In fact, most of us would’ve thunk it, quite frankly. But, whilst we all suspected that dropping the erstwhile firecracker into one of the most volatile media markets in the world was bound to be problematic. We didn’t figure just how quickly, and how badly, “Bobby V” would rub people up the wrong way. And nobody had money on his own players being his first targets.

Here’s the deal. After being in Boston for about three minutes, Valentine dealt with his first major situation: an injury to closer Andrew Bailey. The closer is never an easy position to replace in baseball, and for the Sox, this was exacerbated by the fact that one of the contenders to do just that, Daniel Bard, has recently been promoted to the starting rotation this year. So moving him in as cover would be the Red Sox version of robbing Peter to pay Paul.

One of the candidates to replace Bailey, Mark Melancon, by no means a green-gilled rookie, received less than glowing support from his new boss after being given a shot at landing the position. How did Bobby V rate his possible solution?

“I thought he backed up the bases really well,” Valentine said. “He had that down.”

Which is baseball’s equivalent of a guy saying to his friends: “She wasn’t much to look at, but she had a so/so personality. I guess.”

Melancon is now plying his trade in Triple AAA Pawtucket. It’s all character building stuff, of course. This is where ESPN America is sending me next week.

But Valentine’s (mis)handling of one of his closers is nothing compared to how he treated one of Boston’s favorite sons Kevin “God of Walks” Youkilis this week. At least, that’s what everyone would have you believe.

Valentine’s calling out of Youk’s commitment, “I don’t think he’s as physically or emotionally into the game as he has been in the past for some reason” – has been widely ridiculed as the ill-judged rantings of a mad man, by fans, media and in one instance Bobby’s own charges:

”I don’t really understand what Bobby’s trying to do. But that’s really not the way we go about our stuff here. I’m sure he’ll figure that out soon.” So said Dustin Pedroia. The second baseman leapt to the defense of his teammate and very publicly slapped his skipper on the wrist at the same time.

Interestingly though, the next part of his interview suggests Pedroia may have unwittingly stumbled upon a logical reason for his manager’s comments: “We feel we have a good team and we’ve just got to get each others’ backs and play together. Because if you don’t do that, I don’t care what sport you’re playing, you’re not going to win.”

As a player Bobby V spent the majority of his career in California and New York, where he also managed for six years. This is the guy chosen by one of the most powerful, and richest, sporting franchises in the world to be the public face of their team in 2012.

And his time in Japan – despite Pedroia’s startling assertion that somehow this was a disadvantage in terms of managing in the majors – probably taught him a thing or two about how to acclimatize to a new, unusual situation.

Does anyone honestly think he’s as naïve as he’s been made out to be in terms of dealing with the media?

Valentine knows exactly what he’s doing – and his inflammatory remarks, in terms of intention anyway, are carefully crafted to get the team playing for each other. Look at the situation he inherited: a team of highly paid superstars who are underachieving (again).

“Big management” – that is, the steering of mega star teams – is becoming more and more prevalent in contemporary sports, as teams assemble rosters or squads of multiple elite players – be it Manchester City, Miami Heat or the Red Sox. And there isn’t one blueprint to show you how to navigate – not least because every situation is inevitably different, given it’s by definition, character driven by the specific personnel assembled at that time.

Valentine has lost the locker room already, they say. Yeah, and Tony La Russa was past it last season, too. And Mariano can’t close any more. And blah, blah, blah.

Predictably enough, though, our breakneck pace generation has already written off his time in Boston before it’s even begun. The season is 13 games old. Judge Valentine when it’s all said and done. (Note to self. Judge Valentine could be a good TV vehicle for Bobby if he does get axed. Like Judge Judy, only Dustin Pedroia is on trial every show).

“In here, there were two guys killing each other, but I guess that’s better than twenty million. I guess what I’m trying to say, is that if I can change, and you can change, everybody can change!”

The Rocky series, amid its genuine highs and lows (I’d nominate all ofRocky V for the latter) has had a genuine significance, in terms of how sports movies are made, and in turn, what makes a good – or bad – sports movie. And with some very notable exceptions – includingHoosiers, We Are Marshall, Jerry Maguire and of course, the entire Air Bud franchise – most of the best sports films ever made are about boxing.

And, much in the same way that the noble art held an appeal for literary giants like Ernest Hemingway, some of the finest Hollywood directors – including Martin Scorsese and Clint Eastwood – have tried their hand at helming films about the fight game.

Possibly the most successful depiction of the brutality and unequivocal violence without any attempt to beatify or gloss up is Scorsese’s Raging Bull (1980). Robert De Niro delivers a signature performance as Jake LaMotta – the eponymous Bronx boxer – and it’s as much about the power and fragility of the American Dream as it is about uppercuts and bloody mouthguards. Raging Bull was nominated for eight Academy Awards with De Niro winning for Best Actor.

Eastwood’s Million Dollar Baby – where Maggie played by Hilary Swank escapes her trailer park roots by using boxing as a way out – is similarly bleak and indeed refreshing for it’s untypically non-Hollywood ending. Extremely resonant is the stark depiction of the spit’n’sawdust gym Eastwood’s character Frankie Dunn runs with sympathetic former boxer and cutman/janitor Eddie, played with all the authenticity and delicacy you’d expect from Morgan Freeman. Million Dollar Baby, deservedly, won the Best Picture Oscar at the 77th Academy Awards.

The fundamental implausibility of some of the Rocky films – other than each fight seemed to include 1038 direct hits to the jaw from each fighter – was that a heavyweight boxer of the size and build of Stallone would be able to win the world title. Fortunately, films based on real fighters have mostly avoided too much overtly Hollywoodian fantasyland.

Will Smith delivers the performance we was born to give in Ali (2001), Russell Crowe is likeable and convincing in the 2005 Cinderella Man as James J Braddock, set against the backdrop of the US depression of the 1930’s. The critically acclaimed The Fighter (2010) features Mark Wahlberg as Irish Mickey Ward, a blue collar made good fighter from Massachusetts who’s story echoes the fictional Balboa’s. Wahlberg is arguably the most convincing boxer in recent cinematic memory, but it’s Christian Bale who is remarkable as Ward’s brother Dicky – a crack-addled troublemaker, once a capable boxer himself, headed for oblivion.

Other big names have tried their hands (and gloves) at securing celluloid greatness via the ring. Bugs Bunny’s seminal Rabbit Punch (1949) sees our favorite carrot chomper fighting dirty – including at using a cannon. Jason Bateman, a long time before Arrested Development was, of course, the star of the remarkable TeenWolf Too, which, somewhat unsurprisingly Michael J Fox passed on. In this 1987 film, the college-bound Todd Howard (Bateman) discovers he’s not only a fine boxer, but also a Werewolf. As one does. Genius.

An honorable mention must go to weepiest of weepy film ever-devised – The Champ (1979) – a remake of the 1931 movie starring Jackie Cooper. Any man that doesn’t watch the final scenes of either film without crying doesn’t have a soul.

And finally, the remarkable The Superfight: Marciano vs. Ali (1970) a fictional boxing match between the Real ‘Real Rocky’ and The Greatest where they were filmed acting out every possible scenario in a fight. The result was determined using probability formulas entered into a computer. Way ahead of its time; and fascinating – much likeTeenWolf Too. I won’t spoil the result. For either.

It was our generation’s JFK moment. A young, dynamic orator swept across the USA, who no-one saw coming. The irony here being that his detractors would laser in on his provenance as a major cause for concern.

The 80s had Nike, Michael J Fox, Gordon Gekko and Pac Man. We get iPods, Lady Gaga, Simon Cowell and Barack Obama. He was of the moment: new, exciting and instantly iconic.

He became the nation’s first black president, representing a vision of integrity, hope and change that was so invigorating and balanced, it was as if we were watching a fictional character merge with reality. Like Space Jam, but instead of Michael Jordan horsing around on a basketball court with Daffy Duck we got the most eloquent orator since Martin Luther King.

Watching, initially suspiciously, from afar, us Brits gradually became intoxicated too. Perhaps it was the near perfect symmetry that Obama induced as the antidote to George W., who was everything we didn’t like.

Last Saturday, I had another one of those moments. Honored to be asked by the NFL to co-host the International Series Fan Rally in Trafalgar Square, I was standing backstage about 24 inches away from Roger Goodell and Dan Rooney, watching the Tampa Bay Bucs Cheerleaders perform.

Within minutes, I was on the stage, talking to Lauren, Lauren, Nancy & err, Lauren about their time in London. I ask Lauren (number 3) whether she had any tips for my aspiring career as a Cheerleader, which I was seriously considering, though torn between an offer I’d received from the Chicago Bears Drumline marching band – I play the spoons moderately well.

Lauren proceeded to show me her hair flick – which involves rolling her head 360 degrees shaking her hair at the same time. As I pointed out to her, unless I grow hair like a mid 80’s Jon Bon Jovi (again) I’d struggle to pull it off. So I asked her for another little move, or, as Lauren volunteered “I can show you one of my ditties”

I’m too much of a gentleman to take a comment like that to the gutter – but not far enough removed from my stand up days to milk it (so to speak) for as much as I could to the thousands of NFL’ers assembled around Nelson’s column. Lauren saw the funny side – as did her squad mates when I asked the crowd if they thought I could “pull off” one of the red spangly outfits. That got a laugh too. My wife hasn’t spoken to me for 4 days, mind.

Which is longer than usual.

The Fan Rally was day 2 of a 3-day series of events, culminating in the well fought win for the Bears at Wembley, that took place across London wowing the established fan base and making some new friends along the way. Friday night, also in Trafalgar Square, saw a screening of Jerry Maguire, the great Cameron Crowe movie about a sports agent with a conscience. I chatted to the Oscar Winner Cuba Gooding Jr – what a chap – in front of the thousands who braved the sharp October night, most of whom braved it till the end, though the fact there wasn’t a dry eye in the house has more to do with the 24 degree Fahrenheit than the weepy ending. Good to see the seminal line “You had me at hello” got a sizeable cheer.

The Fan Rally on Saturday was 5 hours of non stop entertainment – with acts like Freestylers, Maverick Sabre and the wonderful Beardyman – taking their turn around some bona fide NFL legends, including Marshall Faulk, Richard Dent & Jerome Bettis – the irony of The Bus being interviewed whilst framed by about 47 actual red buses not lost on most of us.

The Commish ensured that we were all on best behavior – whilst coaches and players from both the Bucs & Bears rocked up and did a sterling job in geeing up their UK fanbase, who were logically the most partisan members of the an array of jerseys on show, including one brave soul in a Carson Palmer Bengals shirt. (Disappointingly didn’t get to see a Joey Harrington/Lions jersey. But there’s always next year)

Once again those assembled in London did the Rest of the World proud in demonstrating genuine passion, volume of support and, most importantly, literacy of the game, which was the biggest concern when the International Series was first touted. Predictably, reports flew around the net about how “London is apathetic about the NFL game” based on vox popping passers by in the street.

This is, of course, nonsense. The ratio of tourists to Brits in many parts of the West End of London is at least 50/50, and of either constituency, you could suggest almost any sporting event (other than the Premier League) and be sure to be met with apathy. It doesn’t mean a thing. What are the cynics expecting? Thousands of fans congregating in advance of a sporting event congregating to celebrate their mutual passion? Oh, hang on….

What clearly does matter is not the predictable hackery of the naysayers, but the NFL’s clear support of the International Series – which will hopefully see 2 UK games next year – a growing audience and interest in the game, as borne out by increased TV & Radio viewing/listening figures year on year.

Though selfishly of course, 2 games next year and the success of the International Series to boot only means only one thing to me. Two sets of cheerleaders to chat to. And marching bands, of course. (coughs)

And this sentimental attachment to an unlikely return to glory is perhaps most poignant in sports, where some of the most remarkable tales of fighting back from the brink (and beyond) can be found. Indeed both the NFL and MLB have an official “Comeback Player of the Year Award” – though it isn’t always necessarily awarded to the player with the most colorful back story, more so directly linked with improvement in that player’s overall performance on the field.

In recent years we’ve seen some diverse tales of redemption: Josh Hamilton [Texas Rangers] returning from crack addiction (and more) to play in a World Series and win a MVP award; Michael Vick rehabilitated (on the field anyway) after disappearing from the NFL for his globally-publicized incarceration, and indeed bagging the aforementioned NFL CPOTY Award.

On a less complex, but no less impactful level, you have less noticeable players like Bartolo Colon. Having played for five MLB teams since 1997 and winning the 2005 Cy Young Award with the Indians, the 38-year-old had seemingly been discarded as the poster boy of washed up, overweight has-beens. He was even reduced to pitching in Winter Ball this off-season to try to earn a ticket back to the Majors. And back he came, only to shock everyone and as a bona-fide starting pitcher (8-6, as I write this) for one of this year’s genuine contenders, the New York Yankees.

Second-guessing who may be the comeback kids next season in the NFL – officially or otherwise – is an interesting subject. Obvious candidates include Plaxico Burress – like Vick, coming back into the league after a period in jail, and recent Patriots’ signings Albert Haynesworth and Chad Johnson, who pack more baggage than Lady Ga Ga and her entourage flying into JFK Airport.

Then, there are some long shots who would represent the Rocky Balboa style underdogs, that includes: Rex Grossman of the Redskins (who took the Bears to the Big Show in 2006 and didn’t so much suffer a Super Bowl hangover as a ‘Super Sunday emergency ward stomach pump’) and Chad Henne of the Dolphins, providing he hangs onto the starter’s jersey, which quite frankly, would represent a success of significant proportions given the fact he’s even been booed in pre-season training by his own teams’ fans – like he’s a WWE heel squaring off against John Cena.

Whoever it is, in whichever league, they’ll have a hard ‘return to combat’ act to follow when it comes to the All-time Comeback Kids in North American sport. Listed below is my take on the best of the best across the four major leagues along with a college wildcard.

NFL – FRANK GIFFORD
Those of you who have been watching ESPN America’s Monday Night Football retrospective this summer will know Frank Gifford as a respected commentator. Less well-known, as a New York Giant, he was elected to the NFL’s 1950s All-Decade Team as a running back. Another of Gifford’s many football-related legacies was to inspire the “Comeback Player of the Year” award … and here’s why.

His All-Pro career came to a crushing halt back in 1960. During a game against the Philadelphia Eagles, Gifford was infamously knocked out cold by Chuck Bednarik – one the game’s hardest and meanest tacklers – suffering a severe head injury that forced him out of football.

Undaunted, Gifford miraculously returned to the Giants two years later. Equally surprising as his return was that he had changed positions from running back to wide receiver – catching 43 TDs (nine more than he’d rushed for), and became a star again. He even made the Pro Bowl again as a receiver, in 1964, and then promptly retired – for good. This makes sense when you consider that he’d made the NFC’s All Star team eight times and at three positions (RB, DB and WR). Frank even found time to pass for a non-QB record14 touchdowns (we’ll ignore the non-QB record six interceptions!). Oh! And to cap the comeback Gifford was elected to the Pro Football Hall of Fame in 1977.

MLB – BOSTON RED SOX

I’ve not gone for an individual player but a team that made an eight-decade comeback. (Hey, it’s my game, so my rules). The 2004 Sox had lived in the long, cold shadow of the New York Yankees for years. Red Sox Nation was desperate to break the ‘Curse of the Bambino’ having traded Babe Ruth in 1919 to their rivals instigating an 86-year stretch without a World Series crown.

Having come up short time and time again in the intervening years, fate pitted the old enemies against each other in the 2004 ALCS. The Yankees took a 3-0 lead in the best of seven series, which led to one of the most extraordinary sporting comebacks ever witnessed. The Sox fought back and ultimately won the series 4-3, exorcising the Curse, before going on to take the World Series.

Games 4 and 5 alone – with Boston so far on the ropes they were sitting in the cheap seats – went into extra innings. This late drama created a surreal atmosphere with play going past midnight in the chill of the October night. The Sox roster delivered a range of exceptional individual performances – from Dave Roberts’ pivotal stolen base in Game 4 to Curt Schilling’s bloody sock in Game 6. Most notable among all these solo efforts was a Series MVP display from David Ortiz who smacked a walk-off homer in Game 4 and a walk-off single in the 14th inning of Game 5.

NHL – MARIO LEMIEUX

There is no doubt that Montreal-born Lemieux is one of the great comeback stories across all North American sporting history.

The NHL’s first overall draft pick in 1984 – who Bobby Orr called “the most talented player I’ve ever seen,” – retired not once, but twice, because of serious health issues. Not forgetting he missed 50 games in 1990-91 after back surgery, number 66 still goes down as one of the NHL’s all-time legends. Lemieux won the Hart Trophy and scoring title in 1995-96 – having sat out the entire previous season. In 1997, he was forced into ‘early’ retirement to battle cancer and was immediately elected to the Hockey Hall of Fame on what he had achieved in his stellar career.

Not content with all that had gone before and having beaten the Big C, he strapped his skates back on in 2000 and played another five seasons for the Pens. He was still at the top of his game and was a key player in Canada’s 2002 Olympic gold winning team.

In 2006, he was then diagnosed with an atrial fibrillation (causing irregular heartbeats), which forced him to retire for the second and final time.

BA – EARVIN ‘MAGIC’ JOHNSON

I haven’t chosen Magic based on his post-comeback performance, despite the fact that he is undeniably one of the games’s all-time greats, but for the symbolic nature of his re-appearance after the announcement that rocked and shocked the sporting world, in 1991, that he was HIV positive.

At that time no major professional athlete – and very few public figures of any kind – had publically announced that they were carrying the HIV virus, and sufferers were overwhelmingly found within the homosexual communities, which propelled Johnson, who contacted the disease from heterosexual partners, into the, then, most unlikely, role of spokesperson for education and awareness of the disease.

Having already built a Hall of Fame, five world titles and three MVP career, his subsequent “post-retirement” performances at the 1992 Summer Olympics – as part of the US Dream Team – were infrequent due to a knee injury, but the inspirational manner of his appearances in Barcelona, and the hope and belief they gave thousands of people, irrespective of the specific nature of their individual problems, was as brave as it gets.

NCAA – MARCUS DUPREE

ne of my favorite back from the scrapheap stories has been poignantly recorded in ESPN’S remarkable 30 for 30 documentary The Best There Never Was. Be sure to catch it next time it airs on ESPN America [or see trailer below]. The clue to my favoritism is in the title: Dupree was a prolifically talented high school running back (87 TDs), so good that when you watch the tape back, it genuinely appears as if you’re watching a video game.

The much courted phenom eventually settled on signing with Oklahoma. He starred in his freshman season and even forced Coach Barry Switzer to adapt his legendary wishbone offense to a Dupree-orientated I-formation. Despite his success on the field, he suffered a series of injuries including a bad concussion, took terrible advice that saw him transfer to Southern Miss and then found himself ineligible to play anymore in the NCAA and left his new team without ever playing for them.

Turning pro, in 1984, he was signed by the New Orleans Breakers to the newly-formed USFL, where he was horrifically injured in the season opener and was told, before he turned 21, that he would never play football again.

Six years later, the great Walter Payton visited him and talked him into getting back into shape. Dupree shed almost 100 pounds and wrote to every NFL franchise. The (then LA) Rams gave him a trial, and offered him a contract. He only carried the ball 68 times in the NFL before retiring, but the very fact he made it there after such a problematic injury and prolonged absence, is all you need to know.

Or how about telling a tailback-guzzling linebacker turned wannabe TV host that his performance in front of the camera was more wooden than the cast of The Bold & the Beautiful trying their hand atKing Lear?

Well, that’s exactly what the teachers on the NFL Broadcast Boot Camp – where various players past and present sign up to learn the tricks of the broadcast trade from a faculty made up of leading TV & Radio hosts & analysts – have to do.

According to Robert Morrissey, the NFL’s Manger of Player Development, rather than throw a diva fit that Mariah Carey would find uncomfortable to watch, the players are receptive to direction. “The players are very humbled. Our faculty features some of the best in the industry and it’s unfamiliar territory for all the participants. Plus they’re accustomed to being coached. It doesn’t take many reps for them to adjust”

The Boot Camp – so named because it’s a “sun up to sun down curriculum” – is an intensive three-day course where 25 or so players (who this year included Super Bowl winning receivers Amani Toomer and Antonio Freeman) learn about different aspects of sportscasting – including calling play-by-play in a simulated broadcast, understanding tape study and experiencing a studio environment, both as an analyst and an anchor.

Surprisingly, Morrissey explains that the players’ expectations change during the course of the camp. “Most are initially excited about being game analysts, but often their perspective changes as they find out more about the different skill sets required for various roles”

The players that Morrissey and his team welcome into the camp have already gone through a screening process, which establishes those that are serious from those that aren’t.

Applicants are recruited primarily via word of mouth; with the player development manager at each of the 32 NFL franchises working the roster “tapping guys on the shoulder” that they think may be interested in a career in radio or TV. The 25 students are whittled down from 70 or so applicants – with typically two thirds of that number made up of current players.

Most have to demonstrate a proven interest in broadcasting, submit an audio/visual sample and provide a compelling personal statement in order to make the cut.

But what precise qualities do Morrissey and his colleagues want to see? “We look at authenticity and for people that don’t try to be someone they’re not”

Once they have made the first cut, players receive instruction from the likes of Ron Jaworski, Mike Mayock and Solomon Wilcotts. Of the 90 players who have taken part in the program since its inception in 2007 encouragingly 36 have already earned broadcasting jobs.

The Boot Camp is one of several NFL Player Engagement Programs that prepares and supports players for their post playing careers – which often end more abruptly than many had anticipated, though there is some disagreement about just how long a player lasts in the big leagues. According to a recent NFL Management Council analysis of players who entered the NFL between 1993 and 2002, the average career length for a player who is on his club’s opening-day roster as a rookie is 6.0 years.

Yet NFLPA Executive Director DeMaurice Smith – I figured I’d include him as he hasn’t had much publicity recently – claimed in a forum with MBA students at the University of Virginia that “every player only plays for an average of 3.2 years”

Whichever is the more accurate figure, it clearly indicates a need for players to consider their next professional move within just a few years of making the grade. Not least because of their reliance on a regimented, ordered approach to their day that’s been drummed into them from Junior High, through High School to College and the Pros. And there is one undeniable parallel between the two vocations.

“We continually remind them about the importance of preparation” says Morrissey “We hammer day in day out, how much work that preparing for a game entails”.

t’s not surprising really, that the likes of Toomer or QB Tim Hasselbeck (another former Giant & alumni, fast rising up the ranks of ESPN) respond so well to this aspect of broadcasting, having spent half their lives or longer studying playbooks, their opposition and tape of their own performance to identify nuance with meticulous attention to detail.

Coupled with the savvy on camera experience (admittedly as interviewees than the other way around) that many NFL athletes already possess, and you realize there’s a logical synergy, and progression at play here. The ones who have enrolled in such a scheme are the ones who realize they can’t just waltz in and wing it in front of camera. And, much as I’d love to see the likes of Albert Haynesworth waltz anywhere, this is precisely the kind of self awareness they’ll need to succeed, and is consistent with everything they’ve had to adhere to, to get to the top.

Indeed when I think of current players who I’d love to see on the screen (as long as they don’t nab my gig, naturally) I’m tempted to send Mr. Morrissey a list and encourage a “tap on the shoulder” over the next year or two. Yes, Ray Lewis, I’m talking about you.

But just when you thought it wasn’t possible to be surprised anymore by the exploits of the rich and famous, along comes Mr. Ron Artest, L.A.Laker and card carrying elite maverick.

You remember Ron, right? The first round draft pick who was banned for no less than 86 games (still a record) after almost single-handedly instigating a fans/players brawl during a game whilst he played for the Indiana Pacers.

The thing is, referring to him as Ron Artest isn’t factually correct. Because Ron has changed his name: to Metta World Peace. Nope – that’s not a typo. Metta World Peace.

A number of questions spring to mind. Is Metta his first name, and World Peace his surname? Or is it all meant to be “as one,” like Beyoncé, or perhaps more appropriately Lady Ga Ga. What do we call him? If Kobe playfully calls him “Met” in the locker will it kick off?

What’s he going to have on the back of his shirt? Will they have to make the letters really small to fit them on?

And perhaps most importantly – what does Metta World Peace actually mean?

Yes, the first word is derived from the Sanskrit – and by extension has Buddhist origins, so maybe it’s Ron’s display of loyalty to that benign way of thinking. It obviously has nothing to do with his reality TV show Last Second Shot - the appearance of which at the same time as this is purely a (karmic) coincidence.

I’d lay even money that Ron isn’t entirely sure what it means either, like 91% of the people travelling the globe with oriental lettering tattoos.

But this remarkable piece of Artestry (see what I did there?) has placed Ron automatically in my Top Five left-field athletes. And by “left-field”, I mean so out there the elevators stopped between floor 1 and 2, not the position that Carl Crawford plays.

Here are the other Four Crazies …

TERRELL OWENS
Love him or hate him, Owens is one of the game’s all time great receivers – who may be nearing the end of his career having announced, at the age of 37, that he requires surgery for a torn ACL. His performance credentials are there for all to see but it’s his behavioral antics that have set him apart from the pack just as much as his on field skill.Like when he ran 50 yards to celebrate a TD against Dallas (a team he was later to play for) and jigged around Michael Flatley style over the famous Cowboy star on the halfway line. Or the improvised press conference he held in his driveway (whilst on suspension from the Eagles) where he fielded questions from reporters whilst doing sit-ups. As you do. Or his teary defense, behind Jackie O shades, of Tony Romo – “that’s my quarterback man” (in case we weren’t clear) – refers to himself as both Terrell Owens and TO. As you do.

EDMUNDO

The controversial Brazilian was a frustrating whirlwind of impressive skill and shocking indiscipline. Once sent off seven times in one season, nicknamed “Animal,” reprimanded regularly for frequent fist fighting on the pitch, and supposedly bared his genitals at opposing fans. Walked out on Fiorentina at a crucial time of season to attend the Rio carnival. Photographed feeding beer to a monkey.

THE BUSHWACKERS

Part of the vintage era of 1980’s WWE wrestling, the Bushwackers were as crackers as they come. Often seen rubbing their heads manically or licking each other (for luck apparently), the Whackers (sometimes known as the Sheepherders) brought a giant kangaroo with them to the ring and walked like manic chickens. 300lb chickens. One of them, Cousin Luke was missing most of his front teeth, but that didn’t stop him running up to the camera to show the world his unique oral hygiene on a regular basis.

DENNIS RODMAN

The Godfather to Artest’s Carlito’s Way, Rodman’s crazy creds are second to none.

In no particular order he has: turned up in a wedding dress to promote his autobiography (called I Should Be Dead By Now), dyed his hair green, appeared in an action film with Jean Claude Van Damme, been pushed into a portable toilet whilst wrestling the late Macho Man Randy Savage, frequently dressed in women’s clothing.

I’m on Twitter - www.twitter.com/natcoombs

-MC Hammer

+ 14 female hammer throwers

+represenatatives from Olympic stadium heirs West Ham Utd

+ man dressed as Pat the Hammer (from Handy Manny)

+ a giant ham rotating on a spit

all singing “Too Legit 2 Quit” in the hammer throwing circle. (Other than the ham on the spit, naturally, that presumably can’t sing.  It can dance instead)

In fact, let’s get Lord Coe to record the song w/ Hammer as the official Olympic Theme Tune.

End of note.

-Why do I have the scientific acumen of a reasonably stupid otter?

-How can I possibly explain to anyone that I own a Michael Bolton album and expect them to still like me?

-I realise now that my choice of Eyeless by Slipknott for first dance at my wedding was ill judged at best

But, much like it must have felt when Sly turned round to his agent and said “We’re gonna do another Rocky picture and this time I fight a Russian dude in Moscow. Get me Lundgren” – I think my newly added 4th may be the most impressive of all. Impressive, but startling and difficult to live with. Don’t believe me? Here goes :

Don’t believe me? Here goes: I am a Cubs fan … who loves Albert Pujols.

Yes, ‘loves’ – in the same way that sunbed manufacturers the world over ‘love’ Hulk Hogan. I fully appreciate that this is akin to John W. Henry starting a “We Love Tex!!” chant from the owners’ box at Fenway, Laker nut Jack Nicholson getting a Bird 33 tattoo across his chest, or Captain America telling his buddies at S.H.I.E.L.D. “You know, when you really get to know him, Red Skull is actually quite a funny guy.”

But there’s no escaping it. Whether Albert Pujols plays for the mortal enemy or not, “The Machine” is not only one of the best players of the current generation, possibly of all time, but he’s one of my favorite personalities. And it’s this that I can’t quite fathom.

The essence of partisanship is one of the best things about sports. Reveling in the opposition’s misfortunes – as long as it’s playful – is just so much fun, and we all do it … C’mon, admit it. Close your eyes right now and imagine everybody’s darling A-Rod attempting to steal third against yourteam. Now picture his pinstripe pants splitting all the way down, as he trips head over heels and lands face first with a mouthful of dirt, getting tagged six feet shy of the bag. You’re smiling aren’t you? [If you're not, Dr. Coombs recommends 17 hours of laughter therapy, starting with Pryor and Candy in Brewsters Millions.]

It really takes a certain kind of special to transcend this natural hatred of your number one rival especially when you’re dealing with their bona fide megastar. Sure, respect can be there. I respect Jeter (not least for how he blagged a $45 million three-year deal at the age of 58) but I don’t have any kind of affection for him.

But Prince Albert? Somehow, against all quantifiable forms of logic, Number 5 has powered his way into the Nat Coombs All-Time All-Stars (don’t worry – I’ll be sure to add it to his Wikipedia page under “Achievements: Other”)

So, the next question is, why? I am obviously not alone. There is no doubt about Albert’s playing creds: he was selected byESPN.com as the greatest baseball player of the decade from 2000–2009. He’s won the “Best MLB Player” at The ESPYSfour times. He bats .330 career, is a World Champ and a three-time National League MVP. His worst season, in terms of homers, was 32 in 2007 which still put him in the Top 10.

If playing at the very highest level – day in, day out – doesn’t keep him busy enough, he also fronts the Pujols Family Foundation – a charity that works tirelessly to help disenfranchised, disabled and young people suffering from disease. My favorite story in this capacity? When he paid a hospital visit to a young boy with a brain tumor, Pujols brought a gift – one of his bats. Not any bat. THE bat that crushed his 400th HR.

What makes this noble act all the more remarkable is that there was no fanfare, no pomp – the only reason this story made the news was because 60 Minutes, making a documentary about the Cardinal’s slugger, unearthed this little-known story.

It’s not just this tireless, selfless and inspiringly authentic charitable work that separates Big Al from his contemporaries. It’s the humility in the way that he undertakes it – which is parallel to his work on the field. He’s never cocky, always competitive, doesn’t celebrate ostentatiously, plays the game as hard as he can, and if he wins, great; if he loses … there’s always tomorrow. As long he’s hitting .375, of course. Otherwise, I suspect it is best not to talk to him for about 16 or 17 hours.

I’m sure Pujols isn’t alone out there – he’s just MY unlikely hero, when he should be the villain of villains in my sporting world. (Though he will be of course, next time he hits a grand slam at Wrigley).

And you all have one too. You just need to find him. Or her. Or Ivan Drago. And when you do, you’ll have your own version of my new favorite mantra – and it’ll be yours, and no-one else’s. I say it loud and I say it proud.

My name is Nat and I’m possibly the only Chicago Cubs fan in the world who loves Albert Pujols. Throw verbal rocks at me on Twitter @natcoombs

Five Little Known Facts about Albert Pujols
(They may not be entirely true)

Albert often closes his eyes right before he hits the ball, just to “give the other guys a chance”

Albert Pujols once hit a walk off double with his bat taped to his forehead

If Albert Pujols fought Floyd Mayweather, Jr. & Manny Pacquaio at the same time, he’d still win on points

Simon Cowell thinks that if Pujols released Flame’s Go Buck (Albert’s At-Bat Music) tomorrow “it’d be a hit record”

If Albert Pujols hit for a month with a rubber bat he’d still have a higher average than Marco Scutaro

However much we try and fight it, and assume a reactionary, austere stance, there’s no stopping it. Most things in our world just get faster and faster. How fast a man can run 26 miles, the rate at which Twilight films are released and, of course, how quickly an all-star baseball team tipped as pre-season shoe-ins for the Series turned into the worst team in the history of the majors … ever.

This whole Red Sox implosion thing is, frankly, absurd. Of course, they haven’t become a bad team overnight. Of course, even in the hyper competitive AL East they are still bona fide contenders. Of course, Daisuke is one of the greatest pitchers we have ever seen. Well, ok … but two out three ain’t bad, right?

When it comes to sports, the proclivity of our generation to hysterically overreact is getting out of control. One of the Sox two big money signings in the offseason (along with first baseman Adrian Gonzalez)  Carl Crawford [right], gets moved in the batting order – from leadoff to seventh – two games into the season. Suddenly he’s a $142 million bust. The fact that Terry Francona – wise to the frenzied existence that running a team in a market like Boston engenders – was suitably calm and pragmatic, explaining that the logic behind the decision was to take the spotlight off Crawford, slowly releasing the pressure valve for one of the most expensive players in the history of professional sports, to let Carl be Carl, to “just let him sit down there.”

Presumably the media and fan reaction reciprocated that sensible, balanced approach right? After all, this is a five-tool player who has consistently performed at the top of his game season after season, since he appeared as a 20 year old rookie back in 2002. The same guy who was whisked away from under the noses of Boston’s nemesis the New York Yankees, having been, along with Cliff Lee, the most desirable player on the market this past year.

Er … maybe not so much. Ask anyone with even the slightest whiff of interest in baseball and they’ll tell you: Crawford’s a dog. Look – he’s batting under .150 for goodness sake. My cousin Marty could hit better than that and he hasn’t been able to sit down for the past three years. Those Sox? Done for? No way they’ll make the playoffs. What’s that? We’ve still got over 90% of the (regular) season to play? Who cares? It’s over. He’s over. They’re over.

By the same token the Cleveland Indians have their best chance of winning the World Series since Sheen, Berenger and Bernsen’s magical side of the late 80’s; the Cubs’ Carlos Zambrano is a lock for the Cy Young award, and Tony La Russa has gone mad because he got slightly irritated at a press conference.

The reason the great TLR [right] got irked was the same thing that’s getting my goat. Under fire from beat reporters demanding to know why the world was falling in on the Cards, here’s what he said:

“For everybody listening out there, you think I’m being unreasonable? It’s the first week of the season. I mean you guys are … I don’t understand this. Are you going to tell me Yadier doesn’t drive in big runs? Are you going to tell me Albert can’t hit? Are you going to tell me the second baseman and shortstops haven’t hit? David Freese? You don’t think he’s going to hit? You think Matt’s gonna to hit? You think Colby’s going to hit? You think Berkman’s going to hit? The answer is ‘no’ to all those things?”

Of course, he’s right. Sure, you can identify trends early in the season. Crawford is trying too hard to hit – and maybe Francona added to the pressure by dropping him in the order too fast. Yankees’ pitcher Phil Hughes’ velocity has been down this year – and perhaps the Yankees should be concerned with an already subpar (for them) rotation. The Rays are looking surprisingly strong – but will they really be competing come September? The Red Sox are clearly underperforming, but does anyone really think that they will will finish with only a 65 win season?

I’m not suggesting that any of these things should be ignored, discounted or brushed under the mound. But a sense of perspective needs to be applied to all of these things. Players, managers – teams – are being given less and less time to perform. A blip and they’re not the player they were two weeks ago. Months of mediocrity run into a hot streak and they’re suddenly Ty Cobb. As much as we can, we need to counter the need for speed that our world demands.

As a bard* once said, “I refused to blow a fuse, they even had it on the news” followed by that classic warning about the reactionary sports media … “Don’t believe the hype!”

*Public Enemy, not Tony La Russa