Sniff, sniff: What is that smell?

Published 10:38 am Thursday, October 11, 2007

My friend Pete Moss stared at the TV screen, mouth agape.

“First, Pam Anderson gets married to one of Paris Hilton’s leftovers,” he said. “Now this.”

We were watching the Steelers-Seahawks game. He’d asked me over because his latest girlfriend, Phyllis, left him the previous day. I called her to ask why. I thought they made a decent match.

She barely managed to speak in complete sentences.

“Stench … Steve Hutchinson jersey … dietary Armageddon,” she struggled. “ESPN 24/7 … oh, the humanity!”

Pete’s not perfect, but he does know his sports. That’s pretty much all we have in common. I know this because that’s about all we talk about.

“They had the ball FIVE MINUTES in the second half,” Pete moaned about the Seahawks. “Alexander gets 25 yards in 11 carries. He looks like he’s running in quicksand.”

I told Pete it’s early in the season. Besides, before Sunday, the Seahawks were one fumbled handoff exchange from being undefeated. They looked great against the 49ers. This, I said, isn’t the time to panic.

“Oh, no?” he sobbed. “What do we have left? The Sonics? We’ve got ‘em one more season. Then Clay Bennett packs the moving vans faster than you can say ‘Boomer Sooner.’”

I reminded Pete that Bennett has a lease that runs through 2010. And even if he manages to break it, the city can tie this thing up in the courts until Britney Spears wins the Field &Stream Parent of the Year award. Besides, I said, you can’t fault the Seahawks’ defense. It played lights out against the 49ers and held up bravely against the Steelers until it ran out of gas.

Defense wins championships, I told him.

Pete looked at me.

“You’re not playin’ THAT card, are you?” he asked. “Typical sportswriter, parroting the coach speak they pound into you every day.

“I suppose you take it one game at a time, leave it all out on the field and always play the cards you’re dealt. Think for yourself, gumball! Didn’t you just see that mess? The Steelers didn’t have Polamalu or Hampton on defense. They didn’t have Hines Ward. They didn’t have Santonio Holmes. They made Roethlisberger — the NFL’s answer to Lurch; a guy so brainless he buzzes around on a motorcycle without a helmet — look like Peyton Manning!

“It’s over. Looks like 3-13 to me, pal.”

When Pete’s in these moods, I try not to argue with him. I try to cheer him up. He’s really not a bad guy. He’s just a little emotional about a few things. Like the infield fly rule.

“Look, Pete, there are other things besides the Seahaw-,” I tried.

“Like what?” he asked. “The Huskies, who are so desperate for fans that they schedule home games against Ohio State, USC and Cal, hoping that they’re so starved to see good teams they’ll turn out to watch them in visitors uniforms? Or the Mariners, baseball’s answer to the Titanic? How ‘bout them Sounders, who play a game in which only one player per team can even pick up the ball? Sports stink around here. We’re forced to pry entertainment out of the Colorado Rockies.”

I couldn’t argue with him. Big-time sports have seen better days around here.

But, hey, when they’ve got us back on our heels, it’s time to circle the wagons, regroup, quit playing not to lose, reload, never say die, start hitting on all cylinders, get everybody on the same page, turn the corner, go for the jugular, smell blood in the water, put on a clinic, answer the call, run like a well-oiled machine, run roughshod over them, be a team to be reckoned with and raise the bar.

Because, darn it, when the going gets tough, the tough get going!

Who’s with me?

Sports columnist John Sleeper: sleeper@heraldnet.com. For Sleeper’s blog, click on cmg-northwest2.go-vip.net/heraldnet/danglingparticiples.