Darius, Darius

It’s been two years since Darius Miles stepped onto a basketball court.

This season, barring another knee mishap, drugs, and other 10 game suspensions, Miles seeks redemption – on a team that has brought grit, guts, and glory back to a team that had once taken a step back into its own shadow.

His rookie season, he hit the center stage with as much baggage as hair.

He hit the back of the rim on three point attempts (one of nineteen his rookie season) as much as he shone on the defensive end (1.5 blocks).

Before the limelight shone, before the drugs, before the injury, he was next. He was supposed to be a hit. The IT.

IT was his. The Clippers took it. Malnourished him.

A teenager in an atmosphere so toxic made him a product of his environment.

Remember those dunks?

Remember the injury?

He’s back hitting tip of the backboard square with ease.

He’s also taking the minimum paycheck.

A far cry from being the third pick.

Let’s just hope redemption is near.

Movie Review: Burn After Reading

A flash for the dramatic has always been the staple of the Coen Brothers’ filmwork.

Always perfectly cast, brilliantly written (smart), their work has also been recognized simply as America’s best (No Country for Old Men).

The same reaches to a certain extent in Burn After Reading, their latest release.

Linda Litzke, J.K Simmons, Brad Pitt – they were brilliant.

Perhaps a more likeable George Clooney, or maybe more dim-witted (not smart), would make the basis of the movie – confusion – work for the better.

But the plot – which is much less complex then intended – failed to capture my attention and barely reached imaginative (not very smart).

It’s basically the traditional triangle of love– if you call Clooney’s love sincere. After all, he’s a female-preying-on-the-internet-predator that falls into the lap of a hapless Linda Litzke, whose overall air headedness complements Brad Pitt’s.

They take a CD they find at the fitness center they work at – and because of Litzke’s unsatisfactory love life – she goes, yes, online to find people like George Clooney on the other end – and demand money from a Russian embassy – for Litzke to get plastic surgery.

Though the CD does belong to an alcoholic washed-up ex-CIA John Malkovich, it contains information of little consequence, which irks not only an inflamed Malkovich (at the pair’s stupidity), but falsely alerts the CIA headquarters, whose head – J.K. Simmons, orders the disposal of all bodies involved without hesitation.

Think Simmons as the Spiderman newspaper editor – he’s right on.

So now you’re left with Litzke meeting Clooney, yes, online, who then proceeds to sleep with Malkovich’s wife, then finds out that his very own wife has been mulling divorce, and in-fact does have another man on the side.

Pitt finds himself in Malkovich’s apartment – to ‘investigate” – and shoots himself with Clooney’s gun.

So Clooney flees. Litzke is left love-less and money-less. The end.

Brad Pitt, for as little face-time he did get, stole the show from a narcissistic Clooney.

Perhaps his best exchange is with a baffled Malkovich over the phone: “Osbourne Cox? I thought you might be wooorrried...about the secuuurrrity...of your shit.”

And in person (after being threatened): “You thought it was a Schwinn.”

And like his stupidity, the overdrawn and over-complex plot takes a turn for the worse – when Pitt dies.

Inconclusive, inconsequential closure gives way to more confusion. But not the smart kind.

It’s the kind that cries, “Why?”

1929 doesn't look so bad

Football is often called a game of inches.

On Saturday, BYU and UCLA were separated by a few miles and then some.

Cougar quarterback Max Hall looked like Joe Namath, picking apart the Bruin secondary with four touchdown scores within the first five minutes of the second quarter.

It didn’t help that Labor Day Wonderboy Kevin Craft and his backfield looked like schoolboys bobbling a wet bar of soap.

3 fumbles lost. One pick. Countless dropped passes.

I guess, if you're Rick Neuheisel, four interceptions are better than four fumbles.

Either way, the UCLA defense was slumbering, perhaps being hung over an improbable victory over Tennessee two weeks prior.

If the defense was slumbering, the offense was in hibernation.

The Bruins sleepwalked to nine rushing yards.

Even Kai Forbath, probably the best player on the team, missed both of his field goal attempts.

For a UCLA team that started the season so upstart, so upbeat, the Bruins crawled back into their Den petrified after being bombed by a persistent, statement-seeking Cougar offense.

At least the Bruins have awakened from hibernation.

I hope.

Meanwhile, the Trojans dismantled the hapless Ohio State Buckeye team, along with its arrogant Big Ten Conference.

Rey Maualuga sums it up the best after he returned an interception for a touchdown: “It looked like I was Marcus Allen, with my Heisman skills and 4.2 speed.”

Marcus Allen was in attendance. Ray Small was too. But he spent most of the night watching the Trojan offense dismantle a less-than-impressive Buckeye defense.

And how bout those Auburn Tigers?

Winning 3-2?

The Dodgers scored five runs.

I guess you can call it a game of inches. After all.

Relentless. Optimism.

“I planted wrong and it tore.”

“The rest of 2007, I stayed home, watched games on TV and waited for the days to go by.”

Against BYU, two games in the 2007 season, Harwell tore the medial collateral ligament in his left knee.

Not like this was of any hardship UCLA defensive tackle Brigham Harwell has experienced.

Harwell epitomizes Rick Neuheisel’s unwavering mantra – “relentlessly optimistic.”

An upbringing that saw a car for a shelter, Harwell’s athletic career was of less importance than his day-to-day life.

His parents divorced in the fourth grade.

Harwell has eight siblings.

By the time he was in sixth grade, Brigham lived in the car with his mother and two other siblings.

They showered at friends’ houses and went to the library after school to do homework – there was no light in the car.

The state then declared his mother unfit for raising the children.

The three were placed in foster care.

Until Williams gained custody of Harwell before his freshman year at Los Altos High School in Hacienda Heights.

Still, Brigham did whatever it took to help out. He cut grass in the summer to help pay for his own expenses; he looked after his 5-year-old nephew, Jeremey, who is autistic.

But then, the Williams family moved to Chino Hills, an hour away from Los Altos.

Brigham didn’t want to transfer, so a neighbor drove one hour each way to pick up then drop off Harwell at Los Altos.

Through all of this, he maintained a B average in high school and was ½ sacks short of the high school record. He recorded 22 sacks in his senior season.

“Now, I'm living it up. Living on my own, in a dorm. It's great, but back then, I look back and I didn't know if I was going to eat one day, or sleep or shower. From sixth grade through high school, I can name so many friends, and their parents, that helped me out.”

You can also list the arthroscopic surgeries he’s had. The torn meniscus. The sprained ankle. A ripped ligament.

So what’s a torn MCL to him?

Since then, Harwell has trimmed to a chiseled 280 pounds and now bench presses 440 pounds.

In his first game in over a year, he forced Tennessee’s Arian Foster to fumble on a critical drive on the 6 yard line. He had five tackles – all solo.

He’s come a long way - from the trunk of a beaten-down Chevy to first-team all conference performer to candidate for the Outland Trophy, and now a solid NFL prospect.

"I've been telling myself, 'Brigham, it's your year,' like it's the last season in the world."

I’m guessing the mantra is still relentlessly optimistic.

The "Multi-Talented" Greg Oden

At first glance there’s not much to say.

Other than he’s a buff, big bearded, black, big guy.

But then you see him on the court. Blocking shots. Dominating games.

Well, alright, he probably plays basketball.

He’s one-dimensional.

Lethargic. Lazy. Not into the game.

And he disappears. After all the hype. After one injury.

Yet great things were promised. Perhaps if he showed more emotion.

And now, he’s done with rehab, and his effort in the weight room has been less than that.

"I haven't seen Greg play basketball yet, but as far as work ethic, he is right up there with Scottie Pippen, Detlef Schrempf and Damon Stoudamire as the best I've seen,'' Jensen said. "He's a hard worker, very determined.''

Perhaps a little too much. He’s pumped so much iron that he’s amassed 30 pounds – from 250 to 280.

He’s been dominating summer league runs – and if he can swat and jam, at 280 pounds - Dwight Howard will have to face someone that rivals his own athleticism.

But probably what you didn’t know is his sense of humor. An instant commercial classic.

Then he sings. Well, he tries.

But that characteristic is infectious, pervasive. Excellent for a team.

Who wouldn’t want a guy like this?

What you may know is that the Blazers, assuming that Oden returns full force, will be a contender in the heated West.

With All-Star Brandon Roy, wings Martell Webster and Travis Outlaw, combined with the front-court threats of LaMarcus Aldridge and Greg Oden, Paul Allen really has something going in Portland.

And who's leading the charge?

A resurgent, hungry, definitely-not-one-dimensional Greg Oden.

The Beginning

Fall seven times, get up eight.

This beginning sounds like a Dwayne Wade commercial.

As maddenly inconsistent or consistently stoic you can call the Dodgers, they’ve stormed into first place in the NL West.

It’s not much of a feat, considering the Dodgers wave a 72-70 record, but it’s a far cry from where the team was just a week ago, after a seven game losing streak.

What has remained, however, throughout the slump and the streak, is Manny Ramirez’s irreplaceable energy and eccentric demeanor.

Call him the kid.

Other than his notable sound bites, his presence in the dugout is a tremendous addition, contrasting to the self-absorbed Jeff Kent.

Now that Kent’s considering season-ending surgery, Ramirez’s leadership is to be counted upon for the home stretch, as the Dodgers look to win their first major league post-season game in over a decade.

Take this:

“Manny Ramirez holds up his glove before the game. "It's illegal," he says.The glove is red, white and blue, so the obvious conclusion is the colors aren't within the rules.

"It's illegal," Ramirez explains, while always mocking his own shortcomings, "because it catches everything," and everyone in the clubhouse laughs.”

Or this:

"It starts late in the game," Manager Joe Torre says with a grin. "I'll hear, 'Joe, Joe,' from the end of the dugout and it's Manny looking for me to take him out, and I just point to left field."

He's always messing with me. I asked him if he wanted to face the Arizona left-hander and he says, 'Why don't you put in one of your young players,' and I have to tell him, 'Don't tell me how to manage.' Then he sits next to Greg Maddux and tells him how he got me."

Or this: a .410 batting average, with 11 homers and 34 RBI’s – in a month.

This beginning – you can call it that – possibly signifies a new era in Dodger baseball.

The Dodgers took out then first place-Arizona's feared duo - Haren and Webb - and torn them to shreds - twice.

How so?

Perhaps its the lively dugout, complete with booming music, instead of a listless and passive underground audience.

Or maybe the free flowing dreadlocks, baggy pants, and boxes of bubble bubble.

Either way, Los Angeles is piling into the Chavez Ravine to watch the Blue Crew defend first place.

Where will the Dodgers be in a month?

Who knows?

At least this is the good beginning.

And it's destiny is resting on the shoulders of a 36-year-old kid.

Common Sense

“I cannot stand the Buckeyes.”

“It’s amazing to hear what those guys think about that university and what they think about that football program and Tressel and all the crap I gotta put up with being back there.”

“I just can’t wait [until] SC comes to the ‘Shoe [and] pound on them in their own turf.”

“I’m really getting sick of it, and I just can’t wait for this game to get here so they can come out to the Coliseum and experience LA and get an old-fashioned Pac-10 butt-whoopin’ and go back to the Big Ten.”

- Carson Palmer

There are very few things I agree with anything that comes from that other school, but for the moment, there is actually something else I despise more.

Carson and I have something in common.

Aside from being good-looking athletes, we both despise the Buckeye Nation and its incessant vocal pollution.

"How are they successful? They're not even serious about the game," said Buckeyes wide receiver Ray Small said.

Small described the difference between the programs as, "a class thing."

"Here at Ohio State, they teach you to be a better man," Small said. "There, it's just all about football."

With the lackluster performance on Saturday against Ohio, Rey Maualuga must be licking his chops, waiting to knocksomeSmallsense into the Buckeyes, and Mr. Ray Small.

Acting 101

Soccer players should be given Oscars.

They flail in every which way, tumbling yards across the field. Sometimes, they all fall down.

This art was first initiated by the Italians, imported, sadly, to the States, and now perfected by the Chinese.

After a game like that, it’s hard to question why American journalists have bashed on the non-contact sport Europeans call “football.”

This acting business has even pervaded to the NBA.

It’s like a toxin.

Well, I guess, in this sense, Manu Ginobli makes his living.

If only Manu Ginobli played football. The Brian Urlacher kind.

No wonder it’s a technical foul now to flop.

It’s pathetic. It’s time consuming. It’s self-seeking.

It’s un-American.

Now here comes Novak Djokovic, a Serbian tennis player, whose outlandish acts mirror those of these soccer players. And Manu Ginobli.

He’s listed his injuries – a hyperextended hip, hard breathing, stomachache, two rolled ankles, among others.

And this prompted Roddick to say, "He's either quick to call the trainer, or he's the most courageous guy of all time. I think it's up for you guys to decide."

After the entire list of injuries was presented to him, he went on and added to the list, “Bird Flue. Anthrax. SARS. Common cough and cold.”

This did give a huge chip to Djokovic, who used this as an “advantage.”

Djokovic then disposed of Roddick and was interviewed him on a live mic in stadium, on the USA network.

Remember he’s playing on USA soil.

"You know, Andy was saying I have 16 injuries in the last match," he said. "Obviously, I don't -- right?"

And when the crowd started raining boos, he added, "They're already against me because they think I'm faking everything, so it's all right.”

And to attempt to make it up, concluded, “"That's not nice, anyhow, to say in front of the crowd that I have 16 injuries and that I'm faking it.”

See the interview.

So what can you call this European game?

Finesse?

More like bending the rules of sports.

Not to mention etiquette.

Of course, it’s up to the attacked to maintain his composure.

But whatever it takes to win, right?

Good luck, Novak.

Try fazing Federer.

Rock Chalk! Rock Chalk!

Bill Self might be a little uneasy.

No, it can’t be the outlook of the coming 2008-2009 season.

It’s a rebuilding year, and Kansas has restocked again – with seven recruits, nonetheless, including the highly coveted Travis Releford.

It’s just six, for the moment.

Incoming freshman Markieff Morris wielded a BB gun and slang a plastic slug at a 47-year-old woman standing in the dorm courtyard.

According to descriptive Associated Press, “Morris is also suspected of using alcohol during the incident.”

What else other than intoxication would demand a 6’ 9” power forward to attack a woman with plastic pebbles?

Unless, of course, you’re puffing on weed and have more than a few women in your room. At the NBA rookie transition program.

I’m surprised Mario Chalmers and Darrell Arthur weren’t accused of being intoxicated.

I assume being booted out of a transition program is a large enough accusation.

Thanks for the description, AP.

Either way, it’s a shocking reality, an inerasable NBA culture that will never be completely eradicated.

Matter of fact, Wilt Chamberlain (shockingly a Kansas alum himself), boasted that he had sex with 20,000 women.

“Yes that’s correct, twenty thousand different ladies,” he says in his book A View From Above, “At my age, that equals out to having sex with 1.2 women a day, every day since I was fifteen years old.”

And so we gape in wonderment at these kids' lifestyles.

But for the moment, Bill Self is counting his stacks, stacking his millions, as the NBA rookie transition program introduces a new book – A View From Above.

First Game. Feel that?

Orange jerseys, shirts, caps, banners dotted what seemed like only a small partisan crowd among the tailgaters.

School hadn’t started, and many students were probably missing what could be the second best game of the year.

But expectations weren’t so high.

Yet the hot dogs were cooking, its aroma instantly reminding what time of year it was. College football season.

Feel that?

It did take nearly two hours to find ourselves in what would become a raucous Den, facing the mid-afternoon sun.

It was the first game –and it was nationally televised.

How often does that happen at UCLA?

I wouldn’t miss a ranked opponent, specifically one from the trash-talking SEC Conference, attempt to bully its way into the Rose Bowl.

Honestly, my expectations of this UCLA football team, and its offense in particular, were quite miniscule, seeing that its offensive line was thrown together last minute, with inexperienced surfers and random Samoans joining forces to protect Kahlil Bell and a jittery quarterback.

That jittery quarterback – Kevin Craft - whose only success was throwing at junior college, lofted the ball as if throwing to Goliath – twice, flat out passed to the Tennessee secondary once, and threw one that was taken to the wrong endzone – for four interceptions – all in a half of play.
By halftime, everyone was calling for his head.

I headed out to get myself some expensive hot dogs to make myself feel better before the nightmare ended.

It was quite ugly.

And when this team of midgets (a Pee Wee League squad) took the field and when its quarterback threw darts across the field, we harshly declared him better than this Kevin Craft guy.

But that was just the first half of play.

Armed with perhaps the best coaching staff in the nation – DeWayne Walker, Rick Neuheisel, and Norm Chow, the game plan in the second half dramatically differed from that of the first.

I did expect the defense to execute with quickness and brutality, and they did so for the most part, getting into the heads of the best offensive line in the country, which was flagged for at least five false starts.

With mastermind Norm Chow calling out the shots, quick drops and quick pitches resulted in fresh sets of downs, and the Bruins finally effectively moved the ball. Craft completed 18 of 25 in the second half for nearly 200 yards.

Nothing was more impressive, however, than the two-minute drill he ran, as UCLA marched down the field with their back-up tight end, freshman running back, and wideouts with no game-experience.
And as Craft pounded the ball into the endzone, the Den roared. Gangsters embraced nerds. Jocks jumped on other jocks. Drunk women kissed ugly men. I hugged men.

Pandemonium.

Feel that?

The greatest victory since December 2, 2006.

So perhaps that brash advertisement declaring that the “football monopoly in LA is over,” may very well signify something.

Or that the footsteps USC is hearing are rising up into crescendo, increasing by the minute.

It certainly was a noisy entrance for a new era of UCLA football.

Feel that?