The Bostonian comedian goes after zone defense, college educations, Dick Motta, baseball and more in another classic sports rant

PAUL NARDIZZI

Kobe and the Lakers are now tied 2-2 with the Suns.  The Lakers, a team most NBA losers thought would roll to the Finals, are now in a dogfight that could go the distance.  The Lakers biggest problem has been solving…., are you ready for this…, the Suns defense.

The Suns have never been known for their defense, in fact the Suns up to this point in their sordid history have never played defense.  The only reason the Suns place a man in the paint is so he can retrieve the ball after it comes through the netting and then quickly get it inbounds to a guard.  The Suns have gone through centers like most teams go through tubes of jock itch.  But they deserve credit in this series.

The Suns have packed it in during these Finals and showcased a 2-3 zone which has given the Lakers fits.  The old adage in life  is stay in school, and the Lakers, whose roster is littered with players who never attended a full four years of college, or in some cases a solitary high school class,  are now looking like the uneducated dropouts they truly are.  In college, for those of you who are not following, zones are the norm. The best way to attack a zone is to use skip passes and drive to the hoop, however the Lakers have chosen to bomb away from outside and are doing major damage to the rim.

At one point in Game 4,  Laker guard and non college educated Kobe Bryant called a timeout so he could head to the bench and ask Coach Phil Jackson what his recommendations were.

Jackson peered at his blackboard and said, “That’s a 2-3 zone?  Really, oh well, I don’t have the slightest clue how to attack it, I just know how to sit here on my padded folding chair, pick crud out of my horrendous looking schnozz and sub in some of the game’s greatest players.  Been doing it for years, to the tune of 10 titles and a s*%# load of credit I don’t deserve.  Take away my rings, stick me in a place like Philly and I’m no better than Dick Motta.  Does anyone know Lebron’s number, I may follow his ass to the next city.  Lebron is going to get me a toe ring.”

The World Cup starts soon, and it’s become readily apparent that we’re going to have to sit through another solid month of listening to overweight radio jocks ripping the sport from pillar to post.  I have no problem with sports fans stating that hockey, basketball, and football are more exciting to watch.  But when these overweight turds spend hours talking baseball and then take a time out to bash soccer, I lose it.  Baseball?  Is that even a sport?

Last time I saw a baseball player sweat, he was sitting in front of a Congressional Hearing on steroids.  That’s when baseball completely lost it for me.  Five players go to Congress to address the steroid issue and they all lie.  Congress should have placed needles on the seats just before they all sat down.  Then we could have seen how many players said, “Ouch,” and how many said, “Darn, we have a game today?”

Baseball games last four hours and you have players like David Ortiz, the man titted Dominican lard ass, sitting on his derriere for 3 hours and 55 minutes of that 4 hour period.  That’s not playing a sport, that’s taking a siesta.  Ortiz burns more calories sprinting to the post game buffet than he does playing this desultory game.

He’s on his ass so often, I’m surprised he doesn’t work an additional part time job while he’s in the dugout.  He could bat his turn, haul his corpulent butt back to the dugout, quickly set up a workstation and sell Amway on the side.   “David, you’re up!” “Hold on, I got a woman on line who wants to buy a bucket of tampons!”

I think the best thing about soccer is you can play it at almost any age.  I am over 40 and I still play.  I feel bad for people who wrestled in high school.  That’s a bad choice, most people don’t continue wrestling after they leave middle school.  You’ll never hear of a 50 year old guy calling up his old wrestling teammate, “Hey Frank, Bob here.  Listen, why don’t you grab your singlet and meet me down at the park, I’m going to wrap my thighs around your greasy skull for a couple of hours.  That way your adam’s apple can get reacquainted with my scrotum!  Why don’t we say 3 o’clockish, you get down on all fours and I will approach you from the rear.  I’ll be coming out of the woods wearing a cape and a ski mask.  Bring you’re A game bitch because I will be greased up and rearin’ to go.

Photo: AP

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