KICK BALL!!!

OK all you PIG Bleacher Bums, we're here to talk sports, competition, winning, losing and some properly-PIGish sports takes.

Why are we writing about sports here at the Free State Of PIG? Because Korrectniks far and wide found a way to toss their crappy stick in the mud on anything from dodgeball, kickball, marbles, hopscotch and team logos and mascots.

If Redskins, Fighting Irish and Atlanta Braves Tomahawk Chops ruffle your sensitivities, well then pick up your tiny balls and little stick and start walking, because YOUR'E OUTTA HERE!

PIG's Whacked Out World Of Sports Section will not only deal with the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat, but who got their clocks cleaned by whom, on more out of the way topics. For instance, how many of you watch NASCAR to see how many points Jeff Gordon will get per season as opposed to those who watch NASCAR in hopes of seeing some red cement?

If the concept of two teams or individuals doing battle with each other on the field of competition with the spirits of a gladiator, with the outcome being one winner, one loser bothers you, we'll be more than happy to drop kick you back to Sensitivity Memorial Stadium.

What is a "Sport?"

A sport can be considered a recreational pastime involving an individual, an individual against another individual or a team versus another team, in the conventional sense of the word. But when big game hunters chase down elephants and kill them just for the sake of bagging the poor beast and stuff and mount it's head on your wall, that's not a sport, not even if your'e going to eat the damn thing. Why? Because the elephant didn't have a chance.

A sport usually involves two or more willing participants ready to do battle with victory being the primary objective. Hell, tiddlewinks IS a sport that does not involve athletism as much as it involve coordination and concentration.

Is blasting sports-phobic korrectniks a sport? If you answered 'no' to that, consider yourself ejected from the PIGDOME. Forever.

Pastimes.

Most of the PIG staff's hobbies are eating pizza and drinking tubs filled with beer. That's really not a pastime, but what happens AFTER we drink the beer could be considered a pastime.

Winning.

Winning. It's what it's all about in the arena of competition. Any area, but we're talking sports, PIGsters. From Gladiators and chariot races to today's Ultimate Fighting Competition and female mud wrestling, you gotta love the spirit of competition involved.

PIG'S CHEERLEADING SQUAD

Examples Of Winners:

Vince Lombardi inspired a winning attitude among his Green Bay Packer championships teams.

Al "Just Win Baby" Davis, owner of the Oakland/L.A./Oakland Raiders, scumbag that he is, did the same.

Leo Durocher, coined the term "Nice guys finish last."

Tiger Woods continues to bulldoze his competition in his sleep.

Larry Bird, well, we know what he did for the real Beaners - (Bostonians) Sports.

Jesse Owens: Snatched Olympic Gold in front of Hitler.

Whoever bags those cheerleaders pictured.

Let's get our balls rolling and in high gear.

Sarah Palin, during her acceptance speech for McCain's V.P. running mate at the Republican National Convention, coined a great phrase by declaring herself a "Hockey Mom."

That tells O'Sports Hack a thing or two.

First, her sons are not little crybabies, as they played hockey, and can probably handle themselves.

Second, am I the only one in the PIGdome who is way more than burned out on the term "Soccer Moms?"

Soccer? What the hell kind of limp-wristed Euro faggy sport is that? Hell, anyone can kick a ball, can, rock, someone's ass into a net.

Hockey, on the other hand, is a sport that is played on many levels. Much like baseball, but faster, requires the players to play defense, as well as offense, in between hip cheques, blasting your opponent head first into the plexiglass boards, fights, penalty box visits and dental appointments.

Another factor of hockey is that it's all done on ice, on skates, with wooden sticks and with a vulcanized puck that when propelled at the right speed can actually kill a human being.

Sounds like some fun, legalized assualt, huh?

Enough of that. O'Sports Hack was inspired to have a real nifty notion of creating an All-Female ice hockey team. The official PIGals uniform has already been designed by O'Sports Hack and is being beautilfully modeled by the lovely mascot pictured above.

Now as head coach, towel boy and uniform designer, my other responsibilty would be to hand paint uniform numbers on all the player's backs and fronts.Tough job, but I'm willing to take a pair for the team.

Hopefully, with my uniform design, we'll get some "Hockey Dads" coming to the games.

As usual, Mrs. Porcus just broke a ceramic plate and is preparing to toss it, frisbee style at my jugular.

Before I make my usual hasty retreat, I have to say to Messiah O'Bama, you got pucked and puck you.

Is this an ad for "Fast Actin' Tenactin" fungal foot medication? Hardly.

It's more than likely the result of combining Earl Weaver and Bobby Knight, and crossing it with one way pissed off Cuban Olympic Taekwondo medal contender, Angel Matos, seen delivering a wicked kick to event judge, Chakir Chelbat.

You can read for yourself, below, what I lifted from the online reports:

The guy on the left in the above photo is Angel Matos of Cuba, a taekwondo Olympian. But the guy he's kicking isn't an opponent, it's a judge.

Matos was declared the loser of the bronze match for taking more than the allotted one minute of injury time after he hurt his leg. He responded by pushing the referee, then attacking the Swedish judge you see in the photo, Chakir Chelbat. He was eventually dragged out, spitting on the floor as he left.

Cuban coach Leudis Gonzalez refused to apologize for Matos' actions and criticized the judge, saying, "He was too strict." The World Taekwondo Federation immediately announced lifetime bans for both Matos and Gonzalez for what it called "a strong violation of the spirit of taekwondo and the Olympics."

Judging in taekwondo has been under scrutiny in these Olympics, as American bronze medalist Steven Lopez said a judge showed "human error" in one of his matches, and China's two-time gold medalist Chen Zhong was initially declared the winner of a match only to have the result overturned.

But any legitimate concerns about the quality of the judging will likely be overlooked, as the lasting image of taekwondo in these Olympics will be Angel Matos kicking Chakir Chelbat.

Memo to future Banana-Boat-For-Life worker: You're supposed to kick your opponent, not the judge, even if he is incompetent, corrupt, or blind as a bat. When you are highly trained to administer major league physical boo-boo's to people, you are also trained to exercise an even more difficult discipline: Restraint.

While I do agree that you got what you deserved, a lifetime ban, O'Sports Hack has to applaud you for having the Nads to do what many athletes have long felt like doing to an umpire or referee after a blatantly bad call. Put them in their place.

Hope a lifetime in the sugar cane fields was worth it. You better hope Fidel doesn't have a "special" welcome wagon with your name on it when you arrive home to Cuba.

*Okay. O'Sports Hack stated in a previous posting on August 21 that there would be no more Olympic postings. That was until this dude had his meltdown. I simply couldn't resist posting this classic shot. If I plead guilty, can I be placed on double secret probation for a day?

Gluttony On A Grand Scale

The "sport" known as competitive eating that has been around forever, at least in my family, has slowly been gaining national attention, especially over at ESPN.

This one has O'Sports Hack scratching his head. How the hell did this ever become a "sport," televised on ESPN? It's more like a County Fair venue, worthy of a blue ribbon at the most.

I was wondering, do these "professional" eaters have agents? Is there a structured farm or draft system? Are there salary caps? Medical or dental plan? Do they receive pensions upon retirement? Like I said, just wondering.

I'll give them the benefit of the doubt, for a minute. Okay, you "professional" eaters have taken the easy way out by playing it safe and stuffing your face with hot dogs, pizza, chili, donuts, pretty much standard fare. Kid stuff.

Let's make it fun. Let's make it interesting. Why not make it a real contest by introducing more exotic cuisine like raw Afghani goat testicles? Yum.

How about live Phillipine hissing beetles?

Why not go Ozzie Osbourne and see how many pigeon heads you can eat? I would actually pay to see that!

Get the picture?

These competitve eating contests should actually be billed as two pronged Gastropalooza's. After all the eating, the 2nd event is as follows:

Now, the real fun begins here, with the encore and Grand Finale. If you guessed a Crap-A-Thon, you're right. After devouring all that food, it's got be digested and then spewed out, somewhere. If you professional pigs, oops, competitive eaters are willing to let the whole world watch you shovel it in, why not let the whole world watch you twist and sweat in pain as you force it out.

If I were commisioner, my rules would be simple: No laxatives. No toilet paper. No gas mask.

O'Sports Hack has a suggestion. If you "professional" human garbage disposals get paid to eat and regard what you do as a "sport," I want to enter competitive beer drinking as a "sport."

I have invested so much of my money in Anhueser-Busch, Heineken, Guiness, Foster's, and too many more to name, that Hambo and I already have honorary corporate sponsorship, and we will tag-team any and all comers, right under the table.

Gotta go! Mrs. O'Sports Hack is filling my trough with slop and I'm starved.

These Olympic games, boring as they have been, have really steamed O'Sports Hack. NBC has the broacast rights to the games, and seem to saturated the airwaves 24/7.

That's understandable. After all, NBC will generate millions, if not billions in advertising revenue and they want to scoop up all two weeks worth of broadcast time.

What really frosts me, is that every night for years, I have always watched Jay Leno, at least his monologue, but I keep forgetting about the Olympic games being on late at night due to international time zone considerations.

Crap. Who the hell wants to watch the equestrian events or synchronized swimming at 11:30 at night? You've got to be a real dweeb to even care. Almost every night the last week and a half, I automatically grab the remote and switch to our local NBC station only to find the games on. It's at that point, I launch into a mini expletive filled tirade.

If I want to watch some really cool equestrian events, I'll watch a damn cowboy movie. Hell, they can shoot AND ride at the same time.

Synchronized swimming? Bring a lawn chair and cooler and park it at the Rio Grande and watch as those Border Jumpers/Swimmers yell in unison, "Uno, Dos, Tres" and jump in the river like those herds of buffalo you see on National Geographic. That's what O'Sports Hack calls synchronization!

I'm Jonesing for Jay, alright. Hurry the hell up and get back to your show, dude.

My last word about the Olympics, Scouts Honor.

The most interesting story that would be deemed PIG Worthy is the Men's Spanish Soccer team posing in a Spanish (from Spain) newspaper ad making a gesture of what some, especially Asians, found offensive.

Apparently, the entire squad posed making a slant eye gesture. Maybe that's their way of telling the world, "Here we come, Beijing." Funny.

Big whoop. I don't see what the big deal is. Asian women go out of their way to pay big bucks for elective surgery to have their slanty eyes appear rounder.

Now, you don't hear non-Asians crying when we see an Asian opening a pizzeria or a taco joint. That's an "Enter At Your Own Risk" venture.

Sorry for the digression. Whatever most of this report had to do with sports, O'Sports Hack doesn't have a clue and you can red-flag me if you want.

Kindly wake me up when it's all officially over.

Hambo is going to start wondering about my "orientation", due to the fact that O'Sports Hack is posting on the Summer Olympics, again.

Wait, before I get condemned to the Land Of Hypocracy and Limp Wristers, this one has some merit and is a matter of national pride for America.

I'll backtrack and explain why your once trusty He-Man Sports Hack got interested in the 2008 Summer Olympiad.

See, Mrs. Porcus hid the TV remote and insisted on watching the games, and me being the warden of this asylum, allows her some "yard time" before lockdown. Being the generous dude I think I am, I patiently watched with my inmate, as long as she passed the damn popcorn and cracked open my beers.

Well, O'Sports Hack has been most impressed by the U.S. Men's Swim Team, more specifically, a young man named Michael Phelps, who seems to be an avid collector of gold medals - 8 total - and has a side hobby of shattering world records.

Mr. Phelps, you are a great ambassador, that represents your family and country with class.

You not only pissed in the international swimmimg pool by smoking and bulldozing everyone in sight, especially the French, but you are the Intimidator of the swimming world.

We here at The Free State of PIG are wondering, what the hell are you eating or drinking that makes you such a stud in the water, because whatever your pissing in the pool that keeps your competition away, either has razor blades or gasoline in it, and hell, nothing like sharing some of what you have.

Crap, Mrs. Porcus was peeking over my shoulder while I was writing this and all I can see is a glimmering object. Looks like a blade of some sort.

Wait...yep, plus she has a pot of boiling water that she says after lopping of some "vital" parts of mine, making a stew out of them, she's going to put the rest of the parts in a Glad Bag

FROM THE LAND OF THE FRENCH FREE

These American athletes did the impossible and punked the most arrogant, loudmouthed French Swim Team by snatching Gold. How cool is that?

Why? Because prior to what we here in the PIGdome consider an international borefest call the Olympics, we swore, "No Olympic stories."

However, something of note popped up and caught PIG's ear, always close to the rail radar, and if you haven't heard already, you're going to love this.

The Men's French swim team comes rolling into Beijing, with Frenchman(?) Alain Bernard made this comment when asked about Team USA: "The Americans? We're going to smash them. That's what we came here for."

O'Sports Hack had to do a double take when he heard that a Frenchman said he was going to smash American's.

Gee whiz and shiver me timbers, those words just would scare the life out anyone, (not really) but the fact is, they came from a Frenchy, who with those words, motivated and propelled the American's to not just snatch Olympic Gold, but wave it in Frenchy's faces.

Look Frog's, you need to realize, you are the stepchildren of not just America, but Germany, too. Germany has excerised some visitation rights, as we all know.

Now, for running your mouth, and undermining America and the can-do spirit of our athletes, on your collective way out to America's woodshed, grab Daddy's belt, because we are your Daddy, as of right now, bitch.

Congrats go to the American Men's 4x100 relay swim team. You not only won the Gold, but stood for your nation and showed the world, you don't ever underestimate the American Spirit. Ever.

We here at The Free State Of PIG say, "Thanks, guys, you made your country proud."

Now, you Frogs heading toward the airport, with your tails between your legs, words of advise: Avoid eateries, as you'll notice the lack of feral dogs, cats, bats and civets roaming the streets.

Why? Because you might be the next one in their pot, wok or frying pan.

Did O'Sports Hack mention French? If I did once to often, I apologize, but Tee-Hee, our guys stuck it to them.

What, pray tell is she gracing our pages for?

Answer is simple. We needed a new cheerleader for our Sports page.

Any objections? Didn't think so.

We here at The Free State of PIG were holding auditions for a new cheerleadeader on our squad, so we narrowed it down to this lovely.

The photograph in question was taken by a secret operative while the beauty was changing into the official PIG Cheerleaders Unform, which will be pictured below, later.

Who is she?

Glad you asked.

Name: Katie Price, aka Jordan of Jordan's Jugs renown.

Home: Britain, those lucky bastards.

Measurements: Enough for O' Sports Hack, and then some. Plenty of extras there, huh?

Favorite color: Who cares.

Favorite Book: She reads? Who knew?

Cat's Name: Well, frankly, I don't care, but since I forgot, I guess Pussy would suffice.

Turn On's: Hopefully, me

Turn-Off's: Also, hopefully me, for her sake.

Favorite Song: As long as there is no Michael Bolton or Celine Dion, I'm cool.

Wait a doggone minute! I've been mentioning her likes and dislikes, but what about ours, dudes?

Oh, O'Sports Hack forgot. Regular dudes like us are way out of her league in our quest to conquer a lovely like her

We're way happy to post and provide the necessary information on such important issues.

But dudes, and carpetmucnhing ladies, you can have her...in your dreams, just like me, dammit.

Regardless, we want you to welcome PIG's newest cheerleader, in her most glorious unifrom.

Well Porcus has to go pay the price for this one, as usual.

This time, Mrs. Porcus took a look at our newest addition and said, "Wow, she's pretty, huh?"

Then came the fatal, loaded questions every man dreads. "Is she prettier than me?" "Would you leave me for a woman like her?"

Well, O'Sports Hack answered as he only can, cowardly.

I said "Well, you know if I were marooned on a desert island with the misfortune of being stranded with her, I would... "

That's about all she needed to hear, just prior to her inserting an ice pick in my ear.

I'll be back, posting and providing for PIGsters of the Sports fan persuasion.

WELCOME TO THE JUNGLE, MANNY!

Was our world rocked or bummed when Manny Ramirez split from the Bosox to defect to the Los Angeles Dodgers?

Not even.

What makes this PIG worthy is our genuine concern for the fact that he went from the cozy confines of Beantown and Fenway Park to Los Angeles, and what we call the real L.A. Zoo.

Manny, we want to introduce you to the leader of L.A's welcome wagon.This handsome fellow will be escorting you to some of L.A.'s Hot Spots, Bel Air and Beverly Hills not included, but a drive-by here and there ain't out of the question.

He's also going be a real good neighbor, too.

He and his Homies, when they're not picking your pockets, and stealing the rims off of your Ferrari, will be way glad to show you around.

Where to, you asked?

The Free Staters Tour Guide suggests you avoid, AT ALL COSTS, the crappy freeway system. If you can drive a car the way you hit 95 m.p.h. fastballs, you may stand a chance.

Eateries: Oh boy, you may be in for a treat, if you like Montezuma's Revenge. Stay with Momma's home cooking.

Breathing: Good luck with all the damn smog clogging us up, you too.

Protection: We're pretty sure that when the L.A. Dodgers picked you up, they insured themselves, and you, with some insurance policies. Cool for them, but how about you? As usual, we're about solutions, and your's would be in the form of a .44 Magnum, maybe a Glock.

Transportation: Ditch the Ferrari's, Lambroghini's, Maserati's, Porsches, and definitely any notion of a brand spanking new Hummer. Why? Because here in SoCal, freaking housewives drive Hummers, and still get carjacked.

What you need is a Sherman Tank or a modern military assualt vehicle. You can motor that mother right down Wilshire Boulevard, and you will by default, be given a wide berth.

Finances: Got you covered there too, Manny. How? O'Sports Hack has a pickup truck which can accomodate all of your extra money, cash only please for which you can deposit right in the bed of the truck.

Any extra cashola? No problem.We've got Hambo at the ready with his trusty wheelbarrows, just itching for some Major League green.

Manny, we wish you well during your temporary stay here in Hell-LA, as free agency and your quest for more jack will lead you to greener pastures with another team, in another city.

Manny, thanks for helping the Red Sox win two championships. Way cool.

Your loyalty factor, frankly...sucks.

What moron said women's golf was not a sport? That moron ought to be taken out and shot, on the spot for excluding such willing participants, as the lovely pictured.

We here at the PIG Open Invitational want to know who in they're right mind would exclude ladies, as pictured, from not playing a round?

That's downright crappy when you get down to the brass tacks of the reputation of the LPGA.

Everyone thinks alot of the ladies on the LPGA are estrogen deficient types.

In many cases, way true, but not in the case of the good sport wearing the official PIG Open Uniform, pictured.

Now, O'Sports Hack wouldn't care for a moment what this ladies score is, because combined, the Hambo and Porcus Team blow chunks, with a combined over 400 par average, mostly due to the pizza and brewskie intake, plus, visual assault from Mrs. mammary, pictured.

Now, what we could use from her is a good...

Oh screw it. Porcus is a damn horndog and wanted to display some mighty fine golfclubs...being wielded by a sweet young thing.

Golfsters of the PIG persuasion, hit the greens, tee off, say "fore" swing away, aim at a Korrectnik and keep your fingers crossed in hopes meeting a sweetie like her.

As usual, I'm hot water with the Mrs.

Today's weapon of choice is a nail gun, aimed right at my back door. Wait, she also recruited Pedro the gardener with a damn rototiller to rip up my little, Ladies Only miniature golf course.

Well she said she was sorry, and has commenced to taking a claw hammer to remove the nails.

When I said, "So, any chance those "woods" and "irons" that got locked up on our wedding day can ever be dusted off?"

Nails were quickly reinserted. Ouch!

Who is this, you ask?

An American who had more balls than brains, with lots of foresight in thinking, "I can scale the Great Wall of China with my skateboard."

Well Mr Danny Way evaluated the situation, and he, his trusty skateboard, with the help from some some American engineers who designed and built two ramps for him, one to allow him to build the necessary speed on the way down, and another to propell him skyward, over the wall.

Ta-Freaking- Da! This dude did what the Mongol hordes failed to do, did O'Sports Hack mention five freaking times?

For you ladies out there, we dug up personal info on Mr. Danny Way.

Nickname: Dude

Real Name: Dude.

Friend's Names: Dude

Girlfriend's Name: Dude

Pet Goldfish Name: Dude

Mom's Name: Dude

In all seriousness, Mr. Way, The Free State Of PIG salutes you in your creativity, innovation, and the set of Nads you displayed, doing what you did.

Eat your heart out, Ghengis Khan, and in your face, Ping Pongers.

We're going to set up a link, so that folks can read it in his words.

Danny Way: Great Wall

It's been pretty obvious since the launching of our Sports Page, that most of you PIGsters of the Sports fan persuasion, usually high-octaned, turbo-testosterone'd charged ilk, tune in for our eye-candy.

Hey, we're always glad to provide.

That's cool by O'Sports Hack, as I did tell you that The Free State of PIG would be reporting, commenting on, and examining some of the more out of the way elements of sports, and some of the fallout that entails.

Let's take females in the locker room, like the lovely Mia St. John, pictured.

Is she a slutty female reporter, out to defend her right to do some "professional pecker peeking," in the name of journalism? No.

Is she a towel attendendant? Oh does O'Sports Hack wish, but no.

Is she a professional athlete? Hell yes.

If interested, when the drool is dried from your chins, simply do a search on her and you'll find she's a pro through and through, as a female boxer, plus a Playboy Playmate.

Now, down to brass tacks, and sorry to pee on your eye candy parade, but some women stomp their feet and demand to not be violated, as far as their First Amendment, so-called, journalistic rights go.

Okay, ladies, you went to court for this crap, demanded equality, well, what if O'Sports Hack went to court demanding access to the Swedish Bikini Team's locker? How far would that fly in court, unless I had a personal backstage, all access pass, personally autographed by all the lovlies, asking for a towel boy named Porcus?

Oh no, not again. Mrs. Porcus caught me red handed this time. Now, she's wielding a soldering iron and a dental drill, demanding "What's the difference between her and me?"

Almost speechless, I replied, "Look in the mirror, and look at her. Hands down, you win, sweetheart."

She didn't buy it, not even for a second, and I knew I was doomed. God only knows this time what's in store for your most dedicated, in-the trenches-sports hack.

THE SHOT SEEN 'ROUND THE WORLD

Cubs center fielder Rick Monday runs with a U.S. flag after taking it away from protesters who intended to burn it. James Roark's classic photo of Rick Monday is one of the most famous shots in baseball history. James Roark/L.A. Herald Examiner

The article was written over twenty years ago, 1996 to be exact, in the Los Angeles Times.

At this time, the author's name is unavailable, otherwise we would gladly publish it.

This one goes way beyond peanuts and crackerjacks, Patriotic PIGsters, so we hope you enjoy.

RICK MONDAY: SPIRIT OF '76

Rick Monday remembers arriving at Dodger Stadium, opening a letter, reading the words of a Vietnam veteran thanking him for saving the American flag from burning on April 25, 1976.

"Letters every week," Monday said. "All sorts of letters. For a piece of cloth."

Twenty years, and Monday's smooth voice still trembles at the telling.

"I've gotten a thousand questions wondering if I'm disappointed being best known for something that had nothing to do with baseball," Monday said. "My answer is, absolutley not."

It was the bottom of the fourth inning at Dodger Stadium. Ted Sizemore was the Dodger batter. Monday was the Chicago Cub center fielder. The count was 1-0.

We could tell you what happened, but Vin Scully will always do it better:

"Wait a minute, there's an animal loose...two of them...all right...I'm not sure what he's doing out there...it looks like he's going to burn a flag...and Rick Monday runs and takes it away from him!

The animals were an unemployed 37-year-old man from Eldon, Mo., named William Errol Thomas and his alleged son. They got onto the field through the third base seats and ran to shallow left field.

Monday saw them stop there. Saw something being laid out, "like a picnic blanket." Saw the glare off the bottle of clear liquid.

"I said to myself, 'That's a flag, and that's lighter fluid,'" Monday recalled.

Monday had completed six years in the Marine Corps reserves. He had lost friends in Vietnam. He had heard stories of his father in the Army.

He knew all about the prices that were paid for something that allowed him to go from an average Santa Monica schoolboy to a very rich baseball player.

"It wasn't about having some military background," Monday said. "It was about appreciating your freedom."

While others stood and watched, Monday ran.

He saw William Errol Thomas light a match. For a moment, he thought he would be too late. Then he realized he would not have to save the flag alone.

"A gust of wind came along and blew the match out," Monday said.

Before the second match could be dropped, he had grabbed the flag and was carrying it off the field. He passed then-third base coach Tom lasorda, who was running towards the fools and cursing. He handed the flag to Dodger pitcher Doug Rau.

He returned to his postion amid a standing ovation.

Twenty years and Monday can still hear what even Scully missed.

"As the cheering died, everybody in the stands started singing 'God Bless America,'" Monday recalled. "I was stunned. I stood there and got chills."

Monday was invited to a couple of parades. William Errol Thomas was fined $60 for trespassing. The story figured to die.

But Monday soon learned that his story was about something that does not die.

"Every year I heard about it, every week, all the time," said Monday, a Dodger announcer for the last three years. "People thanking me. All sorts of people."

He retrieved the flag and hung it simply in his living room, in front of the only photo taken of the incident.

The Dodger computer people produced a replica of that photo that will greet him every time he turns on his laptop.

The man who took that photo, another hero named James Roark, fromer photo editor of the defunct los Angeles Herald Examiner, died last year after being beaten by four teenagers on the streets of Portland, Oregon.

But the story lives, because of something that does not die.

"That Vietnam vet wrote that he was in a jungle hospital for eight months, and the only thing that kept him going was thinking about the piece of cloth," Monday said. "Twenty years later, he wanted to thank me for saving it."

What would happen if somebody tried to burn a flag in a major league outfield today?

Barry Bonds would grab it, sign it and put it up for sale.

Brett Butler, knowing Betsy Ross was a non-union worker, would ignore it.

Albert Belle would forget about the flag and set fire to the hippe.

Jose Canseco would grab for the flag and miss. It would then bounce off his head and over the left field fence.

Rickey Henderson would drape it around his shoulders and immediately declare himself president.

Jim Edmonds would taunt it.

Kevin Mitchell would eat it.

Worse yet, if it happened today and Rick Monday tried to stop it, Monday would be arrested for infringing on the rights of others. The flag burner would be the hero.

Monday has only one thing to say to those such as Denver Nugget guard Mahmoud Abdul-Rauf, who recently refused to stand for the national anthem.

"I would tell him, 'If you want people to respect you, you have to respect them,'" he said.

Twenty years, and Rick Monday has not aged a day.

"People sometimes say. 'You're corny,'" Monday said. "I don't care if I am corny."

- Author Unknown

Ever want to kick back, open a cold frostie and watch a ballgame, but your significant other, usually a wife or girlfriend, or in some cases, your boyfriend insists upon watching figure skating?

You want to keep a peaceful and harmonious domicile, so you relunctantly give up the remote and figure, "What the hell, the sports bar down the road will have a broadcast of the game I want to watch."

That usually happens to non-whipped dudes as they're on they're way to the sports bar until they see the lovely pictured, with dropped jaw, and a sudden interest in figure skating.

Name: Anna Semenovich.

Nation: Russia.

Profession: Figure skater.

Accomplishments: Beyond her measurements, what dude really cares.

Quoted As Saying: " Behind the bust they do not see the person."

O'Sports Hack says, "Right, exactly."

So, next time your wife insists upon watching figure skating - with you - you may want to stick around and catch those glimpses of booty under those micro mini skirts during a triple axel, and we already know when you do, you're also checking the manicuring of her front yard, too.

I wish I had a doghouse to retreat to, because Mrs. Porcus saw this, after forgiving me for the Swedish Bikini Team posting, and has called in reinforcements for this one. They've got the car started and live jumper cables connected and aimed straight at the Porcus most personal marble collection, while another has fondue forks going for my eyeballs.

PIGster's, I'm about to take one for the team, and while I'm recovering, I hope you enjoy.

THE ULTIMATE PRIZE

Paul Pierce, Celtic Warrior, with his lifelong goal, in his hand, finally. You earned it, dude.

Did any of you PIGster's hear that giant sucking sound eminating from the Boston Garden last night? O'Sports Hack did. It was the sound of the L.A. Ladies laying down like stuck little pig's and squealing, begging for mercy. The sound of music.

Where were the real Laker's? In the opening minutes, Kobe Bryant was on fire, nailing three pointers from beyond the perimeter.

At that point, O'Sports Hack had to be restrained with a straight jacket by Mrs. Porcus, thinking I may harm myself if the Ladies beat the Celts, as I wanted to hurl a brick at my TV at what I thought was a Celtic defeat.

Obviously, not the case. The Mighty World Champion Boston Celtics must have saved up their extra special reserve cans of Whoop-Freaking-Ass, opened them up, and went downton Beantown on L.A. just for this momentous occasion, and was it ever.

The Celtics not only bent over, bitch slapped, punked, spanked and dismantled the L.A. Ladies, but stuck some old fashioned boots on their feet and after dislodging them from the collective Ladies' asses, drop kicked them straight to Boston's Logan Airport, with Ladies tails between their legs.

In the process, the Celtics wiped that smartass, "I'm gonna beat you" smirk off of Kobe Bryant's face.

Yes, what Boston did to the Ladies was not only brutal, but beautiful.

However, before the Ladies left, during the post game press conference, Kobe Bryant was asked the usual Numbnut, News Nitwits question, "How does it feel?'

Kobe's response: "It sucks."

Damn right, but not for the Mighty Celts and the city of Boston.

Congrats, big time, Mr. Pierce, Garnett, Allen, Rondo, Coach Rivers and the rest for delivering and earning yourselves the World Championship.

Now, about the parade and ensuing riots that are bound to occur in the city of Boston.

Bostonians of the maniacal, drunk persuasion that will no doubt get the urge to tip cars and jump in the Charles river, do you think you can save some of that enery long enough to catch a flight here to SoCal and do the same to some of our more delusional locals that still think the Ladies are still in it?

Memo To Lakers: Go home, nut up and admit defeat, play golf, make love to your beautiful wives that you cheat on, have Tony tune up your Ferrari's and we'll see ya next year, huh?

Memo To Celtics: Thanks for silencing the L.A. Lady Zombies. With your most triumphant victory, thanks to you, us SoCal residents have not been subjected to annoying horn honking and dumbass banner waving from the Zombies.

If a picture tells any kind of story, this one that Hambo captured, says it all.

Female pole vaulter? That pic has Porcus' heart a flutter.

Do you know how many metaphors we came up with regarding the term, "Female Pole Vaulter?" Your sick minds and imaginations would be pretty much in tune with the male members of PIG's Staff. Pun intended.

Let's see. We do not in any way want to demean this pole vaulters talents, just recognize them, and looks to us as if she has many, male pole vaulting skills or experience included, and she ever feels the need to practice her pole vaulting skills, the entire male PIG staff "members" are already fighting to get first dibs on Mrs. Long Legs.

If you horndog PIGsters enjoy that sweet bit of eye candy, stay tuned, as Sports Hacks Hambo and Porus will always strive to give you the latest in off-beat sports coverage.

Crap, gotta go. Mrs. Porcus, aka, The Exploder, saw me and she's approaching me with a cast iron skillet. Her target? The back of my head for drooling over that most beautiful young woman pictured.

If for any reason I don't make it out the intensive care unit after Mrs. Porcus administers her brand of discipline, my final words are, "Yum yum."

Pretty much, nothing, but what we're doing with this big fat steroid cheater is displaying an example of what "Pete Rosing" yourself can do to a once promising career.

Bonds, if your late father Bobby Bonds were alive, he should disown you. You have disgraced his good name by lying and comitting perjury.

Second, you cheated, you know it, and your so called "home run" record was not even recognized or acknowledged by the great, real home run king and gentleman, Hank Aaron.

Don't think you will make it to Cooperstown, Baseball's Holy Of Holy, The Hall Of Fame.

O'Hacks prediction is you may make it to Leavenworth.

That's right, a Federal joint, where you're going to need the bat you used to cheat and lie into the record books to defend whatever kind of manhood you have left with your cellmate.

Bonds, you have maligned your father's and family's name, gave America's National Pastime a bad name, and impugned your own name and character.

Good luck, washed up, asterisk liar, you're going to need it. Say Hi to Michael "I Pete Rosed Myself" Vick when you get where your going, liar.

PIGsters, we promise, no more Bonds on these pages.