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.

Maria Bartiromo's Barometer

Maria Bartiromo came alone.

That alone was a show stopper.

I figured when she entered the office for our interview, she'd have an entourage worthy of Floyd Mayweather.

After all, Bartiromo is a heavyweight, a few classes above the unbeaten welterweight. As host of two shows on CNBC, she's all business.

She's also a knockout, the original Money Honey.

Now she has a new book out. It's called "The 10 Laws of Enduring Success." After our chat, I can see why she's expert enough to have written it.

The main reason? She sure seems like the woman who arrived without airs. The only thing she carried was a smile.

Here's how she put it in her book: People respond to authenticity, even if you make mistakes or trip over a few words. They want to see a live human being, not a cardboard cutout.

Indeed. More reasons to like Bartiromo and her "10 Laws":

She's armed. Ready to throw out the first pitch before a Yankee Stadium game, I was in front of 60,000 screaming fans, with the wind blowing in my eyes and home plate looking a million miles away, and I thought, "Oh no, I'm not going to do it. I'm going to be booed." And then I took a deep breath and said, "You're exactly where you're supposed to be." And I threw the ball. It sailed over the plate into the catcher's mitt, and the crowd went wild.

She's nails. On her 34th birthday came 9/11. And she found herself in the midst of the terror attack's smoke. One woman was crying hysterically, and I remember thinking that this was not the time for panic or tears, that we had to keep our heads. I went over to her and said loudly and firmly, "Please calm down. It's important that you calm down." And she did, even as the floor we were standing on began to shake with the force of the second tower collapsing.

She's of solid stock. It would never have occurred to my parents to gripe about how hard they worked, to think that their lives were tougher than other people's or to feel entitled to have more for less effort. Even today, if I complain about being overworked, my mother rolls her eyes and says, "Come on, Maria, you're not chopping trees."

She's resourceful. Thinking of switching networks in the early '90s, I convinced my boss to allow me to work longer than the typical day. After my regular shift, I'd go into the field with the morning crews and pick up the news and sound bites when the markets opened. I'd write out scripts, and when I was alone with the crew, I'd ask them to shoot me on camera, reporting, so I'd have some clips. ... With their help I created a portfolio of clips: "Maria Bartiromo, reporting for CNN Business News."

She's upbeat. She quoted chess champion Garry Kasparov as saying, "Most people scrutinize their mistakes. ... I always scrutinized my victories." ... I thought his insight was priceless, and it clearly came from the mind of a competitor.

Bartiromo draws wisdom from another guy on top of his game: Joe Torre. It’s all part of a book stacked with wealthy knowledge.

And when Maria said goodbye after our chat? She signed her book, “Thank you so much for everything.”

To that, I'm still sighing "you're welcome."


Bucky Fox is an author and editor who runs BuckyFox.com and is devoted to his own Maria, wife Maria Fox.

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.

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.

'My Fair Lady' Did It

Let’s set the record — or DVD — straight.

“My Fair Lady” is the heavyweight champ of musical comedies.

The melodies hit the ears with snappy jabs.

The dialogue deals the senses uproarious uppercuts.

The lyrics clinch the performance with one killer knockout.

Left standing: Rex Harrison, who put the pro in professor Henry Higgins.

Harrison’s depiction of the speech fusspot properly led to his 1964 Oscar along with the film’s.

Movie viewers can kiss the Ascot turf that Harrison carried his Broadway act to the big screen. Hollywood blew it on the distaff side, passing on Broadway babe Julie Andrews in favor of Audrey Hepburn.

Talk bout a wayward punch. In Andrews, Warner Bros. had the top singing talent in the stable. No one could touch her voice.

Tough to fathom, but Julie didn’t have the star power of Audrey back then. So the movie “My Fair Lady” is stuck with a pouty player who can’t sing. The dubbed-in music voice belongs to Marni Nixon.

Enough of the nitpicking. “My Fair Lady” rocks because of its superior content. The song package alone stands octaves above any other in musical history.

Let’s strike up the winning strains:

1. “Why Can’t the English”

2. ”With a Little Bit of Luck”

3. “The Rain in Spain”

4. “I Could Have Danced All Night”

5. “On the Street Where You Live”

6. “You Did It”

7. “Just You Wait”

8. “Show Me”

9. “Get Me to the Church on Time”

10. “I’ve Grown Accustomed to Her Face”

This could be a top 10 on the song list of musical comedies. And we’re talking about one show.

Even the atmospheric tune at the embassy ball has one fine flow.

This is pure prolificacy from melody maven Frederick Loewe and word whiz Alan Jay Lerner, who should’ve won the screenplay Oscar.

What did Lerner do? Simply produce stinging verse:

Higgins: By right she should be taken out and hung,
For the cold-blooded murder of the English tongue.

Alfred Doolittle: Oh, it's a crime for man to go philanderin' — but
With a little bit of luck, with a little bit of luck,
You can see the bloodhound don't find out!

Higgins: I'd be equally as willing for a dentist to be drilling
than to ever let a woman in my life.

Eliza Doolittle: Never do I ever want to hear another word.
There isn't one I haven't heard.

Higgins: One man in a million may shout a bit.
Now and then there's one with slight defects;
One, perhaps, whose truthfulness you doubt a bit.
But by and large we are a marvelous sex!

Eliza: You, dear friend, who taught so well,
You can go to Hartford, Hereford and Hampshire.

Put that humor and depth up against more modern productions such as “The Phantom of the Opera.” It has, what, one memorable song?

Even musicals in the running for the showtime trophy — “The Music Man,” “The Sound of Music” — can’t compete in the sophistication ring.

Maybe I was brainwashed with “My Fair Lady.” While growing up, I’d wake up on Sundays to a tape of the show’s music that my dad habitually played.

He’d then pay the ultimate compliment to Lerner by using “jawohl” in his vernacular.

Now I do it. Does this bring back memories of Higgins’ landing “you did it” plaudits for his climactic triumph? And put the crowning touch on this all-time smash hit?

Jawohl.


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.