How to properly punish Ryan Braun
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Jim Harbaugh managed to make Colin Kaepernick’s three-week-old choice in hats a story while decrying those who made it a story. That’s why he’s Jim Harbaugh – Coach, Wit, Bon Vivant and Master Of Interdimensional Travel.


Ryan Braun’s punishment shouldn’t be a 65-game suspension. It ought to be having to tweet daily with Jose Canseco. That would clean up any sport in, oh, about 25 minutes.

[RATTO: What does Selig have in store for rest of Biogenesis Gang?]


Huey Lewis has never achieved the highest honor in music – a place on my iPod next to X, Roland Alphonso or the Southern Jubilees – but he does get points for having a purist’s sensibilities. In an interview with The Talkhouse, the noted Bay Area musician and National Anthem purveyor buries ballpark recorded music.

“Can we all agree it’s time to ban most, if not all, pre-recorded music from sporting events?” Lewis said. “The fairly recent proliferation of the pre-recorded stuff has begun to seriously degrade the experience of going to a ballgame.  The murmur of tens of thousands of people in a baseball park, vendors hollering about beer and hot dogs, along with the thrilling crack of a bat hitting a ball, an umpire’s throaty call, and the occasional player’s whistle or cry of “I got it!” is a wonderful symphony of sounds that we almost never get to hear anymore.”

Well, you do get to hear that in Miami because the Marlins are all about the no-fan-in-game experience, but Lewis then goes so far as to say, “The worst live organist is better than the best pre-recorded music.”

Okay, we’ll give you Garth Hudson over “Gangnam Style” as the absolute zenith and nadir of the relative arts, but that’s low-hanging fruit, as the howls of red deer stags in rut beat “Gangnam Style.” But if you can’t get Hudson, what you need is a full-on church pipe organ, like the behemoth in the old Chicago Stadium. Otherwise, you’re just playing on the cheap, and opening the door to the next ghastly musical fad.

Like whatever they’re playing in the circle of hell below “Bernie Lean.”


I concur with Jason Gay of the Wall Street Journal in his distaste for guys who yell “Get In The Hole!” at golf tournaments, though his response – minimal jail time – is far too lenient. I’m thinking the perp is bound to a chair with his mouth wedged open three feet in front of a PGA golfer on a practice range working on his driver, while other people yell, “Get In The Hole!”

Just for an hour or so, anyway. I am cruel, but fair.


Unlike many members of the punditocracy (which is Greek for “habitual user of the blowhole”), I am fine with Florida linebacker Antonio Morrison being arrested for barking at a police dog. His suspension from the team by head coach Will Muschamp is for this being his second arrest in five weeks, so there may be some backstory, but the barking at the dog part . . . I completely get that.

Well, almost completely. I still want to hear the dog testify at Morrison’s trial before I make up my mind for good.


Whether or not you like Erik Bedard’s decision to take himself out of Saturday’s Astros-Mariners game with a no-hitter because “I’ve had three shoulder surgeries, and I’m not going past 110 (pitches),” he gets full credit for not throwing Houston manager Bo Porter beneath the metroliner. Burying the coach or manager when asked a tough question has long been a stable of your less-spined athletes, so Bedard owning his own choice is ethical if nothing else.

And no, it will not lead to a rash of athletes owning their choices.


Robert Griffin III already has a book. I just wanted to tell you that. Robert Griffin III already has a book.


The Golden State Warriors have always suffered from a bit of banner envy, given that they have won only one championship and four division titles since moving from Philadelphia 51 years ago. And knowing Joe Lacob’s impatience now that he has smelled a bit of success and is no longer the butt of Chris Cohan Two-Point-Oh jokes, we suspect they might hang one in the rafters after Monday’s NBA Summer League victory over Phoenix.

But being that it happened in Las Vegas rather than in America, it may just end up as a forty-foot cocktail napkin. It is after all Golden State, where the T-shirt reads “Say It With Tequila Shooters.”


Prince Algonquin Windsor-Mountbatten née Saxe-Coburg-Gotha, or whatever his name is, will have much to overcome in his life, and nothing worse than finding out that one of the gifts he receives is a small Jacksonville Jaguars bib, jersey and blanket combination with a card that reads, “From your next subjects, eventually.” If that doesn’t keep the kid up night with skull-warping colic, nothing will.


And finally, because you didn’t actually need to keep that breakfast you worked so hard to consume, this, from America’s friends at The Onion.

In-line photo provided by USA Today Images