...No. 6...

Number 6

2002 NFC Wild Card Game
New York Giants at San Francisco 49ers

Already once in this countdown we’ve seen the Curse sway in my favor because my voodoo actually produced an outcome I wanted. That was the Yankees and the D-Backs, but this is moment is even more grandiose. It involved a physical action that swirled thurst destiny into my arms. An intervention, if you will.

As most of you know, the Giants built a commanding 38-14 lead over the 49ers in January of 2003 and many prognosticators felt the Giants could make it to the Super Bowl as a wild card entry. They stayed the course, even after glorified rookie TE Jeremy Shockey dropped a practice-squad touchdown in the third; a score which would’ve put the Giants ahead, 42-14.

To paint a picture, as a ritual I record all 49ers playoff games. It’s fanaticism, yes, but a tradition since I was nine. But after the field goal made it 38-14, and a phone call each from my father – a Giants fan – and my uncle (a Jets fan with nothing better to do than pour salt in my eye) consoling me about a great season, I ejected the tape. This was an embarrassment my collection could be spared off, right?

Well that’s when things got dicey. The 49ers mounted a ferocious comeback and steamrolled the Giants. An avalanche of 23 points had the 49ers up, 39-38, and one defensive stand is all that stood between the 49ers and the second-largest comeback in NFL Playoff history. As a reached for the tape that 45 minutes earlier I nearly threw out my window, the Giants started driving down the field.

This time I cracked the tape in half and watch helplessly as the Giants marched down to the San Fran 23-yard line. Thankfully, scapegoat Trey Junkin botched another snap and the Giants never got the game-winning attempt off the ground.

"This is about the worst loss I have ever felt in my entire life,'' said Giants coach Jim Fassel, whose team made the playoffs with four straight victories. "I'm not going to get over this one for a while.''

Neither did my dad after my phone call once the game ended. He gloated and then turned into a goat, and my victory couldn’t have been sweeter. Still, what would’ve happened if my tape had been rolling the whole night? Well, the next week I taped the entire 49ers’ 31-6 loss at eventual Super Bowl Champion Tampa Bay. Ha. Makes you wonder.

The Curse Top 10

6. 2003 Wild Card Playoff
7. Alex (bleepin') Smith
8. 2001 World Series: Game 4
9. The 2005 New York Jets
10. 2005 NFC Championship Game

...No. 7...

Number 7

The 49ers 2005 Draft
Alex (bleepin') Smith???????

Shortly after USC hoisted its second consecutive national championship in January 2005, rumors aplenty surfaced about head coach Pete Carroll’s potential reentry to the NFL coaching circuit. After all, he was hotter than the sun’s surface after the blowout victory over Oklahoma.

So was his playboy quarterback, Matt Leinart, who was projected as the first pick in the Draft.

And who was waiting atop the Draft board, you ask? My beloved team from the left coast, the San Francisco 49ers.

This was supposed to be the magical elixir which would rejuvenate the Niners, whose 2-14 record should’ve had an asterisk attached because the team they beat was the Cardinals. I remember watching, at Kate and Willy’s no less, the 49ers get their first win after a rapid comeback culminated with an overtime win. It was a my lone joyous moment in a season of horrors.

Still, for all my trials and tribulations, my reward was the No. 1 overall pick; the promise of better days, in a sense.

So there it was all lined up like ducksin a row. Carroll would leave USC to become the newest head coach in San Fran, all the while bringing with him offensive coordinator Norm Chow and some of USC’s brilliant staff. They, in turn, would draft Leinart and all would be right in 49ers land. Except for one minor detail.

I had to open my mouth.

Now this was not a traditional prediction in the sense that I said all of the above would go down, but I did think it. I also told people I thought that it would happen, and therein lays my downfall.

Once I said it, the dominos came down one after the other. Carroll said he’d stay to run the most dominant college football program in a decade. Leinart passed up the chance to be the first pick in the draft to learn ballroom dancing (and there was that whole thing where he wanted to win another Heisman and championship, but we know he just wanted to hang out with Nick Lachey). And once those two stayed who cared about Chow.

Instead, I got Mike Nolan – whom I do like as a coach (Oh wait, did I just add another number to this countdown?) – and Utah’s Alex Smith, who ran a so-called complex offense. How complex and effective could it be if the Hofstra football team just got rid of it?
Well Smith threw one touchdown last year, which made me happy. His 11 interceptions, however, didn’t exactly tickle my pickle. He’s a work/bust in progress, but the jury’s still out.

Still, I’ll always what could’ve been if the USC trio had taken its show up the Pacific Coast highway to the Bay Area. Me and my big mouth.

The Curse Top 10

7. Alex (bleepin') Smith
8. 2001 World Series: Game 4
9. The 2005 New York Jets
10. 2005 NFC Championship Game

...No. 8...

Number 8

2001 World Series: Game Four
Arizona Diamondbacks at New York Yankees

All Yankees fans adore Byung-yung Kim for his World Series meltdown and for when he later joined the Red Sox, stunk, and flipped Boston fans the only sign he could ever understand. But let me take you to a time when Kim wasn’t Mr. Meltdown, when he was the upstart Korean closer whose delivery baffled hitters in the majors to the tune of 113 strikeouts in 98 innings.

So like most Yankees fans, staring down the barrel of a 3-1 deficit in the ninth inning, saw Kim strikeout the first two batters he faced with relative ease, I relinquished all hope. With one more out, Kim would propel the D-Backs to a 3-1 series lead. I thought the game, and subsequently the 2001 World Series, was caput. After getting walloped the first two games in the desert, I didn’t think there was anyway the Bombers would win Games 6 and 7.

But first it’d have to get to that, and like I said, I thought it was over. I thought the Yankees were TKO-ed. Then Paul O’Neill walked, which brought up slumping and fading star Tino Martinez. Still, even when Joe Buck said he was the tying run at the plate, I didn’t think Martinez (who was batting below .200 in the series) would get a ball out of the infield, let alone anywhere else.

But boy did Martinez prove me wrong after depositing a two-run, game-tying, series-rejuvenating homer beyond the right-centerfield wall. I forgot about my cares and negativity and started bellowing Yankees chants in my living room, waking up my entire family. Needless to say my 70-year-old grandmother didn’t share in my exuberance – she was rather peeved.

The rest, my friends, we know. Derek Jeter hit a homerun the next inning and was dubbed Mr. November for a while, and the Yankees pulled the rabbit out of the hat the next night when Scott Brocius rendered Kim with the same ignominious fate.

We will revisit this series later in the Top 10, but I’ll never forget how exciting those two games were and the feeling of rising from the dead.

The reverse curse also has its mystical ways.

The Curse Top 10

8. 2001 World Series: Game 4
9. The 2005 New York Jets
10. 2005 NFC Championship Game

...No. 9...

Number 9

The 2005 New York Jets

Before last year, when has a football team ever been so ransacked by injury? We’ve seen quarterbacks taken off on stretchers and running backs tear ligaments, essentially stymieing entire seasons in the span of seconds.

But when has a team ever had its top two quarterbacks sustain season-ending injuries seven plays apart? When has a team lost three starting offensive lineman to injury, including a perennial Pro Bowler? And more so when has a team’s iron-clad rusher, a man who had not been relegated to the bench of 126 consecutive games, had his season cut short? Don’t forget his backup, who fractured a bone in his foot and missed the majority of the season.

Enter the 2005 New York Jets, who just happened to be the team I covered. It’s hard to believe a season could spiral so out of control without some sort of voodoo swirling about, but then again some of you don’t know me very well.

The Jets used a fist's worth of quarterbacks last season – Chad Pennington, Jay Fiedler, Brook Bollinger, Vinny Testaverde and Kliff Kingsbury – and got punched in the mouth by opponents. Pennington and Fiedler landed on injured reserve because of shoulder injuries that not only happened in the same game, but on hits that were seven plays apart. Curtis Martin and Derrick Blaylock both were hurt, as were Kevin Mawae, Jason Fabini and Pete Kendall (who played through injuries most of the season).

To add subtext, teams which I have covered have traditionally been hexed. The two seasons I covered the Hofstra Pride football team it went 2-10 and 5-6. This after the Pride had won a share of the conference title the year before my arrival to this stellar University. The year I dropped the beat the Pride went 7-4. The team’s starting quarterback, Bobby Seck, was hurt five times in my two-season run. Backup Anton Clarkson also missed time.

The similarities could be written off as eerily coincidental, but if that it’s enough to convince you, chew on this.

I picked the Jets to go 10-6 and win the AFC East in 2005 and usurp the Patriots.

Ha. Look at it this way, Jets fans, at least I got Herm Edwards out of New York.

Kiss of Death Top 10

9. The 2005 New York Jets
10. 2005 NFC Championship Game

...The Parziale Curse...

Ladies and gentlemen, the day is upon us. This is the day all my friends have been waiting for. The day of my comeuppance in which I get mine for all those times I’ve opened my yapper too soon.

To preface for my uninformed readers, my circle of friends has dubbed me the Kiss of Death. And with good reason. The Curse of the Great Parziale, if you will. To steal a line from the movie "Training Day," The Bambino ain’t got nothing on me.

It seems as though each time I make a prediction (or even open my mouth in attempt to prognosticate) things manage to go to other way. To illustrate the sway I have on the wide world of sports, I have conjured up a Top 10 list of moments in which my spoken words have directly influenced the outcome of a sporting event. You’ll know the times, and if you had any money on the line, you’ll probably try and find me.

Check back in because I will be revealing the entire list in the next week or so. So without further ado, here is moment No. 10.


Number 10

2005 NFC Championship Game
Carolina Panthers at Seattle Seahawks

Ok, even this one scared me when the smoke cleared. Five minutes before kickoff, I changed my pick from Seattle to Carolina. I knew the Panthers were depleted in the running game and had already won two games on the road in the playoffs, but I had a bet to win. There was a dinner from my girlfriend at stake and she had already had the right to pass the check my way after she picked the Steelers earlier that day.

So I decided Seattle wasn’t that good, its record was inflated, and as a team they were overrated. Five minutes before kickoff, no less. What an intervention I must have had after clinging to Seattle all week.

Hmm.

Well, the Panthers, who had won two road playoff games, including a 23-0 shutout of the Giants and a hard-nosed win at Chicago, got steamrolled. Jake Delhomme, who was the highest-rated passer in postseason history entering the game, threw three interceptions and came out with a rating of 34.9. I hope he never reads this blog.

Hmm.

I find it hard to believe that Panthers were really a 34-10 loss worse than the Seahawks. It makes me wonder what would have happened if I hadn’t changed my pick.

UP NEXT: No. 9…

10. 2005 NFC Championship Game

...NFL Draft...

So with the first pick in the 2006 NFL Draft, the Houston Texans shocked the world and now could stake claim to the biggest Draft blunder of all time.

Reggie Bush is a dynamic, once-in-a-decade talent, and the Texans shrugged off his highlight reels of ability to shore up thier defensive line. Unless Mario Williams becomes a mutaation of Julius Peppers, Reggie White and Bruce Smith, I will have a hard time wrapping my brain around this selection.

To me, Bush is somewhat fraile and played in a system at USC that was loaded with talent. Sure, there could be a drop off in production. Maybe Bush wasn't even the best back at USC; he could be second to LenDale White.

Or, maybe the Texans just screwed this one up. All the clamor from the talking heads (a.k.a. Draft experts) say the Texans "filled a need" with Mario Williams. Oh, excuse me for thinking Bush will touch the ball 10 times a game and rack up 100-or-more yards. I must not be paying attention.

Truth is, Williams can become the next whomever and become a Hall-of-Fame defensive end. He can average 15 sacks a year and win Defensive Player of the Year each year he is in the League. It won't matter if Bush turns into the next Barry Sanders.

The Draft is based on nothing more than a player's potential, and Bush's ceiling blows Williams' out of the water. It's not even close.

But then again, since when have the Texans been anywhere close to knowing what they are doing. The last defensive player selected No. 1 overall was DE Courtney Brown. Five bucks says you're not sure what year he was drafted, by whom, and what team he's on now.

If the Texans wanted a marque d-end they should've traded for John Abraham, not bungled their future. Bush was overhyped after the Rose Bowl, and now has been sold short. He likely will ressurect the New Orleans franchise.

The Texans, however, won't have much time to mull their the Bush-Williams debate. With decision-making theirs, Houston will probably be on the clock for the 2007 Draft midway through next season.

Other thoughts:

• Jets: Great draft. Shoring up the offensive line with D'Brickashaw Ferguson and Nick Mangold weren' t dazzling picks, and even my Jets' fans friends who I watched the Draft with groaned when the first selection was made. They won't be groaning two-to-three years from now when these guys anchor an offensive line similar to the Chiefs and Broncos, who each have perrenial 1,000-yard rushers.

• 49ers: I was hoping AJ Hawk would slip to six, but I can't argue too much with Vernon Davis. I watched his combine and he was amazing. Maybe he can turn Alex Smith into a servicable quarterback (1 touchdown, 11 interceptions in 2005). Mike Nolan, former Ravens defensive guru, saw the effect Todd Heap had in Baltimore and thinks Davis can have the same impact. I just don't think taking a TE with the No. 6 pick is great value. DE Manny Lawson, Williams teammate at NC State, is a speed rusher. I don't like his size, especially in a 3-4 defense.

...happy or not, this story needs an ending...

For the past three offseasons, ESPN has pumped our televisions and inflated our brains with this never-ending storyline, which has become an annual annoyance for me and many NFL fans.

"I'm not sure I can be totally committed to this team," Brett Favre quibbles every offseason.

Or better yet, Favre ponders, "Two minutes left, it's crunch time, I don't know if I want the ball."

Well, I want the ball. So I can shove it in Favre's mouth. I've seen better acting watching daytime soap operas with my grandmother, and less tears, too. I wish there was a plug I could pull on the resuscitator keeping Favre's career alive.

I would be arm-deep in a bag of popcorn to watch it flat-line. I'd be the first online registering for a press credential to be at his retirement press conference. I'm salivating just thinking about it.

Favre has been a thorn in my side since 1995, when his Packers dethroned the 49ers as Super Bowl Champions. Since that agonizing upset, the Packers have eliminated the 49ers from the playoffs four times. Hence, as great as Favre has been, I don't quite appreciate it. His career highlight for me is his cameo in "Something About Mary." But that's about it.

He doesn't have the talent to be successful in Green Bay. No defense, no WRs and he has no magic left in that arm. Last year was the first time since 1999 he threw more interceptions than touchdowns and the Packers spiraled to a 4-12 debacle.

He's danced the Packers, in a lose-lose situation until Favre makes a decision, around like a puppeteer. And why? He was owed a roster bonus in April that the Packers pushed back to July 27 so Favre can scratch his beard and ponder his life.

Favre is an adored athlete, one of the most well-respected men in sports. He overcame an addiction to pain killers which was chronicled better than a reality TV show. His heartfelt performance on Monday Night Football after his father's passing two years ago was also one a jaw-dropper.

But his infatuation with attention rivals that of 90 percent of the sorority girls at Hofstra. If he threw on a wind-breaker and a plethora of make-up, he'd fit right in.

Memo to Brett: If you're reading, please do us all a favor and retire! You all you're doing is tarnishing your legacy and ruining my NFL experience.

On deck: My Top 10 Kiss of Death Moments; My Top 10 Favorite Sports Victories; My Top Gut-wrentching Losses

...the 2006 (05,04,03) Yankees can't even spell small ball...

Five games into the season the 2006 Yankees have picked up right where the Yankees of failed Octobers past have left off. A promise of a small-ball approach seemed laughable after scoring 15 runs on Opening Night. Now, the Yankees line-up has me laughing to keep from crying.

In their 4-1 loss to Anaheim in the first game of their series, the Gary Sheffield, Alex Rodriguez and Jason Giambi, the heart of our order, went into cardiac arrest. The trio went hitless in 12 at-bats. Small, indeed, was the output.

The third game was more of the same, as the Yankees two solo home runs weren't enough to compliment Randy Johnson's complete game. Bernie Williams meak grounder back to Francisco Rodriguez was only surprising since I thought archaic Bernie would end game swining or looking.

The worst part? The Yankees blitzed the A's for 15 runs to open the season, right? The Bombers have since scored 10 combined runs in four games. Excuse me while I go watch my 2000 World Series championship video to see the last time the Yankees played "small ball."

I'm not counting the Yankees out after five games; I learned my lesson after putting my hand in the fire last season. Still, it's disconcerting to see this season's start mimic the way last season ended.

...NFL schedules...

You gotta love the NFL. Between free agency, the Draft, minicamps and then training camp, it feels like there is no offseason. Personally, I wish we had more NFL. I could have the NFL network fed intravenously into my veins. Yesterday the NFL released its schedules. Here's my take on some of the match-ups.

Top Five most difficult schedules as of April 7.

1. Eagles: Maybe if the Eagles had seen their 2006-07 schedule they would've rethought the whole Terrell Owens approach. Philadelphia's first eight games aren't so bad depending how you gauge TO's homecoming (Oct. 8) and a trip to Tampa. Then the Eagles get a bye in Week 9. Maybe they should've gotten two weeks off to gear up for a wicked stretch run.

Here it is: Washington, Tennessee, at Indianapolis, Carolina before three straight divisional road games at Washington, the Giants and Dallas before hosting Atlanta.

Wow. That stretch speaks for itself. The three straight road games against NFC East foes will likely sink the Eagles.

2. Cowboys: Maybe it's the Terrell Owens curse, or maybe it's just a typo. Dallas' schedule on ESPN.com has it playing nine road games, which surely would be the toughest schedule if it was accurate. ESPN.com has many such gaffes, so don't always believe what you read. Still, the Cowboys will play six of their first nine games on the road (Jacksonville, Tennessee, Philadelphia, Carolina, Washington and Arizona). Home games against the Colts and Bucs don't make these easy on America's Team and T.O.

3. Bills: Who did Buffalo piss off at the scheduling office? The Bills, not exactly a powerhouse recently, kick off their season with three division games: at New England and Miami and home against the Jets. Road games at Chicago, Indy and Baltimore smacked on top of that? Bills win seven games at most.

4. Steelers: The defending champs have one of the toughest schedules I've seen for a returning Super Bowl Champ. The Steelers do get a breather by opening the season at home, but a closer look proves that they don't have any lollipop games. They finish at Carolina, home against Baltimore and at Cincy. A repeat in the Steel City doesn't like very likely. Then again, the Steelers don't mind road trips.

5. Dolphins: The Dolphins are going to rack up their frequent flyer miles early. Any team that has to endure a three consecutive road games (Houston, New England, and the Jets) has to be in the running on this list. Throw in an Opener at the defending champion Steelers and a finale at Indy, and the Dolphins won't be sending any holiday fruit baskets to the NFL schedule makers.


Other commentary:

• Jets: On paper, the Jets schedule is much easier than last season's, but that doesn't make it an easy schedule. Road games at Tennessee, Jacksonville, Green Bay (in December, no less) and Minnesota doesn't make the road slate a breather when you throw in the divisional games. The Jets catch a minor break by hosting the Colts in Week 4 and Chicago in Week 11. And guess who's coming back to the swamps for a second straight season? Da Raaaaaaiiiiiderssss.

• 49ers: It's not like scheduling matters for my beloved team, but I took a gander anyway. Home games against the Eagles, the Chargers and Minnesota are breaks, but visits to KC, Chicago and Denver wipe those out. At least the Niners play the Cardinals twice.

• Bears: Three road games at the Jets, Giants and New England will not be fun.

• Indianapolis: Despite the loss of Edgerrin James, the Colts will likely be the favorites to win the AFC South for a fourth straight year. They may have less pressure this year considering they won't be in the spotlight entering the season. Maybe the underdog role will suit them better. The Colts' toughest stretch will be a four-week span that has them at Denver, New England and Dallas.

...T.O.'s Texas two-step

During his showcasing, otherwise known as an any-news-is-news offseason NFL press conference, Terrell Owens issued his inaugural, epic words to Dallas Cowboys fans.

"Get your popcorn ready," Owens said, "because it should be interesting."

Welcome to the beginning of the end, America's Team. You just began your tube ride on the slipperiest of slopes. One which will likely leave your team in a rock canyon, wishing it had never sold its sole to the Devil, who from this point on will be referred to as Drew Rosenhaus.

See, there's something you have to know about Terrell Owens. His existence ceased in January of 1999 after catching the game-winning touchdown pass against the Green Bay Packers in the closing seconds of a playoff game.

What was born, my friends, was T.O.: the egomaniacal, star-dancing, coach-defecating nightmare.

You know the Kevin Garnett commercial where he sprouts out of a basketball? Picture T.O.'s birth is something similar. After the "he caught it! he caught it! he caught it!" catch against the Packers, the humble sixth-round draft pick from tiny Chattanooga morphed into what all traditional sports fans despise: a typical generation Y athlete: classless, disrespectful and worst of all, a mercenary that looks out only for himself.

Owens dropped four passes, including a potential touchdown, against the Packers in that 30-27 win. He wept afterwards, embracing coach Steve Mariucci, a man whose fate T.O. would later be responsible for manipulating. Could you ever see T.O. with tears running down his face unless the Devil was pulling the string above him? I think not.

T.O. is a man who has never suffered repercussions. As a 49ers fan, I loathe the the Cowboys. But when he danced on the Star in September of 2000, no one rooted harder than me for George Teague to drill him in the spine. He made my team, and in essence me, look bad. It was a mockery. I found myself rooting for a Cowboy because of T.O. (I just threw up in my mouth.)

Nevertheless, Mariucci suspended T.O. the next week. That was the beginning of the end. After that, Owens lashed out at Mooch several times about play-calling and criticized teammates and coaches on several occasions. His tantrum in Mariucci's final game as 49ers coach (a 31-6 playoff loss to eventual Super Bowl Champ Tampa Bay) was the straw that cracked the camel's back. T.O angled his way between Mooch and owner John York, forcing Mariucci out of San Fran. The 49ers haven't recovered since.

The next season, with hapless Dennis Erickson -- the man T.O. essentially hired to replace Mariucci -- at the helm, T.O. berated offensive coordinator Gregg Knapp. Again, nothing was T.O.'s fault. He was a victim. When he forced his way out of the Bay Area the following offseason, he left the 49ers in worse shape than Germany after World War II. The 49ers have won six games in two seasons since T.O. departed.

He negated a trade to the Ravens, shafting the 49ers out of a second-round pick. As an Eagle, he played nice for a year, but suffered a relapse after the Super Bowl loss to the Patriots. He was a hero, and no one knew it. So he spent the offseason bashing Donovan McNabb, Philly's Golden boy. He dug his own grave, and Andy Reid held him accountable by suspending T.O. for more than half the season.

Give Reid credit. The Eagles finished 6-10 last season largely because T.O. was at home, but Reid disciplined a player who never takes responsibility for actions. He's all talk. And nothing will change now that he's a Cowboy.

Why do you think coach Bill Parcells "was on vacation" during T.O.'s press conference? He didn't sanction this. Jerry Jones orchestrated this and Parcells wanted no part.

It irks me that T.O., a malcontent everywhere he goes, gets second, third, fourth, fifth chances to be a jerk. There are hard-working people who make in a year what T.O. makes in the first half of games that get fired for much less insubordination. T.O.'s makes millions over and over again.

I'll take an interest in what happens to the Cowboys this season mainly to see how long Parcells can keep a muzzle on T.O. Maybe Parcells will end up drilling T.O. in the back if decides to dance again. I'll be rooting for it.

The way I used to root for Terrell Owens.

...George Mason dancing like John Travolta

This was my away message for about a week after the NCAA selection committee made Hofstra feel like the ninth kid in a four-on-four junior high school basketball game.

"Craig Littlepage, who is the chairman of the NCAA Tournament selection committee, and Mason coach Jim Larranaga were assistants at Virginia from 1979-82. Mason athletic director Tom O'Connor was a member of the selection committee this year."

Surely, Tony Soprano had left his never-ending dream sequence to get the fix in, right? Hofstra was getting jobbed after beating Mason twice in the last 11 days of the season, right?

Well, someone should ask Michigan State or UNC if Mason didn't belong because they are both packing their bags after a team deemed "unworthy" by some, including myself, ousted them.

The light blub "dinged" yesterday when Mason aborbed a 16-2 blow to start the game against the defending national champs and basically said that's your best shot? UNC had no answer.

But here's the other idea that clicked for me: Mason is actually good.

I, like most, was infatuated with Hofstra's two wins over Mason. But maybe Hofstra wasn't competing against Mason for a bid, like was said all along. Maybe Hofstra just has Mason's number.

The Kansas City Royals, perennial cell-dwellars, swept the Yankees last year. Does that make the Royals more playoff-worthy? The analogy is extreme and the NCAA's selection process is subjective, but you get the idea.

Instead of coming out stat-struck, the Pride should've taken care of its own business in the CAA Championship against UNC-Wilmington. Then there wouldn't have been any clamoring about the NIT who should've, could've, would've.

I don't think Hofstra would've beaten Michigan State, let alone UNC. Mason's defense overwhelmed both teams. And given UNCW's collapse against George Washington after surrendering an 18-point lead, maybe the Seahawks were the team that didn't belong in the tournament. We'll never know.

What I do know is I'm rooting for Mason. Representing the CAA in the Sweet 16 is more important than whether Hofstra got disrespected. The committee didn't get it wrong.

The bright side of Mason's run? Upping the CAA's profile as a mid-major might've just gotten Hofstra an at-large bid in 2007.

Up next: Terrell Owens a 'star' in big D; Barry the Great (Idiot)

...my 121 seconds of fame as Mr. Newsday.com

So I'm on camera. No, not like that. Dirty bastards.

Mark La Monica and I ventured into the wonderful world of video editing and made a package about Hofstra basketball. Here is my smattering of work on the dot-com.

Video

Blog

Photo Gallery

I'm a multi-media mogul.

...two of the 1,985,354,994 opinions

two CBSsportsline.com writers have dubbed the CAA as a three-bid conference. We'll se.

One and two.

...hanging on by a bubble

So the CAA tournament was a whirlwind, a plethora, a smorgasbord, a whatever you want to call it of emotions. After three physically and mentally draining days, the boys in blue and gold came up with just two wins.

For those non-math majors, two is less than three, the amount of W's UNC-W tallied to get the automatic bid to the Big Dance.

I recall one particluar moment where reality clocked me like a Mike Tyson haymaker. With Hofstra trailing, 64-60, a late three-pointer by UNC-W's T.J. Carter nailed the stake through the hearts of all Hofstra fans and ended the emotional see-saw during the course of the 78-67 loss.

The first rush of anger came while staring at the scoreboard. Hofstra was on the bottom-end of a 22-5 barrage - on ESPN, no less - to start the game. The second was after the Pride narrowed the gap to 35-26 only to have John Goldsberry thwart any momentum with a three-ball before halftime. Still, there was hope.

Until the second half started. Before the halftime chilli dog I wolfed down could begi giving me indigestion, the Pride's shotty shot selection and defense took care of that. Down 53-30, reality was tapping me on the shoulder, but I just closed my eyes and stomped my feet.

I surveyed the morbid faces in the student section. Scott, Brian, Mike, Jut, Rory. The whole crew of us looked our dogs had just been shot, and the UNC-W starting five were holding the smoking guns. Spirit-fingers Matt was in the back row crying into his shirt. I wish I could have done the same.

But then that nagging feeling tugs at you. It's like the stock market: no matter how badly it dwindles, it never completely crashes. So when the Pride went on a 29-9 run, narrowing the gap to 62-59, again, I couldn't clap. I couldn't move. I wanted to weep tears of joy. There was nothing on my mind besides the three points Hofstra needed to make my senior dream come true.

"Oh my God. Oh my God," was all I could muster. Its cliche, but it was a roller coaster of emotion. One second I was in a straight away, the next I felt like I was upsidedown and reality was nonexistant.

I wasn't thinking about anything else besides Hofstra's rampant accent from the abyss.

There was no recollection of the bias from security guards -- six of them perched in our section, scrutinizing our every breathe. No time to think about VCU cheerleaders fliping us the bird while their mascot physically assaulted one Hofstra student, only to have security repremand us for standing on chairs. There was not a second to waste because the Pride was about to make all of that moot.

Then Antoine Agudio had a Bill Buckner moment, throwing an errant pass which led to Carter's three-ball. In a a New York minute the game was over, the time on the clock was just a formality. I crumbled to the floor, with my head in hands and a shirt over my face. My girlfriend, Amanda, put her arms on my shoulders and attempted consoling me. There was no soothing my aching insides.

In fact, the moment was so stuffed with emotion a photographer from the NY Daily News broached us.

"What are your names? I want to use you in a photo I just took of you both," he said with blatant disregard for the moment.

"Sure, whatever," I said.

After he retreated to snap more photos, I was fixated on the clock. I watched it dwindle away as the "classy" Southerners - evidently still peeved about the Civil War outcome - mocked us.

"Go-home-Yankees!" they belowed before rushing the court and litering the Richmond Arena with confetti.

We on the other hand retreated to our bus and prepared for the seven-hour hiatus back to Long Island. It was like leaving a funeral. No one knew what to say and everything said sounded awkward.

But those of us who were scarred the most need only to look at that picture of Tom Pecora. It's taken a few days, but the wound is starting to heal. As much as i hate to admit it, hope is like a pesky cold. No matter how much you try and get rid of it, it lingers.

And maybe it's not such a bad thing. The Pride is a lock for the NIT if the at-large bid falls through. We will play again this season.

Our bubble hasn't really burst.

ON DECK: Barry the Great (Idiot), my 15 minutes of Newsday fame and the WBC (Why Bother Caring?)

...the immediate aftermath

So Hofstra lost yesterday, but check out what Newsday had to say about Hofstra's chances to make to NCAAs. More on this later.

On deck: A review and pictures of the trip to the CAAs: The Tournament of Inbreds; why watching Barry Bonds' reality show will kill your brain cells.

...going dancin'

...why the 2006 Yankees MUST cast away the demons

In one of the most notable marriages between cinema and sports, Tom Hanks proclaimed that there is no crying in baseball in "A League of Their Own."

But what does he know? He was just acting. He was born into being a cinema star, not a Yankees fan, which arguably takes more effort, patience and work.

Now, I know what you're saying: I've taken one too many foul balls to the head, but let me explain. The Yankees are the most storied franchise in sports -- they've been around since the early 1900s and have the most championships (26). So each year, spring training begets hope and October brings the promise of playoffs, but as I always tell my fellow Yankees lovers, all the time inbetween is just a formality.

Except for last year, when the Yankees came back from a 11-19 and 39-39 to edge the Red Sox for the AL East crown, the regular season is 162-game tune-up for the playoffs. In recent years, the Yanks have stalled or missed a gear in October.

It's gotten progressively worse. In 2001, Mariano Rivera, my all-time favorite player, Mr. Enter Sandman, himself, pitched a 1-2-3 eight inning in Game 7 of the World Series against the D-Backs. Until that game, he had one postseason blemish on his resume, and the next inning was supposed to segway to the coronation of a four-peat. However, an errant throw into center field here, a broken bat single there and the Arizona Diamondbacks - and their fans with those incessant white towels - were basking in our misery.

The following year, the towels were replaced by Rally Monkeys and a shotty bullpen. The Angels bounced us out of the ALDS in four games. In Game 3, the bullpen allowed five runs in four innings, and the next day David Wells - captain hangover/quitter - was bombed maybe literally. The Anegls went on to win the World Series.

And who could forget 2003. Never has the phrase risen from the dead been more approriate. The Yankees crawl from the grave was likely the most exhillarting baseball game in my memory banks. Brian, Ben and I epitomized the superstition inherant to all fans. We all sat in the same seats, uttered "I can't believe this!" 35-or-more times, and nearly wept when Grady Little left in Pedro Martinez.

I didn't pee for eight innings, fearing that any change in my biological make-up would effect the Yankees odds at victory. I never saw Aaron Boone's ball land for two reasons: I was on the floor screaming when the ball ducked into left field, then I missed the replay because I was in the bathroom. However, the Yanks, likely hungover from the Red Sox and unintrigued by the Marlins, blew a 2-1 World Series lead.

But all post-season mishaps pale in comparison to 2004. My chest tightens remebering how the Yankees blew a 3-0 lead to the Red Sox in the ALCS. At game 6, Brian and I were spectators in section 53 of the bleachers. I remember the awkward silence we shared, each sensing the impending doom. You know the rest.

Last year, the Bombers bowed out to the the Angels in five games. This year has to be different.

You can debate until you're blue in the face that the Royals/Devil Rays/Tigers fans have it bad. But they never have expectations to win, so their disappointment doesn't stem from expectations.

Yankees fans can boast about 26 championships, but for five seasons all baseball fans have revelled in the Bombers disapointments. Rooting against the Yankees, for some fans, is a bigger priority than their team's win-loss ratio.

Now, am I being selfish? Yes. I am the stomping brat in Toys 'R' Us, who is kicking and screaming tuntil he gets his Ninja turtle toy. And yes, I'm 22. Sitting at my father's knee watching Yankees games, being raised on the lore, it's like having a silver spoon in my mouth. So you kick and scream how Yankees fans are spoiled, we'll be the first ones to admit it.

We also know what it's like to be at the top of the mountain. I miss being there, so hopefully 2006 will be different.

...trivia answer

Done racking your brains yet? Well, the answer may shock you. It rivals the Louisiana Purchase on the Homer Simpson "DOH!" scale. This was one of the largest hoodwinks in history, let alone just baseball.

George Steinbrenner and minority partner Burke bought the Yankees from CBS for $8.7 million ($45.6 Mil. in 2005 dollars). Now, the Yankees value, with the YES Network's backing, likely soars over $1 billion dollars. That's about a 10,000 percent return on the investment.

Not bad.

On deck...the 2006 Yanks

...trivia time

Given we are in the midst of spring training baseball, I wanted to post a question for those avid readers of my blog.

When George Steinbrenner bought the Yankees in 1973 from CBS, how much did he and his group of investors pay for the Yankees?

Don't Google the answer, either.

...H-O-F-S-T-R-A gettin' some R-E-S-P-E-C-T from Newsday

I've interned at Newsday twice, so I as my dot-com friend Marky Mark La Monica would say in his Italian-from-Nassau twang, I knows some peoples.


My first life at Newsday had me in the high school-college sports section, where Joltin' Joe Fernandez tabbed me the Pride of Hofstra. But I don't know enough people at Newsday to get a columnist to the Arena, let alone to pen a positive column.

After Thursday's win, however, Mark Herrmann did just that.
Hofstra B-ball is the hottest ticket in town.

St. Johns? Bah! Hofstra's whooped up on them three straight years. Other than playing Hofstra, the only time the Johnies score less is at gentleman's clubs.

The Knicks? Mr. Thomas is using the Scott Layden book for general managing. Two words Isiah: Kevin Garnett!

The Nets? Psh, it's Jersey.

But I digress. The CAA tourney is a week from today and Hofstra has a more-than-average chance at winning the conference. An at-large bid could be in the works.

Then, Hofstra playoff tickets will be the hottest tickets in town.

...a true moment in fandom

You're a heartbeat. All 800-or-so of you stand, throw your hands together and scream like never before. You jump around, stomp your heels and utter phrases you wouldn't want 10-year-olds to repeat.

That's because what you're witnessing has never before happened. You are a part of history, a fragment in time which can't be taken back.

You are a fan, immersed in a sea of blue.

Your college basketball team is about to embark on uncharted territory, adding another chapter to its lore. The buzzer sounds and you storm the court as if bulls in Barcelona were at your heels. Your team has triumphed over a Top 25 contender.

Your arena, whose student section is doused with your sweat, has just witnessed its 19th consecutive home game. In case you weren't counting, that's good for second best in the country.

Are you at Duke? Kentucky, maybe? I said sea of blue, right?

Well, as my often-inebriated friend Josh so eloquently bellows, we were at "H-O-F-S-T-R-A! Hofstra!"

Tonight Hofstra trampled soon-to-be-out-of-the-Top-25 George Mason, the first such victory in the school's timid history. The win also extending a school record for home wins. The semantics just add to adrenaline rush.

Each time Antoine Agudio's three-pointer found the bottom of the net, the jubilation was inexplicable. Aurimus Kieza sprinkled in some treys, but he forever will be stapled in your mind for the alley-oop that nearly made you pass out from screaming.

Kiez, as we call him, galvanized the students when his buzzer-beater two weeks earlier slayed Old Dominion. That moment, a carbon copy of tonight, was arguably more exhilarating because of the build up.

The thought of losing was undeniable, but once his three-ball - a prayer in its own right after Loren Stokes nearly lost a handle - entered the cylinder, I never saw it go through the net. Before I knew it I was sprinting onto the court, part of a heartbeat of elated fans.

That moment, like tonight, will forever be ingrained in my cranium. You see, in the heart of each sports writer rests a fanatical, borderline-obsessive passion for a team. It rears its head every so often.

Our objectivity is an afterthought, and suddenly we're kids again. It's the quintessential reason I watch sports, for the unadulterated injection of glee they offer. Tonight, I'm high on sports.

...the Sports Sahara

Frostbite could claim my little toe. Another snow monsoon snow could paralyze the eastern seaboard. None of it would matter; I'm walking through the Sports Sahara.

Move over Moses, because I'll be wandering through the desert for 55 days looking to quench my thirst for sports (Gatorade can solve a lot of problems, but...). To elaborate, "the drought" spans from the millisecond the Super Bowl trophy is hoisted to the first pitch of the Major League Baseball season.

To be exact: Feb. 5 to April 2.

Am I underwater?

This, far and away, is the purgatory of the sporting realm. The Super Bowl is the crème de la crème, the pinnacle, the caviar of the sports events. It's the only game of the year which turns viewers into John Madden clones of analysis...about the halftime show and funniest commercials; let alone the game.

The second the clock hits 0:00 it's time to sit on your hands until training camp in August. You can scour the networks searching for some sort of pacifier, but it's all for naught.

What I find makes my eyes burn. The NFL Network -- which will usurp all sports networks in the next 10 years -- segways from Super Bowl overload to celebrity draft analysts. I don't want to hear the incessancy from the Mel Kiper's of the world, let alone the half-assed wannabes.

ESPN, aside from its draft coverage, televises every college basketball game on the planet. Division III women's games don't exactly tickle my pickle. And don't even attempt to sell me on the NBA; your cries will fall on deaf ears. If I wanted to watch crappy basketball I'd dribble in front of a mirror.

Hey, NHL! What's more of a PR nightmare: the Great One's wife in handcuffs or having OLN as your flagship network?

The Olympics have provided a small respite only because snowboarding is growing faster than the entire generation that watches it. Bode Miller's choke jobs and Sarah Hughes' shoe laces don't strike my fancy. The USA men's hockey looked liked it had just returned from the lockout. The NCAA tournament will also garner my interest, but only if my bracket hasn't utterly imploded by the Final Four.

These sports are nothing more than a mirage; illusions on the way to the oasis, a.k.a. Major League Baseball. The start of baseball carries a redeeming caterpillar-turned-butterfly quality; signifying winter's near death and the birth of tank-tops and short-shorts. More importantly, the pennant race begins the moment after either the Yankees or Red Sox take a one-game lead. No matter if one is 1-0 and the other 0-1. It's time for baseball.

Yet I, like many, will continue trekking through the no-man's land of sports -- waiting for the first pitch to reach the catcher's mit.

...someone actually listening to me?

While I was away for the weekend snowboarding (which I call the Great Escape after not reseperating my shoulder, fracturing anything, or ripping open my ass), it appears as if someone in the Jets front office might have heard my distress call. Though they aren't resigning him long-term, the Jets will place a franchise tag on John Abraham. It's a good move, but Abraham is looking for a contract. This is severly denting the Jets salary cap since no money is being deferred. J'Abe might make upwards of $8 million next season and it's all on the 2006 books. The looming CBA neogtiations have clouded the salary cap crystal ball, but this will get the Jets nowhere fast. They need to give him a contract.

As for my adventure, I've now gone snowboarding six times and it's a wonder I haven't broken anything. I managed to get my shoulder to pop from it's socket, which proved to be rather unpleasant. So is landing on the ice (which they say is snow) after a divit turns you into Lindsey Jacobellis.

...the Jets not resigning John Abraham

Soooooooo I'm a sports writer. Like the blog says, I've been around. High school, collegiate and professional teams have all felt the wrath of my pen. I spent most of my 2005 summer and fall scribing about the a semi-professional football team known as the New York Jets.

Stop laughing. Seriously, because once you do you'll realize millions of people dream about being surrounded by professional athletes. I got the chance to run from locker to locker with a tape-recorder, notified and pen three-to-four times a week. The blackhole which turned out to be a 4-12 season didn't stop me from savoring every moment. I was surrounded by some of the most physically gifted men on the planet.

The ironhorse and gentleman Curtis Martin. The candid and often amiable John Abraham. Chad Pennington's...well, sling. I even took note that if he so chose, Jonathan Vilma could pop my head like a bad zit between his forearm and bicep.

All in all, it was a whirlwind that spit me out as a better journalist. If you're around a team three days a week, you just notice things. Some disturbing, like Vilma uses Cocoa butter after he showers and Ty Law wears Jordan flip flops into the shower.

Some were heart-warming, like in the cases of Kevin Mawae, Abraham and Pete Kendall, to name a few, who all had pictures of their children taped in lockers. I saw the behind-the-scenes workings of an NFL team, and it was great.

One of the topics I broached while at Jetsinsider was the disfunctional marriage between J'Abraham and the Jets management. Given that recent reports say he won't be back with Gang Green, I figured to jump-start this blog with a story wrote feverishly advocating why the Jets should keep Abraham. Not brining back Abraham is a huge no-no, especially as the first move for the new hierarchy atop the Jets.

While the above story is one my previous works, this blog will be a place for me to vent about topics going on in the world of sports. I'm unveiling the curtain. I hope you enjoy.

Sidenotes: The Bengals reupped head coach Marvin Lewis with a contract extension through 2010. Lewis, the former defensive coordinator of the Ravens stalwart defense, has pulled off a miracle even JC Himself would give props to: he's resurrected a dead franchise. The Bengals get my thumbs up. With a healthy Carson Palmer, look for them to be a force in the AFC next season.

Up next...The drought, the 2006 Yankees, and a true moment in fandom