Michele Bachmann In Overdrive

Michele Bachmann. With one l. And two n's. Spell her right, because she's right on the issues  — so much so, we're looking at a President Bachmann on Jan. 20, 2013. Hope she remembers me after her swearing-in. We met a couple of years ago at my newspaper's office, and I've been swooning since.

The Mess. You might know them as the Mets, short for Metropolitans, New York's National League baseball contingent. Once we called them the Amazins, although the only amazing feat with 2011's version was first place in the first week. Sad to say, my faves are headed for last place in the last week.

Libya. Bet you never thought we'd relive the Marines' Hymn's coolest line  — "To the shores of Tripoli." Let's hope this Obama War Prize entry doesn't so escalate. After these ment Muslim massacres in Afghanistan — all over a burned book — let's go the Pat Buchanan route: Get out.

Buttler. Yes, add that t to the Indiana college. It was all behind in the title-game loss for a basketball team that shot like the Dogs they are. And too bad. America had to be rooting for this little university to school the Huskies of UConns.

Run, fat folks, run. That's exactly my solution to America's fake medical problem. Here's another one: Quit that fifth trip to the buffet trough. The only presidential contender who had the guts to share such truth was Mike Huckabee a couple of years ago. He's bulked up since, so never mind.

Lakers land. Right on their third straight bull's-eye. This time they'll do it by beating the Chicago Bulls. And what a way for Phil Jackson to end the greatest coaching run in history. Six championships with the Bulls, six with the Lakers — with a farewell shot vs. his old team in the NBA Finals.

Walker, Wisconsin Ranger. When the Republicans run the table in 2012 — cashing in with the House, Senate and White House — they'll thank the governor who stood tall in the Wisconsin winter of 2011: Scott Walker. His face-off with unions woke Americans to the budget-busting scam: jack taxes so government employees could rake in triple the salaries and benefits of civilian workers. What's really stunning is these labor-group goons haven't gunned down the Ranger.

Better make other plans. Because the NFL and NBA will sit out next season. Guaranteed. Whenever leagues bog down in labor strife, no Hail Mary, no half-court bucket can win it for the fans. For reference, check 1981, 1982, 1987, 1994, 1998, 2004.

Happy days. We're in the middle of them. For all our grousing, come on. This is the greatest country, and we should constantly celebrate that. Just got into a terrific book "Young Stalin" by Simon Montefiore, and the grime and crime that stuck to the future Soviet slaughterer should wake any American to this reality: We have it good, baby.


Bucky Fox is an editor and author in Southern California.

Riding The Laker Wave

We were losing it.

Not the series. Our mind.

Such is L.A.’s hysteria these days with the Lakers.

Tied 2-2 with Oklahoma City in Round 1 of the NBA playoffs, fans freaked out. And watched the Purple and Gold thunder back to win in six.

Knotted 2-2 with Phoenix in Round 3, we reached for the gaspipe again. And saw Klub Kobe block out the Suns in six.

Now we’re in the meat of the NBA Finals. If you can call turkey hotdogs meat.

Fellow Laker loyalists dribbled over to my place to sow out on those and chips — with the requisite Diet Coke for a bow to balance — and worked it all off by sweating through … what? Our guys bounced Boston by 13. The only points in question were silly Jeff Van Gundy declarations on ABC.

My neighbor Tom showed up in his Laker jersey, matching my yellow T-shirt. My old buddy Ken came wearing his fanaticism. We comprised a trio in harmony — screaming and high-fiving over every Bynum dunk, every Artest three — while my sweet wife, Maria, came home to the chaos, took photos of the blast and escaped with a laugh.

No sweat. The Lakers are taller, quicker, younger, even meaner than the Celtics. This thing will be over six. And on this night we could kick back. Except when Van Gundy and sidekick Mark Jackson filled the telecast with wisdom on hamburgers, Scrabble and Chris Rock. This wasn’t an NBA broadcast as much as a Disney klatch.

Other than bitching about ABC’s missing graphics that kept us in the dark about fouls, we had one easy eve. A 52-inch Sony. High def. Unlimited food and drink. Which has to be killing sports bars. Why go there when you have a kick-ass aura at home?

And why were we going nuts? Because we love sports. Not for betting. Not for any other profitable motive. Just because. Tom, Ken and I might not click on political issues, but when it comes to the Lakers, it’s hug city. Plug the Koreans into this concept, and the DMZ would vanish.

And yet. The Lakers, the Celtics, the Angels, the Red Sox, doesn’t matter. They better get the message right now: Kiss the court and the turf for our fandom. Because this party is about to turn out the lights.

One day all of those teams will wake to empty stands. And lousy TV ratings.

Why? Two reasons:

1. Young people aren’t into making like hotdogs — steaming and resting on their buns — while mindlessly following the action. Kids today want to BE the action.

That means skateboarding, not vegging while some batter fiddles in the box.

That means video gaming, not remoting between the NBA and NHL.

Have you seen those video games? I saw Laker action on the screen that my grandkids were directing and was stunned by the cartoon’s authenticity. Kobe couldn’t have looked more real if he had hit his own 30-footer with five guys on him.

And this was two years ago. With tech’s progress, Kobe’s probably jumping out of a 3-D screen by now.

Hmmm: Sit while athletes do their thing? Or get in the game by pressing the video buttons?

You know what young people turned adults will be doing the next 20 years.

2. A dearth of dads. Or death of them, take your pick.

They’re just not around anymore. I don’t have the Census breakdown, but you know single moms rule these days. And are multiplying like the national debt.

Stopping that trend has about as much chance as the Clippers contending. Women are prospering on the job. They don’t need men, certainly not to bellow with such gems as “Hurry up.”

As dads disappear from houses, so does the force behind sports.

No dad, no pass with the football. No dad, no catch with the baseball. No dad, no oil in the mitt.

No dad, no drive to the stadium. That ultimately will end sports’ honeymoon as entertainment.

With dads, teams are on a fantasy ride. They play every night in Los Angeles and pack the place, 40,000 at Angel Stadium or Dodger Stadium. Think of how those thousands reach the park — via 20 miles of jammed highway — and fan loyalty reaches another level.

That fandom can’t last. And it won’t.

But that’s a quantum leap away. For now, we’re swimming in Laker Land. And loving it.


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

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.

Dandy Decade

Line of the decade hit the office the other day:

Tiger Woods needs a new driver.

Other than that, you won’t see mention of him in this breakdown of the 2000s. This is about sports, not golf.

2000: The Lakers win the first of three straight NBA titles. On their way to Team of the Decade. Shaq provides the muscle, but in four years he’ll flee and rip L.A. The city’s hero is Kobe. He sticks it out during the drag days of mid-decade, scores 81 in a 2006 game against Toronto and wins a fourth championship in 2009. No question. Bryant is Player of the Decade.

2001: The 9/11 World Series. The massacre pushed the Diamondback-Yankee clash so far back, Derek Jeter turned into Mr. November. So much drama at Yankee Stadium: late homers, “God Bless America.” Then came the ninth inning, Game 7, Arizona’s stadium. The D-comebacks won it, thanks to Luis going Gonzo against the arm with the Mo, Rivera.

2002: The Angels win it all. And what a World Series. Seven gut games against San Francisco that rivaled the Fall Classic of the year before. Tim Salmon’s Game 2 heroics. Spiezio’s Scott Heard Round the World in Game 6. As AngelsWin.com relays: By now, most Angels fans can recite Rory Markas' call verbatim: "Here's the pitch to Lofton. Fly ball, center field. Erstad says he's got it. Erstaaaaaad MAKES THE CATCH! The Anaheim Angels are the champions of baseball!"

2003: Andre Agassi is forever Grand. This was his third Aussie Open trophy in four years. While so many players sobbed about the tropical oven Down Under, Agassi simply sizzled. This made his Slam haul eight, up there with tennis’ greats. Yes, Sampras and Fed were better. But they didn’t have that Andre aura. Maury Allen put it this way in a recent piece at TheColumnists.com: “When you are around athletes all your professional life, as some of us have been lucky enough to be, you can spot stardom. . . . Andre Agassi took over the breakfast room.” So Andre lied about his long hair. As a fellow baldy, I’ll give him a pass. And keep remembering how cool he was, from Frankfurt to Paris to London to New York to L.A. to Melbourne.

2004: The Red Sox vault from nearly dead to Yankee killers. Really the Comeback of the Decade. No baseball team had shed an 0-3 series deficit. And Boston had played mitt to New York’s pounding going back to the Joe D days. Not this time. Riding the crunch-time bat of David Ortiz, the Sox stuck it to the Yanks for the pennant and swept St. Louis for the world title. Their first in 86 years.

2005: City of the Decade? Boston, hands down. The Red Sox won two titles, the Celtics one. And the Patriots three. Their third came in the ’05 Super Bowl, a 24-21 thriller over Philly. Tom Brady lasered the football mostly to Deion Branch. In the end, the Eagles were sick of seeing them.

2006: Texas 41, Southern Cal 38. Vince Young with the winning touchdown in the January BCS title game to cap the 2005 season. The Longhorns national champions for the first time since 1969, the last time you’ll ever see an all-white gang pull that off. This was simply the Game of the Decade. I figured the Trojans would blow out the Horns. The California kids had more talent and the best coach, Pete Carroll. They also had a backyard field, the Rose Bowl. And a 12-point lead late. All Young did was win, just as the QB keeps doing with the Tennessee Titans.

2007: Mizzou No. 1. The snapshot was so rare, I bought two Sports Illustrateds freezing my Tigers’ spot atop college football. The Chase Daniel cover and Jeremy Maclin inside page adorn the Fox Den. I knew the moment wouldn’t last long. It didn’t. The next week, Oklahoma dealt us misery in the Big 12 title game. When will Missouri place first in the land again? Maybe 2017 or 2027. The wait is on.

2008: Phil Jackson. Now this is a giant. Not just because he stands 6-8. Also way up there is his championship number: 10. Six with the Chicago Bulls, four with the Lakers. He would get that fourth in L.A. by 2009, but his handling of this team in 2007-08 was exceptional. SI’s preseason edition predicted a Laker sinking. No one figured anything much better. Except me. Early in the campaign I wrote here something that almost came true, if only the Lakers had overcome Boston in the NBA Finals: Many fans dismiss him as lucky to have coached Jordan, Shaq and Kobe. The Jackson jeers get so loud, listen when he leads the Lakers to the NBA championship this season. Instead of lauding him for landing a record 10th trophy, some will grouse that of course he won; who wouldn’t with Kobe and Andrew Bynum? You see how silly this gets?

2009: Manny Pacquiao. If not for Kobe, the Filipino Fist would be 2000s’ Tops. So let’s make him the Foreign First. How stout was he in bouts? Won seven world titles in seven weight classes this decade. By the time he was fitting his last belt after belting Puerto Rico’s Miguel Cotto last month, he needed to let it out a few notches. Suddenly the skinny slug getting rice kicked in his face is flexing welterweight muscles. And aiming to nail Floyd Mayweather. But that’s next decade.

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

Angels Winging It All; Favre Packs A Viewing Punch

Baseball playoffs full of Dodger and Yankee stunners.

College football jammed with Bama and Texas charges.

The NFL packed with Brett Favre.

Is this fall heaven or what? With an apt team riding these clouds: the L.A. Angels.

Yea: The Angel bats, speed and arms broke Boston. Nothing like a sweep to answer the Henderson homer of 1986. And to draw a snappy rallying cry from R.J. in Riverside, as called in to Jeff Biggs' Angel radio show: Create Your Fate.

Boo: Joe Nathan's job title is closer. The only thing he closed Friday was Minnesota's series shot. As soon as he surrendered A Roid's rope, the Twins were done. As was my upset pick.

Yea: Chone Figgins has a funny first name. And he's one fun guy to watch at Angel Stadium. Glove, gun, bullet fast. The third baseman is pure entertainment. Especially on one night this summer. Between innings, the Angels ran their promo with a kid dashing to pick up the third base bag. But he couldn't lift it. So Figgins pulled it up for him, and the little buddy carried it across the finish line in time. Now that's a prize moment.

Boo: NBA teams playing games on consecutive nights. Baseball players chatting with guys on the other team during games. Both are drags, as spelled out by Jeff Biggs on his KLAA radio show.

Yea: Dave Campbell of ESPN radio. No better analyst in baseball.

Boo: Yankee fans. Can they come up with something more original? Their sense of entitlement will take a beating once the Angels whip them on the way to the championship.

Yea: Being an L.A. fan. The Angels and Dodgers could meet in the World Series. The champion Lakers could win 70 games.

Boo: Being a St. Louis fan. The Cardinals didn't exactly have a Holliday in the playoffs. The Rams look worse than their pre-George Allen days. And Mizzou. Playing in the downpour against Nebraska Thursday night, the Tigers looked downright poor. God help us when we go to Texas Oct. 24.

Yea: James Loney’s hustle in that miracle Dodger triumph in Game 2 over St. Louis.

Boo: Juan Rivera’s hustle. It slows in the field and on the base paths too often for the Angels. Mike Scioscia better get Rivera flowing fast in this title run.

Yea: Good to see Manny stiffening up his bat again. Must be back on those pregnant pills.

Boo: The L.A. Times sports section predicted the Cards would sweep the Dodgers in three. What? Bad enough to knife the local lads. Horrible when you're dead wrong.

Yea: Patrick Cain was dead on. He's an office colleague, sports nut to the max. And he predicted the Dodgers' ditching of the Cards when no one else saw it. Nothing new from Cain. He called the Arizona Diamondbacks' division title of 2007 and the Seattle Mariners' rise from the depths this year.

Boo: Someone at Angel Stadium please fix the typo atop of the visitor-side dugout. It reads: ANGELS BASEBALL '09. With the apostrophe turned the wrong way.

Yea: Jim Tracy. He dropped off the map after managing the Dodgers to the playoffs and directing Pittsburgh to nowhere land. The minute he popped up in Colorado at midseason, I sent a text to a pal in amazement. Now everyone's amazed at how the Rocks rolled under him.

Boo: So Obummer wins the Nobel Prize for piece of what? Considering his girly toss ahead of last summer's All-Star Game, the best line came from the guy behind me at work: He was more deserving of the Cy Young trophy.

Yea: Harold Reynolds. He's as smooth on MLB Network as he was as an MLB second baseman. At least as smooth as he was with the ladies at ESPN, which booted him for exactly that trait. Glad he's been back on the screen a couple of years now. He's the main reason to flip to channel 213.

And one more yea: Favre. You knew his stare-down of his old Green Bay gang would bust ESPN Monday night records. And when he chatted during that usually boring postgame press conference, you couldn't change the channel. That's one quarterback who has it. Period. Paragraph.

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

Lakers Net Another Championship

Two to the front of the class.

Roger Federer nails the French Open.

Kobe Bryant hammers out the NBA title.

Fed sheds the lie that he couldn't win a clay slam.

Kobe unShaqles himself.

Fed rebounds from his marathon loss at the 2008 Wimbledon final.

Kobe rebounds, passes, shoots beyond that crash in the 2008 NBA Finals.

The edge? Give it to Kobe. The tiebreaker: Mrs. Bryant. One radio guy went ment ripping her for hogging the postgame stage Sunday.

Whaaaat? She was worth every point in the ratings. Put it this way: If Bo Derek was a 10, Vanessa Bryant is a 24. She defines knockout.

Then there's Mrs. Fed, the meaning of mutti.

Set the DVR. For Christmas. Lakers-Cavs. With Shaq set to join LeBron in Cleveland, ABC is frothing over this clash.

Kobe-Shaq. Kobe-LeBron. Turn on that Hollywood spotlight.

The genius. Tommy Tutt, my Vegas buddy. All he did was text before Game 5 with this pick: "Lakers by 13. Bet the farm, the IRA, the wife."

I should have. L.A. won 99-86.

True fans. No one can dunk on Rose and Francis Gapuz. They don't just bleed purple and gold. They breathe it. And read it. And clip it.

This Love Laker couple has more Kobe & Co. mags and scrapbooks than a newsstand.

Had the privilege of watching Game 2 of the Finals with Francis. The Navy veteran knew exactly how to steer a victory to port.

With Team Gapuz on their side, the Lakers can't lose.

The dud. Some call him Charles Barkley. I go with Sir Chunk for his big, fat losing predictions. Such as Nets over Lakers in 2002. And Magic over Lakers in these Finals.

After the laughter died, Sir Chunk said Phil Jackson will quit this summer. That's my cue to guarantee Phil will stay on the Playa del Rey beach.

Now that he has 10 titles. Jackson is the greatest coach. Period.

His triumph Sunday was so convincing, even naysaying Roger Lodge on his radio show the next morning bowed to the Tower of Jax.

The teen. My niece Grace figured it all out, and she's just 13. Spotted the sweaty panic of Orlando coach Stan Van Gundy. And the cool coasting of the Laker boss. And said right there that Phil's force would clinch it.

Riley was right. Remember when Pat Riley bounced Gundy, took over in Miami and led the Heat to the 2006 NBA title? Looked like a knife job, which it was.

But it was a sharp move. Under Riley, the Heat overcame an 0-2 hole in the NBA Finals to beat Dallas. Under Gundy, the Heat would've wilted.

The name. Moniker of the year: D Swish.

Credit L.A. Times letter writer Jason Mathis for coming up with a twist on D Fish, the bucket-sinking Laker otherwise known as Derek Fisher.

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

Fish, Lakers Hooking A Title; Penguins Wing It

Derek Fisher, good to see you’re still in Club Clutch.

That .4 miracle in ’04 punched your ticket. Thursday night you upgraded with those crunch treys, lifting the Lakers to a 99-91 triumph in Game 4 of the NBA Finals.

Other members of the Club:

Bobby Thomson for his homer in 1951 that let The Giants Win The Pennant!

Bill Mazeroski for his World Series-ending blast in 1960.

Joe Carter for his jack that finished the 1993 Series.

Ben Roethlisberger for his big fling in last winter’s Super Bowl.

Santonio Holmes for his KO grab of that Ben zinger.

Jim O’Brien for booting the Boys in the 1971 Super Bowl.

Adam Vinatieri for kicking the Rams in the 2002 Bowl.

Doug Flutie for passing BC into college football mythology in 1984.

Robert Horry for his King killer in 2002.

Next? Thanks to Fish in the Lake, L.A. won't have to bother clinching at home.

The boys in purple and gold will collect their 15th NBA banner by winning Sunday in Orlando.

Which sets up a rematch against the Lakers' nemesis, Boston.

The Celtics clocked L.A. last year. The Lakers will own this year's title.

Kevin Garnett will no doubt get Boston back to the Finals. The Kobe-Pao punch will swing L.A. to a return trip.

So bring it on. Lakers-Celtics, 2010.

You better believe Madison Ave is generating purple/green ads as we write.

Speaking of rematches: Detroit can have its Hockeytown. The Penguins won Game 7 there 2-1 Friday to turn Pittsburgh into Titletown.

Pittsburgh thus clinched its second championship of 2009. You might remember the Steelers of NFL fame.

Maybe L.A. can duplicate such a double with a Laker/Dodger sweep.

And does Pittsburgh have a lock on history or what? You heard the previous time a team in any sport won a final series Game 7 on the road was the Pirates in 1979. That was also a year the Steelers won it all. So a Steel City two-fer again.

Look out for 2010. You can see a Pen-Wing rubber Stanley Cup Finals just the Lakers and Celtics are revving up.

And this: The Denholm & Long Show on ESPN radio has a text contest on afternoon drive time. After the Magic's disappearing act at the foul line in Game 4, the Friday q was: Keeping with the boring movie "Kobe Doin' Work," what would you call Orlando's no-show?

The two best:

"Dwight Men Can't Jump."

"Brick Fest at Tiffany's."

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

Lakers Better Not Be Drowning

Hand us the gaspipe. Laker fans are ready to suck on it after that suicidal loss Tuesday in the NBA Finals.

Was that Kobe in the stretch? Missing? Fumbling? Choking?

Was that Ariza blowing a dunk just when L.A. could’ve grabbed control?

Was that Bynum doing nothing? Never mind that question. The answer is obvious. His M.O. is stand around and foul.

It was all enough for a 108-104 Loss Angeles.

So for us Laker crazies shooting for a sweep, Orlandon’t.

Maybe that's not so worrisome. L.A. still leads the series 2-1.

Then again, it's enough to make us recall another Florida team that came back from 0-2 to win it all just three years ago.

Two points are especially troubling for purple-and-gold nuts 2,500 miles from the middle three games:

Stan Van Gundy. So he's sow. And has a royal Dutch name. Simply, this guy can coach like a banshee.

That lob he drew up in Game 2 was some scary genius.

Now he’s throwing Kobe for a loop. After our stud was nothing but hoop.

Bryant in the last three quarters of Game 3 looked like Sasha from the field. And Shaq at the line. And Walton dribbling. Shoot, miss, turnover.

That’s so out of character for Kobe, you have to laud the guy forcing him to dive: Gundy. Obviously the head Magician's plan is stop Bryant at all cost. If that means five guys on him, fine.

The way this coach is rolling, Magic fans have to be kissing the court that Billy Donovan pulled his about-face two years ago.

Hedo Turkoglu. Shoots with the aim of a SEAL assassin. Drives like a Hummer in field. All while standing, what, 10 feet tall?

This Magician can score at will. If I were Gundy, I’d let the Turk shoot on every play. One hundred points later, you’re sure to have a victory.

I mean, no one can stop him. The Lakers sure couldn’t in Game 3. And he scored just 18. Wait till he really heats up.

Between the Turk and Orlando’s other dead-aim sequoia, Rashard Lewis, the Lakers are facing two tall tasks.

Don’t know what the answer is. Only that an even better coach than Gundy should have one by tipoff Thursday. He’s Phil Jackson.

And this: Manny Ramirez said in his steroid defense, "I didn't kill nobody, I didn't rape nobody."

Both double negatives. So he killed and raped?

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

Lakers Have The Magic

Talk about nut-cuttin' time. The Lakers hardened. The Magic cracked.

Los Angeles leads 2-0 in the NBA Finals.

Orlando looks lost after its 101-96 loss Sunday.

And L.A. fans who survived that cruncher can relax. Until Game 3 Tuesday in Florida.

The NBA Finals, where heart attack happens. I about had one during Game 2. Went nuts during Lamar Odom's cavalry charge in the fourth quarter. During Courtney Lee's missed chance. During Kobe's dish to Gasol. Pao? No, Pow!

And while focusing on these two guys:

1. Andrew Bynum. Man, could he lock this series. Every Laker fans is thinking what radio analyst Dean Merrill said Monday:

"If Andrew Bynum can stay on the floor, we have ourselves a sweep."

But no. Any Magician gets near him, and Bynum takes offense. Throws an arm, something. And before you say "Don't!" he's on the bench with two fouls.

That forces Phil Jackson to devise a multiplayer D against Dwight Howard.

If Bynum could stay in the middle, L.A. would blanket Orlando's long-range bombers. And coast. Yes, his benching means Odom flies in with his super game, but he could be spotting other guys.

One more point on Jabbar's 7-foot project. Notice how everyone's reaction to a Bynum flub is "he's still young"? I'm tired of that. He's been a pro three seasons. He's 21. His moment is now. Seize it.

2. J.J. Redick. Who? The old Dukie? The same.

Just when Laker fans got nervous that Jameer Nelson was righting the Magic ship, coach Stan Van Gundy yanked him for (1) Rafer Alston, drifting this deep in the playoffs, then (2) Redick.

That sigh you heard was from 15 million L.A. fans. Whom was Redick going to stop? Did Gundy expect this guard who had done nothing in Game 1 to light it up? I'm still waiting for answers, and it's almost Tuesday.

No question Gundy is a sharp guy. Won with Miami before Pat Riley knifed him. Won with Orlando after Billy Donovan bailed.

But like Redick, Gundy looks out of his league. Running the other team is Phil Jackson, he of nine NBA title rings. As Merrill said on the air Monday, "Phil always takes a team as far as it should go."

It should go all the way now. And it will. Jackson's record 10th ring is on the way.

And this: Jeff Biggs on KLAA's "The Drive" radio show suggested Monday that Vlad Guerrero should slide to sixth in the Angels' batting order. Good for the team, said Biggs, and "Vlad would understand."

Would he? I haven't heard Guerrero speak English the six years he's been in Anaheim.

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

Lakers Show The Magic In Disney Duel; Radio Rides To Hero's Aid

Two factors leapt from the NBA Finals' Game 1, a 100-75 Laker landslide.

That is, aside from Kobe soaring like a Disney ride in Los Angeles and Orlando.

1. Andrew Bynum stood his ground. With him hustling to his spot in the paint — just as the radio's No. 1 hoop analyst, Dean Merrill (a regular guest of Jeff Biggs on KLAA's "The Drive"), told us to watch for — the Laker center handled Orlando’s Dwight Howard.

And how. Bynum muscled like the he-man we saw before his injuries the past two winters, and Howard slunk away with one lousy basket. So much for the phony who stole Shaq’s Superman gig.


2. Jameer Nelson wasn’t worth the gamble. Magic coach Stan Van Gundy rolled Nelson onto the court, and fortune wasn't with them.

This is the Nelson who hurt his shoulder in a weird game accident that didn’t look damaging at all. That was back in February. He missed the next four months.

By Thursday, Gundy tried to make it look like he was making a game-time decision. What a crock. Obviously the coach saw on tape weeks ago that Orlando had no chance with Rafer Alston at the point against the Lakers. Better to go with Nelson and hope he improves enough by Sunday’s Game 2.

Nelson did kill the Lakers in the regular season. But now you can see the Lakers licking their chops against him. Why? His defense is as ugly as that black mouthpiece he keeps spitting out.

By the time this series ends, Nelson won't seem like victorious Horatio at Trafalgar. He'll have met his Waterloo.

He sees after all. Enough with the darts at Roger Lodge (on right in above photo with sidekick Dave Smith).

Last week I targeted the sports radio host for having the foresight of his old TV show, “Blind Date.” In other words, not much.

Lodge’s sin? Tossing Phil Jackson to the dustbin of NBA history for losing a playoff game. Meanwhile, the Jackson Five are making 1-2-3-4 work of Orlando in the Finals.

Now I have a new perspective. Lodge might miss on his rips of the greatest coach in basketball history. But he knows history. While noting Ichiro’s hitting streak this week, he didn’t miss a beat recalling Gene Garber’s stoppage of Pete Rose’s 44-gamer in 1978.

And Lodge is dead-on with his latest campaign: helping an injured soldier.

Army Sgt. Daniel Thornhill was in Afghanistan when a bomb blew off his legs. Now he’s at Fort Sam Houston, Texas, recovering from burn wounds.

Lodge knows a hero when he hears about one. And he's tuned in to Thornhill. The radio man made a big deal on a recent edition of “The Sports Lodge” on the Angels’ KLAA station about the sergeant’s condition.

And Lodge’s message was clear: Help our hero out, even if it’s with just a birthday card.

Send it to:

Sgt. Daniel Thornhill
Fort Sam Houston Fisher House
3623 George C. Beach Rd.
Fort Sam Houston, Texas 78234

Listen and learn: Another plus about Lodge. He and Smith don't interrupt each other. When Smith goes off on his leave-the-pitcher-in-forever tirade, Lodge lets him loose.

How refreshing after hearing KLAC's afternoon drive gang. Five guys scream at each other. And we're expected to get the point?

I sure don't.

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

On A Roll On The Radio

I’m floating on airwaves these days.

* Made the right Laker call on the radio.

* Heard the sharpest hoop voice on the dial in Dean Merrill.

* Met the No. 1 radio personality, Tammy Bruce (the nonbaldy above).

My call. I had enough of the Laker bashing. Especially the piling on Phil Jackson.

L.A.’s favorite team loses one playoff game, and this city loses it. The screaming comes in loud and clear on sports talk radio.

Take KLAA, the Angels’ station. When not dissecting every Halo pitch, the voices hang on every Laker shot and miss. I love it, but last week reached my limit. The morning show, “The Sports Lodge,” kept hammering Jackson, with Roger Lodge and sidekick Dave Smith yelling fire in a crowded radio booth.

So after the Lakers’ Game 4 loss at Denver, I entered the fray. Called in, heard Lodge say “Bucky from Buena Park” and took off.

After lauding the show for reaching our military heroes via Armed Forces Radio, I said: “I’m tired of your myopia when it comes to Phil Jackson. He’s the greatest coach in history. And he’s going to turn Lamar Odom into our J.R. Smith.”

That would be Odom, L.A.’s towering talent, and Smith, the cocky gun on the Nuggets. Or Thuggets, full of other tattooed snots.

The Thugs’ low came amid Smith’s 24-point blitz in Game 4. Flapped his elbows in Jackson’s face. The coach with nine NBA titles looked down to avoid giving J.R. — Just Rank— the eagle eye.

So there was Lodge’s Hollywood and Whine belittling Jackson. Saying Phil won all his titles only because of great players.

I responded: “He has great players now and will win it all.” For a record 10th NBA championship.

Lodge kept trying to make like a sports expert. Only he sounded like he was still hosting “Blind Date.”

The next two games, Odom produced in-your-face games, and L.A. is back in the NBA Finals. What was that about Jackson losing his touch, Lodge?

Dean Merrill. Remember that name. He’s the best on-air hoop analyst you’ve never heard of. That’s because he’s been a ref of high school and college games in the L.A. area, not a slickster on ESPN. Yet he dribbles circles around the network guys, notably Magic Johnson, who has two serious flaws: 1. He’s part owner of the Lakers, making his ESPN work unethical; 2. he’s terrible, with syntax to match.

Merrill scores big time. Strong voice. Stronger paragraph construction. Strongest points.

He comes on Jeff Biggs’ afternoon KLAA show and breaks down the playoffs like the point guard Magic used to be.

Why all the fouls against the Lakers? Don’t blame the refs, says Merrill. Denver was playing Crash Basketball, with all five players hitting the boards, vacuuming rebounds and drawing hacks.

Why Denver’s guard strength? Coach George Karl was playing muscular Chauncey Billups 43 minutes, keeping Jax from countering with skinny Jordan Farmar.

Merrill paints inside basketball like no one. Only Jon Barry on ESPN comes close.

The Dean of Hoops is so compelling, the message is obvious. He should have his own show.

Tammy Bruce. She has her own show, but you don’t hear it. Why? She’s buried on Saturday afternoons on KABC in Los Angeles.

The only folks listening are crazies like me. And I’m crazy about Tammy. She’s the best. Period.

She takes tough political stands. And sells them with her brilliant overture.

Last year she nailed it. Debated a London lefty who wailed about Bush the butcher. Tammy could’ve sunk in this anti-W muck. Instead she threw it in the Brit’s face, saluting the president’s liberation of 53 million people.

Tammy has guts and a cool delivery. Then she visited my paper’s office last week, and wow. Is she hot. And lesbian, so there went that idea.

Still, I want to turn her on. On the radio, that is. And if she makes the right move and leaves tone-deaf KABC, which should have her on drive time, I’ll click on her Internet show.

By then, she’ll have plenty to cheer. Starting with the Lakers’ championship.

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