Fun Stuff Comes In Threes

Thoughts of trios while waiting to tutor my favorite Kuwaiti student.

Top helmets: Mizzou, Jets, Colts.

Snappiest baseball cap logos: Mets' NY, Nats’ W, Giants' SF.

Sharpest NBA uniforms: Warriors, Knicks, Sixers — all circa 1968.

DVR magnets: "Suits," "Fairly Legal," "White Collar."

Screen dudes: Sean Connery in "Dr. No," Robert De Niro in "Ronin," Gabriel Macht in "Suits."

Sexiest TV hosts: Julie Banderas of Fox News, Andrea Tantaros of Fox News, Kimberly Guilfoyle of Fox News. Think I like my namesake network?

Automatic reads: Ann Coulter, Charles Krauthammer, Lee Child.

Leaders with pop: Sarah Palin, Herman Cain, Newt Gingrich.

Best chance to beat obummer: Palin, Cain, Mitt Romney.

Cars I’d love to buy right now: Aston Martin, Tesla, Maserati.

On the way to watching 50 times: "From Russia With Love," "The Family Man," "The Bourne Supermacy."

Before I die: Iran comes to its senses, Korea unites, we recognize Cuba.

Hottest politicians: Palin, Kristi Noem, Michele Bachmann.

Dem faces: Bev Perdue, Janet Napolitano, Deb Schultz.

Days I treasure: boating to Corregidor, sailing in Miami, marrying my lovely Filipino wife, Maria, in the Catholic Church.

White lefty cares nothing about: deficits, border security, Christianity.

Delish: lasagna, filet mignon, picadillo.

Turn ’em up: the Beatles, Doors, Zeppelin.

Tune out: Sting, the Who, Creedence Clearwater Revival.

Top TV channels: Fox News, USA, HGTV.

Far-out feats: Michael Phelps’ eight golds, Steffi Graf’s Golden Slam, UCLA’s 88-game winning streak.

Break up: ESPNESPNESPN. Enough with the monopoly.

YouTube bookmarks: George Harrison's "What Is Life," Erroll Garner's "The Man I Love," Peter Nero’s "It’s Alright With Me."

Who watches: MSNBC, CBS News, PBS.

Cities calling me: Heidelberg, Paris, London.

Greatest Americans in my lifetime: Eisenhower, MacArthur, Neil Armstrong.

Tech that works: iPhone, iPad, DVR.

Actresses who have it: Meghan Markle of "Suits," Sarah Shahi of "Fairly Legal,"  Piper Perabo of "Covert Affairs."

I could listen for hours: Gingrich, Pat Buchanan, Jedediah Bila of The Daily Caller.

Top structures: Heidelberg Castle, Heidelberg's Old Bridge, Heidelberg's Red Ox.

Dialed in: Rush Limbaugh, Mark Levin, Laura Ingraham.

Studs: Manny Pacquiao, Aaron Rodgers, Kobe.

Electric events: heavyweight title fight, Olympic track 400-meter relay, Game 7 of the NBA Finals.

Movie villains to vilify: the Joker in "The Dark Knight," Oddjob in "Goldfinger," the scum Hans Landa in "Inglourious Basterds."

Books atop the stack: "Stalin: The Court of the Red Tsar" by Simon Montefiore, “The Spy Who Came in From the Cold” by John le Carre, “Before the Fall” by William Safire.

If I had an iPod: Bob Dylan's "Like a Rolling Stone," Tom Petty's "Free Falling," the Doors’ "L.A. Woman."

Super screen lines: James Bond: “That's a Smith & Wesson, and you've had your six.” T.E. Lawrence: “No prisoners!” Charlie Harper: “My weirdness bar for chicks is pretty high, but you are clearing it in street shoes.”

My zippiest interviewees: Pete Rose, coach George Allen, Roger Goodell years before he was NFL commish.

Speeches for the ages: Nixon’s 1968 nomination acceptance, W after 9/11 at the National Cathedral, Reagan's Pointe du Hoc classic in 1984.

People I miss on radio: Tammy Bruce, who only podcasts; Lisa Ann Walter, whose weekend gig on KFI in Los Angeles is tough to catch; Larry Elder, who's back on KABC in L.A., but during work hours.

Love: jogging, tennis, the library.

And the library is where I'm heading to tutor that Kuwaiti Kid.



Bucky Fox is an author and editor in Southern California: BuckyFox@yahoo.com.

You Gotta Love Julie Banderas, Colt Helmets, 'Dr. No' And Other Hot Threes

Thoughts of threes while idling at the DMV before football’s kickoff.


Top helmets: Colts, Giants, Browns.


Snappiest baseball cap logos: Nats’ W, Bucs’ P, Mets’ NY.


Sharpest uniforms: Braves, Dodgers, Yankees.


DVR magnets: "Dark Blue," “White Collar,” “Justified.”


Screen dudes: Sean Connery, Matt Damon, Logan Marshall-Green, the "Dark Blue" slick draw.


Sexiest TV hosts: Julie Banderas of my namesake network, Elizabeth “The Best View” Hasselbeck, Dina Gusovsky of RT.


Automatic reads: Ann Coulter, Ralph Peters, Mark Steyn.


Leaders with pop: Paul Ryan, Marco Rubio, Dale Peterson.


Best chance to beat obummer: Rick Perry, Tim Pawlenty, Mitt Romney.


Car I’d love to buy right now: Accord CR-Z, Mustang, Nissan GT-R.


On the way to watching 50 times: “Dr. No,” “The Bourne Identity,” “Kill Bill.”


Before I die: Korea unites, we recognize Cuba, we get bin Laden.


Hottest politicians: Sarah Palin, Michele Bachmann, Nikki Haley.


Dem faces: Christina Romer, Janet Reno, Janet Napolitano.


Days I treasure: boating to Corregidor, sailing in Miami, marrying my lovely Filipino wife, Maria, in the Catholic Church.


White lefty cares nothing about: terrorists, deficits, Christianity.


Delish: Lasagna, filet mignon, picadillo.


Turn ’em up: The Beatles, Cream, Zeppelin.


Tune out: Sting, the Who, Creedence Clearwater Revival.


Top TV channels: USA, Travel, Military.


Far-out feats: Michael Phelps’ eight golds, Steffi Graf’s Golden Slam, UCLA’s 88-game winning streak.


Break up: ESPNESPNESPN. Enough with the monopoly.


YouTube bookmarks: “Lawrence of Arabia” theme music, Peter Nero’s “It’s Alright With Me,” “Rule Britannia” at the Proms.


Who watches: MSNBC, NBC, PBS.


Cities calling me: Heidelberg, Barcelona, Paris.


Greatest Americans in my lifetime: Eisenhower, MacArthur, Neil Armstrong.


Tech that works: Cell phone, DVR, radio.


Actresses who have it: Marsha Thomason, the “White Collar” babe who should be Jane Bond; Nicki Aycox, the "Dark Blue" bad-ass blonde; Beth Riesgraf, the “Leverage” pouter.


I could listen for hours: Pat Buchanan, Chris Hitchens, Liz Cheney.


Top structures: Hearst Castle, Heidelberg Castle, Nelson’s Column in Trafalgar Square.


Dialed in: Rush Limbaugh, Fox radio’s Stephen Smith and Vic the Brick.


Studs: Kobe, Manny Pacquiao, Brett Favre.


Electric events: Heavyweight title fight, Olympic track 400-meter relay, Game 7 of the NBA Finals.


Movie villains to vilify: The Joker in “The Dark Knight,” Oddjob in “Goldfinger,” the scum Hans Landa in “Inglourious Basterds.”


Books atop the stack: “The Spy Who Came in From the Cold” by John le Carre, “Before the Fall” by William Safire, “The Silence of the Lambs” by Thomas Harris.


If I had an iPod: Billy Idol’s “White Wedding,” the Doors’ “L.A. Woman,” Chopin’s Nocturne Op. 9 No. 1.


Super screen lines: James Bond: “That's a Smith & Wesson, and you've had your six.” T.E. Lawrence: “No prisoners!” Charlie Harper: “My weirdness bar for chicks is pretty high, but you are clearing it in street shoes.”


My zippiest interviewees: Pete Rose, coach George Allen, Roger Goodell years before he was NFL commish.


Speeches for the ages: Nixon’s 1968 nomination acceptance, W after 9/11 at the National Cathedral, Reagan's Pointe du Hoc classic in 1984.


Radio static: The Angels’ station has a corner on this one. Baseball? Lacking. Too much programming on AM 830 is paid shilling for pills. When sports finds its way on the station, you don’t hear Rex Hudler; he was dumped. You hardly hear Jeff Biggs and sidekick Jason Brennan; their drive-time hours were squeezed into minutes. What’s left? A losing team.


Love: jogging, tennis, steering clear of the DMV.


But hey, they just called my number. Who said it stands for Don’t Move Velociously?


Bucky Fox is an author and editor in Southern California who runs BuckyFox.com.

Butler's Shot Was Almost The Greatest; Giants Sizzle; Angels Hollow On Air; Braves Title Bound; Bare Baylor

Gordon Hayward from half-court! No good!

One inch to the right, and Butler wins the championship!

Wow, was that ending for all time or what?

What, really. With the miss, Duke beat Butler 61-59 last Monday for college basketball's crown.

If Butler had cashed in that Hail Hayward? We'd be calling it the shot heard round the universe.

Because it would've been otherworldly. Think of the greatest plays to finish championships. None would touch the Butler Bomb.

Consider the backdrop. Tiny school. Against a hoop giant. Down by two. Full court to go. Heave. Ho, if he had only hit it.

As it is, Coach K's crew won the Carolina college's fourth title.

And the boys from Indiana will forever recall their "Hoosiers" moment — when Jimmy Chitwood's winning movie basket almost replayed in Indianapolis.

After Hayward's wayward shot, I thought of other plays for the ages.

Basketball. Keith Smart. His baseline jumper as the clock melted really was a Chitwood re-enactment. It gave the Indiana Hoosiers the title over Syracuse in 1987, the year after the movie came out.

Baseball. Bill Mazeroski. Game 7 of the 1960 World Series. Pittsburgh and the nuclear New York Yankees were tied 9-9. Bottom of the ninth. Pow. Maz mashed one over the left-field wall at Forbes Field. The fans poured over the Pirates.

Football. Adam Vinatieri. The 2002 Super Bowl. New England was tied 17-17 with St. Louis' big-time favored Rams. Bang. Vinatieri nailed a 48-yard field goal with no time left to give the Patriots their first NFL title.

Hockey. Bobby Orr. Boston led the 1970 Stanley Cup Finals three games to zip. But St. Louis had fought to a 3-3 overtime in Game 4. Orr shot. He flew over the ice. The puck pounded the net. The Bruins were on top.

Too bad Butler didn't do it too.

The good news. Duke and Butler reached the final with a unique concept — upperclassmen, players who attend class. The Kentucky types who rode one-and-done talent went nowhere.

The Duke-Butler way puts the college back in basketball. And gives hope to my Missouri Tigers. Mike Anderson coaches our guys to get degrees on the patch to wealth after hoops. Now that could mean an NCAA title as well.

Giant stuff. You notice San Francisco's sizzling start this baseball season? Brings back memories of "The Giants Win the Pennant" 1962 album that filled my ears. There was Lon Simmons saying, "The Giants were looking for more than hamburgers. They were looking for steaks." Time for more calls like that in Frisco.

Speaking of calls. Can't get into Angel TV and radio games. The knifing of Rex Hudler and Steve "Light up the Halo" Physioc leaves the Orange County team with zero on-air vibe. I'll just have to catch games at the stadium.

So who wins it all? You have to like the Yankees' chances to repeat. I mean, all they did was add silver bullets to their ordnance. But I hate picking the obvious. Mark me down for Atlanta to give Bobby Cox the World Series trophy in his last season as skipper.

Don't look now. But isn't Baylor women's hoop center Brittney Griner a guy? Sure dunks and talks like one. Better check him out, especially after the track people uncovered South African impostor Caster Semenya for what he is.


Bucky Fox is an author and editor in Southern California who runs BuckyFox.com.

MLB Network: Hazel Mae I? You Bet, Even When It Comes To Reliving The Angels' Deep-Six In '86

Two reasons we're hooked on MLB Network:

1. Hazel Mae. She's more of a Filipino knockout than Manny Pacquiao.

When Hazel fills the MLB screen, she delivers color and nuts of wisdom.

Really, she's just one of the heavy-hitting anchors on MLB. And she better watch her back, with Harold Reynolds down the hall. You might recall he got canned from ESPN for playing grabass.

2. Oh, there's a second reason?

Yes, baseball in the hot stove season. We get offerings such as Saturday's, with Reynolds and Al Leiter breaking down top AL pitchers. There were Justin Verlander and King Felix fanning Angels. And Bret Saberhagen in 1985 ringing up Reggie.

Yes, falling Angels everywhere on this show.

Which reminds me of the ultimate Hal-0 this past spring on MLB.

You might've caught it: Game 5 of the 1986 pennant series, the most painful in Angel history. MLB Network replayed all 11 innings of the Angels' 7-6 loss to Boston. Simply a wild time warp.

Anaheim Stadium. Blue wall. No ads. Just an Angel logo. Natch, no rocks. Seats throughout, explaining the attendance that was 20,000 more than today's capacity. And the light grass. Ag technology had to be weaker back then.

The batters. ABC showed that the bottom third of the lineup was carrying the Angel load. The trio was Dick Schofield, Bob Boone and Gary Pettis, although Schofield hit second in Game 5. Missing was a graphic called Miss October. Reggie's DH stood for Didn't Hit. The one time he singled, he was picked off. TV's Al Michaels evidently wasn't tuned in. With Jackson leading off the bottom of the 10th, Michaels thought it was 1977. He said with excited anticipation: "Who wrote this script?" Answer: Boston.

The pitcher. Mike Witt was a winner. Or should've been. No walks in 8 and two-thirds. One strike away from a pennant. Somewhere in there, ABC noted, "No pitcher has ever thrown two complete games in a championship series." In the fifth, an MLB Network historical note posted his perfect-game numbers of 1984 at Texas: 94 pitches, 10 Ks.

The broadcast. Good timing. While this 1986 gem aired, so did a look at the 1986 New York Giants on NFL Network. And MLB Network followed with Mets-Boston, exactly the World Series match-up after the Angels fell.

The hero. Dave Henderson almost wasn't. After Tony Armas hurt his leg in center, Henderson replaced him and pulled a goat of play in the sixth. Leaping for a Bobby Grich drive, the center fielder had the ball in his mitt, then ice-cream-coned it over the fence. Having given the Angels a 3-2 lead, Grich set a record for celebration. Michaels: "It may be one of the more memorable plays of the '80s." Unfortunately, not quite.

The banners. "The Sox are at Witt's end." "Yes We Can" (did Obama steal that?).

The slammer. With Boston's Mike Greenwell up in the eighth, MLB Network added an amazing note: He had two inside-the-park grand slams in his career. Against the same pitcher, Greg Cadaret. Once when Cadret was with the A's, once with the Yankees.

The seer. "Remember that man, Gedman," said Michaels in the eighth. Indeed, the Sox catcher who had homered and doubled would draw the hit by pitch in the ninth to set up Henderson's shot.

The traitor. Seven years after winning the Angels' first MVP Award, Don Baylor stuck it to his old team. Now DHing for Boston, he nailed a one-out homer in the ninth to cut the Angels' lead to 5-4. And he scored the winner on Henderson's sac fly in the 11th.

The pitches. Moore was thisclose to closing the door with two out in the ninth. He had Henderson at 1-2, 2-2, two fouls. Then goodbye, 6-5 Sox.

More timing. Just as Henderson parked Donnie Moore's forkball on MLB Network, A-Rod was hitting his dramatic homer in the ninth against the Phillies in real time.

The out. Grich was inches from winning it with two out in the ninth. With the game tied at 6 and the bases full, Bobby pushed a 2-0 count against Steve Crawford. Two balls away from triumph. The next pitch looked outside, but the ump said strike. Bobby eventually lined out to the mound. Michaels would point out that Crawford was on the roster because Tom Seaver got hurt.

The coach. Pitching coach Marcel Lachemann went to the mound for Angel pitching changes, not manager Gene Mauch.

The look. The Angels played one guy born outside the country: Jamaica's Devon White. Now Latin Americans dominate the roster.

The shots. Pettis was a foot from handing the Angels the flag in the 10th. Jim Rice said no way, leaping and hauling in his drive at the wall. The next frame, Angel left fielder Brian Downing kept the deficit at one by grabbing Ed Romero's rocket at the fence. Michaels: "Wow! Are we really seeing this game?"

The call. Michaels: "Anaheim was one strike away from turning into fantasyland."

The wrap. If I remember right, Mae put the last exclamation mark on this "All-Time Games" edition. How could I forget?


Bucky Fox is an author and editor in Southern California who runs BuckyFox.com.

Yank Ease

Damn Yankees?

Yes, and this: Damn good Yankees.

Loathe ’em or hate ’em, New York’s American League club is a fine nine.

Pinstripes at home. NY on caps. Facade at Yankee Stadium. The Yankees look good, no question.

Now they have the title to go with the image: world champions.

They have a player with the coolest nickname in sports: Saiko (pronounced Psycho). That’s Japanese for the best — a perfect fit for the tag’s owner, Hideki Matsui.

After his monstrous World Series, he deserves his other nickname, Godzilla. Not to mention his trophy for World Series MVP.

Psycho. A Rod. Tex. The Captain. These Yankees are a bunch of Mo-names.

And they pounded out one Mo world title, making the Yankee haul 27.

Just think; their victims last week — the Phillies — have a lousy two. They won it all in 1980 and last year.

I really thought Philly would make it three by sticking it to the Yanks. Only Ryan Howard forgot his stick. And the rest of the Phillies — except Chase Utley and Cliff Lee — paled vs. the hale New Yorkers.

Twenty-seven world titles.

The L.A. Angels are happy to own one at this point. Especially after their murderers’ low in the pennant series against the Yankees.

The Bombers simply exposed the Halos as hollow.

So much for my prediction: Angels over Philly in six.

What happened to Disneyland’s team?

How could the Halos look like such zeros?

The short answers:

Yankee pitchers fired strikes. Halo hurlers lobbed balls.

New York’s batters hit the blessed ball. L.A.’s lineup imitated the MLB logo — all stance, no swing.

So what do Anaheim’s homeboys do now? Suit up new guys.

Say bye to this costly trio: Vlad, Figgy, Lackey.

Say hi to these thirsty three: Wood, Evans, Bell.

You’ll need an iPhone to ID next season’s Angels. And time to brood if you’re a Halo fan. The 2010 bunch will hardly win the American League West by 10 games, as this year’s version did.

Which sets up the Halos nicely for contention in 2011.

Here’s saying they’ll have to rise that year on the wings of another manager. Mike Scioscia has to wear his Dodger blue one day, so he might as well get that move over with.

By then, Joe Torre will have returned to New York. Maybe to manage the Mets. Perhaps to give the Yankees advice.

As if they need it.


Bucky Fox is an author and editor in Southern California who runs BuckyFox.com.

Ready For Philly Phlight After Angel Dive

For the Los Angeles Angels, it’s a murderers’ low.

The Yankees simply exposed the Halos as hollow.

The Angels as the wrong angles.

The city as Loss Angeles.

So much for my prediction: Angels over Philly in six.

For this World Series, I couldn’t be serious.

New York sure is after ousting L.A. in the pennant series.

So now the Yanks and Phils are about to swing away in baseball’s championship round.

As for old news:

What happened to the Angels?

How could the Halos look like such zeros?

The short answers:

Yankee pitchers fired strikes. Halo hurlers lobbed balls.

New York’s batters hit the damn ball. L.A.’s lineup imitated the MLB logo — all stance, no swing.

So what does Disneyland’s neighborhood team do now? Suit up new guys.

Say bye to this costly quartet: Vlad, Figgy, Abreu, Lackey.

Say hi to these famished four: Wood, Sandoval, Evans, Bell.

You’ll need an iPhone to ID next season’s Angels. And time to brood if you’re a Halo fan. The 2010 bunch will hardly win the American League West by 10 games, as this year’s version did.

Which sets up the Halos nicely for 2011 heaven. Meaning a leap into the World Series.

Here’s saying they’ll have to rise that year on the wings of another manager. Mike Scioscia has to wear his Dodger blue one day, so he might as well get that move over with.

But enough about the locals. On the World stage, the Phillie-Yankee show was last set to open in 1964 — until the Phils phlopped horribly in September, handing St. Louis the National League pennant.

Forty-five years later, Philly-New York is a go. Minus Johnny Callison and Mickey Mantle, those teams’ stars back then.

Now we’re about to watch Ryan Howard slug it out with A Rod.

My call minutes before the first pitch: Philly in phive.


Bucky Fox is an author and editor in Southern California who runs BuckyFox.com.

The Jets' Pilot; The Angels Will Yank It Out

Now we know.

Remember when Pete Carroll bitched about the flight of Mark Sanchez to the NFL?

The Southern Cal coach knew:

1. Sanchez is an ace of a quarterback. The Jets also spotted that rocket arm and drafted him faster than an F-16 flyover. They look brilliant after On The Mark manhandled New England Sunday.

2. The Trojans had the equivalent of a corpse behind Sanchez. At least that's what Aaron Corp looked like in that burial in Seattle Saturday.

And do I care about USC's demise? No. It's only that we get radio blitzed in L.A. over all things Trojan. And I haven't been so stoked about my Jets since the '60s. As a Mizzou guy, I say to USC: Bite On.

Halo heat: The stretch, the pitch will start any minute at Angel Stadium.

Which leaves time to declare: The Angels will batter their punching bags, the Yankees.

Which leads to this: New York will soon enough turn into a little apple, or wild card. That will come to fruition when Boston follows the Angels’ sweep with its own broom job of the Yanks.

Which means good news for Angel fans. They won’t have to bother with the Sox in the playoffs’ first round. In other words, Los Angeles’ American League contingent has a chance to reach the second round.

The Angels own the Yankees. Especially in the playoffs. Now they’ll duplicate 2002 and 2005 and expose New York as the bullpen-less, Mr. June Rodriguez team that it is.

That Round 1 triumph will have the Angels flexing their confidence for a bashing of Boston in the pennant series.

And a six-game finishing of Philly in the World Series.

Want another tip? Rivera. He’s the Juan, all right. The Angels’ big bat in left field is a postseason MVP waiting to happen.

Focus, blue. What can the umpires possibly be seeing? A pitch goes right down the middle. And the guy behind the catcher calls balls.

The other day I'm watching the Angels' Jered Weaver firing pitches perfectly. Ball three, ball four.

Where else should he have thrown? One millimeter higher?

I'm hardly nitpicking. This is an epidemic. Umps simply let batters get away with watching pitches in the meat of the strike zone. Ball two, ball three.

Batters foul off everything else, making for snoozeroo baseball.

Message to the men in blue: Tighten the strike zone. Make batters do what Doubleday drew up -- swing.

Speaking of delays: These replays to decide football calls are killing the sport.

Where's the flow? Gone the way of the head slap.

Sideline catch. End zone dive. Fumble. Stop the game for five minutes so the refs can watch 15 angles.

Good thing for the clicker. And for MLB Network, which fills the gaps with old World Series games.

Bucky Fox is an author and editor in Southern California who runs BuckyFox.com.

Angels Will Take It; Jeter Is MVP; Who's That Man Posing As A Chick?

If you have one anymore, bet the mortgage. This lock will keep you in your house forever:

Angels over Philly in six.

Yes, L.A.'s other team will win it all for the second time since 2002. And in the process beat baseball's defending champion Phillies.

I've been picking the Halos all season. While friends scoffed. The team had so many weak links to strengthen without using steroids.

First, the Angels lacked power. Then they started jacking them out while trotting out the first all-.300 lineup since the Depression.

Second, the Angels couldn't hold a lead. Then they discovered a juicy righty in Kevin Jepsen to set up slam-the-door lefty Brian Fuentes.

Third, the Angels hurt for starting moundsmen. Then John Lackey and Ervin Santana revived to supplement Jered Weaver and Joe Saunders.

Fourth, the Angels searched all over for a fifth starter. Then along came Scott Kazmir from Tampa Bay. Along with his Boston-strangling resume, which the Halos need to finally beat the Sox in the playoffs.

Shazam! Quicker than you can spell Scioscia, the Angels have managed to emerge as MLB's best.

With Erick Aybar sprinting, Juan Rivera slugging and Torii Hunter snatching every shot near the wall, Anaheim is on course to reach the stratosphere of Disneyland's Space Mountain.

MVP: Give it to Derek Jeter.

He's on target for a .330 season. Playing a solid shortstop for the Yankees. Sparking them to MLB's best record right now.

Jeter is simply the face of baseball. And what an ambassadorial mug that is. He's the coolest dude this side of Kobe Bryant, without Kobe's obvious arrogance.

And what a career. Four World Series titles. On the verge of 3,000 hits.

Jeter should've won the Most Valuable Player trophy in 2006. The man murdered the ball at a .343 clip to lead New York to the American League East title. He was the cog in the league's main machine.

Yet he finished second in MVP voting to a faceless Minnesota first baseman, Justin Morneau.

Now Jeter faces another Minnesota barrier. This time it's Joe Mauer, which is German for wall. The Twin catcher is a brick of a backstop outslugging Jeter in all batting areas.

Can Jeter hurdle that dam and claim his first MVP Award? He has a month to close the numbers. And to rally the voters. He already has me.

Road rut: Talk about hitting a red light. The Angels pack their home park every night to the tune of 40,300. That's the fifth best average in baseball.

Away from home, it's not so sweet. The Halos draw just 26,400, the worst road mark. In all of MLB.

What? More fans around the country want to see the Royals? The Pirates? The Nationals?

Evidently.

An old Angel radio guy who now lives in the East was a guest recently with Jeff Biggs on KLAA. I called in to ask what gives with this Halo road rejection, but gave up while on hold for what seemed extra innings.

The way I see it, the Angels lack pizzazz with the rest of the country.

I mean, who glitters on this team? Maybe Torii Hunter. At least he speaks engagingly. And in English, something sluggers Vlad Guerrero and Kendry Morales shun in public.

Otherwise, the Angels are a team to the nines. No I guys. Not many national fans either.

Stan the man: Kudos to Stan Isaacs for his recent column on how to give sports a kick.

He proposed on this site that soccer drop the goalie.

That's exactly what I've been saying for years. Even when I lived in Germany. You can imagine what that idea did to local faces. Turned them into sneers.

Here's one for baseball: Limit foul balls to five per batter. The fifth would be an out, just as a two-strike bunt foul is a strikeout.

Fouls are doing their darnedest to make baseball boring. Ever since Bill James spelled out how fouling off balls tires the pitcher while drawing better offerings, batters hit 'em backward eternally.

So now every guy faces 10 pitches. Zzzzzzzz.

Keep the fouls to five, and you zip up the game.

Man, is this easy: You hear about the guy posing as a gal in track?

He cast himself as Caster Semenya. I guess that's a chick name.

And captured the 800 meters at the world championships last month in Berlin.

He won gold for one simple reason. He ran against girls.

Look at him up there. Caster is about as much of a woman as Ron Artest, for whom the South African is a dead ringer.

Semenya is South African. If you believe anything he says.

And he might get away with this flimflam. You should hear the track officials squirming about pee, DNA, who know what tests.

Here's the test they should give him quicker than he can run:

Pull his pants down.

Bucky Fox is an author and editor in Southern California who runs BuckyFox.com.

Pound Vick; Pitino's Play; Angels, Matthews Roll

Good timing.

Mike Vick leaps from the doghouse to the Eagle nest.

The Democrats' blue dogs growl at obummer's sick plan.

Which begs the question: Is Vick a blue dog?

If so, he'd want to electrocute himself. Such is what he thinks of canines.

You might recall Vick was the quarterback sacked for treating the animals like dog meat. About the only perversion he didn't pull was eat them.

Otherwise, the hanging and drowning kept him busy. Until the cops caught him. And he waddled into prison.

Two years later Vick rolled out from behind bars. And Philly signed him.

While many expected dog lovers to howl over Vick's comeback, two reactions are reality:

1. When the Eagles say they consulted with the Humane Society, that means they paid for silence. You can bet the NFL contributed millions to keep the HS, PETA and whoever else from barking too loudly.

2. Sports fans don't care about mangled dogs. Listen to talk radio, and all you hear is Vick should play. Period.

I'm not one of those callers. My take: Vick is sick. His moral fiber is wretched. Yes, he served his time. No, I won't watch Eagle games. Can't stomach it.

Lousville Lover. And how about Rick Pitino? He's lucky the Vick story drowned him out.

Otherwise the hoops coach and his roll on a restaurant table with a floozy would've taken center court.

Now it's so what. Pitino the disciple of discipline screws around on his wife. And pays the woman for an abortion. A Cardinal sin in the old days. Now he's a Kentucky king of midlife sex.

I say this: At least he's not dunking dogs.

On a brighter note: The L.A. Angels keep winning with the best of them. And they're doing it despite injuries in all corners of the clubhouse.

How do the Angels do what the Mets can't? Two words: Gary Matthews.

His bad-ass bat has held the fort while Torii Hunter recovers.

From the sound of fans, you'd think the Son of Sarge had deserted. One guy bitched on the radio right after Matthews mashed a three-run homer in L.A.'s 10-5 triumph over Tampa Bay.

The caller: "How can fans cheer him? Did they forget his error from the inning before?"

Amazing. Matthews produces. And delivers adult analysis in post-game interviews. And still draws fan jeers.

His response: win.

Bucky Fox is an author and editor in Southern California who runs BuckyFox.com.

Corner on the Angels; calling on Dave Smith

An acquaintance in the East commented on the Angels recently with this: “They’re the worst of the contending teams.”

My response: “Really? Worse than the Twins, Tigers, Chisox, Yankees, Rays, Cards, Cubs, Astros, Brewers?”

No answer has landed. Not while the Angels win every bloody day.

If the answer ever comes back yes, I say: Good.

Let the masses miss the Halo heat. The fewer the fans who catch on, the better. By the time they do, Anaheim will own a second championship.

Take 2002. That summer while the Angels played in Boston, I wrote a pal in D.C. about Troy Glaus’ greatness. My friend’s take: Who him?

After Glaus finished with 111 RBIs and the Angels their title, I didn’t bother asking my friend again. Didn’t matter.

Kinda like the stock market. When hardly anyone has heard of a company, that’s the one that rockets. If you check out STEC and FUQI, it’ll probably be the first time. Yet they’re scorching. By the time Main Street invests in them, Wall Street will have seriously cashed in.

So let most of baseball’s gazers wallow in all things Boston and Philly. I’m keeping my eye on the best ball.

Come in, Dave Smith. Two years ago he resurfaced on L.A. radio as the drive-time voice of KLAA. He gave the Angels’ station the edge it needed.

Now he’s gone. Smith turned into dead air this summer, and that’s a drag for these parts. He’s the self-professed Sports God for a reason. He’s been here all his life and shares a sharp passion for our teams that no other broadcaster matches.

I asked a few people connected to the Angels what happened. Was Dave fired? Where is he? No one is clear. Not even Smith, who has nothing on TheSportsGod.com about his whereabouts.

Come back, Dave. You were wrong about Mitch Kupcake. And wrong about running pitchers’ arms ragged. But you had a point about Sissy Vujacic. And it was tough to change the channel.

I have the perfect spot for Smith. 570 KLAC in the afternoon. Replace the screamers who turn their points into turbulence. Many Angel fans would stick with Jeff Biggs at KLAA. Aside from that, Smith would crush ESPN’s Mason and Ireland.

Speaking of dead air. What’s with Los Angeles pulling the plug on its top radio talent?

Dave Smith was only the latest talent to vanish into the ether.

In the past year we lost Larry Elder. He went the way of the dial when KABC traded him in for syndicated Mark Levin.

Now Levin is brilliant. He hits the mark with his darts, such as: Hillary Rotten Clinton, Little Dick Durbin and the New York Slimes.

But he tosses them from a basement in Virginia. He’s not Los Angeles.

Elder is. To the core, as he underscores with his Sage from South Central moniker.

And he was one radio voice who nailed it on economics: Downshift on government, and the American machine will rocket.

The good news is Elder might run for the Senate next year. If he decks Barbara Boxer, the radio rotation will be worth it.

I can hear Levin already: “Down goes Boxer! Down goes Boxer!”


Bucky Fox is an author and editor in Southern California and runs BuckyFox.com.

Angel Angles

Made two predictions at a recent L.A.-Texas game at Angel Stadium.

One was spot on. The other spot off.

With Juan Rivera up and the count 2-2, I did a Russ Hodges imitation: "Tell it bye-bye, baby!"

Rivera jacked the next pitch straight into the rocks.

Then in the fifth, with John Lackey leading 3-0, two out, no one on, I told my neighbor, Scott Paullin: "Knock on wood, but Lackey's cruisin'."

That's when the cruise crashed. Six runs crossed before you could say Ranger rout, and Mike Scioscia had the hook out. Luckless Lackey again. Or maybe he's pitchless these days.

Here it comes: The Angels will make a huge deal this month. That comes with the same guarantee I made while saying Phil Jackson would stay. I was right. Charles Barkley wrong.

Yes, our OC boys bashed the Yankees to our glee Friday night. But that flop against the Rangers, just when we had Team Ryan on an Express down the division, showed the Angels need power and pitching.

Watch Los Angeles let one of its catchers, Mike Napoli or Jeff Mathis, go. And Lackey.

Turn it down: HalosHeaven.com's Rev is calling Steve Physioc the worst announcer in baseball.

Why? Because the broadcaster has the gall to call attention to the biggest offensive night of the season. Or would've been if Andruw Jones had parked No. 4.

What, was Fizz supposed to scintillate us with a breakdown of the No. 1 Angel Stadium experience? Because if you wanted homer musings from the booth, that was the only thing left in that Ranger series.

Or could Physioc reach for a homer of substance, one that ties history? Good for him that he announced the news.

Which adds to his credentials as the worst announcer in baseball? Against what list? Worse than John Sterling, whom Yankee fans and the Post's Phil Mushnick are trying to ditch? Worse than voices for the Marlins, Royals, Twins? I doubt if the Rev has a clue. About the only listeners who do are those of American Forces Network, which airs games from every market for our troops around the globe.

I used to be one of those AFN listeners. And knew that despite L.A.'s love affair with Vin Scully, he was not the best. Certainly not better than the Giants' Hank Greenwald, the Orioles' Chuck Thompson and the White Sox combo of Harry Caray and Jimmy Piersall.

No, Physioc isn't the worst. Not even among Angel play-by-play guys. His voice far surpasses the tone of Rory Markas and Terry Smith. And the Fizz has more fun playing off Rex Hudler (with me and my Angel book above).

As far as our Orange County ears can figure, Physioc might be one of the best.

Quit this fire-Fizz campaign. It's childish.

We'd be better off bitching about something of substance: Angel players who don't speak English. At least not with a mic in front of them.

This Kendry Morales ignoring our language for Spanish the way Vlad does is outrageous. This is an American team with American fans paying them American millions.

Learn to speak to us without a Jose Mota dictionary, for crying out loud.

Follow hockey's lead. Guy Lafleur and Mario Lemieux were two French Canadians who entered the NHL knowing hardly any English. The Habs and Penguins made sure they learned it. Simple marketing. They knew their fan base spoke English, so get with the program, guys.

The Angels should do the same. So should every team in baseball, which has crashing attendance as it is.

Fans want players they can relate to. It sure would help if they could understand them.


Bucky Fox is an author and editor in Southern California who runs BuckyFox.com.

Nothing New About This New York Mess

The 1962 New York Mets supposedly died with their 40-120 record. Their Marvelous Marv mishmash is just a joke of a memory.

Isn’t it?

Then again, it’s still live and in action.

The Mets who came to Los Angeles last week looked so laughable, you’d have thought Casey Stengel was still managing them.

Trivia: Why did the ’62 Mets lose just 120 games? They had one tie and a rainout they didn’t bother to make up.

Jerry Manuel is the skipper these days. Suffering through the flubs that Casey used for punch lines, Manuel doesn’t have the Ol’ Professor’s wit. Just his headaches. As when Ryan Church failed to touch third base, helping New York lose Game 1 of the three-game sweep.

Manuel’s standup went like this: “I can’t explain how or why or anything, but he actually missed the base.”

Hilarious.

My only consolation is I had left Dodger Stadium in the eighth inning of that first game. So I missed Church’s sin. Plus a you-got-it-I-got-it fly ball that dropped in the Mets’ outfield. Plus a wide throw home that clinched their 3-2 loss.

Trivia: Who was the only future Hall of Famer on the ’62 Mets? Richie Ashburn.

The ’62 re-enactment continued in Game 2 in a 5-3 Met loss. When Dan Murphy pulled a Marvelous Marv in left field, L.A. air god Vin Scully said, “I can’t believe the New York Mets.”

I do. Even believe in them. Which is why I fought traffic to catch that series opener. I’ve been a blue-and-orange fan since Seaver and Koosman trumped ’62 with their Amazin’ title of 1969.

Trivia: Who played on all four teams that were originally in New York? Darryl Strawberry, Jose Vizcaino and Ricky Ledee.

I’ll hang with my team through these dark nights. How dark? Injuries to infielder Jose Reyes and his backup, Alex Cora. Leaving Ramon Martinez to go oh for 12 in the series.

Martinez was so limp, Scully said: “Ramon Martinez is about ready to put an ad in the paper to get a base hit.”

Ramon wasn’t alone. The Met bats had no news fit to print. By Game 3, all this team did was leave runners dead on base. And lose 2-1. And look ready to collapse from first to last place by season’s end.

This was supposed to be a showdown between two contenders. The problem was the Mets were more suited for the Laugh Factory on the Sunset Strip.

Still, watching the Mets at Dodger Stadium was a ball. Sat up in the stratosphere with season-ticket holders, and one of them was a living almanac. He offered tidbits such as:

What was the longest-running intact outfield? Pittsburgh’s Bob Skinner, Bill Virdon and Roberto Clemente from 1956 to ’63.

Then came this gem from another in the group:

What team has the longest current winning streak in World Series games? The Cincinnati Reds.

Such byplay at a major league game is unbeatable. Dodger Stadium makes it all the more enjoyable with the organ. While so many other ballparks blare rock music, Chavez Ravine sticks with Nancy Bea and her show tunes, such as Camelot’s “What Do the Simple Folk Do?”

We watch baseball.

For a Mets fan, that Think Blue aura was the only winner of the week.

Bucky Fox is the author of "The Mets Fan's Little Book of Wisdom" and CEO of BuckyFox.com.

Former Angel star second baseman Bobby Grich with fan and author Bucky Fox

From Pacquiao to Teixeira, I Want Answers Now

Questions after a weekend of boxing bashes, Derby dashes and general sports clashes:

How can I land Teddy Atlas' job? Dude picked Ricky Hatton to beat Manny Pacquiao. No wonder Atlas sports a mashed nose. The bone must've jammed back in his brain.

The only thing the Hitman hit was the canvas in Round 2. That was after Pac-Man planted his feet for the longest period in boxing history and hooked Hatton silly.

The ref's immediate stoppage made it a TKO. By technical, that must mean technically Hatton was a boxer.

In reality, this was a knockout a 3-year-old girl could've seen coming. I asked little Bianca at a boxing party when Pac-Man would win, and she put up three fingers. Close enough.

When it came to Pac-Man, what was with the Atlas shrug? The old Mike Tyson trainer must've been too busy pondering his next ESPN dollars to have any sense. Ax the guy and hire me.

How do I get Michael Buffer's job? I mean, how tough is introducing boxers? Promise, I can handle "Let's get ready to stummmmmbllllllle."

What's with HBO averting its gaze from the round girls? You know, the high-heeled, hotly garbed babes trotting in the ring with posters in case you forget what round it is. Instead of feeding us the babage, HBO zeroes in on sweaty faces of boxers and corner men.

One word for this pay-per-view trade-off: ripoff.

How can I replace the Kentucky Derby's voice? There was Tom Durkin on NBC noting every horse down the stretch. Except the one passing them all. When he finally said Mine That Bird, he had long clinched the roses.

One of the truly blown calls. I'm ready to stand in.

Does Barry Melrose have it good or what? Couldn't cut it as Tampa Bay's coach in the shortest tryout in NHL annals. So he's back breaking down hockey for ESPN.

Remember that ESPN broadcasts no hockey games. So Melrose spends, oh, two minutes a night chatting after catching action on the tube. And makes tons. I'm in the wrong business.

Amid the Manny and A-Rod hysteria, what to do about steroids? Legalize them.

Even if the Lakers make the NBA Finals, how do they handle LeBron James? Nail him on a steroid charge.

Why did the Lakers’ bench go from NBA tops to flops by playoff time? They traded Vladimir Radmanovic. With him starting, L.A. sizzled with a second unit starring Trevor Ariza. Now that Ariza fills Rad’s starting spot, no one’s left to spark the reserves. That’s why those 15-point leads vanish faster than you can say Luke Walton.

When will Orlando Hudson see straight? The Dodgers' second baseman recently bitched that baseball doesn't field enough black Americans. Something's coloring his juvenile outlook if hasn't caught on that blacks are filling MLB rosters. Only the talent comes mostly from Latin America.

Maybe Hudson is too pretentious to notice such teams as the San Francisco Giants, whose left side of the infield is as black as their caps. Only the third baseman, Pablo Sandoval, hails from Venezuela, and their shortstop, Edgar Renteria, is a Colombian.

Then there's the obvious shift down the road from Hudson's Dodger Stadium. The Angels won the 2002 World Series with two black regulars, L.A.'s own Garret Anderson and Puerto Rican Bengie Molina. Now they have two white regulars, Floridians Mike Napoli and Jeff Mathis.

When will teams' radio networks get with it? They feed the waves with pabulum whenever callers question talent and strategy.

That's why it was a breath of fresh air when Adam Dodge spoke up as a guest partner with Jeff Biggs on the Angels' KLAA. When a caller rooted for a Reggie Willits return to the Angels' outfield, I was expecting the knee-jerk response: "You're right, buddy. The guy's scrappy. Bring him back."

Dodge was different. He dismissed the idea. Said enemy pitchers had figured Willits out.

Dodge, a writer for Angelswin.com, sounded honest and compelling. That's a double play that radio should embrace. Advice for Biggs: Don't dodge him.

When will teams quit shelling out for losers? Take Mark Teixeira. Puts up huge numbers in Texas. So fantasy baseball types call him the second coming of Lou Gehrig. The Braves buy into it. They get worse. The Angels get sucked in. They go nowhere in the playoffs. The Yankees are sold on him. They're foundering.

The only pundit who blew the whistle was Phil Rogers. He's my old pal who covers baseball for the Chicago Tribune. Right after the Angels landed Teix last summer, Rogers shared his Texas drawl on KLAA and tattled on that down trend. Cut through the Bill James ratings -- Runs Created, Approximate Value -- and you can see Teixeira simply helps his teams lose.

Remind you of other Yankees? Maybe Bobby Bonds and A-Rod?

Bucky Fox is an editor in Southern California who runs BuckyFox.com and is the author of three baseball books, including "The Highflying Angels: Their 50 Greatest Hits, Pitches and Plays"