Since Feb. 3 at 9:36 p.m. ? the exact time Super Bowl XLII ended — intriguing sports stories have materialized slower than a sixth grader from Natchez, Miss., sounding out the word “platitudinous” at the Scripps National Spelling Bee.
The only reason I know how long something like that takes ? and what “platitudinous” means (ironically, it?s a big word for boredom) ? is because I?ve been relegated to watching nothing but spelling bees, 2002 World Series of Poker reruns and the Professional Bowlers Association tour stop in Elk Horn, Neb., during this, the most barren of sports months.
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I know February is always slower than Todd Heap?s healing process, but this year seems to be the worst in recent memory.
Trust me, I?ve tried to wait until baseball?s Opening Day, the National Basketball Association and National Hockey League conclude their 250-game regular season and the word “bubble” is replaced with “Cinderella” in NCAA Tournament discussions, but I?m losing my patience.
A man can only take so many stories about irregular growths on Roger Clemens? ass before he loses his sanity.
So far this month I?ve been forced to watch:
A half-a-day?s worth of college football?s national signing day spectacle. That was fun. But thanks to Baltimore?s own draft expert Mel Kiper and his in-depth analysis, I now know the Zodiac sign and food allergies of all 1,000 top high school recruits. Kiper?s phenomenal Baltimore accent was the show?s only saving grace.
Kiper to panel of other experts: “I?ll tell yous dis much gang, if it wern?t fer dis kid?s alwergy to tap wooder and his coming out of a small schoow up ?ere in Warshington, he?d a been a much bigger recruit. In four years, dis kid?s gonna go reallwy high oin day wun and probly mess up ma dag?on draf board.”
I tried to get more of a football fix by parking it for the Pro Bowl ? the NFL?s version of coed flag football ? but about midway through the first quarter I remembered why I had never once watched the game.
It is flat-out terrible.
When features on 300-pound, fire-eating dancing hula men wearing grass skirts are more interesting than the game itself, it?s not worth watching.
Just as the NHL All-Star Game featured all the intensity and hard-hitting of Disney on Ice, the Pro Bowl features less physicality and passion than pickup games at Swann Park.
I managed to stay awake just long enough to catch Bill Belichick?s halftime highlight montage, “Practices from around the League.” He truly is a young Scorsese.
(If I may briefly interject, after watching the NHL All-Star Game, I can honestly say I would rather watch Brian Boitano attempt a triple salchow in a crotchless leotard before ever watching the game again. Aside from daydreaming about what it would be like to have ESPN hockey analyst Barry Melrose?s “mantastic” mullet for just one day, I can?t think of one redeeming quality I took from this three-hour waste of life. Commissioner Gary Bettman should strongly consider moving the game from January to February.)
And just when I thought my sports misery couldn?t get worse, I nestled in for NBA All-Star Weekend. The highlight of this three-day event: American Idol?s Taylor Hicks? rendition of what some would call, “playing basketball.”
You think you hated him when he was belting out Michael McDonald hits, you should have seen him on the hardwood during the “Celebrity Game.”
If you need a visual, hearken back to ninth-grade gym class and conjure up an image of the kid who wore dress socks with sneakers, played defense by grinding his midsection into your hip and shot the ball like his arms were independent from his torso.
In case you need any more proof that February is the sports world?s equivalent to nuclear holocaust, Tuesday?s top sports story on Examiner.com was a feature on the gorgeous ladies of Baltimore roller derby.
No offense to the hard-working gals who entertain the masses at the Fifth Regiment Armory, but shouldn?t the Orioles reporting to spring training be a more important story? On second thought, probably not.
Sure, there are a couple of semi-decent things about February. For instance, I can always turn to golf if I need an instant nap. And if I need a testosterone bump ? or as the kids are calling it, a “Debbie Clemens” ? I?ll crack open a Bud, flip on NASCAR and watch “Little E” drive around in a circle for five hours.
But unless Tony Stewart is French pimp-slapping an opposing driver back in the garage, I just can?t get into racing. That is why I need March ? and all of its sporting riches ? to come a week early.
I need to see Morgan State beat Duke in the first round of March Madness. I need Opening Day to be around the corner. I need anything other than a replay of women?s billiards on my television.
Tony Giro is a lifelong Baltimore sports fan who blogs on examiner.com for fans. If you subscribe ? it?s free ? you?ll be e-mailed each time Tony posts a column. He can be reached at [email protected]. And yes, he?s still bitter about the Skipjacks and Bullets leaving town.