Bloggin for Dollars...Again

Yeah, it's been a few weeks.


No, I'm not apologizing.


If you're wondering what I've been doing since I last posted, here's a quick rundown:


* Predicting the outcome of the Pacuiao-Cotto fight with frightening accuracy. Click that link again if you think I'm joking. No I'm not clairvoyant. I just really know the sweet science... and sometimes I get lucky.


* Celebrating my 33rd at Babaluu with the Cuban Sunday crew.


* Getting fat on thanksgiving with some help from Harold, Garrett, and my sister.


* Getting ripped with fast company.


But the biggest reason for my absence from this space is that I'm blogging for dollars again, and this time it's about something I love.


The fight game.


This particular idea is three years in the making, a week old on the web and full of value added.


Like video!





Understand that managers in the moribund world of print media live and die by web stats, basing each writer's worth as a human being on the number of hits his or her stories attract. I haven't seen the numbers on this blog yet, but I do know that the Mayweather-Pacquiao post  has generated 48 published comments so far. Granted, it's not ESPN-level traffic (1698 comments and counting for their Mayweather-Pacman story), but its an insane about of feedback for a post on a sport that's supposed to have died five years ago.


MOREOVER... The video embedded above -- the one I KNOW you all clicked on is as of this very moment the third-most popular video at thestar.com.


!!!!


Barack Obama's Nobel speech has me beat, but for right now I'm enjoying my two-spot lead over Chris Bosh and his new tattoos.


Help me maintain it.


Click again. Comment often. 


The industry's in trouble and some folks are doing desperate things in order to survive.


I'm just trying to build a brand.


One click at a time.

On PacMan and Cotto

I know it's a great week on the gig when they allow me to take a break from the daily trade rumours surrounding Roy Halladay and weigh in on the biggest fight of 2009. Short of them actually sending to Vegas to cover Pacquiao and Cotto live, it's the best assignment a sportswriter and lover of the sweet science could hope for.





I haven't seen every episode of the most recent edtion of HBO's outstanding 24/7 documentary series (it somehow never made it to air in Canada), so I haven't as in tune with the pre-fight buildup as I would like to be. But or months now I've been listening to friends, ex-fighters journalists weigh in on how they think the fight will unfold.


Jason Abelson, founding member of The Fight Network and host of Pound-for-Pound Radio says Pacquiao shreds Cotto, point blank.


Meanwhile, former three-division world champ Felix "Tito" Trinidad says Cotto y su corazon latino will find a way to win.


And what do I think?


I think Pacqiao wins, but at a price.


*Again, a disclaimer. Fight predictions made here are pretty damn reliable, but are neither 100 percent accurate nor legally binding. If you bet based on my predictions but somehow lose, don't go blaming me. Even the World's Greatest makes mistakes. Sometimes.*


Floyd Mayweather supporters might dispute the assertion that Pacquiao is the best fighter in boxing, but there's no doubting that Pac Man's December dismantling of Oscar De La Hoya and springtime destruction of Ricky Hatton make him the hottest boxer in the sport right now. He's improving every time out and packing plenty of power even when he ventures north of 140, and Mayweather's camp has to respect that even if they don't fear it.


HOWEVER, hot does not mean indestructible. 


Shane Mosley was the hottest fighter in boxing in 2001 when the late Vernon Forrest derailed him with a stiff jab and a sick right cross.


In 2008 Cotto, confident and undefeated, was in the same spot -- white hot until Antonio Margarito cooled him off with an 11th-round knockout, breaking Cotto's spirit and, it appears, several facial bones.





But that fight cost Margarito just as much as it did Cotto, because even in winning Margarito displayed weaknesses that Mosley would later exploit -- slow feet, a porous defence and a little too much confidence in his chin. Combine all that with a quick-thinking corner (hey commish, you mind double-checking Margarito's hand wraps?) and it adds up to the worst beating Margarito has ever suffered.


So what's that got to do with Pacquiao?


Everything.


Pacqiao should win this fight. I'm thinking late TKO (because Cotto cuts) or a fairly close decision. Cotto's stronger and naturally the bigger fighter, but Pacquiao is just too fast and busy and tenacious to lose.


But of everyone Pacquiao has faced since moving up from lightweight, Cotto is the closest to the top of his game. He's experienced but not old, and a better technician than most observers realize. With his jab and his body attack he could give Pacquiao fits, exposing flaws that others might attack later.


OK, not "others." 


Other.


Floyd Mayweather.


He may not Kanye West the post-fight interview like Sugar Shane did in September, but you best believe he'll be somewhere in that arena, taking notes, making plans, and moving us all a little closer to the biggest fight the sport can offer.


As long as Pacquiao does his part.

Baseball, Boxing and Say it Aint Sosa

On Baseball


Back on the job, back on the blog.


Didn't mean to leave you guys hanging this long, but I just spent about 10 days off work and offline. I returned full time to the office and the blog on Monday, just in time to realize that baseball (you know, that sport I actually get paid to write about) has no off season. Just a series of meetings, transactions and, above all, rumours to liven the dead time between the World Series and Spring training.


And as they did this past summer, the rumours I care about surround the Blue Jays and their ace, Roy Halladay.



Roy Halladay leaves the mound after his last, last, final last start as a Jay...Perhaps


On Boxing


Of course, if you know the World's Greatest then you know baseball is only half the story this week. And if you know me then you already know the other half is the sweet science -- specifically Saturday's welterweight showdown between Manny Pacquiao and Miguel Angel Cotto.


If this fight doesn't have you excited then you don't love boxing. And if you don't love boxing then you need to watch this fight and let two of the top fighters on the planet change your mind.





Later this week, when I've had a few more hours to think and the guys who pay me have publish a story I wrote recently on the Pacquiao Effect, I'll weigh in on how this fight should unfold. Until then, check out Greg Bishop's highly readable feature in the New York Times about the relationship between Pacquiao and trainer Freddie Roach. I wish I could say my upcoming Pacquiao piece outshines this one, but Bishop's story is likely the best read anyone will pen on this fight, period.


Say it Ain't Sosa


I don't even know what to say for Sammy. 




First saw the image last Satuday, when the GF pulled it up and asked me to identify the man next to buxom brunette.


I couldn't.


I could tell from the background that the photo was snapped at the Latin Grammys, and in my head I ran a slideshow if every salsa singer I could think of and a few I can't even name, and none of them matched the photo.


I was stumped.



Then she filled me in.


Sammy Sosa.


Yikes.


Now, I understand that a man can change. I saw Sammy Sosa morph from a scrawny outfielder with a juicy jheri curl and warning track power to a 220-pound home run machine.


I also watched him evolve from a fringe player at Comiskey, to Wrigley fan favourite when he was bashing balls on to Waveland Ave., to a pariah when people figured out he had some pharmaceutical help in becoming one of the game's premier power hitters.


The one constant through all this change has been Sammy's skin colour.


He was a black dude when he struggled through his early career with the Sox and Rangers, and just as black when he took the witness stand in a congressional hearing about steroid use and suddenly forgot how to speak English.


But now, two years past his last major league game, he's lighter than Julian Bond? 


Did he trade drug tests for paper bag tests?


Makes no sense.


His friends have tried to explain away this latest change in Sosa's appearance, telling media outlets that he's simply undergoing a process that "rejuvenates" his skin.


But scroll up and tell me if that explains why his eyes, which used to be brown, are now Erick Sermon-hazel. Or if it explains why his hand is three shades darker than his face. Or if it explains his hair, which is strangely straight even by jheri curl standards. Back in the day folks called that a "conk," and Chris Rock just made a documentary about how painful, expensive and unhealthy that process is.


But I could be wrong.


I don't know the man or what's motivating this latest change. 


All I know is what I see, and what I see is, frankly, freaky.

Boxing Does Something Right

Yesterday we riffed on Bernard Hopkins' full frontal assault on mixed martial arts' manhood, and in response many of my readers -- okay, two of them... all two of them -- pointed out that the frustrating tendency of top boxers to avoid each other isn't exactly macho, either.



Sadly, this might be the closest these two ever come to meeting. As a bodybuilding contest, it's a draw


Point taken. 


As excited as we all are about the resurgence of the sweet science since May 2007, when Floyd Mayweather and Oscar De La Hoya clashed in the biggest non-heavyweight pay-per-view ever, true fans realize that old problems could undermine recent progress. 


Fans both hardcore and casual understand that the biggest fight in the sport in 2010 would be a showdown between Mayweather and Manny Pacquiao, provided Pacquiao defeats Miguel Cotto in November. But as the Cotto bout draws closer, the Mayweather fight looks less and less certain. 


As predicted by the World's Greatest in September, Pacquiao's people are looking for reasons not to make this fight happen.


By now we know the drill. A fight we want to see bogs down in negotiations, marketable fighters pursue less lucrative options, and the maddening dance continues.


That's why I'm so excited about the Super Six Boxing World Boxing Classic.


Six of the top supermiddleweights in the world matched in a round robin tournament to determine the division's top fighter.


No bickering over contracts and purses. That's was all done month ago, the eventual settling of differences making this event possible.


No ducking tough opponents to safeguard spotless records. Four fighters enter the tournament undefeated, but all realize an "0" must go.


And no lacklustre matchups giving boxing fans reasons to watch something else. 


Just big fights between top contenders, and an impressive documentary detailing the beyond-the-ring struggles required to put this event together.





How big a deal is this event?


Put it to you this way:


In a hockey-obsessed city, with the the local team attracting unprecedented attention for their unprecedented suckitude, I managed to sell my editors on a story about the tournament, even though it includes neither Canadians nor hockey players.


That's big.


Look for the story in Saturday's Star. And if you can't track down the paper I'll post the link here.

Radio Hit -- Da Art Of Storytellin'

No, not Outkast and The Ruler, though I'm sure that song brings a lot of us back to simpler times (for me, senior year at the Harvard of the Midwest).

Instead, I'm talking about the half hour I spent in the studio this afternoon with Sarah Meehan, host of Underscore on Hardcore Sports Radio (Sirius Channel 98). We've been trying to connect since late August, when producer Corey Erdman called to ask if I'd like to appear on the show to talk about "Long Shots," the narrative project that won me a National Newspaper Award a few years back.

Of course, I accepted the invitation, eager for any opportunity to talk to sports fans about how great I am. But when I stepped into the studio today the conversation quickly veered off into the handful of topics that give me greater pleasure than talking about myself does -- the relevance of newspaper sports sections, the effect of social media on the mainstream press, the future of sportswriting in a digital word.

In short, we explored the Art of Storytelling in a world that seems to have outgrown narrative.

If you missed the previous link to the podcast and want to hear my impassioned yet rational explanation of how narrative will never die, click here.

Could have talked all day, but I had to do all the damage I could in the allotted 25 minutes. I'm pretty sure I gave listeners something to think about without saying anything that'll get me fired. These days folks are sensitive about what employees say in public.

Anyway, if you're a media junkie or just a Morgan Campbell fan with time on your hands, please click the links and listen.

In the meantime, pardon me while I flop on the couch and continue my research for next week's assignment.

It's a rough life...

My Thoughts On Boxing

First, we'll focus on the local....

As first reported by the World's Greatest Sportswriter on his 9-to-5, Brampton, Ont. native, two-time Olympian, and perennial damn-near world class cruiserweight Troy Ross is finally scheduled to fight for a world title.

He's got an opponent, Ola Afolabi; and a date, June 20. Only thing this WBO world title bout doesn't have is a venue. But if it comes to the GTA, you know who will be all over it, bringing you guys both the stories and the stories behind them.

It'll be a pretty big deal if they can pull it off. Clearly, it's not Pacquiao vs. Mayweather (more on that in a minute), but it's a viable complement to the Rumble at Rama series that since 2007 has brought big-time pro boxing back to an Ontario market that been dormant for two decades.

Will keep you all posted at the 9-to-5, and any interesting info I can't squeeze into the paper you can find right here, so stay tuned.

Now let's change the focus from the local to the global, as in Manny Pacquiao, Floyd Mayweather and the quest to become (and remain) the best pound-for-pound boxer on the planet.

Folks have been asking me to weigh in on the subject since last Saturday, when Mayweather announced his comeback, and Pacquiao flattened Ricky Hatton.

Mostly, the questions come from people who know me as a Money Mayweather proponent (as long as he's not rapping, that is) curious as to how the Pretty Boy can last six rounds against the Pac Man. These guys point out that Mayweather needed 12 rounds to decision Oscar De La Hoya and 10 to dispatch Hatton, while Pacquiao finished Oscar in eight and blasted Hatton in two.

And honestly, only a hater or a fool would dismiss Pacquiao's spectacular performances lately. There's no ignoring his uncanny combination of speed, power and aggressiveness, and how those tool could give anyone fits, not to mention a concussion.

Still, after Mayweather beats up on Juan Manuel Marquez on July 18 (and he will, guys... let's be serious), he'll handle Pacquiao whenever those two connect.

Why am I so sure Mayweather can tame the man who so thoroughly dominated two guys who made Mayweather work?

Because past results don't make fights.

Styles and circumstances do.

Again, not to diminish Pacquiao's spectacular run, but we need to look at these performances in context. The Oscar he destroyed in December 2008 was not the Oscar that Mayweather decisioned in May 2007.

The Oscar that faced Mayweather did so as junior middleweight after a training camp with Freddie Roach. He was a comfortable at the weight and equipped with a game plan, but couldn't impose it on a far superior boxer.

Feliz cinco de Mayo. Tu regalo? Un left hook! iQue golpazo!

Eighteen months later, with a different trainer, he faced Pacquiao drained from making the 147 pound limit. During pre-fight instructions Roach (who trains Pacquiao) saw I.V. marks in De La Hoya's arm, remnants of a desperate attempt to re-hydrate after the weigh in. At the bell Oscar and his I.V. marks tried to match speed with the division's fastest fighter, a flawed strategy that cost him dearly.

Oscar's pace, meet Manny's pist! Next time we pight in the Pilipines!

So yes, Pacquiao got rid of Oscar much more quickly than Mayweather did, but consider the circumstance then ask yourself if such a depleted fighter would have lasted any longer against Floyd.

Doubt it.

As for Hatton, both Mayweather and Pacquiao dominated him and the divergent results are due, once again, to styles and circumstances.

True to his style, Mayweather beat Hatton by attrition, breaking him down to the body before that emphatic, dramatic 10th round.

Pacquiao, meanwhile, bored in from different angles, launching big shots in volume -- as is his style.

But the fact that Floyd scored his knockout first is important, because Mayweather provided the blueprint for how to flatten Hatton.

I mean, how else did Pacquiao's camp figure out Hatton would walk into left and right hooks all night?

D'ya fancy a poonch up? I'll smash your fist with me noggin, yeah.

Exactly.

Circumstances.

So it really doesn't matter how good Pacquiao looked against Oscar and Hatton because neither of them is Floyd.

And Paquiao's not bullet-proof. He can, in fact, be hit, and by people much slower than Mayweather.

Pac-Man swallows a big right from Morales. Recovers after consuming power pellets between rounds.

Folks ask me how Floyd plans to deal with a quick and powerful southpaw who attacks from odd angles, and we have a clue in the way he handled Zab Judah -- he'll box, he'll stalk and he'll bang to the body.

But how will Pacquiao deal with a bigger man who is nearly as fast? Someone with footwork and a jab, the sharpest boxing mind of his generation and more power than his detractors like to admit?

Tough to say.

After feasting on a steady diet of Mexicans and a big helping of Hatton, Pacquiao has proven he can dismantle any fighter who leads with his chin.

Great.

But if he fights Floyd suddenly he can't commit to rapid-fire power shots because he can't be sure they'll land. Suddenly he'll have to deal with jabs and right hand leads upsetting his timing. And even if his game plan works, suddenly he'll have to solve a fighter who makes mid-fight adjustments better than anyone in the sport.

So to me the bigger question isn't whether Money May can handle Pac Man, but whether Pacquiao can become the first fighter to figure out Floyd.

I'm not saying he can't do it.

I just don't think he will.

Mayweather by decision.

Whenever it happens.

Contreras y Ramirez -- What didn't make the paper...

You wouldn't know it by checking this blog lately, but I'm still covering baseball at the Star, working toward becoming the world's greatest, walking 'round the planet earth making money and having fun.

Latest stop, Chicago, where I covered the Jays/Sox series and interviewed Chicago's Cuban twosome, Jose Contreras and Alexei Ramirez about the recent warming of relations between the U.S. and Cuba.

Upset at his team's performance in the World Baseball Classic, Fidel begins training for a comeback...

Now that you've read the story, here's the story behind it:

Although both men are optimistic that they might one day reunite with relatives back home, neither feels comfortable returning to the island as long as one of the Castro brothers runs it. Yes, the U.S. now allows Cuban emigrants to travel to the island freely, but Contreras explained as far as the political establishment is concerned, guys like him -- high profile athletes who defect for big money contracts in the U.S. -- aren't just emigrants.

They're traitors.

So until Cuba has a ruler more sympathetic to guys who leave the island to chase their dreams, Contreras says he'll continue living in the U.S., seeing his relatives when they receive special clearance to travel to the Dominican Republic, and pining for a return to his island.

Those are pretty important details, and I'm sure you're wondering why they're missing from the story. There might be an explanation that makes sense, but for now we'll have to blame a newspaper industry that still doesn't know how to interact with the Internet.

The story I filed was a little too long for the space reserved for it in the newspaper, so a few paragraphs had to go. I get that. But why those paragraphs couldn't run online, where space isn't restricted, is a mystery I still haven't solved.

A little further behind the story....

If you've been following this blog (and I know some of you were before I went AWOL), then sabes que yo he estado practicando mi espanol. Todavia no es perfecto pero esta mejorando un poco cada dia.

Still, that doesn't qualify me to interview guys like Contreras and Ramirez en espanol, so a day before sitting down with them I enlisted White Sox media relations staffer Lou Hernandez to translate.

Understand that I don't always need the help. Jays shortstop Marco Scutaro, for example, is a good sport. He lets me practice my Spanish on him in interviews and I usually understand about half of what he's telling me. And earlier this month I started interviewing Tigers slugger Magglio Ordonez when I heard his halting English and stopped him short.

"Si estas mas comodo hablando en espanol," I told him. "Podemos hacer la entrevista en espanol."

He sighed in relief and we moved on.

So while we waited for the translator I chatted with Contreras en espanol, and learned that he loves Toronto -- especially Babaluu -- but hates the cold weather up here.

I told him I felt his pain.

He and Ramirez were also intrigued that I've actually been to Cuba, and when I showed Contreras the Cuban tourist money I still carry in my wallet he explained proudly to a disbelieving Dominican teammate that the money is worth as much as U.S. cash.

While talking with Contreras I got to use one of my favourite Spanish words: Aunque.

Translation: "Even though."

As in, "Aunque Canada es mi pais, Chicago es mi ciudad."

And interviewing Ramirez allowed me my first ever opportunity to use a phrase I've been eager to drop in conversation: Vale la pena.

Translation: Is it worth the sorrow/heartache/trouble.

Like Contreras, Ramirez talked a lot about the difficulty of leaving relatives behind in Cuba, so I asked him si "vale la pena estar aqui?"

For the record, he said si, vale la pena because he's living an entire family's dream by playing in the majors.

Anyway, as my former AfAm studies professor Charles Payne used to say, I said all that to say this:

I'm glad I made the effort to learn more Spanish over the winter and I'll be back in the classroom as soon as time and my budget allow it.

After Ramirez finished his interview Hernandez told me he had never spoken so freely to a reporter since coming to the White Sox last season.

Now it might have been simply that he was in a talking mood that afternoon. He might have been just as talkative with any of the other reporters who stalk locker rooms before and after games looking to scavenge a quote or two.

But I'm betting I'm the first mainstream reporter to ask him in (halfway decent) Spanish how he felt about the political situation back home. And I know I'm the first person to interview him who has also seen Manolito Simonet in concert.

Pretty sure that scored some points too.

Spring Training Chapter 2... The Missing Link

FIRST THINGS FIRST:

We've been roach-free for 48 hours and counting.

Apparently an exterminator came by the condo this morning while we were at the ballpark just to make sure none of our friend's roach cousins were still skulking around, but I like to think my thorough thumping of our boy on Sunday night sent a clear message to the complex's roach community:

Don't eff with unit 1332.

Yeah, my six-legged neighbours know better than to come back up in here.

Anyway, it took me exactly two days on the Blue Jay beat to learn my college friend Raheem Covington is the "lookalike missing link" between me and Blue Jays pitching prospect Fabio Castro.

First, let me explain.

Each of us has a lookalike somewhere in the world. I've got quite a few -- everyone from Tommy Davidson to Vinnie from Naughty By Nature to the pretty boy backup singer from RnB one-hit wonder band, Ideal (that's him, back row on our left).



A missing link adds one degree of separation to the lookalike phenomenon, because he looks like two people who don't really resemble each other.

For example, rapper-turned-actor Will Smith looks like NBA championship magnet Robert Horry, who in turn looks like recently retired NBA center Alonzo Mourning, even though Smith and Mourning don't look all that similar.

See?

This guy:

Parents just don't understand...

This guy looks like this guy:

Horry, six championship rings not pictured.

Who looks like this guy:

Zo... but he don't look like Will

Got it?

Okay, so during my senior year at The Harvard of the Midwest I met Raheem Covington.

I had retired from the ball team by then and was working in the athletic department, and he was a freshman cornerback who looked JUST like me, except with a goatee (back then I was clean-shaven, like dude from Ideal). A little taller than me, but not by much. Similar athletic build, same skin tone, cheekbones, eyes and hair texture. More than one freshman chick I had never met walked up to me and started convos, thinking I was him.

Anyway, I always liked Raheem. Thought he was a handsome dude.

And this morning I swore he walked past me in Blue Jays' locker room. I knew Raheem had played a couple of years in the CFL, but had no clue he had remained in Canada and switched to baseball.

Turns out he hadn't.

It was a lookalike. Fabio Castro, a southpaw relief pitcher looking to jumpstart his career with the Jays this season.

But Castro doesn't look like me. I mean, he's a handsome dude, too, but besides being 5-foot-7 and brown skinned we don't look all that much alike. Raheem and I could pass for brothers, while Castro at best is a distant cousin on my dad's side.

See?

This handsome guy:

World's Greatest Sportswriter

Looks like this guy:

He loves Winnipeg despite the mosquitos...

Who in turn resembles this guy:

But he doesn't quite look like The World's Greatest

Haven't spoken to Castro yet. Not sure he speaks English. But even if he doesn't, estoy aprendiendo mas y mas espanol cada dia, so even if he knows no English, pienso que podemos hacer una entrevista en espanol.

Either way, by week's end, I'll have the story behind the story on the guy at the other end of the lookalike chain.

LOOKING AHEAD

All A-Roid, all the time.

Yankees visit Dunedin to open their preseason against the Jays, and apparently former MVP, admitted (under duress) steroid user and all-around stand-up guy Alex Rodriguez will play.

A month ago this game figured to be pretty mundane, but l'affaire d'A-Rod gives it a spicy subplot.

What a way to start spring training.

Can't wait.

Stay Tuned.

Spring Training, Day One -- Buggin Out

When you work in the newspaper business reminders accumulate daily that your way of life -- or at least your way of making a living -- is about to change profoundly.

Woke up this morning to learn that one more big city newspaper group is declaring bankruptcy. This time, it's Philly.

Still, life where I work hasn't been too bad by contrast. Thanks to the Star's sheer size (biggest paper in our market by far), the Canadian economy (which hasn't tanked as deeply as the U.S. economy... yet), and the 5 million or so employees who took buyouts last year, our place hasn't reached New York Times levels of poverty.

Yesterday I arrived in Tampa for Spring Training on a flight the company paid for, rented a car on the company credit card, and drove straight to the condo the company has rented through the end of March.

Yeah, life is still pretty good over here.

But look closely and you'll see subtle signs that the Rich Uncle's money is growing shorter.

Like the cockroach that scurried across the living room floor last night.



I was sorta surfing the internet and sort of watching the Oscars when I caught him in the corner of my right eye, a black dot emerging from the pantry and moving toward the front door.

He didn't move all that quickly, as though he were real comfortable here; as though his were his condo and we were just squatters. And he didn't seem scared. Even as I grabbed the Air Force One and cocked it back behind my head, he stood still, as if he knew I wasn't going to come into his house and disrespect him like this.

Like Hell.

I brought the AF-1 down hard across his back.

Whomp.

He disappeared briefly beneath my shoe. The floor vibrated. Dishes rattled on a nearby table.

And the cockroach?

He took my best shot and kept smiling. Stood there looking at me like, "Zat all you got?"

Naw, punk. I got some more for that behind.

Three quick ones.

Whomp. Whomp. Whomp.

The cockroach gloated no more.

I scooped him up and dropped him in the trash, then spent the rest of the night paranoid, Air Force One cocked like a hammer, just wishing some roach would walk his ass out into the living room looking for trouble.

Understand this:

I'm not scared of roaches.

I just hate them, just like my dad, and his dad before him.

I hate them for what they symbolize, which, more than anything, is poor hygiene, either in a household or in a building. I don't necessarily mean poverty -- I've lived in the hood and not had roaches.

I mean poor upkeep and a general lack of cleanliness.

I've been here before.

Grew up in a townhouse, and one year when I was real young a family from Jamaica moved in next door.

These. Folks. Were. Country.

They removed the panes and screens from their windows, so they just had holes in the side of their house. If the kids owned shoes, I didn't see them. And if they had indoor plumbing, nobody told their youngest boy, because he used the patch of asphalt in front of our house as his personal urinal.

A few weeks after they moved in, we started seeing roaches in our house. It took a while to figure out the bugs had hitched a ride from Ja. with the family next door, stowing away in their furniture and luggage.

So my pops headed next door to confront the neighbour about his bug problem, and precipitating the following exchange:

Pops: You need to do somethin bout these roaches, Willie. I'm tireda this mess!

WIllie: Easy nuh'mahn. Roo-chez hev'reh-weer bahk hoom. Dem like like flies in Jamaica.

Pops: N*gga, this ain't no GOT DAM Jamaica!

And neither is this.

But its symbolic of the times in this business. The last time the rich uncle sent me to Florida he put me up at the Hyatt. This time we're staying in a condo complex with roaches. A beautiful complex otherwise, but still one I share with that big bug I killed last night, plus a few thousand of his cousins.

Whatever fits the budget, I guess. We've all got to sacrifice in tough times.

But remind me to buy a roach trap tonight, and expense it later.

Coming Attractions

After a couple of weeks off to take care of some family business and rest my throbbing brain, I'm back on the blog and ready to keep you guys abreast of what's happening with your favourite sports writer.

And I'll update you on myself, too.

This month, for instance, I'll be a pretty busy guy.

Not only am I just 20 days from departing for my first-ever MLB spring training, but in case you guys didn't notice, it's February.

February means Black History Month.

And Black History Month means that for 28 days I become one of the most sought-after freelance writer/social critic/public speakers in the city. Yes, just about everybody sweating me now will forget about me as soon as March starts (though I'll be too warm in Florida to notice the cold shoulder), but for now I'm cashing in.

For this week, you can look for me at one of two places.

First, I'm I'll be one of three guest speakers at the CBC's Black History Month Celebration. That happens Wednesday afternoon, Feb. 4, with your boy taking the mic sometime between noon and 1pm. I'm hoping it's closer to noon because I've got a press conference (yes, big stars like yours truly still attend those) at 1:00. Luckily it's right across the street, but I still might have to flash some of that 4.4 speed (I think I still have 4.4 speed... over 30 yards at least) if I want to arrive on time.



Anyway, it all takes place in the Atrium at the CBC Building, 250 Front St., downtown T-Dot. If you're in the area, feel free to stop by and support me.

Bring signs. Scream my name. Ask me to autograph keepsakes and body parts.

Do whatever, just make sure you make me seem important. As I've said, we're building a brand here.

After I finish that speaking engagement I head back to the office and resume doing what they actually pay me for -- writing great reads.

Right now I'm writing an essay I hope will run in Sunday's Star examining the concept of post-racialism.

Basically, the election of pioneering president and newspaper industry savior Barack Obama has a lot of folks hoping we're on the precipice of a post-racial era in (North) American Society. You know, a time when differences between races will dissolve, nobody's ethnic background will matter, and we'll all be colourblind brothers and sisters in the human race.

A noble ideal at first glance but really a shitty proposition if for anybody who, like me, actually enjoys being black. So my essay, is a a defence of race in the face of all the post-racial optimism folks have been spouting since November.

Alongside that I hope to run a sidebar explaining why our "Post Racial" president really is black, despite how certain black folks (he's not black enough) and white folks (he's half white) classify him.

And all that's just in the first week.

What else will Black History Month bring, besides some work in the Sunshine State?

As soon as I know, I'll let you guys know too.

Ready to Barack

PART ONE: A PROMO


Stayed away from the office today to celebrated Martin Luther King Day, and I know what some of you are already thinking:

That's not a Canadian holiday, Morg. How did you manage to get out of working?

Well, no, it's not a statutory holiday north of the border, but as a card-carrying Afro-Ameri-Canadian I reserve the right to honour it anywhere on the planet. It's an even easier call in multicultural Canada, where immigrants like my parents, and first-generation citizens like myself, are encouraged to celebrate the culture of the old country rather than conform to the customs of the new one.

Doesn't mean I celebrate every U.S. holiday.

You'll see me at the office on President's Day and Memorial Day and the fourth of July.

But MLK day, which speaks directly to me and the nation (as distinct from the country) from which I descend, is a mandatory celebration every year.

So I stayed away from the office today, but if you think I wasn't working you don't know me.

Like just about everyone else on the continent I spent today preparing for Tuesday's inauguration of Barack Obama.

A quick scan of my friends' facebook status messages tells me I'm one of about eight people in North America not already in D.C. for the week-long celebration, but that's OK. Me and my seven friends plan to have a great time at thestar.com.

As we've discussed before Obama is big business for newspapers everywhere, and I'm sure any newspaper publisher with any sense is already planning special editions, preparing to print extra copies, and jacking up ad rates to capitalize on what figures to be the most lucrative day of the year in this moribund industry.



The soon-to-be U.S. president has a similar effect online, where he trails only a mediocre hockey team in his ability to drive traffic to the Star's web site.

So that's where you'll find me Tuesday morning, hosting the Toronto Star's inauguration live blog and panel discussion.

While Star intern Jason Miller live blogs the festivities in DC, I'll host an ongoing online discussion involving a crew of smart and funny folks: playwright and actor Andrew Moodie, communications consultant Megan Harris, and rapper/singer/all-around musician K-OS.

Fun starts at 10 a.m. sharp, so if you're one of the few folks not there in person OR if you're the type of 21st century nerd who attends an event live then spends the entire time on your blackberry following online accounts of it, then you're welcome to join us.

As I've mentioned in this space before, I envision a day not too far in the future where as journalists our salaries and possibly our very jobs will depend how many hits stories under out by-lines generate on the company's web site. And since I'm trying to get out in front of that development, I'm reminding you guys once again that I'm a shameless click whore. So forward that link (here it is again) to as many people as you can, and join us tomorrow as we discuss and dissect one of the defining events of our generation.

PART 2: OBAMA'S SUPREME (BASKETBALL) COURT

Obamaphiles and hoop heads might want to check out the latest issue of Sports Illustrated. It contains a feature story about Mr. President and his lifelong love of hoops. I haven't read it yet but I plan to after dinner.

PART 3: ABSOLUTION...

... For anyone who feels guilty about wishing that these kids would shuffle off into oblivion:



I'm here to let you know you don't have to pretend to like those brats anymore.

It's ok to be sick of them. What you're feeling is a completely normal reaction to novelty acts who stubbornly refuse to acknowledge that their 15 minutes of fame have expired.

It's the same way we felt about Steve Urkel and Paris Hilton and anyone who has ever appeared on the MTV's The Real World.

This feeling is natural.

Don't fight it.

Embrace it.

The Singing Obama Brats need to go.

I mean, we all agree that the first song was a cute and refreshing. A buncha little black kids telling us we can vote however we like... great.

But three months later I know I'm not the only one wishing they would make like Lou Bega, Scritti Politti or any other one-hit wonder and go away.

Instead, they've stuck around and made a couple other songs, one about mosquito netting and the one posted above where they thank Obama for winning the election then bark orders at him for three minutes.

Oprah was impressed.

She donated $365,000 to their school.

Lovely.

You're paid.

Now please, go away.

But instead of disappearing they showed up on CNN last night.

Twice.

Enough.

Seriously.

You guys should have quit while you were still cute.

Your first song struck a chord, but now it's time to retire. Get to class. Study hard. Hopefully your principal spent that Oprah money on top-flight teachers and in-class technology, anything to help you get into college and find a career because your celeb days are done.

Now before you complain, I'm not a hater. Just a student of history.

Think back far enough and you'll remember a time when people didn't hate Steve Urkel, but the folks at Family Matters didn't know when to quit.

I know I'm not the only one who sees it happening here.

People who think I'm being harsh on these kids and their teacher are the same people who bought the Baha Men album. You guys are probably still waiting for Afroman's second single to drop.

Sorry guys.

There are no second-acts for one-hit wonders.

So please, while most of the public can still stomach you, disappear back into your classroom, hit the books and salvage your futures.

Seriously.

I'm sure Obama appreciates the love, but he doesn't want to see you waste your lives.

Small Screen.... Seriously

So for those of you who live outside Canada or who didn't get the facebook memo, The World's Greatest Sportswriter made his third appearance on TSN's Off The Record on Monday night.

I know both of my readers are probably asking themselves why I didn't use this space to hype my appearance beforehand.

Simple.

Last time they booked me, they bumped me for a pair of washed up former NFL quarterbacks; one who lost four straight Superbowls, and another who looks like David Hasselhoff's lost twin. Knowing how quickly schedules and priorities can change, I figured I'd wait till we'd completed taping before I spread the word far and wide.

And even then I hesitated, just because you never know.

Anyway, I had a great time and rave reviews have been trickling in since yesterday.

After we finshed taping the OTR folks said the performance was my best ever.

I also received multiple text messages informing me I was sharpest dressed man on the panel.

And this morning a co-worker told me that he caught a few glimpses of the show while working out, and while he didn't hear anything I said he assured me I was the panel's best gesticulator.

High praise.

Before I link you, a few words about the rest of the panel, Buffalo Bills receiver Lee Evans, Toronto Argos defensive back Chuck Winters and XM Radio host Terry Mercury.

Best panel ever.

I first met Chuck as a 17-year-old high schooler at the University of Michigan football camp. I was an undersized cornerback trying to get noticed by college scouts and he was a starter for the Wolverines and one of my team's coaches. A year and a half later my Wildcats smashed his Wolverines at the Big House, on the way to our first of two straight Big Ten titles.

Yesterday I took a few moments to remind him.

He seems to have gotten over it.

Terry Mercury I had met a couple years back at a CABJ meeting and afterward we rapped a little about mentorship and the need for more of us to reach out to more of you (young people) to make sure there are alwasy some of us in the business.

As for Evans, I've just always like the way he plays, and stuck around as a fan even after my least favourite team in all of pro football drafted him.

So I don't know if it was the Big Ten football vibe (Me, Lee, Chuck), or the CABJ connection (Morg and Terry), but of the OTR panels I've been a part of, only this one could strike the right balance between intelligence, tension, volume and fun. We all made our points while sounding halfway educated, and we could agree to disagree without acting like, well, guests on a sports talk show.

Anyway, I promised I'd link you, and since you've all been waiting since last Super Bowl for me to return to OTR, I won't make you wait any longer.

Clip One.

Clip Two.

Clip Three.

Enjoy.

And if you liked that, stay tuned because there'll be more in the future.

Promise.