Is There a Draft in Here?

Didn't seem like it. With the death of the King of Pop, the 2009 NBA Draft took a back seat to the emotional news of Michael Jackson's passing. And rightfully so. MJ's music was not only a huge influence on generations of fans, his monumental career paved the way for so many artists to follow in his footsteps. Radio and TV halted their coverage of the conflict in Iran to air tributes to the fallen musical genius. Candlelight vigils were held, videos and comments flooded the Internet, creating an overload not even the world wide web could handle. His impact was felt around the globe as world leaders issued public statements on the sadness of their loss.

Here in the States, fans came together outside the hospital where the Jackson family gathered in support of Michael for one final time. On the east coast, the WaMu theater in Madison Square Garden was abuzz with whispers and phone calls, not on the draftees, but rather on the shocking news of Jackson's sudden death. In DC, Michael Jackson was the story; the draft was not. The legendary chart-climber, musician, dancer and entertainer was honored without draft news interruption. Because in Washington, we didn't need the draft.

In one of the smartest moves made in DC area sports since the Capitals drafted Alex Ovechkin in 2004, the Wizards organization traded their 5th pick, along with Etan Thomas, Darius Songaila and Olesky Pecherov, to the Minnesota Timberwolves in exchange for Mike Miller and Randy Foye.

I say it was a smart decision because Flip Saunders, an effective, offensive-minded coach, is looking for a ring now. Tomorrow is too late. And by stacking this team with veteran players and not wasting the team or the district's time developing a foreign teenager or a weak guard, the Wizards went ahead and skipped the nonsense and got right down to business.

One of the top three draftees - Blake Griffin, Hasheem Thabeet or James Harden - definitely would have looked nice in a Washington uniform. But let the ping pong balls fall where they may and you leave the future of your organization to chance. Yes, trading away the first, second or third pick would have been ludicrous, but trading the fifth pick was somewhat of an intuitive move that will pay off in the immediate future.

While the new-look Wiz kids won't have nearly the moves of the late great MJ, or the star power to captivate an audience like MJ did, they certainly Wanna Be Startin' Somethin' that will be talked about, if not worldwide, at least state wide, and in part of the conversation in the WaMu theater this time next year.

Gold Glover

Bethpage State Park -the par 70 Black Course - the first public course to host the U.S. Open. Long Island, New York - home to some of the drunkest golf fans I've ever seen on national television - and some of the worst fescue grass known to man. And all this was already there. Now, bring in the weather and the drama.

This wasn't your typical U.S. Open. If fact, it couldn't have been more left to last year's right. Last June was West coast; this was mostly certainly East. Private course vs Public. Sunshine vs rain. All-stars vs all the rest. But it's still golf and their was still a major to be played. So we play on.

Thursday kicked off with some familiar faces. Tiger, Rocco and Mickelson came ready to play; unfortunately so did Mother Nature. The gallery looked like a gumball machine as the round, colorful umbrellas became the backdrop for most of the afternoon. The rains came and suspended play as many wondered how they would squeeze four rounds of golf into three stormy days. For now, they would try to squeeze the water from the soaking greens.

Virginia Tech grad Drew Weaver enjoyed the lead for about as long as Bethpage enjoyed sun; ACC standup. The biggest emotional roller coaster was rode by both fans and players alike. Riding shotgun, bearing the biggest burden, was Phil Mickelson, who's wife Amy was at home awaiting surgery for breast cancer. Lefty's phenomenal putting was on display Sunday afternoon, nailing two long birdie putts on both 16 and 18 with ease. While unable to hoist the trophy, Phil's triumphant comeback on Monday, which took him to -4 for a share of the lead, was good enough to feed the New York crowd's hunger for some competition.

The darker side of the story came straight from the Tiger's mouth. Sitting at home on Father's Day Sunday watching golf, as I'm sure several father-son/father-daughter duos were, I noticed something different about Tiger. His concentration fell apart, anger boiled over and the world's number one golfer became human, if only for a day. Forget Tiger's putting, which was a disaster, his attitude was worse. Throwing clubs. Cussing audibly on national television. Tiger was throwing a 2-year-old temper tantrum as 26-year-old Ricky Barnes rose to the occasion. If it weren't for Tiger's repeat chip-in on 17 - which saved his dignity and most likely his caddie's life, who became Tiger bait when play turned ugly - the defending champ would have left New York a total loser. Instead, he left New York the 6th place loser with some coin in his purse and in serious need of an attitude adjustment. Dear Tiger, America likes their freak-show athletes to be just that. Please check your human qualities at the door.

All in all after a wet and wild weekend, golf gave away their trophy to a no-name who gets enough props from me with the title of this blog, Ricky Barnes' choke job will go down as one of the best (at least he placed in something) and the obnoxious, rained-out fans got their money's worth, even if they had to bitch about it. It just goes to show, you can take New Yorkers out of the city but you can't take the city out of New Yorkers.