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• Pick against the top two seeds at your peril. There’s a reason John Calipari was so wound up this time of year, one season after another. The path to the tournament’s second weekend is considerably shorter and straighter for teams that must face seeds no higher than seventh in the second round. Surviving that first weekend — and the nerves it brings, particularly for first-time players — is an obvious but critical hurdle to leap.

• Top seeds are earned. You may love upsets, and some pools reward a pick that has the likes of Richmond or Rhode Island — to name a pair of Cinderellas from days gone by — beating the likes of Indiana or Syracuse. But you can all but count on a top seed reaching the Final Four. (Of course, this means you have a 25-percent chance of nailing the pick if you limit yourself to one, so be careful.) Over the 31 years the NCAA has seeded teams, only twice — in 1980 and 2006 — has the Final Four been devoid of a numero uno.

• If you want to tempt the fates, look at the 15th seed in each bracket. No 16-seed has ever won a game at the NCAA’s (since the field was expanded to 64 in 1985). But four 15-seeds have pulled upsets (Richmond in ’91, Santa Clara in ’93, Coppin State in ’97, and Hampton in ’01). The lowest seeds to reach the Final Four, by the way, were 11th: LSU in 1986 and George Mason in 2006.

• Look at last year’s winner ... and forget them. Literally, this year. North Carolina ran roughshod through the field a year ago, but with Tyler Hansbrough and Ty Lawson now cashing checks in the NBA, the Tar Heels didn’t even make the field (first time since 2003). Two years ago, history was made when all four top seeds reached the Final Four (including Derrick Rose’s Memphis Tigers). This month, only one of those programs — Kansas — will be dancing. College basketball has taken on the collective shape of its biggest stars: one and done. So pay absolutely no attention to last year’s results.

• Star power matters; experience, not so much. Greg Oden and Mike Conley played one year of college hoops, and took their Ohio State Buckeyes to the national finals in 2007. Rose needed only one season at Memphis to make himself a national star (and ultimately the top pick in the NBA draft) as he led the Tigers to the 2008 finals. Carmelo Anthony won a championship as a one-and-done force for Syracuse in 2003. Mike Bibby was a freshman when his Arizona Wildcats won it all in 1997. And who can forget Michigan’s Fab Five going to the Final Four as freshmen and sophomores (1992 and ’93). So . . . look long and hard at this year’s Kentucky Wildcats, with freshmen John Wall and DeMarcus Cousins sharing the role of Calipari’s annual one-year-wonder.

• Just fill out the bracket! Don’t be shy. Expertise during March Madness is highly overrated. (Just count the number of sportswriters who have retired on their success in Vegas.) There are 9.2 quintillion possibilities in a 64-team bracket, and somewhere among those possibilities is “one shining moment” we all await when the nets are finally cut down on a Monday night in early April. Have fun. And when in doubt, always bet on the team with an animal nickname.

A few hoop thoughts on my mind this week, so let’s get right to them:

• The last month of Grizzlies basketball has been nothing short of bizarre. An eight-game losing streak at home (hard to do) and a six-game winning streak on the road (hard to do). But if you look at the results, the twin streaks shouldn’t be all that shocking, as the disparity between opponents Memphis has faced on the road and at FedExForum is pronounced. The only three bottom-feeders have come away from home (New Jersey, Washington, New York) and the only four teams that can call themselves title contenders (Lakers, Atlanta, San Antonio, Phoenix) have been at FEF. Nonetheless, if the Grizzlies are playoff caliber, they take a game or two from fellow “bubble” teams Miami, Charlotte, or Portland on their home floor. The home drought will certainly end tonight (against New Jersey), right?

• I just finished reading Pistol, the fine biography of Pete Maravich by Mark Kriegel. One of the best sports biographies I’ve ever read, it’s almost certainly the saddest. Kriegel rightfully identifies Maravich as the bridge between Bob Cousy and Magic Johnson, the basketball savant essentially programmed — from age 3 — by his father to change the game. (Sound familiar, Tiger Woods fans?) The fact that Pistol Pete performed at the level he did, both in college and the NBA, with a heart pumping well short of capacity is beyond comprehension. The fact that his brilliance on the hardwood came at the expense of every other facet of a normal life makes the tale one of heartbreak. (Sample line: “He was damned to play a role scripted by the wants and needs of others.”) The word “legend” is overused in sports, but Pete Maravich is a legend, indeed, only confirmed by this book.

• My new peeve: When an NBA guard — playing for a team that’s trailing — allows an in-bound pass after an opponent’s score to roll toward midcourt, ostensibly saving precious seconds on the game clock. Pro guards can dribble the length of a basketball court in less than five seconds. This “technique” of intentionally not touching the ball saves, at the most, a pair of seconds on a possession. And I’m convinced any gained time is lost by the guard having to recover the ball and establish his dribble (while not running up the floor). If one game has been won via this gimmick, let me know and I’ll reconsider my stance. Until then, I await the day the rolling ball is stolen by the winning team and jammed through the rim for the game-clinching points.

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• “A pair of athletes thrown together by the cosmos to compete.” So says narrator Liev Schreiber near the end of HBO’s documentary Magic & Bird: A Courtship of Rivals. My family moved to Orange County, California, in 1979, the same year Magic Johnson arrived and somehow became the biggest celebrity in a city of celebrities. I later went to college in Boston during the latter half of Larry Bird’s sublime career with the Celtics. (I spent some preschool years in Atlanta when Maravich was a Hawk, but can’t reflect in the same way on that proximity.) HBO’s film manages to document what may be the most significant sports pairing of the last 50 years. And that’s really what Bird and Magic were: a pairing. Sure, they battled in an NCAA championship and three times in the NBA Finals, but together, they saved the NBA while at the same time serving as talking points for subjects as challenging as race, fame, politics, even disease. Having grown up in the Eighties — especially having lived in each of their neighborhoods for a period of time — I find this tandem’s influence profound when it comes to my view of modern athletes, and the struggle among so many of them to balance celebrity with the will to be a champion. Early in the film, Bird says people will be talking about his rivalry with Magic 100 years from now. And he’s right.

March means spring. And spring means baseball. And in these parts, baseball means the St. Louis Cardinals. As the defending National League Central champions shake off the rust in Jupiter, Florida, this month, four primary issues have been stealing headlines and stirring debate within Cardinal Nation. Let’s take a look at all four.

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• Who will man the hot corner? Joe Thurston and Mark DeRosa played the most innings at third base last season for St. Louis, and neither player is back. With Matt Holliday signed to a contract that pays him $16 million a year, the Cards’ new third baseman will come from the bargain rack. Could be David Freese, a standout two years ago in Memphis (26 home runs) who missed much of last season with an ankle injury before helping lead the Redbirds to the Pacific Coast League championship. Freese was arrested for DWI this winter and has since given cleaning up his personal life the same priority as winning the third-base gig for the Cardinals. Other options include Joe Mather (like Freese, injured most of last year after a fine 2008 season) and maybe Allen Craig (.322 and 26 homers in Memphis last season on his way to the franchise’s Minor League Player of the Year award). It’s unlikely all three of these prospects will make the big club, which means the Redbirds should land a solid, veteran bat in the middle of their lineup.  

• Who is the fifth starter? If Adam Wainwright, Chris Carpenter, Kyle Lohse, and Brad Penny stay healthy, it’s going to be a good season at Busch Stadium. Each hurler has won at least 15 games at least once in his career. But unless Tony LaRussa turns into Earl Weaver before Opening Day, someone new will have to take the ball every fifth day. (Joel Pineiro and Todd Wellemeyer have moved on.) Former Cub Rich Hill was invited to Jupiter to earn a spot, having pitched fewer than 80 innings the last two seasons combined. Three young starters will also contend for the role, a spot in the Memphis rotation awaiting if they don’t make the cut. Blake Hawksworth went 5-4 for Memphis last season before going 4-0 with a 2.02 ERA in 40 innings for St. Louis. Mitchell Boggs went 6-4 as a Redbird, 2-3 as a Cardinal. The best stuff probably belongs to 23-year-old lefty Jaime Garcia, the Cardinals’ second-ranked prospect and another hero of the Redbirds’ PCL title run last fall.  

• Who will come off the bench? Among reserves, the most at-bats for the 2009 Cardinals went to Rick Ankiel, Joe Thurston, Chris Duncan, and Khalil Greene. They’re all gone. (A member of the Cardinals’ system since 1998, Ankiel signed with Kansas City so he can play every day.) The only holdovers on the bench are catcher Jason LaRue and infielder Julio Lugo. Which makes the signing last weekend of former All-Star Felipe Lopez significant. Lopez can capably play second, short, and third, invaluable versatility under a manager like LaRussa who likes to keep his players fresh (and motivated) by moving parts and positions within his lineup. Along with Freese, Mather, and Craig, infielder Tyler Greene and outfielder Jon Jay (both Memphis Redbirds in ’09) will compete for roster spots with the big club. With starting shortstop Brendan Ryan rehabbing from wrist surgery, the musical chairs on the Cardinal bench have become especially hot. As with the rotation slot, those players who don’t fit LaRussa’s needs will be on their way to AutoZone Park . . . and with a chip on their shoulder.  

• Who’s that behind the batting cage? The hiring of Mark McGwire as hitting coach is dubious at best, a public-relations tsunami at worst. And it’s starting to look like the latter. (When your own brother publishes a book disparaging your use of steroids, it may be time to reevaluate a career in the public eye.) The return of McGwire to Busch Stadium is sure to have its warm elements. It’s been only 12 years since he made St. Louis the center of the baseball universe with his juiced assault of Roger Maris’ single-season home run record. Fans will get their number-25 jerseys out of the attic and make the former slugger feel a part of the family again. But for the 81 games the Cardinals must play away from home? For a team suiting up the game’s most fearsome slugger — three-time MVP Albert Pujols — adding a confessed steroid user to the clubhouse is a bit like asking a recovering alcoholic to lead tours at Anheuser-Busch. Here’s hoping — somehow — the baseball played on the field will be the story of the upcoming Cardinal season.   * * * * * * * *  

• One of the more underrated annual events on the Mid-South sports calendar is the Gulf South Conference basketball tournament, to be held this week (March 4-7) at the DeSoto Civic Center in Southaven. (Both the men's and women's tournaments will be held.) The top-ranked men’s team in Division II — Arkansas Tech — will be favored, with another top-10 squad (Valdosta State) in the field. A pair of top-10 teams (Delta State and Arkansas Tech) will be vying for the women's title. Check it out.  

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• Evan Lysacek

I want to be delicate in crafting this column, for I know those who tune in for Olympic figure skating take it as seriously as any American Idol voter or New York Yankee fan. The slightest stumble — to say nothing of an actual meeting of keister and ice — is enough to spike blood pressure. This is a sport in which a pipe-wielding hit-man made news not that long ago. I know the gravity of the subject matter.

But I have a problem with a sport in which I can’t recognize a winner from a “loser.” The subtleties between Lysacek’s performance and that of 2006 Olympic champ Evgeni Plushenko may have jumped out — like a triple salchow! — for the judges entrusted with awarding medals in Vancouver. But from my couch? Two fine athletes, each able to do with their bodies on ice what I couldn’t do in a swimming pool. And synchronized to music. To crown one Olympic champion — again, in my view — is as subjective as awarding an Oscar or Grammy.

It doesn’t have to be this way. When the International Olympic Committee finally calls, here’s my solution for the figure-skating competition.

To begin with, the field will be drawn up in brackets, like a tennis tournament. National champions will be seeded higher, with an open draw to determine placement of other skaters. As we learn every March, nothing builds fan interest like a good bracket. Only regulation: skaters from the same country cannot face each other in the first round. “Face each other?” you ask. Absolutely, and this is the game-changer in my new figure-skating format. Two skaters on the ice at the same time. Four-and-a-half minutes together, with music they are presented at the time of the draw (allowing skaters, at minimum, three days to choreograph their routines; we’re looking for skating champions, not dancing stars).

This would actually bring competition — an opponent — into the fold. Whether it’s another team, a clock, or even par on a golf course, an athlete needs to be confronting an adversary to truly achieve greatness in sports. Imagine the Olympic field being winnowed down to Lysacek vs. Plushenko in the finals, each to take the ice one last time, forced to perform his best routine of the tournament ... without crashing into his rival.  (A bracket format would require more routines to be skated by each competitor. If Olympic swimmers can handle three races in a day, skaters can take on some extra ice time.)

And finally, our new scoring system. Skaters would accumulate points for each jump and each technical maneuver, based on the value as determined by international judges. Unlike the current system, though, the points would show up on a scoreboard as the routines are being performed. “Plushenko takes a 15 point lead early, only to have Lysacek close the gap with back-to-back triple axels!” Can you imagine the drama if Ms. Flatt were trailing the favored Kim with 30 seconds to go in their routine, and the entire world knew she had to hit three flawless jumps to take the gold? I, for one, would be falling off that couch, screaming at my television, “C’mon Rachael! Jump, baby, jump!!”

All the artistry would still be there, all the beauty that makes figure skating so attractive to so many. But it would also feel like sports, where battling something a little more fearsome than a panel of judges is generally part of the mix.

“Jump Rachael! Jump!!”

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That said, you can forgive fans at The Racquet Club of Memphis this week if they treat Andy Roddick like he has “MEMPHIS” stitched across the cap he wears on court, indoors or out. The top American player on the men’s tour (and seventh-ranked player in the world) will be making his 10th consecutive appearance in Memphis, his eighth straight as the tournament’s top seed. The last American man to win a Grand Slam title — Roddick won the 2003 U.S. Open — will be defending his Regions Morgan Keegan title, and aiming to become only the third player to earn three Memphis championships (at age 19, Roddick beat James Blake for the 2002 title).

Despite having been the top-ranked American player six of the last seven years — Blake finished two spots ahead of him in 2006 — Roddick hasn’t quite attained the status enjoyed by the likes of Jimmy Connors, Pete Sampras, or Andre Agassi. This has much to do, of course, with Roddick’s prime coinciding with those of Roger Federer and Rafael Nadal. Since Roddick won that U.S. Open (his solitary Grand Slam title), 25 Grand Slam events have been played ... and 21 of them have been won by Federer or Nadal.

Roddick has been on the cusp of winning his sport’s biggest event three times, only to fall in the Wimbledon finals all three times to — wait for it — Federer. Last year’s match was among the five or 10 greatest the All England Club has ever witnessed, with Federer prevailing, 5-7, 7-6, 7-6, 3-6, 16-14. Consider this: the 39 total games Roddick won are a record for a Grand Slam final, and he didn’t even win the match.

Now, it’s hard to feel sorry for a professional tennis player married to the current Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue cover girl. (If Brooklyn Decker comes to Memphis, it will actually be two Swimsuit Issue veterans at The Racquet Club, as Maria Sharapova will headline the draw for the Cellular South Cup.) Roddick’s trophy case is stuffed with 28 titles. And he’s earned more than $17 million before his 28th birthday. He’s been ranked in the year-end Top 10 every year since 2002 (including number-one in 2003, the last year someone other than Federer or Nadal held the top spot). And as far as Memphis is concerned — Federer and Nadal have yet to play here — Roddick is the finest player of this generation. He’s the home team.

RMK tournament director Peter Lebedevs coached Roddick when the Nebraska native was just 12 years old and already armed with a killer serve. “With Andy having become a top-10 player, it’s pretty much a guarantee every year that we’re going to have a premier event,” says Lebedevs. “He enjoys Memphis. It’s nice knowing you have a player of that caliber who wants to play in our event every year, who wants to stay in the U.S. He’s been successful here, and it means a lot to the tournament. He can go anywhere in the world, and he chooses to come to Memphis.”

As for the legacy Roddick will someday leave, Lebedevs feels sharing his prime with Federer has to be taken into consideration. “He doesn’t get as much credit as he deserves,” says Lebedevs, “for as good as he is. He could be playing in the era with the greatest tennis player who ever lived. If Federer’s not there, there are definitely a few more Grand Slams Andy would have. But look at his commitment. A champion is always looking to improve. And he’s doing things to try and get better.”

Roddick’s title defense begins Wednesday night — with a match against Blake — at The Racquet Club.

Before you scoff at the number of less-than-mainstream sports that will make headlines during the Winter Olympics this month, remember this: Almost every athletic endeavor is harder when performed on snow or ice. (I’ll say this: hopping in a bobsled and managing to slide to the bottom of a mountain .0026 of a second faster than your competition is a lost art to me. Seems like gravity decides the gold in that arena.)

We spectators tend to judge a sport in part by measuring how we might handle the challenge: I could never hit Tim Lincecum’s curve ball, but I can shoot free throws better than some first-ballot Hall of Famers. When it comes to the Winter Games, I’d be a mess in every last competition (including that bobsled). I’ve been on skates and skis and stick-handled a hockey puck (on roller blades). And it gets ugly.

I love the way the Winter Games stand out in a fan’s memory. Whether it’s athletes skiing with rifles on their back, a speedskater sliding 50 feet — at 50 miles per hour — on his backside, or a hockey team making us believe in miracles, the Winter Olympics somehow do the memory equivalent of bookmarking our brains. (It may have something to do with February otherwise being among the slowest sports months on the calendar.) Even the settings for the Winter Games are more memorable than their summer counterparts. How often have you uttered the words Nagano or Torino, much less paid attention to the charms and history of these cities? Huge metropolitan centers draw the Summer Games every four years. But for the Winter Games, we all get to call a village our home for two weeks. (Okay, Vancouver’s a good-sized city. I paint with broad strokes.)

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• Katarina Witt

The first Winter Olympics I remember were those of Sarajevo in 1984. The ravaging of the war-torn city that ensued only makes the champions of ’84 seem that much more distant. Scott Hamilton was the figure-skating star of those games, with Bill Johnson playing the perfectly American role of underdog and winning the downhill, the most glamorous of all ski races, an event never won before by a Yank.

In 1988, I gawked with my college buddies at the beauty of Katarina Witt. Consider that: freshmen in college putting the books and beer down long enough to see who might be crowned Olympic ice princess. Witt was that gorgeous. This was also the year speedskater Dan Jansen — a favorite in two races — fell twice after losing his sister to cancer.

Kristi Yamaguchi stole the show in Albertville, France, in 1992, becoming the first American woman to win a gold medal in figure skating since Dorothy Hamill in 1976. Jansen returned, but was again denied a medal.

The Winter Games made a quick comeback in 1994, the new schedule now alternating the summer and winter Games every two years. And in his final race — the 1,000 meters — Jansen became an Olympic champion. Bonnie Blair won her fourth and fifth golds in Lillehammer, Norway, but Jansen is the skater who bookmarked my brain 16 years ago. Try waiting six years to honor a lost sibling. (As for the shenanigans between a pair of rival American skaters in ’94, I’ve officially placed that memory chapter in the blessedly tiny tabloid section of my noodle.)

Tara Lipinski made me feel old before my 30th birthday when she won figure-skating gold in Nagano in 1998 ... before her 16th birthday. Apolo Ohno emerged in 2002, along with a new sport — short-track speedskating — that brought some NASCAR (and the possibility of crashes around every turn) to the Winter Games. Then in 2006, in Torino, Italy (a city I called home for a magical year of my youth), Shaun White and his snowboarding rivals made the fabled Winter Olympics a modern extravaganza in every sense.

A new memory bookmark will be made later this month from the scenes in Vancouver. As unlikely as it is that I’ll be able to relate to the bookmark-worthy performance, it’s just as certain the event — and the new hero — will last a lifetime.

But my favorite is the father-son angle. It may be the most obvious, but from the view of one son (and father), the connection Archie and Peyton Manning will have this Sunday will be the element I remember, regardless of the outcome.

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• colts.com

My first football hero was Roger Staubach, the quarterback who played in four Super Bowls -- and won two -- with the Dallas Cowboys in the 1970s. He was a comic-book hero come to life, leading late-game comebacks against the evil Redskins and Giants, and with a star on his helmet, no less. But I heard for years -- from my dad -- that if circumstances had been different, and Archie Manning had been wearing that silver helmet for 11 years instead of the gold of his New Orleans Saints, it would be a Manning poster I had on my bedroom wall.

After achieving cult status as a college quarterback at Ole Miss, Archie spent 11 years leading a Saints franchise best known for the paper bags its fans would start wearing by early October, one season after the next. The best club he quarterbacked was the 1979 Saints, and they went 8-8. Remarkably, Archie reached two Pro Bowls as the quarterback of a team that went a combined 15-17. He remains the Saints’ alltime passing leader (21,734 yards), though his record as a starter for New Orleans was a turn-your-head-away 35-91-3.

Archie’s second son, Peyton, was born in March 1976, a blessed year for the elder Manning in more ways than one. (He had to sit out the season with an injury as the Saints went 4-10 behind Bobby Douglass.) By the time Peyton was old enough to care, Archie had been traded to Houston, and later Minnesota, though the Manning family continued to call the French Quarter in the Big Easy their home. For Archie’s kids, the Saints were always the home team.

Cut to the present, and Peyton is the Hall-of-Fame-bound, four-time MVP, leading his Indianapolis Colts to Miami. He’ll try to become the 11th quarterback to win two Super Bowls. To do so, he’ll have to beat, of course, the New Orleans Saints, everybody’s second-favorite team since Hurricane Katrina all but destroyed the city in 2005.

My dad didn’t live to see the Saints finally reach the Super Bowl. But he lived long enough to recognize that Peyton is a superior quarterback, one better than his father, and better than most men ever to have tossed the pigskin. Dad would love Archie’s view on things this week. As quoted in the February 1st issue of Sports Illustrated, Archie eliminated any doubts over where his heart would be come Super Sunday: “I’m rooting for my son.”

Which makes this angle so poignant. Imagine the millions of fathers (and sons, and daughters) who will be watching this Sunday, picking a team to cheer for, looking for the latest hero on football’s biggest stage. Some will don blue and white and hope for a second Colt championship over the last four years. Many others will find some black in their closet and scream “Who dat!” every time the Saints so much as gain a first down.

But every last father watching Super Bowl XLIV will have a moment when he imagines his own son -- and yes, even his own daughter -- playing in so grand an arena. And he’ll know how he’d be rooting. For one Sunday, at the end of one football season, every father will feel much like the great Archie Manning.

The National Football League took a step in the right direction with the Pro Bowl this season, moving it up two weeks, to the Sunday before the Super Bowl. This is historically a dead weekend for football fans who are frothing at the mouth for their favorite sport. In prior years, when the game was played a week after the Super Bowl — in Honolulu — most American sports fans had already turned their attention to the NBA All-Star Game or the Daytona 500. The venue won’t be as attractive (Sunday’s game will be played in Miami, site of the Super Bowl) and the game will miss players selected from the Colts and Saints (for obvious reasons). But it’s a step closer to making the NFL’s all-star game a legitimate highlight on the sports calendar.

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We’re not there yet, though.

To begin with, every year players opt out of the Pro Bowl for reasons that vary from twisted knees to twisted emotions. Two of the three AFC quarterbacks (Tom Brady and Philip Rivers) have said "Thanks, but no thanks" to this year's event. And the third (Peyton Manning) won't play since his Colts are AFC champs, with a pretty big game the following week. So the AFC will be down to its fourth-string quarterback. What began as a 43-man roster for the NFC has swollen closer to 50 with “injury replacements” for players unable (or unwilling) to suit up. You have to wonder about the value of a Pro Bowl nod, when players are so quick to avoid the game, and so easily make replacements (without any fan or coach voting to determine the newly decorated substitute).

You can hardly blame NFL stars (weary from five months of collisions and joint pain) for being reluctant to don helmet and pads for an exhibition game after their season has ended. The free trip to Hawaii was a nice hook, but with that now gone, why would an aging star like Brady risk exposing a knee or shoulder to one ill-fated tackle?

I’ve got a solution: flag football.

Instead of donning helmet and pads, why not have the NFL’s biggest stars play a game the way you and I would in our backyard or the nearest rec field? Each player could wear the T-shirt of the team he represents, with “uniform shorts” that would sell like hotcakes at nfl.com. (The flags they wear could be auctioned off for charity after the game. This is a concept, folks.)

Among the reasons the NBA has grown into the brand it has is how naked the players are. When Kevin Garnett lets out a post-dunk scream as though his right foot was amputated when he landed, every fan — and television viewer — sees it. This element could be brought to football for one afternoon. Sure, the players would be holding some terror back, would scale down the intimidation-meter. But wouldn’t it be fun to see the grimace Ryan Clady sports as he tries to keep DeMarcus Ware from Vince Young’s flag? Or what about the goofy facial contortions Chris Johnson displays as he weaves between “tacklers” on a 40-yard jaunt? For one afternoon, the NFL would look like the Kennedy home movies.

Baseball’s All-Star Game has meaning because of its history (and how peeved every National League player is that they can’t win the thing any more). The NBA was made for All-Star festivities, a personality-driven sport that thrives when it can remove the inconvenience of defense from its end-to-end formula for entertainment. And I, for one, love the NHL’s All-Star Game, when you can see more goals in three periods than you will in three weeks of following your favorite team.

But the NFL’s All-Star Game? It just seems contrived. Players will use multiple Pro Bowl selections in contract negotiations ... then not show up to play the game. So take the pads off, remember what it was like to play football when you were 10, and give America what it wants: Football stars unmasked.

The acquisitions of Holliday and Mark DeRosa last summer cost the Cardinals three of their top five prospects: third-baseman Brett Wallace and relief pitchers Chris Perez and Jess Todd. DeRosa is already gone, having signed a free-agent deal with the San Francisco Giants (making the losses of Perez and Todd especially painful when you factor in the struggles of Ryan Franklin and Kyle McClellan at the end of the 2009 season). Among the leading candidates to replace DeRosa at third for St. Louis will be David Freese, a key member of the Memphis Redbirds’ 2009 Pacific Coast League champions (and a midwinter distraction, having been arrested for driving under the influence in December).

The development of centerfielder Colby Rasmus (still just 23, Rasmus hit .251 with 16 homers as a rookie last summer) will be critical to supporting the Pujols/Holliday tandem in the middle of the Cardinal order. And then what? In Baseball America’s most recent ranking of farm systems, the Cardinals plummeted to 29th (ahead of only the Houston Astros), and that’s after being ranked eighth at the dawn of the 2009 season.

The Cardinals’ top prospects as of today:

1) Shelby Miller (RHP) — The 19th pick in last June’s draft, Miller likely won’t see Triple A until 2011 at the earliest.

2) Jaime Garcia (LHP) — Garcia returned from surgery late last season and was instrumental in the Redbirds’ undefeated push through the PCL playoffs (12 innings, no earned runs). He’ll be a candidate for the Cardinals’ starting rotation this spring.

3) Lance Lynn (RHP) — The big righty (6’5”, 250) was a Texas League All-Star last season, going 11-4 with a 2.92 ERA for Double-A Springfield. Like Garcia, he’ll be considered for any opening in the St. Louis rotation, but will likely be pitching every fifth day for Memphis.

4) Daryl Jones (OF) — Hit .279 in 80 games for Springfield last season. Hit .326 and stole 18 bases in Class A in 2008. Hard to envision him getting much playing time as a Cardinal with Holliday, Rasmus, and Ryan Ludwick on the roster.

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• Just when you think a professional athlete has established a new standard for thick-headedness — like, say, shooting himself in the leg in public — a story breaks like the one about Gilbert Arenas showing off guns in the Washington Wizards’ locker room. And then making light of it as a “joke” when the act is called into question. (Best part of all this? Arenas plays for a team that was known as the Washington Bullets until 1997, when owner Abe Pollin renamed the team in the wake of Israeli prime minister Yitzhak Rabin's assassination.)

NBA commissioner David Stern suspended Arenas indefinitely, a classic case of making an example out of a transgression, but one that needed to be made. The right to bear arms is sacred to millions of Americans, but where those arms are carried matters greatly. (See the ongoing debate over Tennessee’s new law allowing firearms in bars.) Seems like an NBA arena should be among the first places crossed off the list of “appropriate for handguns.”

In the NBA, “I got your back” is heard a lot more than “I’m sorry,” which makes the words spoken by Wizards captain Antawn Jamison to a crowd at the Verizon Center in Washington last Friday night rather astounding. Here they are:

"On behalf of my teammates, this coaching staff, we know it's been a trying week. One thing my teammates and I take very seriously is that being a positive role model ... something we don't take lightly. And there's been a picture that's been shown of us taking this event very lightly. This is a serious situation; it's something we take to heart. We never meant to make light of the situation. And we're going to do everything in our power, as long as I'm your captain and all these guys right here are my teammates, to make this one of the most respectable organizations in the league.

"In order to make that happen, we need you guys to continue to support us. This thing here is very embarrassing for my teammates and the coaching staff, but we're going to do everything possible to make this one of the toughest places to play in, to make this an exciting place, but most importantly, a place where you can bring your kids, your families, your buddy, to come and have a good time."

• A sponsor for the St. Jude Classic. No golf tournament this side of Augusta, Georgia, can survive without the financial foundation of a title sponsor. The good folks at Southwind executed last year’s event — the 52nd consecutive year of PGA golf in Memphis — without a hitch in the aftermath of Stanford Financial’s meltdown. But the tournament (as a business enterprise) will not be sustainable without a new partner. This is an uncomfortable transition period for the PGA Tour, with its dominant personality on the sidelines for an “indefinite leave.” But considering Tiger Woods has never played in Memphis, a potential sponsor would be dealing with — at worst — the status quo locally. Golf fans all over the Mid-South will exhale when a deal is done.

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• An All-Star berth for a Grizzly ... any Grizzly. Rudy Gay would be the easiest choice. O.J. Mayo has an All-Star Game in his future, too. And the way he’s played of late, Zach Randolph should earn consideration for a trip to Cowboys Stadium in February. Nine years of Memphis Grizzlies basketball and one All-Star (Pau Gasol in 2006). Let’s make it two.

• Big 10 ... Big Dozen. Here’s hoping the Big 10 adds a twelfth school, and soon. And let’s hope it’s a current member of the Big East (Rutgers?). Such a move would all but assure a Big East search for new blood. With former Big East commissioner Mike Tranghese consulting at the side of Memphis athletic director R.C. Johnson, introductions should be made smooth and easy. The U of M has to join a BCS conference. Let’s not allow this chance to disappear.

• Profitability at AutoZone Park. Rarely will you see a sports franchise turn over as quickly and dramatically as the Memphis Redbirds did during what would be a championship season in 2009. The general manager, the sales director, and the director of community relations were all ousted by the team’s board of directors in what amounts to a radical attempt at regaining solvency. Baseball at Third and Union is priceless ... but only until the Redbirds’ start measuring black and red ink. Here’s hoping the new management team fills the prescription for profits. Perhaps new ownership will follow.

• An NCAA berth for the Tigers. As I write, this is a long shot. The Tigers simply haven’t beaten a team that will catch the tournament-selectors’ eye. That can change, though, with a title run in Conference USA play. Unless Memphis upsets 5th-ranked Syracuse this week, Memphis can’t afford more than three losses in league play.

• Good health for Maria Sharapova (at least through February). The presence of Sharapova — among the planet’s most famous female athletes — would give The Racquet Club of Memphis a dose of international buzz unlike any it’s seen in over a decade. (Sharapova played here in 2004, but it was four months before she won her first Grand Slam title at Wimbledon.) A run to the finals of the Cellular South Cup by this Russian star would give a week of Memphis tennis a share of the worldwide spotlight.

• A ticket-seller for Larry Porter. The Tigers’ new football coach has his hands full in trying to fill the Liberty Bowl. A 2-10 team lost its top running back, top two receivers, and two of its top three quarterbacks. (I’m not convinced the brittle Tyler Bass — returning to compete for the quarterback job — can be The Guy.) Porter’s arrival will sell some tickets, but come October, the Tigers will need a difference-maker with the ball in his hands.

• A playoff spot for the Grizzlies. Why not? With a record of 16-16, Memphis has one more loss than Oklahoma City and Utah, the teams currently tied for the eighth and final postseason ticket in the Western Conference. And the Griz have two games left to play against both the Thunder and Jazz. Why not?

I attended more sporting events over the last 10 years than my father did in all 63 of his. That being the case, I was surprised at how easy it is to pick the five most memorable from here in Memphis. Hope you were there, too.

Pujols Homers for Championship (September 15, 2000) — Among the hundreds of sporting events I’ve witnessed live, this is my “grandchildren” game. (You know: “Someday, I’ll be able to tell my grandchildren I was there.”) Having been promoted from Class A(!) Potomac only two weeks earlier, Albert Pujols was given leftfield for the Memphis Redbirds when Ernie Young left the team to play in the Olympics. As I recall, he was introduced by the p.a. announcer as “Alberto” Pujols. The point is, no one knew who the guy wearing number 6 was. This team — the first to play in AutoZone Park — had reached the Pacific Coast League championship series behind the likes of Stubby Clapp, Mark Little, Larry Sutton, and Lou Lucca. All popular players . . . and all footnotes now.

With the Redbirds leading the best-of-five series with Salt Lake two games to one, and Game 4 tied at 3, Pujols stepped to the plate in the bottom of the 13th inning. (The game was tied only because a Buzz base-runner had earlier been tagged out having missed the plate.) Pujols drilled a line drive that looped just inside the rightfield foul pole, giving Memphis its first baseball championship since 1990. Still shy of his 21st birthday, Pujols was named MVP of the PCL playoffs. A year later, he was the National League’s Rookie of the Year and on his way to Cooperstown.

Memphis Goes Big League (November 1, 2001) — Thoughts of the ABA, the WFL, the USFL, the CBA, the CFL, and way too many lonely nights at Tim McCarver Stadium ran through my mind as I sat in The Pyramid — with two NBA teams on the floor below — listening to Isaac Hayes sing “God Bless America.” With the Memphis Grizzlies hosting the Detroit Pistons, the Bluff City finally had a team that would impact standings that people check from Seattle to New York. No gimmick, no exhibition, no temporary home. The Grizzlies started Jason Williams, Michael Dickerson, Shane Battier, Stromile Swift, and native Memphian Lorenzen Wright. The first points scored by the home team were on a trey by Dickerson, who would play a total of nine more games in a career shortened by injury. The final score — Detroit 90, Memphis 80 — didn’t matter all that much. But it was a score they checked in Seattle. And New York.

Tigers vs. Cardinals, in Shoulder Pads (November 4, 2004) — Despite the final score, this is among the most important games in Tiger history. Televised nationally on a Thursday night, the game featured remarkable performances by the U of M’s greatest player of alltime and its greatest quarterback, too. Better yet, it was a contest against the U of M’s historic basketball rival (ranked 14th in the country), making the intensity a bit higher than your average Conference USA tilt. Each team scored two touchdowns in the first quarter, and the scoring didn’t end until the Cardinals’ Eric Shelton scored the game-winning points with 37 seconds left in the game: Louisville 56, Memphis 49. DeAngelo Williams gained 200 yards on the ground for Memphis. Danny Wimprine passed for 361 yards and four touchdowns, slightly better than the performance of Louisville signal-caller Stefan LeFors, who passed for 321 yards and three TD’s. LeFors and Williams went on to share C-USA Offensive Player of the Year honors.

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Tears and Cheers for Darius (March 12, 2005) — The Memphis Tigers weren’t even supposed to reach the finals of the 2005 C-USA tournament. With 14 losses, coach John Calipari’s fifth Memphis team was already making plans to headline the NIT. Facing 6th-ranked Louisville in the Cardinals’ last game as a C-USA member, the Tigers were a nice hometown story, but little more than lamb for a lion.

The teams each drained a pair of treys — four total — in one sixty-second stretch near the end of the first half, which ended with the score deadlocked. Memphis was leading with but 30 seconds left in the game, only to see the game’s final three-pointer — by Louisville’s Larry O’Bannon — make the difference.

As time expired, Washington was fouled when he shot up a desperation three-pointer, the Tigers down two. Three converted free throws and Memphis would win its first tourney title in 18 years and be fitted for a glass slipper at the NCAA tournament. With no time left on the clock, no players lined up alongside the key, as they would for any other free throw. Washington — as alone on that court as Crusoe was on his island — drained his first shot and turned to wink at Calipari. His second attempt — to tie the game — fell to the side. His third . . . Memphis fans know and will never forget. An athlete collapsed because of injury is hard to watch. An athlete collapsed in tears and regret, though . . . that’s heartbreak. Still the finest college basketball game I’ve seen live.

#1 vs. #2 (February 23, 2008) — The Memphis Tigers had spent a month atop the national polls when they welcomed the Tennessee Vols — ranked second in both major polls — to FedExForum. Better yet, Memphis was 26-0, having recently surpassed the longest winning streak in the program’s rich history. Safe to say, this game belongs in the conversation for Greatest Sporting Event in Memphis History. (The Lennox Lewis-Mike Tyson heavyweight tilt of 2002 is its only real competition.)

The Tigers led by one at halftime in the nationally televised contest. Defense prevailed, as neither team shot 40 percent. UT star Chris Lofton was held to five points (2 of 11 from the field) while the Tigers’ Chris Douglas-Roberts scored but 14. A late put-back by the Vols’ Tyler Smith broke a tie and gave Tennessee a 66-62 win. The following week, UT ascended to the top spot in the national rankings for the first time in men’s basketball history.

A look back at the local sporting events I enjoyed most in 2009. (Couldn’t reduce the list to five this year.)

• Memphis 108, Lamar 75 (January 3) — Among the dozens of players I’ve seen in watching 19 years of Memphis Tiger basketball, Antonio Anderson is among my two or three favorites. And this was his night. (Appropriately for Anderson, it came against an opponent that didn’t bring any national coverage, and on a date when many hoop fans were still nursing hangovers.) In scoring 12 points, dishing out 13 assists, and grabbing 10 rebounds, Anderson became only the second Tiger in history to achieve a triple-double. (Each of the first two belonged to Penny Hardaway.) Anderson finished his Tiger career in March as the only player in the program’s history with 1,000 career points, 500 rebounds, and 500 assists. And he graduated in four years.

• Pistons 87, Grizzlies 79 (January 19) — This was a sporting event that was much more about the moment than it was the action on the floor (the home team’s sixth straight loss in what would be a 12-game losing streak). In hosting the seventh-annual Martin Luther King Game, Memphis put its best and most sensitive foot forward, even if it was wearing a sneaker. Before the game, Hall of Famers Dave Bing and Julius Erving were honored, bringing that much more dignity to the matinee. The biggest cheer was reserved, though, for a scoreboard presentation that honored the man who would — less than 24 hours later — become the first black president in United States history. Regardless of our NBA team’s fortunes, a new era was upon us all. Dr. King would have been proud.

• North Carolina 72, Oklahoma 60; NCAA South Regional championship (March 29) — Memphis has called itself a college-basketball town for generations. So how is it that this was the first time the city had ever hosted an NCAA tournament regional, with a Final Four berth on the line? The bracket gods apparently liked the overdue marriage, as the South Region’s top two seeds — North Carolina and Oklahoma — made it cleanly into the finals. Better yet, fans at FedExForum got to see the 2008 National Player of the Year (the Tar Heels’ Tyler Hansbrough) go up against the player who would take this year’s top honor (the Sooners’ Blake Griffin). The days of Alcindor-Hayes or Sampson-Ewing in college basketball are long gone. But this was close ... at least on paper. Griffin scored 23 points while Hansbrough was limited to 8. The eventual national champion Tar Heels played the part, pulling away in the first half on their way to the school’s 18th Final Four appearance.

• Redbirds 3, Round Rock 2 (July 4) — Independence Day, baseball, and fireworks. On a Saturday night that would please the most patriotic among us, the home team provided a comeback — and a necessary delay to the postgame pyro — for a crowd of more than 14,000 at AutoZone Park. With tough-luck pitcher Adam Ottavino on the hill — the Memphis starter entered the game with a record of 0-9 — the Redbirds fell behind 2-0 before shortstop Donovan Solano drove in a pair of funs in the bottom of the eighth inning to tie the game. With a pair of sharp innings from Jess Todd — named earlier that week to the Pacific Coast League’s All-Star team — Memphis extended the game into the 11th inning, when Nick Stavinoha drilled a game-winning single. The explosive show that followed seemed to merely fit the script on this night.

• Redbirds 1, Albuquerque 0 (September 11) — The Redbirds would still have the Pacific Coast League Championship Series and the made-for-TV Triple-A National Championship to play after this night, but this series-clinching victory in their first-round playoff sweep of the Isotopes was in many ways the peak of their season. A few thousand fans were actually in the stands (not the case during the two rainy night of the PCL finals the next week), bunting was on display, and the baseball was as crisp as the unseasonable late-summer air. Evan MacLane pitched seven shutout innings and David Freese’s second-inning home run held up for the 1-0 final score. Best of all, I enjoyed the game with a longtime friend on his first visit to AutoZone Park. He’ll be back.

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Grizzlies 111, Cavaliers 109 (December 8th) — Simply put, the most exciting NBA game I’ve seen in Memphis. The game’s reigning MVP (LeBron James) in town with his new sidekick (Shaquille O’Neal) ready to make mincemeat of the home team. Cleveland led by six after 12 minutes and by 11 at the half. An unusually large crowd for a Grizzlies home game — 16,325 — was seeing what many expected to see. But then the Grizzlies showed the kind of fight — and talent, it should be emphasized — rarely seen since Hubie Brown’s magical 2003-04 season. Zach Randolph scored 32 points and pulled down 14 rebounds. Rudy Gay (21 points), O.J. Mayo (28) and Mike Conley (game-winning layup in overtime) all hit clutch shots to turn back the Eastern Conference heavyweights. But perhaps the most memorable player from a game in which LeBron James scored 43 points was Grizzlies reserve center Hamed Haddadi. Called into duty (eight minutes) when Marc Gasol got in foul trouble, Haddadi dunked on Shaq and knocked King James on his backside with as violent a screen as you’ll see this season. May have been a foul, but it was the metaphorical centerpiece for this amazing night of NBA basketball in Memphis.

Next week: A look at the five most memorable Memphis events I witnessed this decade.

I’ve had The Wizard of Oz on my mind as the first month of basketball season gathers momentum. Remember how loyal and deferential all the winged monkeys and foot soldiers were to the Wicked Witch ... until Dorothy washed her away? Remember how they rejoiced at the removal of their “queen,” and actually broke into song? Both the Tigers and Grizzlies seem to have undergone a cultural shift along these lines. However successful the team was under John Calipari, the Tigers were a tense operation. It showed on the floor and you could hear it in the locker room with every post-game comment. Expectations were such that no player was allowed a mistake, let alone a slump. Now this, from junior guard Roburt Sallie as he emerged from a shooting slump last month: “I honestly can’t tell you where I’d be last year if I started out the first three games like this, shooting-wise. I probably wouldn’t have seen the floor for a month or two. But Coach [Josh] Pastner lets us play through mistakes. You know, he’s in his first year, and he makes mistakes, too. We let him know. That’s the kind of relationship we have. It’s a good one. I’m appreciative to be here.”

As for the Grizzlies, the story since Allen Iverson signed with the club late last summer was how and when Iverson would fit the franchise. Who would have to sacrifice minutes to make sure AI stayed happy and productive? Could "The Answer" be a leader off the bench? How would Iverson and a coach with no track record of success cooperate? Well, each of these story lines was washed away when Iverson packed his things and chose retirement — and eventually, his old club in Philly — over Beale Street Blue. While the Grizzlies may not be playoff caliber — yet — winning nine of 14 games and beating the likes of Portland, Dallas, and Cleveland is new to Rudy Gay, Mike Conley, and O.J. Mayo. Better yet, the team can learn from and build upon slices of success without the concern of pleasing one Hall-of-Fame-bound veteran.

So let’s sing together for both our basketball teams: Ding-dong, the tension’s dead!

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• I was thoroughly pleased to learn last week of Whitey Herzog’s election to the Baseball Hall of Fame by the museum’s Veterans Committee. If imposing a philosophy of the game is as important as merely winning championships, the White Rat should have been enshrined years ago. After leading Kansas City to three division titles in the Seventies, Herzog moved on to St. Louis in 1980, where he immediately began building a team that would thrive on the artificial turf in cavernous Busch Stadium. Having designed his club around speed (Lonnie Smith, Willie McGee, Vince Coleman) and defense (Ozzie Smith, Keith Hernandez, Terry Pendleton), Herzog led the Cardinals to three pennants and the 1982 world championship. Take this to the bank: no baseball team will ever again win a World Series with its leading home-run hitter having hit but 19 (as George Hendrick did 27 years ago).

With Herzog’s election, consider the remarkable stretch of history among Cardinal managers. Presuming Joe Torre (1990-95) and Tony LaRussa (1996 to the present) are elected shortly after they retire, and with Red Schoendienst (1965-76) already a member, St. Louis has had Hall of Fame credentials in its manager’s office for 42 of the last 45 seasons. (Vern Rapp managed the Cards in 1977, Ken Boyer the next two seasons.)

• You gotta hate the BCS. (Though bless the decision-makers who put Boise State and TCU in the Fiesta Bowl together. It will be the best game of the postseason.) There will be at least two undefeated teams after the bowl games are played; three if Cincinnati can upset Saint Tebow in the Sugar Bowl. What would be wrong with an additional week of college football, and one more game to decide a champion on the field? I chase this question in circles every year, convinced that the moneymakers behind each of the 34 bowl games will cling to the current system as though it’s the last piece of driftwood after the Great Flood. But wouldn’t a single winner-take-all, post-bowl-season Game of the Year make more money than any bowl game under the current structure? I can’t figure it out.

The greatest Memphis athlete of the 1970s was Larry Finch. In the Eighties, Keith Lee. The Nineties, Penny Hardaway. But the 2000s have been a Memphis sports decade unlike any before. And the days when Bluff City sports began and ended with Tiger basketball are over. The person who most embodies the spirit of the transition we fans have enjoyed is himself the latest Memphis Athlete of the Decade: former Tiger great — former Tiger football great — DeAngelo Williams.

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When I told Williams of his latest honor — late last summer — he reacted as you might expect had you witnessed any postgame interview with the easy-to-smile, humble native of Wynne, Arkansas. “Sweet,” he said. “I’m numero uno?” When I explained that the honor brought no trophy, and was selected by a committee of one, he was just as gracious. “That’s sweet, man. I really appreciate that.”

The only challenging debate in reflecting on more than 80 years of Tiger football is coming up with the second-greatest player to wear blue and gray. Williams was the kind of player who would have starred at USC, Alabama, Texas, or Florida State. But he chose to play at Memphis.

After a modest freshman season (by his later standards), Williams shattered the Tigers’ single-season rushing record by almost 400 yards, with a total of 1,430 in 2003. He also accumulated 384 yards through the air and scored a total of 13 touchdowns. A late-season knee injury kept Williams out of the New Orleans Bowl, the program’s first postseason game in 32 years.

As a junior in 2004, Williams introduced himself into the Heisman Trophy conversation. In piling up 1,948 yards and 23 touchdowns, Williams had no fewer than four 200-yard games, including 262 against Houston and a school record 263 against South Florida. Labeled a “compact” back by some, Williams was a workhorse. In the Tigers’ biggest win of the season — over Eli Manning and Ole Miss — Williams carried the ball 37 times. He ran for 120 yards in his first bowl game, a loss to Bowling Green in the GMAC Bowl.

Williams established a third-straight single-season rushing record for Memphis in 2005, with 1,964 yards (topped off by 238 in his college finale, a victory over Akron in the Motor City Bowl). His career total of 6,026 yards made Williams only the fourth running back at college football’s highest level to gain 6,000 yards. (The others: Tony Dorsett, Ricky Williams, and Ron Dayne.) For the third consecutive season, Williams was named Conference USA’s Offensive Player of the Year, and he earned second-team All-America recognition from the AP. His career totals of 34 100-yard games and 7,573 all-purpose yards were NCAA records.

Former Tiger coach Tommy West had the best view of Williams’ heroics, and sees the impact his star tailback made as being larger than the game of football. “He was the total package,” says West. “I’ve got my DeAngelo shrine. When he returned a kickoff against the Miami Dolphins, he gave me the ball for Christmas. He’s a special person. As special a player as I’ve ever had. I don’t know that I’ve ever had a player that I felt like I was friends with. He’d come bopping in my door and we’d talk like two grown-ups.”

And just how did such a player land in Memphis? He came here because he wanted to be the guy,” stresses West. “He wanted to be something special. If he’d gone to Arkansas, he would have been like someone else. Here, everybody else is always going to be compared with him.”

After rushing for a total of 1,218 yards his first two seasons with the NFL’s Carolina Panthers, Williams broke out in 2008 with 1,515 yards and a league-leading 20 touchdowns. Having already broken the Panthers’ franchise record for career yardage, Williams has gained 1,022 through Sunday, good for sixth in the NFL.

In a city where basketball tends to steer conversation, DeAngelo Williams made football front-page news. It’s doubtful we’ll see another like him.

This is a story of thanks. Meant for a week during which being thankful registers a little deeper. (Or at least we pay closer attention to those for whom we’re grateful.) It’s a story of six old teammates of mine: Gabby, Cheese, Frog, Tim, Mike, and Audie. Together as Northfield Marauders, we played for Vermont’s 1985 Division III state runner-up soccer team. And quite honestly, that’s where the sports connection ends. Three months of a unified goal. (A time in which each of us achieved a physical condition we can fantasize over today.) But just as we survived an ass-kicking in that championship game without much enduring pain, we’ve survived 24 years of comings, goings, discoveries, and disappointments, and find ourselves on the other side of 40 now. Friendships fully intact. And for that I’m grateful.

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• Frank Murtaugh, third from right, with old friends in Myrtle Beach.

Some background: Frog — we came up with nicknames that stuck — is the superintendent of one of the finest golf courses in New England. Cheese is a high-school teacher in Montpelier, and runs a painting business on the side. Tim owns and manages an auto-repair shop in our hometown of Northfield, Vermont. Mike is an airline pilot, and Audie is a major in the Air Force, based in Guam. Gabby calls himself a “lifestyle educator.” Best we can tell, he advises people with serious health concerns — obesity, high blood pressure, diabetes — on ways to achieve healthier lives before relying entirely on pharmaceuticals to change their bodies’ chemistry. A noble enterprise if you ask me.  

With Cheesey motivating and Frog making arrangements near his parents’ new home in Myrtle Beach, we put together — and actually executed — a plan to gather for a weekend in October to collectively celebrate turning 40 this year. No wives allowed, no children. And  no excuses ... not even living on an island in the middle of nowhere. While boys will be boys, and men should behave like men, there are times in life — stages, I guess — when men acting like boys is healthy. And for three days on the coast of South Carolina, we acted like boys.  

The combination of sunshine, golf, cold beer, and midget wrestling will go a long way toward extending one’s life. Despite an ailing back that limited me to “designated putter” duties at Indigo Creek Golf Club, the steady, prolonged laughter of our gathering was unmatched in my adult life. And I say that with as happy a marriage — and the two most rewarding, delightful daughters — a man can claim. This was just prolonged, steady laughter ... of a different kind.  

Our oldest friends, you see, serve as soul mechanics. (Tim will appreciate this.) We tend to adjust priorities as we age, hopefully intelligently. Influences — like, say, a wife and children — enter our lives that make the days, weeks, and months less about who we are or who we were, and more about how we can best contribute to a larger cause. And this a good adjustment, a nice shift of gears (again for you, Tim) in the human condition. But old friends provide a realignment for the soul. In the right setting (a beach will always do) and with enough time (a long weekend will suffice), friends from our formative years remind us that we are, fundamentally, products of our youth. Take yourself too seriously at age 40, and a friend from your 17th year will quickly have you back on track. You may have 200 airmen under your command, but not one of them knows the difference your van made in high school. We know, Audie.  

Among the memories I’ll carry from Myrtle Beach — beyond the tallest pair of boots I’ve ever seen — is the remarkable consistency in happiness among seven men who have traveled in so many different directions. Each of us is happily married, six of us the parents of healthy children, with Gabby’s wife due in February. I’m not sure what the odds are of such a confluence, particularly among a group from a town so very small. I’ve lived near (and worked with) people for much of the 22 years since I left Northfield for college who don’t know me the way these six men do, distance be damned. We keep making friends, if we’re lucky, throughout adulthood. But the older you get, the harder it is to find a good soul mechanic.  

I’m eternally grateful for mine.