Bye, bye, all American sports/
Drove my Chevy to the ballgame, but it was out of sorts/
And those ‘‘First Take’’ boys were talking madness in March/
Singing no Duke-Kansas say it’s a lie/
That’ll be the day that sports die
— Don McLean’s “American Pie II”
What do we do now?
Sports fans have put all their eggs in one basket for so long, they’ve tossed out every other basket in the house. So now, many of them, in the face of a deadly worldwide COVID-19 pandemic, can only think, “Why does it all feel so empty?”
There’s nothing left. I pride myself on keeping sports in perspective, yet on many nights I mindlessly graze from ESPN to FS1 to NBA TV to ESPN2 to NBCSN to Fox Sports West.
But this week?
I just saw Joe Lunardi on an L.A. exit ramp with a sign, “Will Bracketology for Food.”
NBA, gone. NHL, gone. MLB, gone. Final Four, gone.
The one time I was going to turn to Major League Soccer? MLS, gone.
I always complain that sports occupy too big a presence in our lives, that our values are skewed and our priorities fouled up with the overemphasis on athletic glory. Yet I understand it is a companion for many, a constant entertainment-and-distraction option. It is an emotional crutch for millions, often the only beacon of light on an otherwise dark horizon.
I kind of miss it, too.
I clicked on the TV the other night, and all I saw was a “Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives” marathon.
So I clicked off the TV, closed my eyes and saw my entire adult life flash before me — wasted hours, lost promise, salsa stains on the couch.
Toni, a k a She Is The One (and Then Some), looked at me and said, “Let’s talk.”
Let’s talk? What is she, nuts? We’ve only survived 12½ years of marriage by not talking. Every time I open my mouth, it’s an oral apocalypse. I haven’t said the right thing since stammering out, “I do.” The less I speak, the better — this is a family consensus.
In silence, I realized that all of Sports Nation is in dire straits.
I feel particularly bad for many wagering acquaintances — they wake up each day expecting to make a sports bet.
I once had the same affliction: Years ago, I played in a Washington, D.C., underground poker game in which a couple of players were cheating as partners, the dealer was in cahoots with another regular and I would lose virtually every week. Why did I keep going back? It was the only game in town. And, like my current-day gambling buddies, I needed the action.
Anyway, sports books and bookies are not going to curl up and close shop; they have BMWs to pay for. So while you cannot get down on Lakers-Jazz tonight — all of 2020 is gone, my friends — you can still make “futures” wagers, and even though I generally discourage sports betting, I am here to pick up our spirits and hand out a few smart, wet-your-whistle selections:
• 2021 NFL season: Take Tom Brady and the Buccaneers to make the playoffs. You can get 14-to-1 on that right now; it’s a bargain.
• 2024 Summer Olympics: Japanese men’s gymnast Takeru Kitazono is a marvel — a stone-cold immortal lock to take the gold in the parallel bars. In fact, he’s such a gifted athlete, I’d bet on Kitazono on any event he enters in the 2026 Winter Olympics.
• 2028 NBA championship: The 76ers. Yes, the 76ers. They will ask you to Trust The Process again, and this time The Process will work.
• 2032 presidential election: Donald Trump Jr. as the Republican nominee, at 12-1, is like FREE MONEY.
And, finally, let me leave you with a three-team teaser parlay:
I am betting there will be NO horse racing, NO cash transactions and NO Starbucks anywhere in America in 2050.
When I cash that ticket, I will drive my electric car to Sizzler!
