Bedard Breaks His Silence

Short, not exactly "sweet", and more disappointing than waking up from your afternoon nap, only to realize that it was all a dream, and that in real life it was Tom Brady who married Giselle Bundchen last night, and not you. That's the best description of Erik Bedard's first radio interview since becoming a Mariner that I could come up with.

I just happened to be channel flipping in my car Wednesday, when I checked to see what was on Seattle's 950 KJR. Much to my amazement, Erik Bedard was doing an interview. Yes, the same Erik Bedard who did zero interviews his first year in Seattle. The same Bedard that from all accounts, had a vocabulary similar to that of Tarzan . The same Bedard who was on the receiving end of seemingly endless media criticism over his lack of availability, his short starts, and his rumored nonexistent tolerance for pain. Yet, here he was, about to push the restart button, and begin his new life as a media darling.

In case you didn't know, Bedard is Canadian. And I'm talking, like, full on Canadian...like, lives with bears and stuff. While attempting to get a seemingly cheerful Bedard to share a little bit of background, Bedard was asked what he had been up to in the off season. His reply, "Not much. I have a 4 wheeler, so I drove that around,". 3 seconds of silence - that seemed like 10 minutes - immediately followed. When asked how the pitching shoulder he had surgically repaired in October felt, Bedard said "It feels good. It doesn't hurt." Then, out of nowhere, Bedard spit out "I've had the same friends since 2nd grade, so, you know." Yeah, there wasn't much that show hosts Gas Man and Nellie could do to make that unsolicited admission fit into conversation.

This unfortunately concludes my recap of the "highlights" from this interview. In the 6 minutes Bedard spent with the Gas Man and Nellie on KJR, he managed to prove to Mariner fans all over Seattle that silence really is golden, and maybe by sneaking out of the clubhouse every day before the media had access, Bedard was just doing fans a solid. When the universe finally showed some sympathy and mercifully brought this mess to an end, I realized that I had gone from anxiously awaiting Bedard's responses, to wishing my iPod adapter actually worked in my car, so I could save this particular trip home by pumping some Kelly Clarkson.

Who are the Detroit Pistons?

Perhaps the better question is, where are the Detroit Pistons. They hadn't shown up for their past 6 games, and tonight against the Miami Heat, they showed zero signs of change. The same team that dominated the Eastern Conference such a short time ago, seems to be flailing their arms in desperation, as they tumble towards complete irrelevance.

In the interest of venting my personal frustrations first, I must question point guard Rodney Stuckey. If not for the fact that he hails from the city I now call home, then because he seems to have made it his personal mission to destroy my fantasy basketball team, one agonizingly invisible performance after another. Earlier this season, Stuckey seemed poised to become the next Motor City superstar. After having an outstanding holiday season in which he put up games of 40 and 38 in a two week period, Stuckey has seemingly decided to go with the "less is more" approach. Since the All-Star break, Stuckey is averaging a horrid 5 points per game...and I'm rounding up. For a guy who earlier looked to be the next Allen Iverson, Alan Alda has become a more appropriate comparison.

Stuckey's recent problems seem to be confidence related. He is taking less shots, tallying less assists, and is no longer getting any steals, all while playing the same amount of minutes. Head coach (please note - term used loosely) Michael Curry is quick to point out that Stuckey's aggression has seemed to lessen recently. Um, coach...I think that's what you're for. Although, you must give Curry some credit. He was recently spotted on the sidelines with his nose buried in the latest edition of "Coaching For Dummies", so at least we know he's trying.

Critics are quick point to the addition of Allen Iverson as the cause of the Pistons recent struggles, saying Iverson isn't a good fit for the team chemistry. Which immediately begs the question, what team chemistry? The Pistons are a group of proven, talented dudes, none of which seem like they would ever think about hitting up the local Hooters with each other after the game. Especially since Tayshaun Prince now refuses to eat food based on self image issues. Turns out he thinks if he gets up over 110 pounds, it makes his face look fat. Rasheed Wallace - yes 6'11", 230 pound forward Rasheed Wallace - has stubbornly declined his coach's request to spend even a single second inside the painted area, and is still convinced he's a 6"2" shooting guard, who's primary job is to hover around the 3 point line declaring "I'm open, I'm open". And to make matters worse, Walter Herrmann is still on the roster.

If there is a bright spot for the team with the it's longest losing streak in 7 years, it's Antonio McDyess. During the Pistons current skid, McDyess has remained consistent, averaging 11 points and 10 rebounds a contest. He's the solid, bring your lunch pail kind of player who serves as the lone reminder of what made the Pistons so successful for so long.

So how do they turn it around? Answering that question is more difficult than explaining how the universe made it possible for one mascot to throw a ball backwards over his head from half court and have it bounce off another mascot's special zone, then drop down through the hoop. The similarity between the two explanations might be that they both require many things to happen all at exact moments. Firstly, Michael Curry will need to stop crying, remove his head from his hands, and start doing something that resembles coaching. The Pistons brain trust has to realize that Allen Iverson doesn't adapt to your team, your team adapts to Allen Iverson. You hand him the ball and tell him "now run along and make things happen". In a perfect world, allowing Iverson to do so will inspire young Stuckey to do more of the same. The Pistons need to look to Prince to be primarily a lock down defender, and lead by example when it comes to defensive intensity. Someone needs to convince Rasheed Wallace that just because the floor is painted in that one area, that doesn't mean it will start your shoes on fire. Finally, the equipment manager needs to take everything that's in Walter Herrmann's locker and hide it somewhere different every day. Hopefully, by the time Herrmann tracks down his uniform, the game will already have ended.

Under .500 for the first time since 2000-01, should Pistons fans be worried that the playoffs are out of reach? Not really. The Pistons still play in the Eastern Conference, and just about everybody else sucks too.

Bango Gets Bucked

First Milwaukee Bucks All Star shooting guard Michael Redd tore up his knee. Then, former #1 pick Andrew Bogut went down with a season-ending back injury. Days later, starting point guard Luke Ridnour broke his thumb in practice. As if Bucks fans needed another reason to believe their season is cursed, there was the news that even the mascot couldn't make it past the All Star break without a major injury.

In the link below, you'll see how it happened. It's an opportunity for Bango to teach us all the important lesson that just when you think it can't get any worse, it usually does.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f_VdySnHsJY

Yep, that's Bango the Buck providing an assist to Charlotte Bobcats mascot Rufus with a little help from his pearls. In an attempt to draw attention away from his embarrassing faux pas, Bango decided to resort to the always popular "dropping yourself through the basket, while tearing your ACL". At first glance, somewhat impressive. After further review, probably not the ideal way to help the crowd forget you just had a ball thrown off yours from half court.

A Hero Returns Home

I've spent the past three days brainstorming ways to write about something other than Ken Griffey Jr's return to the Mariners, only to come to the conclusion that it's unavoidable. The reason being, in modern day professional sports, this just doesn't happen. In modern day sports, Brett Favre throws a tantrum, and ends up playing for the Jets. In modern day sports, Michael Jordan ends his career playing for the Washington Wizards. In modern day sports, Roger Clemens ends his career by attempting to invent the word "misremember" in a court of law.

In an arena so filled with cynicism, so filled with contempt for the over paid athlete, sports fans simply do not get the chance to experience something like this. The one-time savior of a city, who was led away by circumstance, making the sentimental decision to end his career where it all began. And the city of Seattle might just owe it all to a teenage girl.

According to Griffey's agent Brian Goldberg, it was Griffey's daughter Taryn, who played quite possibly the largest role in her father's decision. Griffey's biggest hold up with his return to Seattle was the distance that would be between him and his family during the season. His daughter attends school in Atlanta(insert snicker here), and Griffey was concerned with missing - amongst other events - her basketball games. It was Wednesday afternoon, the day that Griffey was due to announce his decision, that Taryn returned home from school to find her father still agonizing over the choice at hand. Taryn told her father that it was her events he would be missing the most of, and that she thought he should return to Seattle. And now, I would like to propose that this year, the Marniers replace Franklin Gutierrez bobblehead day with one of Taryn Griffey. Seattle city officials had better be FedEx-ing this girl a key to the city, like now-style.

Griffey's return has brought a joy to the city that hasn't been seen since the Seahawks reached the Super Bowl. Local sports radio has been filled with grown men calling in to confess how the news brought them to tears. Fathers recalling memories of when they were a child and went to the ballpark to see a 19 year-old Griffey begin his career, and how they're sons and daughters now have the chance to share in the memories of Griffey's return. Perhaps the ultimate irony of this situation might be that a sacrifice by Taryn Griffey, that will cause her family to be farther apart, will now provide so many Mariners fans' families the chance to create memories that will bring them a little closer.

Slam dunk? Not so much.

For recreational NBA fans such as myself, Saturday night was possibly the most attractive night of the season. The slam dunk competition has provided countless memories for fans in the past. From the unforgettable battles between Michael Jordan and Dominique Wilkins in the 80's, to Vince Carter's super human display in 2000, to Dwight Howard's spectacular performance just one year ago, Saturday night looked to be the perfect opportunity to create more history. Unfortunately, someone forgot to inform the contestants.

Last year, it was Dwight Howard strapping on a cape and flying through the air ala Clark Kent's alter ego that put the final touches on a contest in which Gerald Green blew out a candle in a cupcake that was placed on the back of the rim while making the dunk and not moving the cupcake. So you can see why the anticipation was high for this year, as Howard was now back to defend his title.

For starters, Saturday's contestants were Howard, Nate Robinson, JR Smith and Rudy Fernandez. With the exception of Howard, it's hardly a noteable group of players, much less prolific dunkers. In his first attempt, Fernandez (a first year NBA player from Spain) took off his jersey to reveal another jersey he had underneath with the number 10 and the name Martin on the back. I was so distracted by trying to figure out who the hell Martin was, that I missed his dunk. Since I was DVRing it, I was able to go back and watch it again...turns out I didn't miss much. For his second dunk, he employed current Laker - and fellow countryman - Pau Gasol. 7 missed attempts later, I found myself questioning the meaning of life. The good news is JR Smith's second dunk only took him 6 attempts.

It's at this point I would like to propose a new rule. If you're in the dunk contest, and it takes you more than 4 attempts to successfully complete it, not only do you never get to participate in future dunk contests, but you are forced to go straight to the locker room and read "Sarah: How a Hockey Mom Turned Alaska's Political Establishment on Its Ear," by Kaylene Johnson, from cover to cover before you go to back to your hotel room. For some reason, I think that would alleviate the problem.

That left Robinson and Howard to battle it out. For his first dunk, Robinson pulled out the "toss the ball in the air, catch it off the bounce, and reverse dunk it". Yeah, the same dunk that's been done by at least one player every year since 1986. For his second dunk, Robinson jumped off the back of fellow Knick Wilson Chandler. Yes, you read that right, jumped off the back of another player. That's a trick I did in 9th grade to allow me to dunk. How that warranted a score of 43 in an NBA dunk contest, I'll never know.

Howard did manage to entertain on his second dunk. When handed the ball, Howard looked into the distance and summoned a forklift with a hoop strapped to it's tines. The forklift brought the alternate hoop out to the court and raised it up to a height of 12 feet. Then, as the famous Superman song played, Howard stepped into a phone booth that had also been brought court side, and changed into character. He emerged from the booth donning his cape, and proceeded to make the seemingly impossible feat look unbelievably easy, by taking a pass from teammate Jameer Nelson off the backboard and throwing it down. This was the lone youtube-able moment of the evening.

In the final round, Robinson, did another toss up dunk, followed by a dunk where he jumped over Howard, who stood just in front of the hoop. While it was an impressive show of sportsmanship by Howard, Robinson again used the shoulder of Howard to push off for the dunk. For his final dunk of the evening, Howard took off from just inside the free throw line. That move stopped being cool when a warmup jacket-wearing Brent Barry used it to win in 1996.

Fan voting determined the winner this year, because apparently everything in the world is now being decided in the format of American Idol. I texted my vote in for Clay Aiken, but I guess America didn't see it the same way. Robinson - yes, the same Robinson that jumped off a player's back for one of his dunks - was declared the winner, and I was left to grab a stiff drink, pop in my DVD of Perfect Strangers, and try to forget it all ever happened.

It's too good to be true...isn't it?

There are a lot of Seattle Mariner fans who spent a fair amount of time at their respective desks today feeling a little uncomfortable. And there's a very good reason for it. Any Mariners fan randomly scanning the daily sports headlines while they're supposed to be working on spreadsheets would have stumbled upon this next golden nugget of goodness. Word on the street is the Seattle Mariners are mere days away from bringing him back...yes, him...the greatest Seattle Mariner of all time. Albeit a decade older and probably 75% of the player he was when he left, but still, any true Mariner fan with any weakness in their bladder at all, most likely peed just a little bit when they read the following

Ken Griffey Jr is coming back. The latest reports have him joining the Mariners as early as next Wednesday. And for a city so downtrodden by the lack of success of their local sports teams - no Husky basketball, I didn't forget about you, it's just early - this is the type of news that will make you believe that maybe Obama will fix everything. As of yesterday, Mariners fans had little to cling to, you can read my installment entitled Yes He Can for proof. However, the return of Seattle's all time favorite son could prove the be the proverbial rope being tossed into a sea of dog-paddling Mariner fans.

When Griffey returned to Seattle last year as a member of the Cincinnati Reds for a weekend series, the city celebrated the entire weekend. Not just for 10 minutes before the Friday night game, but the entire weekend. I was fortunate enough to be in the stands at Safeco for the first game of the series. When they introduced Griffey before the game, the the roar of the crowd was deafening. The standing ovation lasted for what seemed like an hour. And he was playing for the other team. Imagine the reception he would get on Opening Day 2009 when he trots out between the lines in a Mariner uniform again.

The Mariners most powerful bat is currently Russell Branyan, and no, you're not supposed to know who that is. Which just drives home the point. Injecting Griffey into this lineup right now suddenly makes it credible, gives them a little better chance of dodging the cellar this year, and most certainly gives fans a reason to go to the ballpark. Suddenly, you have Ichiro leading off, Jose Lopez batting second, Adrian Beltre batting third, and Griffey hitting cleanup. If you're a Mariner fan and you're not smiling a little bit after reading that, take your right hand, extend your first two fingers, gently place them just to the right side of your esophagus, and see if you feel anything. I'm guessing you might not.

Ken Griffey Jr. can create a memory every time he steps into the box, and Seattleites know that more than anyone. At this point in his career, he may not hit 40 home runs or drive in 130, but it's a personal guarantee he'll pump some life back into Safeco. His personality is infectious, he's a terrific role model, he's a Hall of Famer, and most of all, he's the ultimate Seattle Mariner.

Jack Zduriencik, if you make this happen, I will find you. And when I do, I'm going to have a single rose in my hand. If you don't want me to kiss you directly on the mouth, I suggest you run the other way.

And now, the moment you've all been waiting for...

Today, February 11th, 2009, Brett Favre officially retired from football. Stop your snickering, this time he's serious. Alright, to avoid being a total hypocrite, I must take back my last statement. Snicker all you want, snicker it up. In fact, let's put together the largest conference call in conference call history, just so we can all snicker together. Perhaps this is my chance to make the Guinness Book of World Records.

After hearing the news of Favre's retirement today, I struggled to a find more exemplary description of a boy crying wolf. After seeing Brett nail the "crying" portion of the program last year, only to return three months later, I really don't think there is one. Sure, Michael Jordan went away, completely sucked at a baseball for a couple minutes, came back, showed everyone why he's the best basketball player ever, left again, came back, played for some CBA team called the Wizards and finally moved to the front office. By comparison, Favre held the Packers hostage for consecutive off seasons, followed that up last year with an end of the season press conference, where he sobbed and talked about how he didn't have the fire anymore. When everyone basically said "We're cool with that, see you in Canton", Mr. Sassypants decided he wasn't getting enough attention, and came back claiming he was ready to go. Only this time, nobody believed the little boy, and went about their business. The Packers moved on, Favre threw a public fit worthy of eternal mockery, and had to go play for the Jets. As for what happened with the Jets...all I will say is this, I thoroughly enjoyed being at Qwest Field for the Seahawks/Jets game last December.

Sure, every player that has been as good for the sport as Favre has been for football, deserves the chance to go out on their own terms. However, that's kind of assuming "their own terms" isn't defined as "pretending to retire 5 years in a row". This brings us to the reason everyone is not so secretly snickering today.

Favre says he's done. I say the Vikings have a relatively vacant position at quarterback. And truthfully, how hard is it for you to picture the following. It's July, we haven't heard from Brett in a while. The Jets have corralled themselves up a free agent quarterback that can serve as a starter while mentoring their newly drafted quarterback of the future. But it's all good, because after watching Favre tank in December, the Big Apple wants him to get lost anyway. Vikings coach Brad Childress is set to hold a press conference, and everyone in the world knows what's coming next. Childress tells us that "After preparing for the Vikings for 17 years, Favre's transition into the Vikings offensive system will be considerably easier than it would be for any other player in game." Childress then goes on to tell us how "bringing Favre in just fits...", and that he "...can't wait to get started." Favre gets his shot at revenge. In fact, he gets at least two shots at revenge.

I'm not saying it's going to happen. What I am saying is that it's pathetically easy to imagine it happening. And unfortuately, I believe it would leave about 40% of "die-hard Packer fans" sporting a purple and gold #4 jersey. As for the other 60% of Packer fans, well, they'd just be a little more disenchanted with professional atheletes, and a little closer to breaking that rule of not shotgunning a Bud Light before 8 AM on game day.

So I beg of you Favre, leave the Wranglers on and stay home for good. The people of my beloved home state have suffered enough.

A-Rod's a liar. Tell me something I don't know.

With the news coming today that Alex Rodriguez failed 2 tests for illegal substances in 2003, I'm left asking myself, where's the news? What is the surprising portion of this program? It would seem to me that any person with a functioning set of peepers should have made this rather safe assumption anyway. I mean, look at him. He looks like a robot engineered to play the game of baseball. And for those of you who are finding yourself surprised by this news, here's another news flash...Bruce Springsteen colors his hair.

Predictably, A-Rod has refused to comment on this situation, and has directed all questions to the players union, while he waits to for his directive from his boss, Madonna. Oh wait, she's moved on, never mind. A-Rod now faces the challenge that so many professional athletes have faced in the past, how to tell the public that he's an idiot and a liar, all while appearing genuinely remorseful for the err of his ways.

Personally, I can't wait to see how this turns out. He stated in an interview with Katie Couric that he's "never felt over matched on the baseball field". Well, how about in the interview chair? Who will be the first to nail him down? To get him to admit that he took steroids. Who will become the new age Frost to our generation's Nixon. Alright, I've officially over-dramatized this situation enough. Moving on...

Alex Rodriguez took steroids, so what? What does it really mean? Do steroids increase your hand/eye coordination, and allow you to hit .300 consistently on a major league level? No. Do they decrease the amount of errors you make on the field? No. Do they make you smarter? Apparently, no.

Cynics will say that steroids helped A-Rod hit more home runs. Well, if we're making the assumption that A-Rod isn't taking performance-enhancing drugs anymore, I would humbly make the following observation. In 2003, A-Rod hit 47 home runs. In the years following, he hit 36, 48, 35, 54 and 35. See what I'm getting at here? If you're saying that his MVP year of 2003 is due to steroids, then how is it that he produced better numbers in every offensive category in 2007? Of course, that's assuming he stopped taking performance-enhancing drugs.

Who's the real issue with here? A-Rod, or Major League Baseball. After all, it's 2009, and these tests are from 2003. That's like, a bunch of years ago. Somebody had to keep this secret under wraps. Are people still seriously hung up on this? For real? Or does everyone just hate smug, ego-maniacal, baseball players? I beg you to allow me to pitch the following idea. From this point forward, we live our lives under the assumption that between the years of 1985 and 2005, the majority of players were on steroids. Yes, that includes Barry Bonds(and yes, I specifically pointed that out for those of you who were surprised with the Springsteen's hair thing...cause sometimes you don't pick up on stuff quickly). Baseball failed to self-regulate, and most of them were stronger than they should have been. Anyone who played during that time period and resembled the strapping physique of John Kruk or David Wells is off the hook. Miller Lite does not count as a performance-enhancing drug. To say that the statistics from that time period do not count is ridiculous. They count. They're in the books and they're not going away, and we're not going to put a stupid asterisk by every one of them.

Yes, A-Rod denied ever using performance enhancing drugs in the aforementioned interview with Katie Couric. That makes him a liar, but that was before the news of his positive test was revealed. Now I don't know about you, but if the police show up at my door and ask me if I was speeding last week when I was on the freeway, I would undoubtedly answer "no". When they then showed video of me speeding and them with a radar gun on me, I'd probably direct all further questions to the union.

Michael Phelps, Certified Genius

Really Michael Phelps?! Really?! News flash homey, people know who you are, and they're watching. You should probably save the bong hits for when you're in trustworthy company. And at this point in your life, "trustworthy company" consist of yourself, and maybe...wait, on second thought, pretty much just yourself.

I admit, I'm no genius, but if I had just become the greatest Olympian of all time, I'm pretty sure I'd keep the Chong-ish antics inside my own home. Then again, nobody accused Michael Phelps of being a genius. This is the same Michael Phelps that thought it was a sweet idea to scoop up a bi-sexual porn actress as his leading lady following his legendary performance in Beijing. The same Michael Phelps who thought he'd put on a good show as host of SNL. Yeah, genius seems like a bit of a stretch.

His latest faux pas begs the question, who's babysitting this guy?! Doesn't this kid have a publicist? If he does, perhaps that person deserves to quickly join the ranks of the unemployed. Although, if that person is interested in keeping their job, I have a some humble advice. Phelps lost his sponsorship earlier today with the Kellogg Company, probably due to the fact that cereal isn't hugely popular with the pot community. If his publicist were smart, they would have immediately put in calls to such reefer-related companies such as Hot Pocket, Cheetos and Domino's. Now there's a couple companies who's main customer base could relate to Phelps.

Imagine yourself recently having paid a visit to the pipe. You gracefully waltz your way to the kitchen on a mission to fill your empty belly. You pop open the freezer to survey your options, and you notice a box with a svelte, 23 year-old Olympic champion gripping on to a Ham & Cheese Hot Pocket. You think to yourself - and remember, you just visited the pipe - "maybe if I eat enough Hot Pockets, I'll be an Olympic champion". Or perhaps it's you and your buddies, hanging out in your studio apartment playing Fall Out 3, stoned out of your minds, and starving. You think to yourself "what would Michael Phelps do", and suddenly you remember that commercial you saw earlier in the day. "He would totally order Domino's," the group shouts simultaneously. And frankly, at this point, it seems like he would.

It is here that I start to begin thinking that perhaps Mr. Phelps is indeed a genius. Today he was suspended from swimming for 3 months, which is the equivalent of giving the naughty kid a 3 day, out of school suspension. You just gave Phelps a mandatory 3 month vacation, less than 6 months post-Olympics. I'm sure he's devastated. The dude's obviously got things going on outside of the pool. The governing body also pulled his sponsorship for the same 3 month period. Um, I think he can probably afford it. If he's hard up for cash, he can just melt down one of the 265 gold medals he's got in that shoebox underneath his bed.

How does this all affect his image? Honestly, it probably makes him more of an American icon. I mean, what's more American than hanging out with your porn actress girlfriend, mouth over a bong, bumpin' uglies to the sweet sounds of Carrie Underwood? Alright, so there's no proof that Phelps listens to Carrie Underwood, yet, but you get my point. Who does America love more, Mark Spitz or Dave Chappelle?

My apologies Mike, perhaps it's me who's the dummy.

Attention NFL Owners With A Vacant Coaching Position

Your dreams have come true. I have found you your next head coach. He is young, full of zest for life, and quite possibly, the ultimate motivational speaker. He may be a little rough around the edges when it comes to the West Coast offense. He may not be able to make a firm decision on whether the team should run a 3-4 or 4-3 defensive front. He may not even like the game, big deal? What you really want is a marketable, pretty face. Someone who can woo your fans when he's being interviewed as he jogs into the locker room at halftime. Someone who can light a fire under an underachieving group of professional monsters, and turn a 17 point halftime deficit into a thrilling, last second 3 point victory. And if he happens to be Batman in his free time, well then all the better for memorabilia sales.

The link below will take you to an audio clip from the set of the latest Terminator movie, starring Christian Bale. If your ears are sensitive to swears, you're going to want to get the muffs out. What Christian appears to be doing is what's commonly referred to as "motivating the troops". Unfortunately, he seems to sacrifice the personal pride of one of his team members. It really has nothing to do with sports, and seemingly has no place in my blog, but if you were ever wondering what Christian said after finding out The Dark Knight wasn't nominated for an Oscar in the Best Picture category, I'm guessing it might be similar to what's heard here. Someone needs to tell the caterer to limit the amount of Red Bull Mr. Bale is allowed to have. Enjoy the sweet whispers of an American Psycho...

http://www.movieweb.com/news/NEyT1BAGS3QICC


Perhaps it was Heath who put it best when he so eloquently posed the question "Why so serious?"