Tennis, anyone?

Gentlemen, meet Maria Kirilenko. Maria Kirilenko meet…oh hell, never mind. Just have those restraining orders handy.

Russia’s latest gift to WTA television ratings is doing her part to sell women’s tennis to, well, those of us who really couldn’t care less and, unlike one of her predecessors,

Anna Kournikova, actually knows how to win in her sport, racking up five singles wins on the WTA Tour. And while Kournikova certainly looked hot being a complete and utter loser on the court, she did make a lot of headlines for being the cream in the Pavel Bure-Sergei Fedorov Oreo cookie and dumping Enrique Iglesias which, in hindsight, should get her a medal.

But back to Kirilenko. Her parents are Olga and Yuri – gee, strange names for Russian parents, huh? – and she is coached by some lucky dude named Eric Van Harpen. No, dumbass,
he’s not a guitarist. Sports Illustrated let her do a bikini spread in their annual Swimsuit Issue and only the yummiest of the yummy get that plum gig.

Kirilenko’s shocking first-round upset at Roland Garros sucks for most of us, for obvious reasons, but saves you having to explain to the missus why the hell you are watching women’s tennis for two weeks straight.

Just when life couldn’t get any better, turns out Kirilenko and Maria Sharapova are close friends. Which makes you wonder why you didn’t become a tennis umpire. Oh, um, a ball boy.

Sports streakers need to show some balls

Sports streakers, I can clearly see you’re nuts.

We’re all seem ‘em, if you’ll pardon the pun, but you’ll got to at least show a little crack to get a laugh, unlike the liquored-up quack at the Byron Nelson Championship that got really daring and stripped down to his boxers, ran across the fairway and hopped a fence.

Go big of, for crying out loud, go home. Even if you, uh, big is just a moment in your dreams. Do what the rest of us do. Blame the shower or cold weather.

I mean, some guy have to get at least an ‘A’ for effort, like that Calgary Flames legend that scaled the boards wearing nothing but a pair of red socks before coming out on the wrong side of the laws of physics once he hit the ice. But hey, he gave the A-OK as he was carted off on a stretcher.

So, doing a little cut and paste job from my blog over at Fairways Golf, here are my Top 10 that should one day be enshrined in the Streakers Hall of Fame:

10. This guy gets the award for most cops required to haul off a drunken naked man.



9. Bet you never thought you would see a naked guy wearing just a chicken at a bonspiel. Think again.



8. It took security guards four minutes – literally - to catch this streaker so, at the end of his little game of catch me if you can, he figured he was going down anyway so he might as well score.



7. This is the right way to streak in golf. Well, unless you happen to be male.



6. Mom would be so proud. Well, this guy is anyway.



5. Some guys go to a tennis match to show off their gymnastics skills. Among other things.



4. Wasn’t this the guy in Chariots Of Fire? Great form…or at least a heck of a lot better than his pursuers.



3. Best friends, together forever. Even at bail hearings.



2. A must for public streaking: too much beer. But, dude, ditch the black socks. Seriously.



1. The best golf streaker of all time, the legendary Mark Roberts at the ’95 British Open. Coincidentally, the event was won by one John Daly. Go figure.



But beware. You’ll get laughs but remember, it was Confucius, I believe, that once said “man who streak soon have crackup.”

Stanley Cup Final too close to call? Here's a tale of the tape...

LAZINESS ALERT: This was written for Hockey.com a year ago but, with the same two teams set to resume their kick-in-the-balls dance yet again, I'm taking the copy-adnd-paste route. Oh, and Pittsburgh in 6.

OK, with little to give between the Detroit Red Wings and Pittsburgh Penguins in the Stanley Cup final we figured we'd try to tip the balance in someone's favor the only way we know how.

A tale of the tape between the two cities.

Granted, this isn't exactly Orlando and Scottsdale we're talking, but it's not our fault the states of Florida and Arizona have hockey teams that couldn't hit water if they fell out of a boat, is it?

And hey, both Detroit and Pittsburgh have those tough, blue collar sports fans, just how we like ‘em.
Let's break down who's got what goin' on when it comes to the two cities:

POPULATION: According to sources - OK, it was my buddy after half a dozen beers last night -Detroit has over 886,000 residents, which makes it the 11th-largest city in the good ol' US of A. Pittsburgh comes in 57th, give or take, with just over 310,000, which is about the same number of people that will end up in Motown holding cells should the Pistons and Red Wings both win championships this spring. EDGE: Detroit

RESIDENTS: The fine denizens of Pittsburgh call themselves Pittsburgers. In Detroit, they are known as - wait for it - Detroiters. Wow, you can just hear the wheels of originality spinning, can't you? Sorry, PA, but a Pittsburgher sounds like something you would harden your arteries with at some dive fast-food joint. And not all that appetizing. EDGE: Detroit

CITY NICKNAMES: Pittsburgh is known as Steel City, City of Bridges, City of Champions - huh?! - and the ‘Burgh. Detroit has Motor City, Motown, Rock City and the D -- we assume because Big D was taken by those bloody Dallasers...er, Dallasonians. Either way, this one is too close to call. We like the ‘Burgh, but KISS, Bob Seger and Steve Wonder kick ass. EDGE: Even

SPORTS TEAMS: The Pirates, Penguins and Steelers? City of Champions? Pfft. Maybe 15 years ago, yeah. Well, save for the Steelers. Across the Ambassador Bridge, we've got the Tigers, Red Wings, Pistons and Lions. Really. Lions. Stop laughing now, kiddies. If the Lions and Tigers could win something in the past 24 years, Detroit would probably win this one going away. Which is what most Detroiters wish the Lions would do. EDGE: Slight edge Detroit, because they have a basketball team.

FAMOUS PEOPLE: Now this isn't to say all these people were born in the city, but rather where they considered "home". Stop splitting hairs.

PITTSBURGH: Andy Warhol, Perry Como, Honus Wagner, Johnny Unitas, Dan Marino, Fred Rogers, Gene Kelly, Sharon Stone

DETROIT: Selma Blair, Sonny Bono, Alice Cooper, Henry Ford, Aretha Franklin, Kid Rock, Tommy Hearns, Casey Kasem, Joe Louis, Madonna, Eminem, Ted Nugent, Smokey Robinson, Diana Ross, Bob Seger, Tom Selleck, Robin Williams, Pam Dawber, Stevie Wonder

BOTTOM LINE: We admit it, Sharon Stone almost evened the scale out until we saw Selma Blair was from Detroit. Cancel those two dolls out. Mr. Rogers/Casey Kasem is a wash and we know what

Kid Rock would do to Perry Como if the two ever met in a Waffle House. Oh, and Detroit is home to both Mork AND Mindy. Shazbot. EDGE: Detroit

CRIME: Yikes. That about covers it. EDGE: Pittsburgh

ARENA: The Joe is named after one of the best ever , and that thing in the ‘Burgh looks like it dropped out of the sky, landed in a parking lot and out walked ET. Still, any place with the world "Mellon" in it, no matter how it is spelled, gets our vote. Sorry, Joe. EDGE: Pittsburgh

RIVERS: The Allegheny and Monongahela rivers meet to form the Ohio River in Pittsburgh while the Detroit River separates Motown from Windsor, Ont. We wouldn't force our children to drink from any of them, unless we want them to grow an extra head or two. EDGE: Even

HOCKEY TRADITION: The Red Wings boast the

Octopus twirl, Gordie Howe and Stevie Y. Pittsburgh claims Mario Lemieux, Sidney Crosby and previous bankruptcy hearings. EDGE: Detroit

So, there you have it. Just like the Stanley Cup final itself, this one is too close to call. Detroit or Pittsburgh? Flip a coin.

Oh, and to those living in these two cities, chin up. No offense intended. After all, it isn't Buffalo...

Don't you wish you had paid attention in pole vaulting class?

See, what did your gym teacher tell you about paying more attention to track and field?

Meet Californian Allison Stokke, a, um, pole vaulter – seriously – that has had her pictures splashed all over the internet for a few years now. We here at J&J feel a little more comfortable putting her in the spotlight these days, seeing how Allison has at last blown out 20 candles on the birthday cake. And to think, some of us have underwear older than her.

Allison is now in university, going up and over at the University of California at Berkeley. We can only imagine what the frosh party was like once Ms. Stokke tapped the keg and got a few pints into her.

Think the application rate at UC Berkeley just went up?

See, stay in school. And pay extra attention during pole vaulting lessons.

Peter Zezel class act right to the end

You never heard Peter Zezel complain, even when he knew he was heading into the twilight of his all-too-brief life.

On borrowed time or not, it just wasn’t his style.

The hockey world lost a gem Tuesday when Zezel passed away after his family made the cut-wrenching decision to take him off life support following complications during surgery to remove his spleen. He had been battling haemolytic anaemia, a rare blood disorder, for the past decade.

He was just 44 years old.

Drafted by the Philadelphia Flyers, Zezel, who quickly became a heart throb to legions of young ladies in Philly, set a Flyers’ rookie record for assists in 1984-85 and was a vital cog for the Toronto Maple Leafs in back-to-back runs to the Western Conference final in 1993 and 1994.

Considered one of hockey’ clutch faceoff men, Zezel retired from hockey following the 1998-99 season.

Despite his condition, Zezel remained active in the Toronto community and conducted hockey/soccer/golf camps in Markham, Ont.

In recent years, even as his weight ballooned due to his condition, even as his clock ticked down, Zezel never gave in. He was a regular guest on TSN’s Off The Record, conducted his camps, coached his hockey teams, bettered his community.

A class act until his final hours.

And now Peter Zezel is gone, far too soon.

And if that team north of the clouds is looking for a centreman to shut down those other guys, their guy has just arrived at camp.

Mike Tyson just a daddy burying his little girl right now

It’s not often people sympathize with Mike Tyson. Truth is, there’s never been much reason to.

Until now.

The shocking, heartbreaking death of Tyson’s four-year-old daughter, Exodus, after the youngster caught her neck in a treadmill cord is just another sad chapter, albeit the most devastating, in the former heavyweight champion’s troubled tale.

It doesn’t matter what you think of Mike Tyson. The untimely death of a child always rips at the heartstrings, but this tragedy hit just as Tyson seemed to have his life turned around. Livin’ in the ‘burbs, finally finding love far away from the leeches that helped him blow over $300 million in his boxing career, the onetime self-proclaimed “baddest man on the planet” at last seemed to have found peace with himself.

Gone, like the ghost of Cus D’Amato, were the demons that seemed to always be riding shotgun with Tyson, those who were more than willing to give a little nudge just as he appeared to be going over the edge. The shocking knockout at the hands of Buster Douglas that cost him his heavyweight strap, a nasty split from Robin Givens, the rape conviction, tearing off a chunk of Evander Holyfield’s ear with his teeth, the failed comeback, the coke bust, the….well, his was a story that never ends. A runaway train just looking for a place to derail.

There will be those who find it hard to sympathize with Tyson in spite of the man himself. Grieving for a baby girl is one thing – feeling sorry for a man who once told the world he wanted to eat Lennox Lewis’ children is quite another. But Tyson, a man who was never pointed in the right direction, was trying to turn his life around before it was too late. Sober for more than a year, he finally realized what was important in life, what it was like to at last grow up.

No one can imagine what must have been going through Tyson’s mind as he stood at the foot of his broken little girl’s hospital bed, holding her tiny hand and whispering in her ear, begging her to hold on as she fought for her last breath. A father is still a father, no matter how bad he once was, how fragile he still is. And when that moment came for Mike Tyson to say farewell to something he has never loved so much, to face that moment every parent dreads, who knows what he was thinking. The memories. The regrets. The anger.

So, yes, as a father, we should be cheering for Mike Tyson to get up from this most devastating roundhouse punch. The man, after all, is still a father, and the death of his daughter may be enough for that final push, the one that finally catapults him over the cliff. And regardless of what you think of Mike Tyson, no matter how much hatred you harbor for what he’s done, who he’s hurt, no good can come from watching that train derail for good.

What Mike Tyson did yesterday shouldn’t matter. Not right now.

Today, he is just a broken daddy getting set to bury his little girl.

NHL line combinations we have to see

LAZINESS ALERT: I originally wrote this tongue-in-cheek piece for Hockey.com, where I reigned as Senior Editor until the powers-that-be insisted on walking away from their multi-million dollar investment and folding up the tent. NOTE: Do your homework before resigning from a lucrative gig of seven years to join a pie-in-the-sky group of "visionaries". I didn't.

OK. It's official. I've got way too much time on my hands.

Sometimes, as a youngster with nothing to do, I would mull over what bands should tour together simply because of their nickname. You know, Styx and the Stones. Beatles and Scorpions. Queen and Prince. Meat Loaf and Black Eyed Peas.

Do I not just scream "loser", or what?

And now, as luck would have it - or, for those reading this, bad luck - my warped mind has carried over to hockey. In dire need of a hobby, I've taken some time to compile a list of hockey lines we'd like to see. Pull a trade or two, convert a goalie to forward, whatever it takes to get these guys together.

In an effort to attract new fans, it's time to think outside the box:

Bass-Fisher-Gill seems a perfect fit, preferably on the Sharks.

Expansion into Vegas wouldn't be complete without a line of Abid-Card-Betts-Price.

For the hippie generation, outside of a dime bag and a Volkswagen van, we need Crosby, Stillman, Nash and Young. Groovy.

Eager-Boyes-Bonk. Well, most do. But eager ones moreso.

Foster-Parent. No need for another winger.

Kid having a hard time learning a stick shift? Park-Orr-Staal.

Brown-Green-White-Redden. Someone, somewhere, draft a Black.

Yelle or Moen. And get your mind out of the gutter.

Pohl-Peca-Pronger-Johnson. See line above.

The restaurant crowd could eat their sushi and lobster while watching Cooke-Burns-Finger.

Those with a fondness for the wintry Yuletide season will stay in the spirit all year long cheering for Fleury-Friesen-Bell.

You will teach your kids a crash course in home safety watching Fehr-Sharp-Glass.

Remember that cute, petite tramp from the high school track team? Quick-Little-Hussey.

Camping would never be the same after watching Park-Ranger. Tried to use Walker and Ranger together but, last we checked, the league was missing a Texas.

Time to bring a certain Blackhawk back into the league to create Daze-Orr-Weekes.

The music crowd could be converted to hockey fans singing the praises of a Fiddler-Funk-Hinote line.

Know anyone who likes to hunt but has bad aim? Hunter-May-Parrish.

My ex-roommate from college had no money, no place to live, no job and had just crummy attitude. Sauer-Little-Leach.

If you don't want any more kids yet refuse to practice safe sex, Moore-May-Yelle from the crib one day soon.

And, just like this column, we can't find anywhere to use Witt...