We’re hearing some indignant outcry about Chicago Bull Dennis Rodman - the NBA’s most talented transvestite.
The Bulls’ fancy forward recently showed up at a book-signing in Chicago decked out as a woman, proving that only a slender feathered boa separates cross-training from cross-dressing.
Photos moved nationally and critics began labeling Rodman “Rod-woman.”
Before condemning Rodman, though, let’s credit him as a great hustler and a team player with a real flair for rebounding and accessorizing.
In the pictures, his hair was platinum and the makeup had been spackled on prodigiously.
The funny thing is, with that fuchsia boa and the rest of the attire, he kind of looked like a mesomorph Carol Channing.
Let us say that this may not be our first choice of paths for the youth of America who might be influenced by the actions of a professional athlete.
But most of his tattoos and pierced body parts were covered, leaving me to suggest that Rodman actually looks BETTER as a woman.
Consider this an improvement and just hope Michael Jordan doesn’t start shopping at the same boutique.
We continue to chronicle incidents in which athletes are getting arrested for drug possession after being initially stopped by police for having broken headlights.
This leads to the sad assumption that we not only have a drug problem in this country … we also have a headlight problem.
Is it a commentary on the quality of basketball around here that not one of our high school seniors has declared himself eligible for the NBA draft?
Anybody wonder why we haven’t heard any quotes from Sandi Irvin, Michael Irvin’s wife? Wouldn’t you like to have been sitting around the breakfast table on the morning that Mrs. Irvin read published accounts of hubby’s appearance in a motel room with a pair of “self-employed models” and a load of drug paraphernalia?
Or when a TV station started showing Candid Camera episodes supposedly featuring Irvin buying cocaine?
Irwin claims he doesn’t have a drug problem.
I say: Check his headlights.
Cleveland Indian Albert Belle needs to brush up on his public relations.
Or get better with his excuses.
After Belle fired a baseball at a photographer, he feebly argued that he was just playing catch with a teammate and the ball got away from him.
Albert, Albert, Albert.
These would have been better: “How did I know he was only pointing a camera at me? I thought it was a weapon and I acted in self-defense.” Or, “I couldn’t have done it. I was chipping golf balls on my front lawn at home at the time.”
Pittsburgh Steelers running back Bam Morris could use help in that area, as well.
Morris was arrested this winter after police found six pounds of marijuana in his trunk after a routine traffic stop. (Headlights again?)
Morris missed his chance to come off as simply a safety-conscious motorist.
“Six pounds of marijuana in my trunk? Hey, that wasn’t for personal use or for sale, I was just looking for some weight to throw back there to give me better traction on icy roads.”
Reports from the PGA Tour tell of former Pullman resident Kirk Triplett and his wife Cathi having been blessed by the birth of twins last winter.
Such an occasion is worthy of congratulations.
But for a golfer named Triplett, doesn’t it seem that having twins is coming in at 1 under par?
Maybe this isn’t such a sad story after all.
The joy over Grindstone’s gutsy stretch-drive victory in the Kentucky Derby withered Thursday when it was revealed that the colt had a bone chip in his front right knee.
Handlers decided that the best course of action for Grindstone, considering the infirmity, would be to allow him to retire and be sent to stand at stud.
Wait a minute.
I’VE got bone chips in my right knee.
Hey, boss, boss, boss …
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