For me, Dodgers-Cardinals Evokes Memories

As a kid I was a St. Louis Cardinals fan. (Longtime readers of my blogs know this already.) It was natural. My hometown team, the Tulsa Oilers, was the club’s Triple-A farm team, so we regularly saw major leaguers in an Oiler uniform and the Cardinals came to Tulsa to play an exhibition once each season.

My dad also took my brother and me to St. Louis once a year to see the Cardinals play in Busch Stadium. He wasn’t particularly a Cardinals fan. In fact, my devotion was a sharp departure from the team of my parents’ baseball passion – the Dodgers.

It was natural for them. Like almost every Negro (that’s what we were back then) of their generation, they rooted for the team that signed Jackie Robinson, an act of historical significance that still ranks in the discussion with Brown v. Board of Education, the signing of the 1964 Civil Rights Act and the election of President Barack Obama.

Robinson, Larry Doby, Newcombe, Josh Easter, Campenella

For decades after Robinon’s arrival in Brooklyn, the Dodgers were Negro America’s team. And not just because of Robinson. Owner Walter O’Malley also signed other black stars, including catcher Roy Campanella, who played the coveted “mind” position, the equivalent of the quarterback; and Don Newcombe, who debuted by pitching a 3-0 shutout and in 1956 (the year I was born, by the way) became the first player to win the Cy Young and MVP awards in the same seasons. (Above, Robinson, Newcombe and Campanella with Cleveland’s Larry Doby and Luke Easter) (Little-remembered Dodger Dan Bankhead became the majors’ first black pitcher in August 1947, four months after Robinson’s arrival.)

I don’t remember much about the two Hall of Famers. But I do recall many of the black Dodgers that followed them, particularly Maury Wills, who stole 104 bases in ‘62 and was the NL MVP. In the ’60s, the Dodgers also boasted John Roseboro (another catcher) and Tommie Davis, guys who upheld Robinson’s legacy of excellence and class as the organization moved west.

I admired those Dodgers but they were not my team.

The Cardinals were actually only the 10th MLB franchise to sign a black player – first baseman Tom Alston, in 1954. Nothing admirable there.

But by the time I was old enough to root, three black players had become integral to their success – base-stealing outfielder Lou Brock (938 SBs all-time), fellow outfielder Curt Flood (seveT Gold Gloves) and, of course, Bob Gibson, who holds career Cardinals records in any category that matters and is still recognized as one of the most dominant and intimidating pitchers ever.

They were the players who caught a young boy’s eye, a young Negro boy who grew to cheer them as my parents did the Dodgers.

In time, blacks across the nation began rooting for their own teams, too. In cities like Cleveland, Chicago, Philadelphia and Pittsburgh, where black (and early Latino) players began to star.

The decline of black players in the game has been well-chronicled. No surprise: That decline has been mirrored by diminishing interest in baseball among African-American sports fans.

I love Albert Pujols, and Manny Ramirez is always worth watching. But the most prominent black player in this year’s Dodgers-Cardinals series is L.A. second baseman Orlando Hudson, a two-time All-Star with three Gold Gloves. There’s not a singular black star on either team, no one whose popularity transcends geographic boundaries.

As the series begins, I wonder who my kids will root for, who they’ll remember.

Or if they’ll even watch.

Time to See If Young Can Play. Or Not.

If you were there that evening three years ago, at the feet of the hills outside Pasadena, Calif., you just knew you were watching a beginning – not an end.

If you were there at the Rose Bowl, as the drama folded, refolded and unfolded again, you were convinced you were seeing the debut of the next great quarterback rivalry.

If you were there, as the final heart-stopping seconds ensued, you would have bet your pre-real-estate-collapse home that Southern California’s Matt Leinart and Texas’ Vince Young would be the faces of quarterback greatness for at least the next decade.

I was there, and you could not have done anything to persuade me that night that, three years later, Leinart and Young would be near-bust NFL benchwarmers today.

The two young men who starred in perhaps the greatest Rose Bowl ever have thrown just eight passes this season (all eight of them by Leinart). Three years and three weeks into their pro careers, they’re clipboard-hugging also-rans.

Both men back up guys almost old enough to be their dads. In Arizona, Leinart sits behind 38-year-old Kurt Warner, while Young shags for Tennessee’s Kerry Collins, 36.

But maybe not for long.

The Cardinals and Titans – teams which reached the playoffs in ‘08, with the Cardinals going to the Super Bowl – are an abysmal 1-5, collectively. And the whispers have begun.

Of course, the reasons for their woeful starts extend beyond the men behind center. Neither man, however, has shined this season (Warner’s QB rating is 83.5; Collins languishes at 69.9, fifth from worst ahead of now-benched Brady Quinn of Cleveland, Detroit rookie Matt Stafford, Carolina’s Jake Delhomme and JaMarcus Russell of the Raiders).

Not surprisingly, Warner’s at least chewing up air yardage, passing for 287.7 yards per game (fourth in the NFL). Collins, though, has been dreadful, completing only 55 percent of his passes – and with as many interceptions (4) as touchdowns (4), he’s truly thankful for Delhomme (2 TDs, 7 INTs)

It’s too early to punch the proverbial panic button, but Arizona’s Ken Whisenhunt and Tennessee’s Jeff Fisher need to keep the sucker close by.

The Cardinals can draw on recent experience. They were 2-2 last season before crawling into the playoffs and engineering a stunning run that got them to the Super Bowl. And they still have two of the most dangerous weapons in the game in wide receivers Larry Fitzgerald and Anquan Boldin.

The Titans, conversely, are in a funk. They’ve lost five straight games (including the playoffs) since starting last season 13-2 and are dangerously close to a hole from which the postseason is all but an impossibility.

If their respective fortunes don’t change soon – very soon – the franchises will have to make the call to turn it over to Leinart and Young. Not so much because their seasons would be “over,” but because both men might be the injection of energy the teams need to mount a revival.

That is much more likely with Young, a former NFL Rookie of the Year. Leinart, who failed to hold off Warner in the summer of 2008, spent his offseason improving his conditioning and vowed to spend more time practicing than partying – finally.

But maybe the most important reason for playing the youngins’ is to see, once and forever, if they can, well, play. If Leinart and Young are not capable of being the future of their respective franchises – as they were drafted to be – then the teams need to know now.

And if that’s the case, then they’re a lot worse off than their abysmal records. A lot.

Follow Johnson on Twitter: www.twitter.com/roysj

Photos by AP

It’s the running backs, stupid

We may now return to our regularly scheduled football.

Thank goodness.

After months of reporting on the lives, loves, trials, whims and thoughts of Brett Favre, Jay Cutler, Tom Brady, Mark Sanchez, Donovan McNabb/Michael Vick, Tony Romo and way too many other NFL quarterbacks, I’m glad to say Week 1 showed us, once again, that the guys who matter most are the ones who carry the rock.

Guys who endure the mayhem of mad men intent on doing them bodily harm.

Quarterbacks are sexy and all. They’re the names atop the marquee. But without a solid, top-tier running back, they’re eye candy. Or Jake Delhomme.

New Viking Favre, the most talked about re-retired player ever, was given kudos for winning  (and surviving) his three millionth consecutive start, a 34-20 victory over Brady Quinn and the Cleveland Browns. He was 14-for-21 for 110 yards and a TD – about what used to be a good quarter for Favre.

In truth he was just a bit more than the guy with the best seat in the house for witnessing the best player in the house, tailback Adrian Peterson. The NFL’s reigning rushing leader barrelling over, through and around the Browns defense, rambling for 180 yards and three touchdowns. Even Favre marveled, calling him “awesome, and that’s an understatement,” and saying he’d never played with a running back like Peterson.

In Houston, Jets rookie Mark Namath, er, Sanchez grinned his way through New York’s 24-7 mini-upset of the Texans. He was 18-for-31 with 272 yards, a TD and and an INT. As time ran out, he asked the ref for the game ball. He then should have done what he did all day – handed it to running back Thomas Jones, who had 107 yards and 2 TDs.

Ravens QB Joe Flacco (307 yards, 1 TD),  the Saints’ Drew Brees (6 TD passes) and Matt Hasselbeck (279 yards, 2 TDs) in Seattle were all the toast of the town after victories, but they should have sent a bottle to, respectively, second-year runner Ray Rice (108 yards, at left), bruising Mike Bell (143 yards) and Julius Jones (117 yards, 1 TD) – other running backs who, like Peterson and Thomas Jones, gained 100-plus yards on the day.

On the flip-side, the Bears (now, officially the Bad News Bears) couldn’t create even a slow lane for running back Matt Forte (55 yards), which forced Cutler into a nightmare four-INT debut evening and the Bears to a 21-15 loss.

Delhomme? He’s still tossing crippled pigeons into the sky. In a 38-10 loss to McNabb and the Eagles, Delhomme threw nearly as many interceptions (4) as completed passes (7), and had to be re-named today as the Panthers’ starter for Week 2. No coincidence that Carolina’s leading rusher, DeAngelo Williams, managed just 37 yards on 14 carries.

Some chicks (and unschooled football fans) still dig the long ball, so quarterbacks will continue to dominate the highlight shows and daily headlines. But give me a good old-school running back any Sunday afternoon (or Sunday or Monday night), and I’ll take my W and go home.

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Photos by AP and Reuters

NCAA (a/k/a Kollege Keystone Kops) Strikes Again

So let’s see. Agents are enriching college athletes’ families and friends like Extreme Makeover. Former players and other alums are running amok trying to build new ties. And boosters are still luring recruits with tales of their institution being the promi$ed land.

And the NCAA goes ballistic on a college freshman over his Facebook page?

File this as yet another chapter of College Sports’ Keystone Kops, under “you couldn’t make this up.”

North Carolina State freshman Taylor Moseley received a “cease and desist” letter from the NCAA after its “investigators” uncovered, after weeks of intense discovery no doubt, the kid had created a Facebook group imploring John Wall, a 6-4, 185-pound senior point guard from Word of God Academy in Raleigh, N.C., to attend N.C. State.

Wall (above) might be the nation’s most coveted recruit.

The group – called “John Wall PLEASE come to NC State!!!!” – attracted more than 700 members. But it apparently violated NCAA Division I Bylaw 13.02.13.

The rule targets “individuals who would develop a social networking site or use an existing one to send recruiting messages to prospective student-athletes,” according to NCAA spokesman Erik Christianson. “Those communications are not allowed.”

The letter to Moseley said: “Should this activity not cease and/or it continues in the future, we will have no choice but to take further action.” Such “action” might include barring the student from getting even student tickets to games or “disassociating” the school from the student, like some scofflaw booster.

Way to go, NCAA. Now we are all criminals.

All of us who are fans. All of us who would like to see our alma mater land the best athletes.

All of us who have integrated the newest communications technology into our lives. And that’s a lot of us. Some estimates say there are nearly 200 million Facebook members in four languages.

That could mean a lot of C & D letters. And a lot of silliness. Not to mention millions of possible violations of First Amendment free-speech rights. “NCAA legislation hasn’t caught up with technology, and that’s being discussed nationally,” Michelle Lee, N.C. State’s interim associate athletic director for compliance told the Charlotte News & Observer.

All Moseley did was what fans across the nation have done for years, use whatever means available to induce a top recruit to attend their school. A generation ago, there might have been telephone calls or letters or even fresh-baked desserts delivered to their home.

Later it became e-mail and even later text messages to recruits. Many, if not most, come from other kids, students, not big-bellied, deep-pocketed boosters.

Where does it end?

And is this may be just a start. Not surprisingly, there are several Internet-based sites encouraging (begging?) Wall to attend various schools. (According to the News & Observer, Wall is still choosing among Duke, Memphis, Baylor, Kansas, Miami, Kentucky and N.C. State)

Moseley deleted his original group, then launched “Bring a National Title back to NC STATE!” Wall’s name is nowhere on the site, only his picture.

Smart kid. No doubt, the NCAA keystones are on the case, while the those who are truly out there tainting a system continue to run amok.

AP photograph

The Shark Earned This Finale

The Shark's Final Swim

Hope you followed him. No, not him. Not Tiger. I wasn’t concerned with what Woods did at the Masters on Thursday and Friday. He does not produce highlights on Thursday and Friday. So I didn’t need a Tiger Cam for the first and second rounds at Augusta.

Instead, I followed one of the game’s greatest characters, and one of its greatest players.

I followed the guy who was Tiger – the top player in the world – for 331 weeks.

The guy who’s produced some of the Masters’ most memorable moments.

I followed Greg Norman.

The 54-year-old Aussie who very well may have playedhis last Masters.

The guy who deserves a green jacket more than Zach Johnson and a few others, honestly.

This was Norman’s 23rd Masters, a rightly-earned likely-swan turn. He’ll be there based on his third-place finish at last year’s British Open. It was a “comeback” that allowed us to remember just how much golf missed his presence, his class.

And he brought Chris Evert along. America’s sweetheart is now Shark’s sweetheart, and his return to Augusta is in part due to how she helped him overcome demons that we won’t let him forget:

*The bogey on 18 on 1986 to miss a playoff.

*The playoff loss to Larry Mize in ‘87.

*And of course, ‘96, losing by five strokes after leading by six as the sun rose on Sunday.

Norman could have disappeared then. And he did, slowly. He finished third in he Masters two years later but missed the cut three of the five years after ‘96. Demons do that.

Demons also do divorce, but demons didn’t count on Chrissie. She loved him and lifted him from the ashes of his professional and personal failures. She’d been there, too. On both fronts. The only difference was that she overcame her demons.

“She completely understands,” he told the BBC earlier this year. And now, it seems, so does he.

So I hope you follow him. Not because he might have earned a green jacket. That didn’t happen, of course. He didn’t even make the cut. But no matter.

I followed him because he seemed to be having fun. Because he deserves more than we recognize and remember him for.

Follow him because he understands, finally.

Tiger: The Most Clutch Athlete Ever

Thought he didn't win the Masters, he remains Mr. Clutch

Tiger Woods did not win the Masters. But If he’d been Kenny Payne, he would have. If he had to make the shots Payne needed to make on the final two holes in order to win the coveted green jacket, he would have.

Greg Norman agrees. “Tiger Woods, to me, is the best clutch putter I’ve ever seen in the game of golf,” he said earlier this week.

It’s easy to say that, given the gallery of fist-pumping highlights Woods has produced on 18th greens all over the world, including his most recent: the 12-foot birdie putt on the 72nd hole at Bay Hill to beat Sean O’Hair.

Quite frankly, as I watched the moment with a group of very loud friends, I didn’t think he’d make it. It was too late in the day and there was barely enough sunlight to see, let alone to accurately assess the contour of the green. And it was too soon. It was only Woods’ third tournament after a long layoff and knee surgery. Too soon.

“He won’t make it,” I said as he prepared to putt.

I’ll never say those words again.

Putts like that are why Norman and others say he’s the best clutch putter ever, but they don’t go far enough. He’s also the best clutch golfer ever. His putts often overshadow the shots he makes in order to set up the winning putt.

At Bay Hill, for instance, few talked about the 164-yard approach shot Woods made to within 12 feet. He could have hit an 8-iron that distance. But Woods assesses each shot like a NASA scientist and a fighting wind was a clear factor.

The golf gods tell you to take more club that you need in thess conditions but when your mind knows you might hit the ball 20 yards over the green, your body goes cartoonish on you and you swing like a 46-handicapper.

But you’re not Tiger Woods. He pulled out a 5 iron, a club he easily hits 200 yards. The downside was huge: a slight mis-hit would have ended up in the water near the green, a full-on clean shot might have sailed the flag into the bunker behind the green.

But Tiger lasered the ball into Mother Nature’s teeth; it landed where he needed it to be to give him a chance. And that’s all he needs. Birdie. Win.

But even declaring Woods the best clutch golfer ever doesn’t go far enough. He’s the best clutch athlete ever. Ever.

More than any other athlete, in any sport, if winning comes down to a single play, a singular convergence of mind, body and moment, Woods will come through.

Many great athletes are also clutch, but not always. And many athletes who’ve never been called great by anyone outside their own family were extremely clutch. Greatness is about talent and dominance. Clutch is about execution when the eyes of the world are upon you.

Here’s my list of the 10 most clutch athletes ever:

1. Tiger Woods

2. Michael Jordan

3. Joe Montana

4. Reggie Jackson

5. Jimmy Connors

6. Michael Phelps

7. Jesse Owens

8. Robert Horry

9. Florence Griffith Joyner

10. Reggie Miller

No doubt there are others – from eras I did not witness and sports I don’t pretend to be an expert in. (Hockey fans, who should be on this list? Gordie Howe? Bobby Orr? Patrick Roy?) And there’s no boxer on the list because fights rarely come down to “moments.”

I also struggled for a pitcher, though Bob Gibson and Don Drysdale made noise.

And I pondered Babe Didrikson, Bo Jackson, Jackie Joyner-Kersee and Jim Brown.

But I only had ten slots. And each of the athletes on my list created memorable moments I could see, images I could recall as if they occurred this afternoon. (Even if those images are grainy flip clips, as with Owens).

And at least one of them will likely create many more, beginning next Sunday.

Has Pedro Gone Fishin’?

The last pitch for one of the most-vital Mets ever?

It’s a bit sad when the great ones fade away, in any sport. Very few know when to call it quits, and allow us to give them a proper gushy, appreciative good-bye. Typically, with a rocking chair and another Hummer.

Most athletes keep playing until someone pries the ball from their cold, wrinkled fingers.

Pedro Martinez, a sure Hall of Famer, was hoping to be the New York Mets‘ fifth starter this season. He’ll be 38 years old in the fall and, after a shoulder injury, pitched just 137 innings in the last two years. A free agent, he appeared to be reasonably healthy in the recent World Baseball Classic, giving up only one hit in six innings for the Dominican Republic

But he was said to be demanding an AIG-sized bonus – $5 million for one year. Certainly not the kind of $1 million offer that was rumored for him. He said he’d rather retire to his fishing boat. “I’m not going to let anybody disrespect my abilities or the way I am,” he told the New York Daily News. “I wouldn’t say I would want to pitch that bad.”

The Mets, like the rest of us in this dog of an economy, weren’t looking to go lavish. So on Monday, manager Jerry Manual announced that Livan Hernandez was starter No. 5.

It’s business. I’m not mad at the Mets. It’s too bad, however. Martinez, like a few others, deserves a grander exit. He deserves it because the Mets may not be perennial World Series contenders today had he not signed the four-year, $53 million deal that brought him to the Mets in 2005.

In fact, behind Tom Seaver, Pedro Martinez may be the second most vital Met ever.

He was the magnet that drew a swarm of Latin talent, and brought the kind of buzz back to Shea that, in part, allowed the new edifice known as Citi Field to be constructed.

He should be able to pitch there. Instead, looks like he’s going fishing.

Adios, Pedro.

NFL Must Adopt a Two-QB Strategy

What Roger Goodell wants, Roger Goodell gets. Or more appropriately, what Goodell says he wants is what the owners really want.

With the NFL commissioner’s publicly expressed desire to lengthen the 16-game regular season to 17 or 18 contests, you can bet it’s pretty much a done deal. And I’m all for it.

Yes, there are negatives, most particularly the additional damages to the bodies of athletes whose careers on average already last less than the lifespan of a guinea pig.

That’s why I hope the expanded season finally rids us of one of the most inane strategies, traditions, beliefs (whatever you may want to call it) in sports: that quarterbacks should never be pulled from a game unless they’re a) injured or b) really suck.

Why is it that players at every other position on the field can be taken out for a sub – for whatever reason – then later return without it being a “controversy”?

What if other sports held to such a practice – then Kobe Bryant, LeBron James and other NBA stars would play 48 minutes; NHL stars like Sidney Crosby and Jerome Iginla would never leave the ice. Sounds stupid, doesn’t it? Those sports don’t adhere to such insanity because their stars would never last a month, let alone an entire season.

An NFL QB’s season is already about attrition. Coaches, owners, teammates and fans cringe each time one is sacked or tackled after a run. Yet most starting quarterbacks are surprisingly durable. Among the 18 quarterbacks who threw for more than 3,000 yards last season, only Matt Schaub (5 missed games) and Tony Romo (3) failed to play all 16 games last season.

And yet, the loss of a QB, even for a few games, can flush an entire season (see: Dallas). With up to an additional two games destined for 2010 or 2011, the survival of the QB will be atop every coach’s list of concerns.

The solution: a true two-quarterback system. Backups should play every game, sometimes for a series, maybe an entire quarter. They could be used to simply give the starter a breather, without creating a buzz in the press box.

Better yet, the No. 2 QB should become a key strategic weapon, not merely an EMS worker with a helmet. They can be used to change the pace of play, to give the defense “another look” at a critical juncture, maybe during the final two minutes of the half.

Teams would actually have to prepare for two QBs rather than one, just as teams would have to prepare two QBs to play each week.

With the two-QB system, we might have actually known who Matt Cassell was before Tom Brady got injured; Vince Young (pictured) would not have become Casper last season; and the Jets might acutally have a clue whether Kellen Clemens, their default ‘09 starter so far who’s been in the league for three years (!), can play.

Andy Reid could have “benched” Donovan McNabb last season without “benching” him in the traditional sense, i.e. public humiliation. Playing the backup more could have been positioned as more strategic than punitive.

Maybe the Cowboys would not have folded when Romo went down with an injury. (On second thought, scratch that.)

Most fans probably don’t even know who’s their team’s backup. Partly due to denial, hoping they never have to know. With the two-QB system, fans won’t have to go into apoplectic convulsions when the starter gets hit.

Bring on more games. But also, bring on the backups. Let them play. Let them play. Let them play …

Photos by Baltimore Sun, Getty

OU a Hoops School? What Would Bud Do?

The Sooner was college hoops' monster in '09

My calendar’s all outta sync. Yeah, I know it’s March, and I’m well aware that it’s Spring (although Winter’s still got a death-grip on things here in the Northeast).

But growing up in Oklahoma (Tulsa), there were only two true seasons – football and spring football. Otherwise, we all hibernated.

Now I’m watching the highlights last night and there’s Bob Stoops, the Sooner football coach, sitting courtside at an Oklahoma City Thunder game, not too far from former OU quarterback J.C. Watts (he spent a bit of time in Congress, too, but we don’t care about that). Both guys looked kinda out of place, but they were there.

A couple of weeks ago, budding-star golfer Anthony Kim, who teed it up at Norman, sat courside at a Sooner basketball game, cheering a team that is threatening to alter OU status as a pure-bred don’t-talk-to-me-’bout-no-hoops football school.

What in the name of Bud Wilkinson….

The Sooners were actually a concussion away from being the No. 1 team in the nation this season. Star/stud Blake Griffin went down early against Texas in late February, and the Sooners lost only their second game of the season, 73-68.

Still, they’re one of the strongest teams still standing in the NCAA tournament (yes, I have them going to the Final Four) and yet they still seem like they’re crashing a party.

Then there’s the women’s team, which stands as one of the few squads with a chance to collar UConn and possesses its own legit star in center Courtney Paris. She magnanimously promised to pay back her scholarship if the Sooners don’t win the national title.

Not a single other school whose team finished the season in the top 20 has a football team that played in a BCS Bowl this past season (OU lost to Florida in the BCS title game; Gator basketball this season was a no-show). And certianly none of them would ever dare call themselves a football school.

Among the men’s Sweet 16, several schools have had decent football teams, but none live and breathe the sport like we do.

This isn’t OU’s first foray into the hoops near-elite. In the 80s, Wayman Tisdale once gave us a reason to don our red. And though it might be hard to recall given recent events, Kelvin Sampson stoked the first fires for Sooner hoops, guiding team to eight consecutive 20-win seasons, 10 NCAA tournaments and a trip to the Final Four (2002) from the mid-90s into just a few seasons ago.

But under vibrant new leadership (head coach Jeff Capel, and his counterpart, women’s coach Sherri Coale), and with Griffin and Paris showcasing Norman as a viable place for the region’s best talent, this team might actually succeed where their predecessors could not – stir Sooner nation for another season.

And I’m sure Bud Wilkinson wouldn’t mind a bit.

NBA’s MVC(haracter) Was Missed

The return of "O" was mixed but welcomed.

I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. This has been an entertaining NBA season, led by a cavalcade of stars at the peak of their skills. LeBron and Dwight Howard crashed the MVP suite, where Kobe and KG (and even Old Man Shaq) held their ground.

There was the revival, like a Phoenix, of D-Wade (another viable MVP); and the continued brilliance of young guards like Tony Parker, Chris Paul, Deron Williams and Brandon Roy.

And every 90 seconds a coach was fired.

There was plenty of drama, a great setup for the playoffs. But something was missing. There were plenty of stories, but something hasn’t been quite right all season, and I just couldn’t put my finger on it. Until…Hibachi!

There was no Gilbert Arenas. I missed him.

I missed Agent Zero, the three-time All-Star guard who is the only member of the league’s All-Character team. I missed him because he (trash) talked it, blogged it, even texted it – and walked it, too.

And of course he shot it. Shot it with the best of them. In fact Arenas and Kobe may be the best big shot makers in the league.

When Arenas is healthy, which hasn’t been in awhile.

Gilbert hasn’t played since April 27, last season, in a playoff loss against LeBron and Cleveland. He’s had three operations on his left knee in the last 18 months, and while teammates said he looked great in practice on Tuesday (a day after sending a text message to a Comcast reporter announcing his return this Saturday), we still don’t know yet whether he’s fully healed from the last surgery, in September.

More important, the Wizards don’t know. Which may be the very reason he’s playing at this inconsequential juncture of the season.

Without Arenas (and almost every other starter Washington has lost for good chunks this season), the Wizards have the NBA’s second-worst record. For the next nine games, they’re playing for Blake Griffin, the presumptive No. 1 pick should the Oklahoma stud/forward leave school.

Arenas’ return will let the Wizards know what they have in their six-year, $111-million investment.

I’m not sure if I’d want to know.

But I’ll surely watch. Arenas is a love-him-or-hate-him guy. His bravado. His cravings for attention. His boundless ego put off many who favor humility and by-the-book sportsmanship (read: guys who played hard and stopped only when spoken to).

But love him or hate him, you watched.

You watched because you couldn’t believe someone would actually yell, “Hibachi!” in the midst of a shooting streak (because he was hot).

You watched because whether he made the shot or not, you knew he was going to take the shot, no matter who was guarding him.

You watched because you also knew Arenas earned his shots. A noted workout freak and perfectionist, Arenas was legendary for his offseason regiment, in the gym and on the court. (He’d take hundreds of shots, even after achieving bona fide all-everything status.)

The season wasn’t the same without him. But at least we’ll get a little taste of what we missed.

And perhaps we’ll know whether we’ll ever hear Hibachi! again.