JimWMiller

JimWMiller

hughweberWeber deserved better, but that's the reality of sports

There is a sad reality in the sporting world that is amply covered by a myriad of clichés. A new broom sweeps clean. The baby is thrown out with the bath water. We are going in a new direction. Thanks for the memories. Any one of those could have been said to Hugh Weber during his meeting with new Hornets owner Tom Benson on Monday, but the final result is that Weber will not be an active participant in the new Hornets, or whatever name Mistah Tahwm decides to call the team.

Weber’s termination was hardly because of his performance, because he was the on-site glue that almost single-handedly held things together after George Shinn sold the team to the NBA. Among his achievements, Weber orchestrated the “I’m In!” ticket drive that sold 10,000 season tickets last year.

bastille-day-fireworks   One of my NFL heroes was George Young, the legendary GM of the New York Giants. Young drafted such stars as QB Phil Simms and LB Lawrence Taylor, and he hired Bill Parcells as head coach and Ernie Accorsi as his assistant who would later succeed George and forge his own record of Super Bowl winners. But George Young's most endearing quality was that he never considered himself anything more than the history teacher he was back at City College High School in his native Baltimore.

Brees-panthersWho Dat Nation received another jolt Thursday when it learned that their hero-on-sabbatical appeared to take another big step toward tyranny. NFL.com reported that QB Drew Brees will have a grievance hearing June 27 in Philadelphia over his claim that the value of a possible future franchise tag should be higher than what the New Orleans Saints say it is. Who Dats from Ponchatoula to Parley's on Harrison Avenue and environs in between are scratching the fuzz off their noggins at this latest breach of their undying loyalty. Why is their hero acting this way?


goodellWill the Neighborhood Nuisance leave us alone?

That nutty neighbor from down the street came back again this week to spread more grief. You know the one. He walks his dog for however many blocks it takes, and then when he gets to your yard, the dog suddenly has the urge to squat and unload a six-pound load of whatever he's eaten the past week. I hadn't seen him since he borrowed my lawn mower and returned it with no gas, the self-propelled cable broken and the air filter missing. But none of that was as bad as the time he knocked on my door to inform me that he was in the critical stages of baking a six-layer chocolate cake but ran out of some key ingredients. He wanted to borrow six eggs, two cups of sugar, two cups of flour, several squares of sweet chocolate and a spoonful of vanilla extract.

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