Putting the Gamma Radiation in Your Sportiverse

This is the slow period of the sporting calendar.

I could write that previous sentence literally every week of the year but 16, so it has the value of being both true and reliably cliched. All we've got is baseball--and the NHL finals and NBA semis and college Lacrosse tournament, but you know what I mean. Summer is almost here, the lilacs are beautiful, the girls wear short skirts, the cops circle-dance in moonlit meadows, but sports? Like an Ambien bender during a Rick Steves marathon.



It's not because I don't care about the NBA and the NHL--well, about the NBA anyway--but I simply can't be bothered to invest in these current series. Lakers versus the Spurs? I'm rooting for a double bus crash. Pistons against the Celtics? Hmmm...two of the most obnoxious fan bases in America and the most thoroughly bludgeoned story line in the league in KG and Pierce and Allen and their respective haloes. Think I'll sit that one out too.

And even if I was one of the 46 people in North America who regularly watched hockey regardless of whether or not the local squad is playing, I'd naturally shun Penguins versus the Red Wings. Not because of any particular animus toward the Pittsburgh team, I mean those crazy fuckers used to actually let a live penguin waddle out on the ice, but no one outside the rotting metropolis of Detroit or the historically insignificant country of Sweden cares about the Red Wings, and I hate being force-fed any player as a league savior, like those masterminds at Versus and the CBC have tried to do with Crosby.

So for now it's chuckling at the ineptitude of former Post writer Bill Williamson on ESPN's Hashmarks blog. That'll have to last me until minicamp at least.