TOUGH AS NAILS

I'm no home improvement expert but I know a nail when I see one.

Used to lock things down, a 6-1, 173 pound nail named Norm Van Lier passed away Thursday. He was 61. The former Chicago Bull partnered with Jerry Sloan in the early '70s to form the toughest defensive backcourt in NBA history.

Before kids started growing like beanstalks, the NBA had its share of tough little men in the 7os. Calvin Murphy, Nate "Tiny" Archibald and Gail Goodrich were a handful. While those players exhibited outstanding offensive skills, Van Lier was the hard-nosed defensive specialist that cast a giant shadow. Opposing guards literally hated going up against Van Lier and Sloan. They not only shut down players, they often left a mark and plenty of ill feelings.

Van Lier didn't care what size the challenge was. He'd try to run through a pick set by 6-11 Bob Lanier just as much as he would if it was Jerry West. The most famous graduate from Saint Francis of Loretto University in Pennsylvania was fearless, earning the nickname "Stormin' Norman."

A three-time all-star, Van Lier shot a paltry .414 from the floor, but he wasn't in the lineup to knock down jumpers. For that, Dick Motta's Bulls had Bob "Butterbean" Love and Chet "The Jet" Walker in the frontcourt. Center Tom Boerwinkle was there to provide a presence in the middle and run picks through. Sloan would get an occasional key basket but mostly, he and Van Lier specialized in frustration. That Bulls tandem never achieved the greatness of the Michael Jordan era, their playoff runs seemingly always getting derailed by the Los Angeles Lakers.

Van Lier survived in an period where there was no place for the faint of heart and a little man had to possess the biggest beat of all in order to make it.

Continuing a sad day for the Bulls, Johnny "Red" Kerr also left this world at age 76, after battling prostate cancer. Kerr was the franchise's first head coach and received NBA Coach of the Year honors for leading the Bulls to the playoffs in the inaugural 1966-67 season. Due to his declining health, the Bulls moved up a ceremony in his honor earlier this month, unveiling a statue of Kerr at the United Center. Kerr, a native Chicagoan, was a pivotal fixture in Bulls lore, serving as an avid announcer for numerous years. On hand for his emotional ceremony among others were Jordan an Scottie Pippen.

Jordan called Kerr “an inspiration to me as a basketball player and as a person,” while Pippen added Kerr "makes Chicago Bulls basketball what it is."

The 6-9 Kerr knew his way around a gym, having played 12 seasons (1954-1966) in the NBA for the Syracuse Nationals, Philadelphia 76ers and the Baltimore Bullets. From 1954 to 1965, the three-time NBA All-Star appeared in a then-NBA record 844 consecutive games.

A lot of Chicagoans shed tears of remembrance this week, recognizing two special people who gave their all.

Heaven enjoyed a good draft Thursday, having picked up a tough as nails point guard and a space eating big man.

The Tiger Heard 'Round The World

I knew it would be like this.

The official beginning of the Tiger Woods tour. NBC had promos on the air the day after the Great One announced he was coming back to play. Earlier this morning, the Golf Channel had a countdown to tee off clock on the television screen.

Within a week on sports radio and tv, I've heard from just about anybody who's come into contact with Tiger. I'm rather shocked we haven't checked in with the bathroom attendant at Dove Mountain in Marana, Arizona where the WGC-Accenture Match Play event is being held.

"Mr. Woods flushed once, closed the stall and washed his hands for at least two minutes. Judging by his grip on the soap, I'd say he looks ready to play."

Whew, I love Tiger as much as the next guy but his return is being treated like the resurrection. Playing in the desert this week though, I'd suggest he avoid the boulders. Golf analysts have broken down every aspect of every Tiger swing, all the way back to his childhood appearance on the Merv Griffin Show.

It was refreshing this morning at work when one of our producers asked what was the big story of the day. I told her "Tiger is back, baby!" (If someone from human resources is reading this, I actually said "ma'am" and not "baby".) But that same producer followed up with, "Oh, the Tigers are playing in spring training?" I tried to explain but she seemed bored after I continued to explain for a good five minutes the historical significance of today. "You'll want to remember where you were when Tiger teed off at 2:10," I finally frantically said, walking away frustrated.

Hell, this has gotten so much press, I wouldn't be surprised if Al-Qaeda is taking the day off.

Having heard also from all the medical experts for a week, I feel confident I can perform re-constructive knee surgery if called upon, and I didn't even have to stay at a Holiday Inn.

I'm in a suburb of Detroit... looking live right now. Darn the weather looks great in Arizona. The announcer on tv just informed me that it's just "A matter of moments."

Oh, oh, oh! There's a shot of Tiger! He's wearing a powder blue golf shirt that I can't afford and a white, Nike Tiger Woods golf hat. I can find funds for that. His caddie Steve Williams is right behind him as they're on the first tee. They just announced his name... "Tiger Woods." The gallery goes wild, as if they've just won a car from Oprah. I swear he looks 12 feet tall! He is in great shape though. He's got his club... looking down the fairway... he backs away... back at address... he swings... nice and smooth ... the ball is in the fairway in "great shape."

His opponent Brendan Jones is about to hit... wonderful... I've got time to go grab that beer I forgot to get out of the fridge.

I'm back... Tiger's second shot is on the green, moving toward the hole... it stops about five feet away.

Jones' third shot is now three feet out.

Tiger is sizing up his birdie putt. It's rolling... rolling... 1 up Tiger.

What am I doing writing! I've gotta go.

Believe the hype... TIGER WOODS IS BACK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Jeter Doesn't Rhyme With Cheater

Alex Rodriguez may arguably be baseball's best overall player (see Albert Pujols just to make sure) but the face of the game rests solely on the shoulders of New York Yankees shortstop Derek Jeter.

He has carried the mantle of the game with pride, much like a quiet Yankee of years past, Joe DiMaggio. Jeter has been knowledgeable enough to understand that the game is larger than the parts that fit in it.

I recall an interview on 60 Minutes years back where Jeter always referred to Yankees owner George Steinbrenner as "Mr. Steinbrenner." He did so even as the Boss was highly critical of his rising star's magnetic effect on beautiful women and the late nights Jeter was keeping. Just as he does when facing a 3-2 count, Jeter calmly told everyone that was just a part of his life. A part he knew how to control. Nothing worth losing sleep over because everything took a back seat to being a member of the hallowed New York Yankees.

The Yankees were Jeter's dream club as he grew up in Kalamazoo, Michigan. At eight years old he announced to his parents he'd be wearing pinstripes one day. It was hard work and dedication from that moment on. No cutting corners. His parents instilled that doctrine and made sure their son followed through. He had to earn his way. Growing up in a loving home, Jeter learned how to deal with the ignorance of outsiders who taunted his heritage of having a white mother and black father.

When my son turned 11 he became a one person PR firm, campaigning daily for his first cell phone. A baseball player of promise himself, I made my son a deal. I handed him Jeter's autobiography "The Life You Imagine: Life Lessons for Achieving Your Dreams," with the understanding he had to read the book in order to get his phone. I had thumbed through a few chapters while at the bookstore. I was extremely impressed and furthermore, I trusted Derek Jeter.

My son balked at first about the condition set forth. "Why do I have to read this?" It was a deal breaker for me. Don't read it, no phone. He started out slow but after a couple of weeks he got into it. He read the messages Jeter's parents had preached to him. Some where the same my wife and I were pounding in his head: "Set high goals, don't be afraid to fail, find role models and think before you act." The book is filled with model examples for becoming a better person, realizing your potential and understanding your role in society.

As Rodriguez was facing public scrutiny by admitting his steroid use, sitting off to the side in the front row with other teammates, was the Yankees captain, Derek Jeter. "We're here to support him through it," Jeter said. "I don't condone what he did... And I think at this point now, it's our jobs to try to help him be as comfortable as he can on the field and try to move past this."

When a star as large as Rodriguez's burns dimmer over an issue that has placed a dark cloud over the American pastime, it's hard to stop the speculation train from rumbling down the tracks. And that becomes the tough part for the players who achieved their dream through hard work and playing by the rules.

"One thing that is irritating and it really upsets me a lot is when you hear everybody say, 'It was the steroid era. Everybody was doing it.' You know, that's not true. Everybody was not doing it," Jeter said last week. He added, "I think it sends the wrong message to fans, to baseball fans; I think it sends the wrong message to kids, saying that everybody was doing it, because that's just not the truth."

The problem is a number of big name stars have looked people right in the eye and lied. There is something about Derek Jeter though that is genuine. Baseball knows it, Madison Avenue knows it and those who play the game know it.

"Baseball would fold if Derek Jeter came out and said he did steroids," former Yanks teammate and pitcher David Wells said. "He's just such a good individual. He's a model citizen of Major League Baseball and probably a good role model for the world. That's the one guy it would surprise the hell out of me if he did it."

So, while sports writers and fans cast a raised eyebrow over anyone these days who say they never used "roids", the man who could very easily be Major League Baseball's poster image, should be taken at his word.

(By-the-way, my son got his phone.)

Even Former Bad Boys Deserve A Chance

Let me start by saying I'm from Chicago.

Only the passage of time has allowed me to discard my ill feelings toward a couple of bullies, gangsters, thugs - Bad Boys!

And even though I know them personally now, there are times when I just want to throw Bill Laimbeer and Rick Mahorn an elbow just to make amends for roughing up my Michael Jordan led Bulls back in the day. I quickly think better of the idea because both Laimbeer and Mahorn, though mellowed, are still behemoths.

After achieving success as members of the Detroit Pistons with two championship rings, Laimbeer and Mahorn have reigned supreme, as head coach and assistant respectively, for three WNBA championships with the Detroit Shock. And yet, I find it shocking that the NBA has not come a calling. In fact, there appears to be this ridiculous notion that coaching women does not translate into coaching men. Another WNBA coach, Michael Cooper of the Los Angeles Sparks, was tough as nails when he hit the floor for the Los Angeles Lakers. Cooper also has a WNBA title under his belt.

I hardly think the X&O's are that much different from the men's game to the women's game. So why is it NBA executives that Laimbeer doesn't get a shot at coaching in a league where he demonstrated his toughness night after night?

Ah, a trip down memory lane... game 3 of the1987 Eastern Conference Finals. Laimbeer and Larry Bird hook up, both ejected. Same series, game 5, Robert Parish punches Laimbeer in the face. Michael Jordan took a swing at Laimbeer in game 3 of the '88 Eastern Conference Semifinals and in 1990, Charles Barkley and Laimbeer tussled during a regular season game. He even frustrated Isiah Thomas so much during a team practice that Thomas took a swing. There was little Laimbeer wouldn't do to put his team in a position to win.

So why won't the NBA give Laimbeer a chance? Owners certainly have a lot of explaining to do especially when you look at the current landscape of coaches parading up and down the sidelines with little or no previous head coaching experience. Lets look at Washington, Chicago, Toronto, Oklahoma City, Sacramento and Detroit. As of this writing their combined record is 112 wins, 224 losses.

The Wizards think so much of Ed Tapscott that they don't even post his bio when you click his name on their website. It's as if he fell out of the sky. And perhaps to make the organization feel better, they list the team's record at 12-33 on his page. It's actually 12-43.

This is what it says on the Sacramento Kings (12-45) website, under Kenny Natt's bio: "Natt, who played for the Kansas City Kings in 1984-85, is re-united with then teammate and current Sacramento King's Head Coach Reggie Theus." Hmmm. Wasn't Theus fired in mid December and replaced by Natt on an interim basis? Someone should tell the Kings who's running the show. In terms of prior head coaching experience, Natt did coach the Cape Breton Breakers in the Canadian-based National Basketball League.

Oklahoma City's (13-43) official website has no info on head coach Scott Brooks. Vinny Del Negro, zero prior head coaching experience, is leading the Chicago Bulls (25-31). To where, only time will tell. For the Pistons (27-26), there are nights when it's obvious this is Michael Curry's first go round of calling the shots.

At least Jay Triano of the Toronto Raptors (22-36) spent six years as head coach of the Canadian men's national team.

None of these fine men mentioned have anywhere near a resume that stacks up against Laimbeer's.

I can only conclude that NBA executives deem unworthy and look down upon the achievements of coaches who happen to exhibit ability while coaching women. It's as if they're grading on a curve.

The next time a head coaching job opens in the NBA, I hope someone has the courage and foresight to give Laimbeer a serious look. Time heals all wounds. He's paid his dues to society for being such a roughneck in the paint when he played.

Having said all these nice things about Laimbeer, excuse this Bulls fan while I go wash my mouth out.

Brother, Can You Spare A Dime?

At this point in my life I'm very certain I can make this prediction. No one is going to offer me 25 million dollars for one year of work. I do play the Mega Millions lottery game and should I ever get that lucky, it really wouldn't count as working, now would it?

In this economy, hell, any economy, even if grocery stores were allowing you to fill a cart up for free for a year, even if the bank said you don't have to pay your mortgage for five years, even if your credit card debt was at zero again, even if the IRS said "My bad", even if hookers were giving it away - 25 million dollars for one year of work is a helluva lot of money!

Unless you're Manny Ramirez.

Without question, Ramirez is one of the best hitters of the modern era not linked to a banned substance. He's put together 16 solid seasons in the big leagues, amassing 527 home runs, a .314 batting average and two World Series rings with the Boston Red Sox before he wore out his welcome, acquiring the label "That's just Manny being Manny." After seven and a half seasons with the Red Sox, Ramirez was dealt to the Los Angeles Dodgers last season and put up numbers that registered on the baseball Richter scale. In 53 games Ramirez blasted 17 homers, produced 53 RBIs and batted a blistering .396. Oh, and don't let me forget to add a freakish .743 slugging percentage. That was more like "Manny being Hercules." Needless to say, Dodger stadium and the Hollywood crowd embraced all things Manny as he led the club to the National League Championship Series.

Ramirez also proved all his Red Sox detractors wrong by being a positive influence in the Dodger dugout for the organization's talented core of youngsters in Matt Kemp, James Loney and Andre Ethier.

With the start of spring training, Ramirez was wherever "Manny being Manny" goes to relax. It certainly wasn't anywhere near the Dodgers' training facility in Glendale, Arizona.

Ramirez is currently a free agent, the most talented prize still without a home. The only obstacle to Ramirez being in camp right now is his perceived worth. At the end of last season, Ramirez's agent Scott Boras let everyone know his prized possession was seeking a four-year deal worth 100 million dollars. If Ramirez was 28 or 32 years old, there might have been a line for his services. But Ramirez will turn 37 in May and sooner or later, that bat is going to start feeling a bit heavy.

In November of '08, the Dodgers offered a guaranteed 45 million for two years. It included an option for a third year that could have increased the contract's total value to 60 million. Ramirez whiffed at the offer and when there were no other takers, the Dodgers came back with 25 million for one year. Boras called the offer a "suggestion" and said Ramirez would pass, indicating the Dodgers were playing a dangerous game because another team could counter at any moment with a more attractive deal.

Ramirez is still unsigned.

When he broke into the majors in 1993 with the Cleveland Indians, Ramirez earned 109 thousand dollars. Back then he was just "Manny trying to make a living Manny."

The Dodgers are maintaining they're willing to stand pat with their current lineup, having also passed on the chance to sign former free agents Bobby Abreu (Angels) and Adam Dunn (Nationals).

As manager Joe Torre watched his players in camp during the first week, it wasn't lost on him that the most valuable piece of his team down the stretch last season was absent. "I don't even want to think of the fact that he's not a Dodger," Torre said. "I just don't want to think that way. The fact that I know he enjoyed himself here last year and the fact that we want him back, hopefully, we can find a way to do it."

In this economy, it's awfully nice to be wanted. Even if it's a mere twenty-five million dollars for a future Hall of Famer.

Mr. Woods, Welcome Back. We've Missed You

If one of the golfers participating in the first round of the Northern Trust Open backed away from a putt yesterday, it was understandable.

Despite the serene setting of Pacific Palisades, California, no doubt the field heard the roar that rode a wave all the way from Windermere, Florida. Simply put, the Freddy Krueger of golf - Tiger Woods - announced he was coming back next week to defend his title at the WGC-Accenture Match Play Championship.

Woods is the nightmare players see in their sleep. He's a wake up call that they better be working on their game because normal won't cut it when he's on the prowl. Woods is a single entity, a man who shrewdly controls his image. And yet, wherever Tiger goes, it's as if the entourage of the "Can You Hear Me Now" guy is behind him.

When play begins next Wednesday, it will end 254 days of Tiger-less golf. In between that time, the Golf Channel will more than likely give us nearly around the clock Tiger coverage. Coming off re-constructive knee surgery, the golfing world is anxious to see if rust and a new baby have taken their toll.

Tiger's absence has been great for lessor names to sneak into the headlines and grab a share of tournament dollars but there's no question having the world's number one back will be golf's version of an economic stimulus package.

"I think it's awesome," golfer Kenny Perry said. "The economy is down. We need something to boost us up. And there's going to be a gazillion reporters there, so it will be fun to be around. That place (Tucson) is going to come to life."

It will be the shot in the arm the PGA tour has been sorely missing since the excitement of Woods' US Open victory and the joy of a U-S Ryder Cup victory.

Team Tiger is a well oiled machine too. Alex Rodriguez paid hundreds of thousands of dollars for a public relations team that may or may not have earned their money. Woods merely channeled his impending announcement through Mark O'Meara, John Cook and caddie Steve Williams.



Already though, you have to feel sorry for Brendan Jones of Australia. Unless someone withdraws before next Wednesday, he'll be the March Madness version of a 16 seed versus a one. Tall order to face a hungry Tiger that's ready to prove something to the world.

"I think he'll be ready to rock," Perry said. "When he comes back, he's always raring to go. He must be spittin' nails right now. I think he'll be better than ever. He'll probably kick our butts like crazy. Let's face it. People play differently when they're playing him."

Can you hear me now?

NBA Needs To Reserve A Space For Sweet Lou

Sweet Lou

The NBA and Naismith Basketball Hall of Fame needs to erase an air ball hovering out there for both organizations.

They're supposed to reward individuals for a body of work dedicated to a game that continues to inspire greatness. But one name is sadly lacking from the list.

Why isn't Lou Hudson a card carrying member?

Sweet Lou as he was known, had the numbers and perhaps even more impressive, he was a class act and fierce competitor during his playing days. It's that same competitiveness that has served Hudson well as he battles to recover from a stroke suffered a couple of years ago.

A graduate of the University of Minnesota, Hudson enjoyed a 13-year run in the NBA, averaging 20.2 points and 4.4 rebounds per game. He was a six-time NBA All-Star and had nine playoff appearances.

In college, Hudson broke his right hand during his senior year and rather than sit out, continued to play the remainder of the season left handed. He even exploded for 30 points one night shooting with his other hand. Hudson's college totals were equally impressive, 20.4 points and 8.9 rebounds a game. Those stellar numbers resulted in Hudson being the 4th pick in the first round of the 1966 NBA draft by the St. Louis Hawks. He proved that drafting him high was a good investment by averaging 18.4 points in his rookie year, being named to the All-Rookie team. Talk about dedication? The following season Hudson was called to serve in the military and didn't return to the team until the 1968-'69 season.

With the franchise now in Atlanta, Hudson continued his steady play, surrounded by the likes of Walt Bellamy and Joe Caldwell. Then came 1970 and the Hawks first round selection of one Pete Maravich. The Hawks unloaded the brinks truck for "Pistol Pete," a condition that veteran Caldwell couldn't live with since the Hawks were less than interested in rewarding not only himself for his outstanding play, but for Hudson and Bellamy as well.

It was a tense time for the Hawks as Caldwell bolted for the ABA. Hudson, on the other hand, always level headed and easy to get along with, welcomed Maravich and his flashy game. Together they formed one of the deadliest duo's in the league. During Maravich's rookie season, Hudson led the team in scoring at 26.8 ppg. Maravich was right on his heels at 23.2.

During the 1971-'72 season, Hudson stepped forward when Maravich could manage only 66 regular season games due to injury. Sweet Lou blistered the nets for 24.7 ppg on .503 shooting from the floor.

I was actually shocked to discover that Hudson at the very least is not a member of the Naismith Hall of Fame. The omission is really inexcusable. Not taking a thing away from the stellar performers already inducted, but Hudson definitely belongs.

No question Hudson's performance in Atlanta was overshadowed by the arrival of Maravich and the fact that the Hawks could never make a serious run in the playoffs, never reaching the finals.

Now in a battle to regain total motor function after a stroke in 2005, Hudson is also out in front raising awareness about the No. 3 killer in the nation and the leading cause of long-term disability.

It should be clear to someone that Hudson, who ranks 56th on the All-Time scoring list in the NBA, deserves a coveted spot in the Hall of Fame. Sweet Lou was a winner on the court and continued to give back by being a high school basketball coach in Utah and does so now by trying to help others. It would be a grand gesture to finally see him rewarded by a game he served so well.

Is Zach Randolph Gonna Have To Choke A ...

Late in the first quarter of Tuesday's game against the Phoenix Suns, Zach Randolph must have woken up and realized he was a member of the Los Angeles Clippers. That's when the nightmare set in and a panicked Randolph lashed out and struck Suns reserve forward Louis Amundson with what amounted to a left-handed bitch slap. Randolph, his 22 points per game average and 10.7 rebounds a contest, was excused for the night, leaving his teammates to endure a 140-100 blowout. That was a bad beat for even a Clippers team.

Did somebody inform Randolph that All-Star weekend was over? There were no parties to go to that night. Randolph probably does have a short fuse this season. He escaped what was a zoo in New York last season, only to be sent into exile with the Clippers. Come on, right now... name three Clippers' players? And for a bonus, why not pull a rabbit from the hat and name one key reserve. Okay, that's more copy already than the Clippers warrant but maybe, just maybe Randolph was trying to do the Suns a favor by allowing them to showcase their bench.

Remember Louis Amundson? I watch my fair share of NBA ball and can honestly say I've never heard of the third-year forward before this incident. Wow... I knew the Suns weren't having the best of seasons but Louis Amundson? Comedian Louis Anderson I know. The Suns Amundson is a 6-9 forward who made his mark at Nevada-Las Vegas. This season he's averaging just under 10 minutes a game and is shooting .521 from the field. He played over twenty minutes in the win against the Clippers, matching his season and career high point total of 13 points. He also hauled down eight rebounds.

Forget Amar'e Stoudemire. Amundson could be the man. Need proof? He torched the Boston Celtics as well in January for 13 points in a 104-87 loss. I'm really going to have to start watching my Directv NBA package more.