Beating those Sportin’ Summertime Blues

Sometimes I wonder what I’m a gonna do/ But there ain’t no cure for the summertime blues.

Actually the whole point of this late July sports catch up — just to let you know that Seedy K hasn’t retired — is that there are cures for sports fans in the heat of summer.

Buuuuut, I love me some Eddie Cochran (And The Who’s “Live at Leeds” version of the tune if that’s your reference point), so I had to throw in some rock & roll, don’t ya know.

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Anyway, as I accelerate ever more swiftly into my dotage with the attendant cognitive life changes attendant, it’s nice to report that I’ve discovered a situation where my memory loss is actually an advantage.

Though I loved Wimbledon, cherish the coverage of the Tour, must admit to having caught a moment or two watching the Coming of Lonzo in Vegas, and have the final round of what I am required by the specter of Old Tom Morris as well as Royal & Ancient British Golf Authority to call The Open (Not British Open), I remain first and foremost a college sports fan. Gimme a pigskin Saturday, or Friday or Thursday or Tuesday; or a hardwood Sunday afternoon from the Carrier Dome or Cameron Indoor, and I’m a happy camper.

Not to mention that such status places me firmly in the majority of sports fans in my neck of the woods, who love the college games.

So, I lingered longer than I should last night as The World Wide Leader replayed one battle on its list of last season’s Top 25 college football tussles.

Getting back to my prior reference to memory — Stick with me, kids, just trying to get my chops retuned, focused — I happened upon the TCU/ Arkansas game last evening. With six minutes to play.

The point: I could watch in earnest, get my mid summer college pigskin fix, because I hadn’t the slightest remembrance who won the game. Or, frankly, that the Horned Frogs and Razorbacks had contested an OT battle early last season.

So, take that Blue Cheer, there is a cure for some summertime blues.

Even though it caused me to miss Tottenham Hotspur’s winning goal in a friendly against Paris St. Germain, which was showing on another channel. That would be futbol, not football.

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I am fascinated by the Hugh Freeze fall at Ole Miss.

First, because of what it says about priorities at the higher institutions of learning in the Deep South.

Two, because of a reference to University of Louisville athletics in the coverage of the story.

The Rebels are in deep doo doo with the NCAA over alleged recruiting violations in the football program. Somehow, all of a sudden, Freeze was able to convince many of the nations’ best pigskinners to matriculate in Oxford Town, where everybody has their heads bowed down.

That the school is facing some serious repercussions, and had already opted out of any bowl participation after the upcoming season, Yet Freeze’s employment situation didn’t seem in peril at all. Because, you know, the Johnny Rebs were winning like back in the glory days of Archie Manning and Johnny Vaught and consecutive Miss America winners and Bob Khayat, the Rebel kicker who dated both of those crown-wearing sorority sisters then became chancellor of the university.

But, Freeze had the audacity to call up a hooker or two on a school-issued cellphone, and thereby offended the denizens of Saturday tailgating in the Grove, and is now sayonara.

Recruiting shenanigans: No problemico.

Paying to mess around after hours: Egregious violation of the mores of the Magnolia State.

Tony Kornheiser and Pablo Torre, the latter sitting in for Michael Wilbon, discussed the matter the other day on PTI.

In the 90 second dialog, they made reference to both Rick Pitino’s Karen Sypher imbroglio, and Bobby Petrino’s neck bracing motorcycle inamorata in Arkansas.

Anyhow, you fellow Cardinal fans who don’t understand how much U of L’s stature is held in disregard nationally are simply ignoring the obvious.

It’s a real thing. U of L is a laughing stock. As lifelong Cardinal fan, I hate it.

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Donovan Mitchell’s getting his props.

Let’s hope the former Cardinal doesn’t wilt under the pressure of increased expectations.

Now that Gordon Hayward’s jumped to Beantown, Mitchell’s the new fave in Salt Lake City.

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Roger Federer.

Does he win?

Does he carry himself with humility and grace?

Is he the best ever?

Yes. And, yes. And, another yes.

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I love watching the Tour de France.

For many reasons.

All of which you could care less about.

So I’ll leave it at that.

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Meanwhile, Spieth and Kucher have made the turn knotted up at -8.

Young Jordan blew a three stroke lead in the first four holes, then blew another two stroke advantage.

Now there are some summertime blews.

Then’s there’s this unheralded Li guy, playing his first British Open — Sorry, Old Tom — who shot a 63, and is sitting pretty in the clubhouse at -6.

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Kyrie Irving wants out at Cleveland.

I mean, the Cavs have been really floundering of late. Finals. Championship. Finals.

But, ya know, when you want to be The Man, you know that ain’t gonna happen with King LeBron on the roster.

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41 days until Cardinal kickoff.

At least that’s what my Glorious and Most Esteemed Editor says.

Who am I to disagree?

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Chris Froome just closed the deal in his big competition.

If the name doesn’t sound familiar, uh, look it up.

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Sunday’s Announcer Scores:

Paul Sherwin: A+

Phil Liggett: A+

The Bobster: A+

Johnny Miller: D, but points deducted for smugness, so F+.

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So, let’s finish it up here.

With He Who Would Now Be The Only Guy Besides Jack Nicklaus To Win Three Different Majors Before Age 24.

Jordan Spieth.

Who bogeyed the 13th, after hitting “the worst shot ever from a professional golfer” to fall a stroke back with five holes to negotiate. Then the wunderkind went birdie, eagle, birdie, birdie and a steady par on the 72d to win the British Open.

Yeah, the British Open, you don’t like that Old Tom Morris, you can bite me.

— Seedy K

5 thoughts on “Beating those Sportin’ Summertime Blues

  1. Love the column, Seedy.

    It ain’t sports until the pigskins (both college and NFL) start flying.

    You were too generous with the F+ grade for Johnny Miller.

  2. Well, as a guy who waits patiently for the Tour every year, I’m glad to see it mentioned by another Louisvillian. I can’t say I watch every hour but I do record every hour and watch many of them. I think Phil and Paul are the best announcers of any sport on television! And they interact so well with each other.

    In addition to the sport, I love the Tour as a travelogue of the country. So many beautiful lavender fields, sunflower fields, And especially the mountains although I don’t know how the hell those guys can keep a bike moving forward on those inclines.

    Can you imagine a marathon or track race where thousands of crazy ass people wave flags in your face, run along with you, set off flares etc? I keep waiting for someone to interfere or get hurt but they seem to come through those gauntlets unscathed.

  3. Carl Lutes, agree on all accounts. Love the shots of the countryside. And the craziness of those climbs, with nude guys waving flags in the faces of some of the world’s best athletes in the biggest event in the sport. Hard to fathom really. And I have often told friends who could care less that one of the reasons I started watching was to hear Phil and Paul. Indeed the best of any sport.

  4. Props to the spectator who got an assist on Spieth’s wide right. Headered the ball back toward the fairway. Hope the bloke is OK. Pints all around.

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