you believe that guy O.J. Simpson killed his wife -- allegedly.)
Anyway, I watched on and out from the den of pre-World War II comes a curmudgeon lurching on-screen. His name was Andy Rooney and he reminded me of the Grumpy Old Man character on "Saturday Night Live" reruns.
Who is this character and how did he end up on television with a grill like that? He started blabbing about him not liking something or not understanding something or being old or decrepit or something to that effect.
Anyway, he was mildly entertaining, so I thought, since I don't have any thing else to write about, and since I'm about 17 hours past deadline, I'd bust out my own Rooney-isms concerning the world of sports.
Here we go, and remember, I'm a beginner.
- I hate while I'm watching an NBA game the camera operators feel the impulse to show the players' wives every four to five seconds. Is she an assistant coach? Does she have any outcome on the game whatsoever? Worst offender: Jason Kidd's wife. I don't know her name because it's really not important for me to remember.
- I detest that Johnnie Morton drops pass after pass and when he does catch one (think Featherstone in Necessary Roughness) he does some idiotic snake jig. Hey, Johnnie, catch the ball and leave the Michael Flatley dance to, well, Michael Flatley.
- I cringe when I drive around Basehor and see a ton of houses with basketball goals outside but I usually don't see anyone shooting hoops.
- I loathe the cellophane wrapping on CDs or DVDs that a surgical laser couldn't remove without making a mess. That's not sports, but who among us doesn't hate that?
- I despise golfers that stroll around a golf course at a snail's pace. Yeah, it's golf but let's show a little hustle out there.
- I'm ticked I was born without golf clubs glued to my hands so that I, not Tiger Woods, could hook up with that Swedish model.
- I'm upset that Maxim magazine only comes out once a month (again, not sports, but who among us, you know) and that the Chiefs lost one game and the Jayhawks are No. 1 in the country. We're setting ourselves up for a big letdown.
Maybe I am getting the hang of