Flying and Running

I'm leaving on a jet plane this morning. I'm planning to return on Thursday, which might mean no post that day, but I've been known to surprise people including myself. Here's one for the road:


1. There's an update to that Houston Astros' pitcher wedding arrest. It turns out that after the wedding, the group went to the bar. The bride's brother tried to bring an outside drink into the bar when a fight ensued . . . which ended in the brother and his father - the bride's father - getting tasered and pepper sprayed by the police, and the brother airlifted to a hospital. Astros' pitcher Brandon Backe was apparently trying to break up the attack. At first blush, this sounded like a case of "liquid courage," but after reading more details and different takes on it, including eyewitness accounts of what happened, it sounds like the police lost it. (It's too bad that the first charges are against the regular folks and it's not until much later that the cops get charged . . . if they ever do. At least they're investigating it.) Tasing and pepper spray? Pepper spray is not a game. One time, I tried to make a French Open tennis court for my French class (I won't say how old I was because I was definitely old enough to know better). Being creative, I found the perfect substitute for the red clay of Roland Garros: cayenne pepper. You know how they say it's all fun and games until someone loses an eye? It's true. Everything was going well until I got to the part of cleaning of the white lines on the "court." My solution? Blow on them. And it was at that exact moment that I learned what it was like to be pepper sprayed. That was definitely one of the most painful nights of my life. And when I brought my work of art to class, I had to plaster a huge "DO NOT TOUCH - DEATH MAY ENSUE!" sign on it. I also had a taser gun in college (courtesy of my concerned relative) but, thankfully, I have no story connected with that one. The moral of the story is cops shouldn't be able to just spray and tase folks all will-nilly. That's how people get hurt. Just ask R. Kelly.

2. I was right about Reggie Bush. Now that he's gotten more serious about his football, Kim Kardashian's talking about going back (no pun intendd) on Dancing with the Stars. I won't allow it. Not unless they test her for a soul first - if you've watched her dancing on the show, then you understand. Beautiful girl, but wow.

3. Someone is stalking Los Angeles Lakers' forward Luke Walton. Did she get him confused with his dad, Bill? Otherwise, I'm a little confused by her choice. She had already marked up his car, why did he wait until she fired at him with a "fake gun" (Luke's description of the woman making a gun out of her hands) before he decided she wasn't all there? I must note that all of this occurred after he refused to give her an autograph. Luke. . . um, I don't know how to break this to you, but are you really in a position to be refusing autographs? Perhaps you should be grateful that anyone has noticed there are other players on the floor besides Kobe Bryant.

4. NBA legend Elgin Baylor is out as the general manager of the Los Angeles Clippers. The Clippers say he resigned, but Baylor says "you'll be hearing from my lawyers." Baylor is 74 years old and by all accounts hadn't really been running things for years - that was coach Mike Dunleavy's unofficial job, and Dunleavy will now take over Baylor's duties. I don't really get the Clippers. I don't get why they're in L.A. when they already have (and love) the Lakers, and I don't get why they have never quite been able to turn the corner even though they had a few opportunities to do so. So, I guess firing a 74 year old man who was holding his position in name only isn't so far-fetched. I guess that's what you get for messing with the Clippers . . . and the Oakland Raiders . . . and the Detroit Lions . . . and . . .

5. Barry Bonds came out of hiding to tell us he loves his freedom away from baseball. I suppose he is free in that waiting-to-be-sentenced kind of way, but let's not get too far ahead of ourselves . . .