Filly's Fab Flyers

The soaringest sportsmen this year have to be ... let's see:

The Sun-dousing Lakers? No.

The James-jamming Celtics? No.

The Mosley-mopping Mayweather? No.

The Mayweather-hunting, vote-producing Pacquiao? No.

The Favre-flogging, Super-balling Saints? No.

The Butler-besting Dukin' Blue Devils? No.

The Bobby Hull-reliving Blackhawks? No.

Getting warm.

Try another bunch on the ice, this one with wings in their logo: the Flyers of Philadelphia.

You want fabled? The Flyers of 2010 already are.

We're not halfway through the year, and they're flying at a historic clip.

The Flyers shot into the National Hockey League finals by:

1. Outshooting the New York Rangers in the regular season's last game to squeak into the playoffs.

2. Facing a 0-3 series hole and winning the next four games against the Boston Bruins.

3. Facing a 0-3 hole in that seventh game and finishing off those Bruins 4-3.

4. Meeting hockey's other playoff shocker, the Montreal Canadiens, and skating to a 4-1 series triumph.

Fightin', fantastic, folkloric. The Flyers rule the 4-F Club.

And who knows them? Philly fans, no doubt. A few of those loyalists might line your office. Other than them, no one would recognize Michael Leighton if he buzzed in. Or Peter Laviolette.

Introducing:

Goalie Leighton. The Petrolia, Ontario, native has his skate to the gas, with the Flyers riding him to what they hope is their first title since 1975. And what a shift into high gear. Leighton was always how he sounded — late in games. He played backup in Chicago, Nashville, Carolina, even Philly until taking over for an injured starter. Now Leighton is simply IN, stopping every shot that matters. Three shutouts in the five-game mauling of Montreal? Talk about a re-enactment of Ken Dryden circa '71.

Coach Laviollete. He's that rarity in the NHL, a stud American. He directed Carolina to the 2006 Stanley Cup and has Phenomenal Philly on the brink. Boston fans surely are bummed a neighbor nailed them, what with the First Flyer hailing from Norwood, Mass.

Speaking of Boston, it also had to be sickening to swallow its own medicine. Recall the Red Sox rose from 0-3 in the 2004 pennant series. That nuking of the New York Yankees capped baseball's greatest rebound. Six years later, Bostonians had to feel queasy.

The Flyers of 2010. The Sox of 2004. Makes you ponder sports' top comebacks.

How about:

The Giants of 1962. Sure, Bobby Thomson's Giants of 1951 gave New York drama worthy of Broadway. But the San Francisco version 11 years later was more improbable. Behind by four games in the standing with seven to go, the Giants were done. Really? Somehow they rallied to tie the Dodgers and force a three-game playoff. Then in the deciding game, the Giants looked dead again. They trailed 4-2 in the ninth inning. Yet they woke up to walk over Los Angeles for the pennant.

The Bengals of 1970. They started 1-6, hardly surprising for a team in just its third season. Forget it, right? Wrong. Winning its last seven games, Cincy gave Paul Brown the AFC Central title.

The lesson: Never say bye.


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

PacMan's Pounding Of Pack-It-In Man

The best bet was on the Dallas Cowboy cheerleaders.

Did they ever beat boxing to the punch the other night.

Whereas the welterweight title fight had all the sting of a swatted bee, the Cowgirls sang like miked butterflies.

Did you catch their act? The trio — decked out in stars and not much else — made "The Star-Spangled Banner" flutter. Their a cappella voices had as much beauty as their bodies.

And after "home of the brave," every fight fan was indeed ready to rumble.

Only the main event wasn't much of an encore.

It featured Manny Pacquiao living up to his PacMan billing — chomping nonstop for 12 rounds.

But from the other corner? A turtle, as an office colleague called Joshua Clottey. He crawled all the way out of Africa to spend the whole fight in a shell.

Shades of Ali's 1974 rope a dope in the Congo. That time it turned into Foreman's stumble in the jungle.

This time it was a grope a dope in Texas. With that cover-up plot, Clottey was a Ghana, all right.

So what were fans to do? The 50,000 at Dallas Cowboys Stadium — most of whom had to be Filipinos — erupted for their hero. And booed stuck-like-a-blood Clottey.

Why join them? Glad I avoided the marathon drive from the West Coast and $50 parking. The best way to watch was at a Filipino party near Disneyland. Deep dishes of Philippine food, topped by cheering. The only thing that tasted bad was my $5 raffle ticket. I pulled out a 3, off by nine rounds.

So what's next on the menu? PacMan and whoever else he wants to devour.

The Filipino Fist stands 51-3-2 and on top of the world. Make his win total 52 if he captures his congressional seat he's fighting for in May.

The Honorable Manny Pacquiao would then fly back to strafe Mayweather or Mosley in one rich goodbye party.

Talk about political pull.

With PacMan calling and dealing the shots, he better corral the Cowboy cheerleaders for another national anthem.

That would be the patriotic thing to do.


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

Jets In The Clouds

The Amazin' Jets?

You bet. By reaching the playoffs. By winning their first-rounder in Cincy. By sticking it to San Diego in Sunday’s second-rounder.

The Jets have fans like me flush with green bliss.

Watching the Sanchise tame the Bengals two straight weeks trumped Broadway Joe in one respect. Namath faced the Oakland Raiders twice in the 1968 American Football League season and could only split.

Only? What Joe Willie did was lose the Heidi Game, then black out Oakland in the AFL final. That gave New York a ticket to the Super Bowl, where Namath backed his guarantee with football's greatest upset, beating Baltimore 16-7.

The Jets looked Super in their all-white unis and helmets that sport the second coolest NFL logo after the Colts' horseshoe. And haven't won a championship since.

Buddy Ryan was an assistant coach on those Jets. His son Rex is head coach of these Jets. And made a Namath-like call heading into this month's playoffs. "We should be the favorites," Rex said two weeks ago.

Now here the Jets are calling out the Colts again, this time for the AFC championship.

Even if the Jets don’t make it to the Feb. 7 Super Bowl — in Miami, just like 41 years ago — they've been the shock of early 2010. What other surprises can we expect the following 11 months?

February: Lindsey Vonn. As the Olympics hit the snow of Vancouver midmonth, the Babe of Burnsville, Minn., hopes to shed memories of 2006. That's when she crashed while training for the Torino Games and failed to win a medal. Since then, she's skied past them all on the World Cup circuit. Will she come through in Canada? Yes.

March: Manny Pacquiao. The Filipino Fist is coming off a battered eardrum during his otherwise safe pounding of Miguel Cotto last November. With that injury, PacMan is sure to be shaky as he enters the ring against a gun from Ghana named Joshua Clottey. Nah. Pacquiao will somehow pull the trigger on this triumph in Texas in time to return home and win in the political arena.

April: Mizzou. My Tigers own exactly one national championship. It came in baseball in 1954. Now make it two, with the Tigers leaping atop the Final Four in Indy.

May: Andrew Bynum. I've been on a trade-Drew campaign recently. Now he makes me and fellow naysayers look silly by standing tall for the Lakers. Right in the thick of the NBA playoffs.

June: Jo-Willie Tsonga. The Muhammad Ali double jabbed to the 2008 Aussie final, but needs a knockout to put him on tennis' list of big hits. He'll swing his way there with a Paris-poppin' performance in the French Open.

July: Lance Armstrong. He pedals all the way back to the peak — over the Alps and into Paris to grip his eighth Tour de France championship. And we thought he really was done after his seventh straight Tour title in 2005.

August: Tiger Woods. Gotta admit I loved seeing this stealth thug mug himself with his thong chasing. But kiss off his career? No way. Thanks to his new sex appeal, Tiger will roar beyond the rough. In time to win the PGA in Wisconsin.

September: Justine Henin. The Belgian Waffles keep stacking up tennis titles. Kim Clijsters won the U.S. Open in 2005, retired a couple of years later, changed her mind, then won it again in 2009. Henin also owns two Open crowns. Her last came in 2007. The next year she left the court as No. 1 in the world. Now she's back and conquers New York for Open trophy No. 3.

October: Garrett Gilbert. No one but his family heard of this alliterative ace. Until he almost won college football's national title game to start the year. Now the Texas quarterback's in his second season. Or in the vernacular of the TV dopes, a true sophomore. And winging the Longhorns past Oklahoma in the Red River Shootout.

November: The Mets. No way they'll let the Jets steal the Amazin' tag all year. New York's National Leaguers claimed that crown in 1969. Now they wear it again, with Carlos Beltran joining Jason Bay in time to power atop the World Series.

December: Pacquiao-Mayweather. Just when you thought this megabout was KO'd, off the deck it comes. Only kidding, says Pretty Boy Floyd after his drug slap at PacMan. The Filipino isn't laughing. He bloodies Floyd's smirk and perfect record. Now Pacquiao stands 52-3-2, on top of the world. And waving bye to boxing.


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