The NEXT Dolphins head coach won’t…

When you find yourself in a committed, mutually beneficial partnership, it’s probably not a good sign when your better half is on a cross-country trip to find your successor. No, Tony Sparano really had no shot to survive. Stephen Ross had a wandering eye, and it was going to take more than hush money for everyone to forget about his fling with Jim Harbaugh.

It’s not really about what Sparano is; it’s about what he isn’t.

Ross always wanted someone with more sex appeal, more personality, etc.

If Sparano was too blasé, you’d imagine Ross would pursue someone who has more riverboat gambler in him.

Shit, Mike Martz will probably be available in a few weeks. Before someone gets the wrong idea—nothing would surprise me—it’s time to honor Mr. Sparano, who, I’d imagine, will not be the next head coach of the University of Alabama. (shaking my head)

ANYWAY, today, we salute you, Tony, because Lord knows the next Dolphins head coach won’t…

1)      Fist-pump for field goals

2)      Wear sunglasses inside

3)      Say “you know” in every sentence, at every press conference. It’s alright, Tony, I have the same conversational tick. Ya know?

4)      Wear a fleece in September.

5)      Trust Jeff Ireland.

6)      Take a knee—or three—with 1:45 remaining in the second quarter.

7)      Be so damn conservative—unless it’s Bill Cowher. Nothing really screams ‘conservatism’ like Cowher’s jaw; they cut diamonds on that thing.

8)      Micromanage.

9)      Clap…clap…clap

10)  Install an offense named after a sassy feline.

11)  Start four centers in four years. 

Three semi-believable takes on Urban

After the obligatory game of will-he-or-won’t-he, Urban Meyer will be the next head football coach at Ohio State University. Shocker, right? His decision to forgo early retirement and get back into the saddle—err, horseshoe—is being met with mixed emotions. To properly gauge the state of the college football union, we’ve checked in with a few Loose Balls correspondents. First up, from Gainesville, Fla., we have Albert.

OK, Big Al, the floor is yours…

Albert: Hey Urb, just wanted you to know that you’re no better than that turd from Tuscaloosa, Nick Saban. Actually, “The Nicktator” may have even had more tact than you, ya two-faced sonuvabitch. Weren’t we supposed to grow old together? I mean, come on, weren’t your six years in the Swamp, the best of your life? OK, I got that off my chest. Urb’s tenure was sublime, really. Nothing could replace those two national championships, but this wasn’t the way it was supposed to turn out. When he ditched Utah, it was supposed to be for a final coaching destination. After the first flip-flop in 2009, though, I started to have second thoughts. People outside the Gator Nation kept telling me Urb was being a prima donna, that his indecision about his future was Favre-esque. I couldn’t listen to them. It had to be more than that; it had to be his desire to have peace of mind. When he stepped down, I assumed he would be gone for a significant amount of time. After all, wasn’t the grind of a major college program too much to stomach? But, no, he’s already back, and with Ohio St., the program we throttled for the first championship. The grass isn’t always greener on the other side. No way he’ll have the same success up there. Here’s to years of heartache in Columbus, Urb!

Whoa, whoa. Someone sound like a jilted lover. It’ll be alright, Alberto. The Will Muschamp era has just begun! Oh, wait, that’s right, it’s off to a bit of an inauspicious start; something about an awful offense and no quarterback.

ANYWAY, back to our other Urban correspondent, Bro Buckeye…

Bro: Say it with me, “O-H-I-O, O-H-I-O, Ohiiiiiiiio.” Yeah, suck it, Gator Nation, because there’s no nation like the Buckeye Nation. You know what this means, right? We’re back! Sure, Michigan may bragging rights this year, but it was just a momentary setback. Coach Meyer is bringing back a few championships to C-Bus, and it won’t be long before people start uttering Urban in the same breath as Woody around here. Tressel was great, but Urban beat SEC schools on a week-to-week basis.  He’s going to bring some Florida speed and that whacky spread offense to the B1G. Watch out, things are about to get real. Can’t wait to see Braxton do work next year, son. Those punks up at that school in the North think they have turned the tide. Do they really think Meyer-Hoke will be like Woody-Bo? That’s just an Urban legend. Another ten-year war, my ass. Urban’s going to have them singing “Carmen Ohio” from sea to shining sea. Can’t wait to see Coach Meyer tomorrow’s basketball game against Duke. It’s going to make the Miami Heat’s Welcome Party look harmless. YES. WE. DID. URBAN!!!!!!!!!!!!

My take: Slow down there, Bro. No reason to get premature with those wild expectations. Meyer, however, will be really successful at Ohio St. It’s kind of a perfect storm, really. He’ll bring some athletes up from Florida, play that crazy spread, maybe even find a new messianic figure to stick behind center. Watch out, though, Buckeyes. You’re hiring Larry Brown 2.0. He’s never going to be comfortable in one place for more than a few years. Ohio St. is Meyer’s fourth stop in a decade, and you know it won’t be his last. After a modicum of success in Columbus, he’ll be gone, off to the next stop, wherever that may be. Dick Vermeil he is not. For Meyer, coaching is a drug. He’ll never be able to kick it. So he’s back, Ohio St, and it’s going to be a successful few years. But something else will call eventually. Coaching Touchdown Timmy in the NFL, perhaps? 

Elephants and jackasses: The political overtones of the NBA's 'nuclear winter'

Derek Fisher is not Oscar Robertson. Billy Hunter is not Jerry West. This is not going to be some historical labor milestone; it’ll be a time remembered—or maybe forgotten—for ineptitude and indifference. What players will characterize as a momentous stand against unrelenting owners, really, is just a sign of the times. You know, the whole protesting and being a part of a transcendent political moment thing. But, sorry, the times, they’re NOT a-changin.’

In 1964, facing untenable labor conditions, a group of players, led by Robertson and Elgin Baylor, threatened to walkout and not play the all-star game if the owners didn’t reassess the players’ plea for a pension system.

Unsurprisingly, the owners were furious. This, of course, was during a time where there was an actual racial component to labor discussions, not the forced “plantation” references that are thrown around loosely today. As a blizzard was howling outside the Boston Garden, things became increasingly icy inside.

But, really, Walter Kennedy, the NBA’s president—the forerunner to commissioner—had no leverage. This was one of the league’s first nationally televised games, an opportunity to gain support and begin competing for advertising dollars. If he did nothing, the league would lose much-needed credibility.

Because of this, Kennedy gave in and the players’ demands were eventually met. Less than a decade later, Robertson was headlining a piece of legislation that would totally rewrite free-agency rules; players could now negotiate with other teams, causing a major spike in the player salaries, in the process.

But what about today? Are we really debating anything that’s game changing? No, it’s nothing more than a few petty disagreements over system issues.

You say tomato; I say tomahto…Of course, instead of realizing this will be the best deal they’ll get, the NBAPA is calling the whole thing off.

There has been no attempt—especially from the owners—to have a healthy discourse about system issues until recently. Why did it take until the late-October for the owners to offer a semi-reasonable deal? Why is the NBAPA dissolving its union now?

It’s simple, really. Each side is stuck in its ways, and neither one is going down without a totally unnecessary fight. It’s Capitol Hill meets the hardwood, which is something David Stern probably doesn’t want to create an ad campaign around, I’d imagine.

But for now, there is no ‘amazing’ in sight; it’s the NBA: Where Filibuster Happens.

Whether you feel that the owners’ ultimatum/offer was fair is pretty insignificant, at this point. More than likely, you probably thought the players made an acceptable amount of concessions, and the owners’ last offer was enough to get the players out of Kangaroo Court and on the basketball court.

But, really, at this point, it’s not about what’s fair or foul; it’s about smart and stupid, and the players’ decision to leave this offer on the table was the latter.

I’m not necessarily suggesting it was a fair deal, but it was the best they’d ever get. There’s some recent historical precedent for this, too. Given another opportunity, I’d bet that Hunter would take one of the initial incarnations of the eventual deal he signed in 1999. Bill Guerin, one of the NHL players’ leading voices during the 2004-2005 lockout, has publicly urged NBAPA to avoid making the same mistakes the NHLPA made.

But this is the players’ “proverbial” moment. They are fighting for change, for a better system. Public perception—especially from those that aren’t hardcore NBA fans—is that this is a petty battle between millionaires and billionaires. The NBAPA, however, is playing right into the owners’ hands. A vocal group of hard-line owners—spearheaded by Charlotte’s Michael Jordan and Milwaukee’s Herb Kohl—wants to cancel the season, especially those who balked at offering the players a 50-50 split of BRI (basketball-related income).

You could see the twinkle in Stern’s eye when he was giving his post-mortem chat after the NBAPA’s press conference. He was smug, he was condescending, and he was delivering talking points created by some PR maven. The commissioner, ever the seasoned lawyer, sounded like he was preparing for political battle.

After a few final jabs, he told the players to prepare for the NBA’s “nuclear winter,” a characterization he borrowed from Kobe Bryant.

If only things were as “cold” as they were in February 1964, then, maybe this would fit. Instead, we’re supposed to believe the players are fighting some tangible injustice. Really, though, it just feels like a bad session of Congress that will be exemplified by—what else—gridlock.

Fear and loathing in Indianapolis

Just when you think the Dolphins have set the standard for football ineptitude, the Colts go and raise the bar—or lower it, depending on how you look at things.

One thing is for certain, Miami and Indianapolis are the worst teams in the NFL—and it isn’t even close.

There is, of course, reason to rationalize your team’s pitiful existence this season. In the year of Luck, it doesn’t necessarily suck to suck, because this year’s biggest loser could end up being a pretty big winner.

Andrew Luck, who many consider the best college-quarterback prospect since Peyton Manning, could be the biggest thing to hit Lucas Oil since, well, ol’ No.18, himself. 

Pretty convenient year for the Colts to bottom out, right? If that wasn’t the fan base’s mindset before Sunday night’s drubbing in New Orleans, it probably is now. But it’s probably difficult to handle this season’s stark realization.

For a team that seemed in complete control for the last decade, it is now, without Manning, foundationless. Although he’d been an undeniable, consistent force, Peyton’s leadership and dominance created a façade that masked some shoddy craftsmanship.

Remove the wrong piece and everything comes crashing down.

So, yes, Dolfans, your driving partner in the “Suck for Luck” truck has it worse, which seems pretty hard to believe.

Why, exactly?

Well, no matter how the season finishes—and at April’s Draft, for that matter—the rhetoric will change in Miami. Tony Sparano will be fired, a new general manager hired and a total reevaluation of how things are done will take place. Stephen Ross is desperate for a winner, and his failed attempt to lure Jim Harbaugh shows he may know how to pick em.

Landing Luck will help tremendously, but no matter what, hope will spring eternal, especially if a new coach can get individuals to play as a team.

Because of the last decade’s over-reliance on Manning, Indianapolis could be stuck, even if they do end up with the first pick. Sure, Caldwell will probably be gone. But is that enough to make you feel like things will be turned around? Bill Polian, a skilled talent evaluator, needs to be criticized for leaving the cupboard too bare.

Even if Manning had been healthy enough to play, some of last season’s frustrations would have reappeared this season. The Colts constantly preach “Next Man Up,” but because of their lack of the depth, they cannot practice it.

I’d imagine the mentality of a Colts fan, at this point, is similar to what Hunter S. Thompson’s was in 1972, as he sat atop a hill, looking over Las Vegas—minus the acid-induced haze, of course. There’s a feeling that the best times are behind you, and they may have not had much substance, anyway.

The Colts were built like a sand castle; it always seemed indestructible, but all it takes is one wave and…

The narrative changes. Paranoia replaces euphoria quickly, doesn’t it, Indianapolis? Right now, it’s not fun being a Colts fan and things might not turn around for a while.

It’s OK to rationalize, though. This was the right year to stink it up, after all. What if the Colts take Luck, Manning mentors him and there is a seamless transfer of power. Heck, all they need to do is fend off the Dolphins and Rams. Better yet, Peyton could come back at 100 percent, firing all cylinders.

But with a little un-Luck, the Colts could find themselves on a meandering trek through the football desert.

Wouldn’t that suck? 

Angst be gone

A few months back, before the Red Sox crumbled, a pipe dream began to materialize on Chicago’s North Side. Maybe the Cubs, who would be looking to replace fired GM Jim Hendry, could lure Boston’s Theo Epstein, the proclaimed curse-killer.

It initially felt like something Cubs fans could use to talk themselves down from the ledge.

But as straws were being grasped, the possibility was never shot down by any of the involved parties—Epstein, Red Sox owner John Henry, Cubs officials. And of course, as we now know, the environment in Boston had become toxic, to the point that Epstein’s potential departure would seem justified.

What once seemed like a long shot became reality, because of a combination of good fortune and unparalleled opportunity.

Yeah, that’s right, Cubbies. Luck is on your side—for the time being, at least. If that isn’t reason to raise an ice-cold Old Style in celebration, I don’t know what is. The “Lovable Losers,” whose star-crossed history includes run-ins with a Billy goat and a black cat, seem destined for a run at respectability.

None of this means Theo—and his haircut—will deliver a long-desired championship. Even for someone with Epstein’s resume, remodeling the Cubs will present a unique challenge. What do you do with Carlos Zambrano? How long will it take to replenish the farm system? And these questions will need to be answered with a smaller budget than he had in Boston.

One thing is certain: Epstein’s arrival has removed the malaise that had surrounded the franchise by season’s end and replaced it with optimism. For Cub faithful—and its 103 years of baggage—the possibility that the C on the cap will stand for competence has to be reassuring.

Temporarily, at least, it’s good to be a Cubs fan, and that’s not an everyday mindset.

All the hot air that was beginning to collect in Chicago has made it way eastward. Almost unbelievably, Red Sox Nation has reached a pre-2004 level of tension, enough to cut with a knife. Kind of like the one that was twisted into Terry Francona’s back this week. If the season’s collapse wasn’t enough, now Tito has to deal with rumors that he had turned into an addict.

The whole situation reeks of desperation, bad PR and a lack of accountability. It’s time for the Red Sox organization—especially those who threw Francona under the bus—to look at itself in the mirror.

Do like what you see, what you’ve become? No, fear not, you’re not turning into your mother; it’s you’re Daddy, the New York Yankees, staring back.

The Red Sox—after a few championships—have become faceless, corporate shills, whose main motivation is to overspend problems. There issues go much deeper than a few guys eating fried and drinking PBR—something tells me that Josh Beckett enjoys Pabst—during games.

Once the Red Sox realize they’ve become what they detest, it could be time to right the ship. In the meantime, though, they may scare off the “next Theo,” which could send the franchise on another decade-long tailspin.

If that’s the case, you know how Red Sox Nation will handle it, with a sense of irrationality and angst, of course.

Epstein, no doubt, will have stakes just as large. If he can put a Billy Goat mount next to the Bambino head in his trophy room, he will be the stuff of legends, a sure-fire, first-ballot hall of famer.

Go ahead, Cubs fans, you can smile at the possibility. 

Starting Five: Lions, Tigers and Bears…Oh yeah, and a little Tuna

What’s making buzz on a lazy Friday afternoon.

1) If it wasn’t apparent during the regular season, last night proved why Brian Cashman pushed so hard for Cliff Lee. The day after, the  popular narrative seems to be that another underwhelming posteason performance from A-Rod cost the Yanks. But it goes deeper than that. The Evil Empire, for all of its resources, lacked depth, especially in its starting rotation. Because of a few mid-season deals, Detroit had more weapons and it showed.

2) Speaking of “Tigers,” Dan Patrick posed a good question this morning: Who will bounce back sooner Tiger or A-Rod? With all things equal—mainly injuries—you have to go with Tiger, even with his two-season long slump. The mid-30’s are far kinder to a golfer, unless you’re juicing, of course. Can’t put it past A-Rod, can you?

3) Get your act together, David Stern! Tonight’s “all-star” exhibition at FIU is not enough for NBA fans waiting for an NBA season that won’t start on time.

4) It hasn’t been a particularly good week for Bill Parcells, as if he actually cares. The Tuna, now insulated in Bristol with ESPN—again, has been ripped for, basically, sucking at his old job, most notably in a column written by FOX Sports’ Jason Whitlock. Here’s the blunt truth about Parcells’ football blueprint: it’s outdated. Before he was convinced to join the Dolphins, he had laid out a contingency plan that would protect his legacy and massage his ego. If there was any short-term success, which was the case in 2008, he’d look like a genius.

When things went wrong, he’d be on the first golf cart out of Miami, leaving Jeff Ireland and Tony Sparano to run things into the ground. And they did. Mercifully, though, people have been on top of this from the beginning. It’s not that he never could “pick the groceries;” it’s that he was too egotistical to adapt to the NFL’s changing landscape.

And for that, only Dolphins fans should have beef.

5) Week 5 Best Bet:  Detroit (-6) over Chicago

Maybe the Lions aren’t that good (a few 20-point comebacks in a row aren’t necessarily a good sign); maybe they are really good. I don’t really know, nor do I care. The Lions are 4-0, baby! Why can’t they keep it going?  

What to expect from No. 51?

What the PGA Tour’s “Fall Series” lacks in sheer star power, it makes up with compelling finishes. Even with the big guns typically shelved for the remainder of the season, the drama doesn’t cease in the year’s final stretch. With fringe players vying for position on the money list—the top-125 players get their tour card renewed—there is still a sense of urgency, and as a result, some fantastic golf.

At last year’s Justin Timberlake Shriners Hospital Open in Las Vegas, the event that kicks off the “Fall Series,” Jonathan Byrd notched his fourth career victory in unbelievable fashion, recording an ace on the fourth playoff hole. Not something you see everyday, right?

And I’m guessing you probably didn’t see it.  Even the most avid PGA Tour fan—myself included—will probably choose football over golf on a random fall weekend. 

You can throw any preconceived notions about the tour’s season-ending stretch away this year, though. There’s this guy that’s decided to join the autumn golf party. You may have heard of him; he’s this dude named Tiger. Woods’ presence in San Martin, Calif. this weekend should only add to what tends to be an exciting—and often overlooked—part of the year.  So, yes, the most recognizable golfer on the planet will bring more eyeballs to the Frys.com Open, but what can we expect from him?

Woods, whose world golf ranking has plummeted to no. 51, will try to break his two-year winless streak in a tournament he’s never entered. The flexibility in what is typically a non-negotiable playing schedule was a criterion for making the U.S. Presidents Cup team, who will be competing in November in Australia.

Last time you saw Tiger, he was probably raking a bunker at the Atlanta Athletic Club. Honestly, it’s been that kind of year for him. Every time he seems to be regaining some of his old championship form, he ends up right back in a bunker—both literal and figurative. For no reason other than pedigree, I’ve been premature in predicting his revival. Because of this, and his underwhelming performance at the PGA, I am no longer willing to say “this will be the week.”

In all honesty, I have no clue whether Tiger Woods will ever win again. That’s kind of a profound statement, and one that I thought I’d never type or say. It is understandable, though, that people may be growing tired of this rhetoric. After all, Tiger’s fall and his subsequent inability to rebound have become tired talking points for golf fans.

What should you expect from him this weekend? I have no clue. Part of me still finds this “anything is possible” factor really exciting. The other part, though, is still uncomfortable with all the uncertainty surrounding Woods’ golf game.

One thing is for sure, I’ve never been more interested in what the world’s 51^st-ranked player would do next. Well, that may not be true; I am a golf nerd, after all. But what about you? Even if you could care less about golf, you’re probably wondering what Woods’ next chapter will be.

Maybe it starts this weekend at a tournament that is more substance than flash. For the man whose mere presence was once a spectacle in and of itself, it could be just what the doctor ordered.

Maybe he just needs no one to be watching.