Warding off sports fatigue

My respect and admiration to everyone who survived a sports week of such little fanfare.

Until the Eagles popped the cork on the news of a franchise tag for DeSean Jackson, we had been in a sports malaise. It's one that usually engulfs us at this time, the end of February and the beginning of March. The regular seasons of both basketball and hockey are on the downslide. Right now, they are the salad part of the meal, as we await the main course of the playoffs.

In the first week of Phillies spring training, we learned some potentially ominous news of Ryan Howard and his healing (or non-healing) Achilles tendon. But mostly, fluff stories came our way, such as finding out that backup outfielder Laynce Nix recently married a former Cowboys cheerleader, or that minor-league catcher Sebastian Valle, as low man on the depth chart, has to get up early to warm up Cliff Lee. Oh, wait. The Phillies spanked Florida State on Wednesday, thanks to a home run by Hector Luna. March Madness is around the corner, but there's only one local team, Temple, likely to make the Big Dance.

Do you see where I'm going with this? I'm suffering from sports fatigue. And here is a bigger list of the things that are making me more tired.

Howie Roseman's comments. I'll be honest, I have no idea what the Eagles are thinking with DeSean Jackson, and every time the general manager talks about the wide receiver, I get more confused. At the end of last year, it looked certain the Birds would try to push Jackson out of the nest. And then Thursday, they slapped him with the franchise tag and Roseman said this: "We want DeSean to be an Eagle for the long haul and this is a step in the right direction. . . . We will continue our efforts on getting a long-term deal done with him."

Could this be a ruse? Did the Eagles make DeSean Jackson the franchise player in order only to trade him for value instead of just letting him walk? Roseman worded it brilliantly. He has told the Eagles fan base that they want DeSean and if they don't agree to a long-term deal, well, that's because the player was just too greedy.

The NBA slam-dunk contest. Surely, with all the great minds in the NBA front office, someone can come up with a way to jazz up this deal, where last Saturday, three unknowns used props and reflector tape to disguise the fact that the event stinks. How about this: Bring together the three best dunkers in high school, college and the NBA to compete against each other in a team format. NBA guys couldn't stand losing to the kids. So this would be an appeal to the pride of the league's best dunkers, the LeBron Jameses, and the Blake Griffins, to compete. And if the logistics don't work on that because of high school or NCAA regs, then appeal to the pros' sense of charity. All these megastars have "charitable foundations" don't they? (Most of them set these things up simply as tax deductions, but I digress.) Tell LeBron and Blake that the league will donate $200,000 to their "foundation" if they compete. Decline then, and they become the bad guy.

Bill Murray. Murray acting like a goof at the Pebble Beach Pro-Am is way old. This year, he showed up in a full-length camouflage jump suit laced with fringe and wearing a safari hat, and then took a putt facing the other way. Yeah, real funny. I used to like Bill Murray. Now the guy is a cartoon. Have some respect for the game, Skippy. Or stay home, watch reruns of Caddyshack, when you were cool.

Golf commentators. I love to watch professional golf, and except for maybe Johnny Miller, loathe the announcers who bring me the action. I have never seen interviewers so terrified to ask a question to a professional golfer after a round. Here's the golden cop-out question, "So Dustin, what will you take from this week?" And if Tiger Woods is the interviewee, it's like these golf announcers are standing under a collapsing building waiting to get hit with bricks. Enough with David Feherty and his quippy, lilted voice. And do we really need Ian Baker-Finch's constant fawning over anybody with a PGA card? Baker-Finch is the guy who won the 1991 British Open then got the yips and couldn't play anymore. Baker-Finch knows that after what he's been through, he can't possibly criticize any other golfer's performance. So then why have him on the air?

Jon Barry and Michael Wilbon. When Hall of Famer Magic Johnson is sitting between these two lightweights at the analyst table on ABC/ESPN pro basketball telecasts, does Magic think he's slumming? Barry played in the NBA for about a half-hour; he wasn't even as good in the league as his brother Brent. And why is it that I think Wilbon was always the last player taken in the pickup basketball games in Phys. Ed. class? He's my NBA analyst? Ugh.

Athlete liars. How is it possible for a person to look another person in the eye, or a television camera in the lens, and tell a blatant lie regarding the use of performance-enhancing drugs? Many years ago, Rafael Palmeiro did it to a bunch of congressmen. Roger Clemens is still doing it. And now here comes Ryan Braun. Freed from a 50-game suspension from Major League Baseball due, in large part, to good lawyering, Braun said the decision was "the first step in restoring my good name and reputation. We were able to get through this because I am innocent and the truth is on our side."

If Ryan Braun were attached to a lie detector when he said that, the thing might have zapped him like a taser. Either he's really innocent, or there's a sociopath playing left field for the Brewers. Somebody had testosterone in their urine. Unless we are to believe that the "part-time urine collector" found a micro-syringe and injected the tamper proof container.

OK, enough misery for one column. Better days are ahead. Bring on March Madness. Bring on Phillies spring training games. Bring on Ilya Bryzgalov and the Flyers' march to the Stanley Cup. Uh, maybe I just went too far.