In Produce We Trust

Francisco Cordero recently signed a four-year, $46 million deal to be the Reds closer.

Most Reds fans in this city were surprised and stunned when they heard the news. They couldn't believe the Reds were the ones ponying up the big bucks to swipe a big free agent from other teams. Plus, they were spending the loot wisely for once.

This was a banner day in the recent history of the Reds. This was a clear message to their fans that the Reds, and owner Bob Castellini, were willing to spend money if they felt there was a player that would make a significant difference in the performance of the team.

It was the dawning of a new day down at Great American.

But this is one Queen City resident who wasn't surprised at all. Nope. Not in the least.

Why? Because I read between the lines and saw the one common bond between the Reds and Cordero. A bond that no other owner or organization in the big leagues would have with Cordero.

Produce.

That's right. Produce.

Bob Castellini has made his millions (billions?) in produce and food distribution. So it would only be right that he would jump at the chance to do whatever it takes to acquire a man that goes by the nickname of "Coco" (as in bean, powder and Puffs the cereal).

In a further thread of symbiosis, the man representing Coco, and the one in most direct contact with Castellini, was named Bean (as in green, lima and pinto).

That's right. Coco Cordero's agent goes by the name Bean Stringfellow. It was a match made in Food Network heaven.

So the next time you are in the produce section of your local grocery story, ask yourself if you see any connections between the fruits and vegetables before you and 2008 MLB Free Agents.

If so, you may have spotted the next big free agent splash by the Reds.

Long Live Coco, Bean and the Produce King!

Crazy Ex-Girlfriend

You know the one I'm talking about.

You went out with her for awhile. You had fun. Then when you realized you were done with her, and it was going nowhere, you landed the "I need a little space" blast, and dropped her like a hot potato.

But she can't let go.

She calls your cell like 50 times a day. She leaves rambling, erratic, and increasingly angry messages on your voicemail. She loads up your e-mail with crazy messages of "love" and "we were meant for each other", followed by links to love song lyrics. Then you come home from work one day and she's in your house with your pet rabbit boiling on the stove.

Okay. So maybe not the last one.

But I bring this up because we are not even a week into the college basketball season, and I'm already noticing a disturbing trend: UC Basketball fans are the crazy ex-girlfriend of the college basketball landscape.

Granted, Mick Cronin hasn't really helped his cause by starting this season 1-2, but I'm already hearing Mick has to go, Bob Huggins should have never been fired comments.

For the mental health of the Queen City: LET HIM GO!

Granted, Bobby H. got a raw deal from Devil Z, and the whole situation was the messiest divorce around. But for better or worse, it was a divorce. And just like all messy divorces, there is no hope for rekindling the flame.

Continuing to call local sportstalk radio (and you still do because not only do I hear them, but our local sportstalk guru, Mr. McAllister, saw fit to post a little article on the matter in his blog recently), still pining for Huggy Bear is just like the crazy ex leaving messages of love.

I thought that after the first year he was away (always the hardest in a divorce), when all the crazy alum bought K-State gear to wear to the UC games, things would calm down. But they haven't. In fact, they've gotten worse.

I opened up the Enquirer's regional basketball insert a few weeks ago to find that there was a section covering West Virginia, where the Hugster is now coaching. And you are even hassling the media accusing them of giving Cronin a "free pass" from criticism.

Well, you know what? They are. You know what else? Cronin deserves to get that pass right now. So shut up.

Even if you run Cronin out of town, your divorced coach won't be coming back. Devil Z won't allow it.

So if you need to get into a 12-step program to cope, do it. If you need to watch old tapes from the Huggins days, do it (I hear the one where he was driving drunk is a real hoot). But wherever you get help, just get help, because if you don't, then this program won't be given the chance to excel that the players rightly deserve.

Huggins isn't coming back. Period. Continuing to pine for him only makes you the crazy ex-girlfriend.

The players deserve better than that.

A Sight To Behold

The mountain of humanity stood outside the small doorway. More beef than a Texas cattle ranch trying to squeeze into a space that most regular sized men would have trouble fitting through.

Cameras were at the ready, videotape was rolling, cell phones were recording as well, as they all wanted a souvenir of this moment, for posterity's sake of course.


What could it be that fascinated these men so? A superstar in there midst? A spiritual phenomenon maybe?


No. It was simple a regular sized, 6-foot, 200 lb., human being sitting reading a magazine. Mouseish by their standards. But it was where he was sitting that made this moment miraculous.

He sat at the edge of the training room whirlpool with his right leg immersed into the hot, relaxing water.

"This can't be happening", muttered one of the behemoths of the Sunday trenches. "This is a sanctuary reserved for those of us who beat, bang, and bruise ourselves to earn a buck every week."

Did this scene occur in a J.R.R. Tolkien novel? No. It was simply the scene in the visitors' training room at MT&T Bank Stadium in Baltimore, where the place kicker for the victorious Bengals sat resting is his right boot.

If you had kicked a franchise record tying 7 field goals, and accounted for all of your team's 21 points, wouldn't your foot need a little treatment too?

Let's be honest. He was the only Bengal on Sunday who deserved it.