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Waiting for Colonel Jessup

by Christopher McIntosh
02/15/2006

Sunday morning our Vice President shot a man.

Dick Cheney is a man who many believe runs the country and possesses a view of executive power that would make Nixon blush.

Now we can add to that list that he shot a guy. Not because they were suspected Al Qaeda or because this individual had the temerity to question why we never found WMD in Iraq. It was by all accounts, an accident, and not, as poetic justice (and Johnny Cash) would have it, just to watch him die.

I can only imagine what that must have looked like inside the White House Sunday morning.

"Scott... yes, I realize it's about 6 AM on Sunday, but you're going to need to come in early. Our second in command shot someone this morning. Don't worry though, it was only a hunting accident, not in reaction to further indictments of his staff or another heart attack joke. But you should probably be prepared for questions about this."

Every time I see the poor press secretary, I keep rooting for a Colonel Nathan Jessup style meltdown. Which I'm going to officially christen for all eternity "pulling a Jessup" - saying what we all know is true, but cannot be said due to circumstances beyond one's control (in Jessup’s case, the Uniform Code of Military Justice). This is of course combined with losing your mind and making outrageous physical threats.

"Scott, you're avoiding the issue, why won't you answer our question?"

"Look, damn it, what the hell do you want me to say? That we screwed up? That we're deliberately obfuscating the issues?"

"I want the truth."

"You can't handle the truth. The truth is that we have men with guns, lots of them, and they're doing things you can't even begin to fathom, and we don't give a damn about what information you think you’re entitled to."

"Did Vice President Cheney shoot a man this morning or not?"

"YOU'RE GODDAMNED RIGHT HE DID!"

"Was it Scalia?"

Which brings me to the status of sportsfandom right now. Outside of the admittedly fantastic Villanova-UConn game, and with all due apologies to Daytona 500 fans, we're thoroughly ensconced in the late Winter sports doldrums. The NFL is over. The NBA hasn't even reached the All Star Break, and pitchers and catchers have yet to report.

So I've been left mostly sitting around waiting for meltdowns while watching the Winter Olympics, college basketball games, and... ahem... Project Runway.

It's my girlfriend's favorite show - which makes it, de facto, a show I am forced to watch, if only to be conversant with her and her friends. If you haven't seen Project Runway, it is the fashion industry version of Survivor hosted by a very Teutonic and very pregnant Heidi Klum who unwittingly confirms just about every stereotype Americans have about our German brethren. While making the final cuts, she is positively gleeful in declaring who's "in" and who's "out" (If you read that sentence and heard her ridiculous, arrogant accent in your head, you know exactly what I'm talking about). The show ends with our Aryan princess sitting in judgment over five poor souls who stand on the platform awaiting her word. When one is declared "in," they run off stage as if they've just been spared from the firing squad. And this continues until there are only two left and one is declared "out," a declaration that precipitates an awkward hug and Italian double cheek kiss straight out of the Godfather after which we never see that individual again.

I pointed all this out to one of her countrymen and he replied without a hint of irony and in full accent, "At least zey don't take zem out and shoot zem." Ze Germans. On this show alone, I keep up hope that someone will pull a Jessup and loudly declare "You've f----d with the wrong fashionista!" Sadly, no one has taken the physical challenge.

Potential Jessup Number 1: Ozzie Guillen

Mayor Daley called out Ozzie Guillen for not attending the thrice rescheduled obligatory White House ceremony, indicating that Guillen might think that he's too "important," as well as nonchalantly mentioning Guillen's recent US citizenship ceremony, implicitly calling Ozzie's patriotism into question.

Only in Chicago could a white politician who is the son of one of the most notoriously corrupt politicians in the history of a city known for primarily for its corrupt politicians call out a person of color who chose to become an American citizen on his patriotism.

Ozzie's son explained the decision thusly - Guillen had promised his family a vacation, spring training is about to start, they're out of the country, he'd been to one of these ceremonies before (2003 Marlins), and when it comes down to it, Ozzie only cares about pleasing two groups of people - his family and his team.

I would have given significant body parts to hear the unedited version of what Ozzie really thought about Daley's comments. Ken Williams - one of the few black GMs in the majors and an opponent of the Bush policy in Iraq — had to think long and hard before agreeing to go. Ozzie who was thrown a lavish victory party/parade by the current leader of his native Venezuela — the same man Bush has referred to as a tyrant and who heads a regime Bush openly opposes and has unabashedly called for his overthrow. I can't imagine Ozzie hadn't put two and two together and had to do some similar soul searching.

On a completely unrelated note, Ozzie has publicly admitted to participating in animal sacrifice. Warrants mentioning.

I wanted Ozzie to respond to the Mayor. I wanted a press conference live from the Guillen vacation residence where Ozzie completely let loose and told the Mayor exactly how important he thought he was and just what the mayor could do with his opinions. I'm greedy, though. I wanted the whole enchilada - I wanted Ozzie to go to the White House just so he could give Bush an earful about Venezuela, Bush's rescheduling the ceremony and inconveniencing everyone involved with the White Sox organization in the process, and to top it off with a little smack about Bush's ru(i)nning of the Rangers.

Potential Jessup Number 2: Bode Miller

With the amount of smack this guy has uttered prior to the Olympics, he might should hire a bodyguard - or at the very least make friends with Dick Cheney.

We have learned the following about Mr. Miller in the past weeks.

He does not like the media, yet has graced the covers of two (non sports) newsmagazines in the same week (Time and Newsweek).

He has competed "wasted," but does not recommend this to others.

He does not stay with the rest of the ski team.

He believes that corporate sponsors are ruining the Olympics and the Olympic spirit.

He's been DQ'd in something like 11 races this past season - including the Olympic combined. When asked about said disqualification he replied, "At least I don't have to go to Torino for the medal ceremony."

He was reportedly seen at the pub as late as midnight the night prior to one of his Olympic races.

Oh, and he's publicly accused Lance Armstrong and Barry Bonds of using performance enhancing drugs, a statement he has yet to back off of. But he has argued for the legalization of those same substances on the grounds that enforcement is too corrupt - so let's just toss out the whole thing.

Needless to say, I'm fascinated by this guy. Link some of his statements together and you start to see that this guy isn't quite the immature boor that people want him to be, but neither is he the ideal face of the Olympic games, no matter what executives at Time, NBC, and Nike seem to think. He says what he thinks and doesn't particularly care what your reaction to it is.

Are we clear?

Yes.

ARE WE CLEAR?

Crystal.

Potential Jessup Number 3: JJ Redick

Every time he takes the court there is the potential for JJ to do his best impersonation of Ron Artest on an unsuspecting group of ACC fans. Of course, I think he'd get laid out like that fan who had the audacity to step out on the floor and look menacing within arms reach of Stephen Jackson.

Like Chris Tucker said in Friday, "Man... you got knocked the F--K OUT!"

Redick is undeniably brilliant. The combination of this with the venomous hatred he exudes (ahem... Maryland... cough) is compelling. He's one of the two candidates for player of the year. He was leading the country in scoring and without any cheap baskets. He doesn't shoot lay ups in transition. He doesn't get tip backs off the glass. He doesn't dribble drive and get a ton of free throws.

He shoots threes. And then he does it some more. I can't remember watching an athlete who did one thing and did it so well. Everyone knows it's coming, but they can't stop it. If he squares his shoulders it's over. His release is flawless and super quick. And three and a half years of hearing comments about his sister, his poetry, the name on the front of his jersey, and that smug look of superiority he's had since he stepped on the court as a freshman have turned this guy into the second coming of Reggie Miller.

I watched the Georgetown game that Duke lost. He had about 40. None of them were cheap. And he only seemed to get better as the stakes went higher and Duke closed the double digit gap Georgetown had opened up with minutes left.

If you're a Duke fan - which pretty much makes you an alum or a sellout - you love him. If not? You hate him. You have to. He's that good - but more importantly, he's that predictable. Even at the end of the game.

That smug look he's got? It's because he knows that you know what's coming.

He's going to get the ball.

He's going to get a good look.

And there's nothing you can do to stop it. And he knows that you, your teammates, your fans, the announcers, Ozzie and his family on vacation, grandmothers playing canasta, and a couple of extraordinarily intelligent dolphins down at Sea World know it, too.

He's Reggie Miller circa 1996. With thousands of Spike Lees to egg him on each time he plays a road game.

That being said, he's yet to well and truly lose it. I want him unleashed on some unsuspecting team in the first round of the tournament. Some kid from Vermont or Alabama A&M whose 15 minutes of fame are to guard Mr. Redick in their quest for breaking the O-fer streak the 16 seeds are riding in the Men's tournament. Some kid who thinks that Mr. Redick is a little overrated and decides to let Mr. Redick know about it.

That's when I want to see an athlete miked. Not during the warm-ups or at some irrelevant all star game. I want it when Redick decides to pants a kid just because he can. When he looks at the kid, smirks, jacks it up from 35 feet, and is backpedaling down the court before the kid had even taken his defensive stance.

There's a famous clip I've been searching the internet for but can't seem to find anymore. A guy gets the ball on the perimeter and proceeds to shake a guy out of his shoes as he crosses over left to square up for the three.

Shakes him so bad the poor defender falls down.

The guy with the ball, without missing a beat, cocks the ball to shoot, starts to jump and then inexplicably stops.

Looks down to his right at the guy on the floor and smiles. Motions for the kid to get up, saying in effect, "Come on, at least make it interesting."

And then proceeds to drain the three.

That's what I’m looking for these days.

But instead I get Project Runway, biathalon, short track speed skating (aka roller derby on ice), curling and men's doubles luge. And it's all on tape delay. So I either have to put my computer and TV in the freezer or watch events whose outcome I already know.

Guess I'm just going to have to wait it out. Spring training is coming. I can feel it.

In the meantime, I don't think I'll be doing any hunting with any high-ranking administration officials.

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