E.K. NATION

For a while, it was good. Lincecum was givin' it, Omar was making some fine defensive plays, and we were keeping the Mets in check.

And then a friggin' balk. Two of 'em, actually. Unbelievable. Two balks are called all year in the big leagues, and one of them just happens to be when the Giants are up 4-3 with 2 outs in the 12th and the tying run on third. And the other one was maybe two minutes earlier?You gotta be kidding me.

Anyway, I think this sums it up better than I could. Thank you to Grant at McCovey Chronicles for a laugh on this dismal day. And sorry, Armando, but you can't fall back on the home run you gave up to J.T. Snow in 2000 as payment already received. We lost that game too.

I can't recall ever saying this before, but I really should have given it some attention. Not because of the driving, not because of the rain delay, which are basically equal in the entertainment department for me. But because this happened:

Yep, it's pretty much what you might call race-car porn: the sight of Ashley Judd in a rain-soaked sun dress celebrating her husband (or boyfriend) (or guy who stole Ashley away from me) winning the race.

Ashley's excitement is understandable: In a thrilling finish, Dario Franchitti took home the Indy 500 win when...ummm...the race officials just suddenly decided to stop the thing. Seems worth watching, huh? Three hours of a rain delay and then they just stop the race. Why would I watch that?

Well, wait. I just heard Eric Casilias say on ESPN Radio that the rain delay at the Indy 500 got better ratings than the NBA playoff game that day. What? Who and the what?

To recap:

Josh Hancock, pitcher for the St. Louis Cardinals, was killed in a car accident on the morning of April 29. He 1) was drunk, 2) was speeding, 3) was talking on a cell phone, 4) wasn't wearing a seatbelt, and maybe, just maybe, he 5) was high on pot, as marijuana was found in the car.

But according to his father, Dean Hancock, Josh is not to blame.

Instead, here is who is at fault: the restaurant where he drank for three-and-a-half hours, the tow truck company whose truck Josh crashed into, and the driver of the car that stalled on the highway causing the presence of the tow truck.

As administrator of his son’s estate, Dean Hancock said he has an obligation to represent the family on all issues, “including any legal actions necessary against those who contributed to the untimely and unnecessary death.”

Hell, why stop there? Why not sue the taxi companies that didn't come to the restaurant because they weren't called by a drunk who was about to drive? Why not sue the road crew that laid down the asphalt that created the road your son drove on? Hey! Why not sue me? After all, I did nothing to stop your son from getting into his car.

And "untimely"? Tell me, Dean-O, when isa good time to get drunk, drive fast and crash into a tow truck, huh? Seems to me that that is the perfect time to die.

Goddammit, I tell you what, man. If I were the driver of the car that stalled and you sued me for causing your son's death, I could give you a real reason to sue me: I'd kick your ass from head to toe and leave you in a bloody mess on the ground and leave you for dead. That's what I could do. But then you wouldn't actually be able to justify suing me, because it wouldn't have been my fault. I could then sue you for causing me to want to kick your ass.

You epitomize everything that is wrong with society. I did something stupid? Not my fault! Who can I sue?

Dean-O, I got news for you: Your son is to blame. And he's already been embarrassed enough as it is, what with killing himself in a drunken stupor. Don't embarrass him any further by involving him in your stupid shit.

***

And now, to keep my blood pressure at an all-time high, here is a photograph of high school athlete Alison Stokke, who is good at pole vaulting and really good at looking good. Aieeeeeee-yiiiiieeee-yiiiiiiiiieeee!!!

We Blazer fans have known for the past year that the franchise has been turning itself, if not into a contender, at least into a team we can once again wrap our rain-soaked arms around. And with this bit of blessed news...

...we have the enviable task of choosing whoever we want in this summer's NBA Draft.

Now, to me, this one is a no-brainer. Greg Oden just might not wind up being the greatest center of all time. And he might have been trumped in the stats department in college by the smaller, lankier Kevin Durant. But when you have a chance to grab a potentially dominant big man, you gotta go with him. They don't come around very often. (And I am certainly not including Sam Bowie in that list of big men, nor forgetting that the Blazers used my very same advice to take him over Michael Jordan.)

We're definitely looking a few years ahead, but right now, a front line that includes Oden, LaMarcus Aldridge, and, what the hell, maybe Zach Randolph, looks pretty good. Throw in a top-notch point like Brandon R.O.Y. and you got yourself a nice contender in a couple years.

And of course, you have the requisite whining about how the draft lottery is unfair, and also, amazingly, you have Jet fan Celtic fan complaining that they got jobbed yet again. Yo, guys: You are not cursed. Let's go ahead and assume that your claim to a curse ended when the Sox won the World Series in 2004. Never mind that claiming the Celtics are cursed is one of the most ridiculous things since, like, yesterday, if only because people say stupid things all the time. You had Larry Bird. You had the mystique of the Garden. You guys won something like 48 championships in 31 years.

So the other L.B. didn't pan out, choosing instead to celebrate his entering the NBA by snorting coke. So you didn't get Tim Duncan. Boo-frickin'-hoo. Winning all the time doesn't mean so much if you don't lose every once in a while. And anyway, how hard are you trying? The Blazers gave up on a player (Sebastian Telfair) and you picked him up. I repeat: The Blazers saw fit to release a guy and you went after him.

And please, can we stop with all the conspiracy talk? What the hell is that? Yeah, David Stern wants nothing more than for the top two rookies to spend all their time playing basketball in the Pacific Northwest while it's midnight on the East Coast. Yeah, he doesn't want any talent clogging up the vacuous Eastern Conference. Yeah, he wants to reward the Jail Blazers and a team that is about to pack up and move somewhere else.

***

Here's a fact you won't find anywhere else but here, at least until others see it and pass it around: The E.K. Nation Research Team (me) has discovered that this year's Stanley Cup Finals, featuring the Anaheim Ducks and the Ottawa Senators, marks the first time in any of the four major sports' histories that any of their championship rounds (Stanley Cup Finals, World Series, NBA Finals or Super Bowl) will be contested by two teams whose respective cities both start with a vowel. You could look it up. But you don't have to; I already did.

The Buffalo Sabres and the Ottawa Senators were locked up in a 2-2 tie after the third period of Game 5 of their Eastern Conference Final series on Saturday afternoon. If Ottawa were to be the first to score in overtime, it would advance to its first-ever Stanley Cup Finals.

Having just returned home from an outing, I texted a friend, asking him to tell me if the game was over so that I could stop the recording I was making of the game and go back and watch it. Well, he said it was still going on. And since it was well over three hours since the game started, I knew it was in overtime. So I stopped the tape and decided to just watch the overtime.

And on the screen was the pre-game show for the Preakness Stakes.

Naturally, I just assumed they would cut back to the game once it resumed.

Nope.

Here comes Bill Clement with a "Sports Update": "The Sabres and Senators have begun overtime, and we'll inform you once we have a result."

What???

The president hadn't been assassinated. There was no plane crash or mass shooting on some college campus that might warrant cutting away from an overtime hockey playoff game.

No, it was the pre-game show for the Preakness Stakes. A horse race. That wasn't going off for another half-hour, at least.

Apparently, the network Vs. was now showing the game. Which is a treat for me, since I don't yet have cable in my new apartment. And I didn't even know this was going on. I didn't even get an opportunity to head over to a local bar to catch the rest of the game.

Nope. They just stopped covering the game so that we could look at a somewhat muddy horse track and old women wearing silly hats. While the Senators scored and celebrated their first trip to the Finals. And I couldn't see it.

Seriously. Could hockey be disrespected even more? Unacceptable. Thanks, NBC. Hey, NHL, do something about this, eh?

• This is the eleventh year of interleague play in Major League Baseball, and I must say its time has come and gone. Oh, sure, we get the White Sox-Cubs and the Yankees-Mets game. But really: I'm not all jazzed about having the Giants play the A's. And where's the thrill in a Marlins-Devil Rays matchup? The novelty has worn off.

• I'm still reading columns by indignant writers who say that they don't care about Barry Bonds' chase of Hank Aaron's home run record and then prove it by writing 500 words on the topic.

Look, folks, if you don't care, shut the hell up already, so that those of us who do care don't have to listen to you squawk about it and bring us down.

• Last Sunday being Mothers' Day, MLB players wore pink wristbands to call attention to...what, exactly?

I don't care what the cause is. Men should never wear pink. Ever. Ever, ever, ever, in the history of forever and ever. And don't get me started on pink bats either. Good heavens.

PLEASE, NO PINK

Haven't posted for a while. Sorry to disappoint you all, or maybe a couple of you. I'm back for a bit! So pay attention!

• Somebody, please, put a muzzle on Curt Schilling. Great Raven's Ghost! Yeah, Curt, you apologized for your comments about Barry Bonds, but so what? That's the trend these days. Get your opinion out there and then apologize, falsely believing the jury will disregard.

What was that again?

He admitted that he used steroids. I mean, there's no gray area. He admitted to cheating on his wife, cheating on his taxes, and cheating on the game.

He did? When?

He doesn't deserve to break Hank Aaron's home run record? Why? Were the fences 200 feet closer for Bonds? What is it about the 745 home runs Barry has already that shouldn't put him 10 away from the mark? Got news for you: Once 756 has been hit, he deserves it. Game over.

So you don't like Barry Bonds. You think you're alone? Shut the hell up, Curt. And I hope that when the Giants play you next month, Barry aims to go right up the middle and up your ass.

• Have been enjoying season 1 of Family Ties, which recently came out (finally!) on DVD. And I must say, yes, I knew Justine Bateman was attractive. But looking back now, I'm not exactly sure how I did not think Justine Bateman was the hottest girl on the planet during the debut season of that show. Lordy, she was far more amazing than I realized.

Speaking of Justine Bateman, I think she and her brother Jason should have had a make-out scene when their characters met up on Arrested Development in the show's waning days. That would have made them absolute legends.

• NASCAR is not a sport. Driving is not a sport. If driving and poker are sports, then I am a wonderful two-sport athlete on a par with Bo and Deion. Or maybe Gene Conley. Also, NASCAR is boring. Watching cars go round and round is not fun. I don't get it.

• Also, I sat through the Oscar de la Hoya-Floyd Mayweather boxing match, and when I say "boxing" I mean "standing around." And it's 47 minutes I will never get back. Why is boxing still a thing? That was the most boring thing I've ever seen, and I've seen Smokin' Aces.

All right, then. Have you had your fill of my worthless opinions? Great! Go get yourself a beer. It's Friday afternoon, fer cryin' out loud! Whaddya doin' here?