Almost twenty and a half years ago, a future sports blogger with Gaye's tones, homophonical questioning, and wait-for-it...nope-still-confusing lexicon was blessed upon the Earth, because of my mother. Worldly players such as President Obama, Sarah Palin, and Rebecca Black spawned from maternal mammals that would forever be responsible for today's flawless reign. And the sporting industry that we strangely rely so heavily upon for our values is consumed by mothered figures - yes, even you, Dennis Rodman. The day to celebrate these women has arrived again, even though uteri and ovaries are still highly disregarded in the various discussions of sports greatness.
At this point, I'm not even talking about any lack of respect for female athletes. Forget that Pat Summitt has had arguably just as successful a basketball coaching career as Pat Riley but not many people seem to care, and that the Tennessee nickname Lady Volunteers isn't made note of well enough at all. Forget that Danica Patrick's best race to date is away from the clutches of GoDaddy lawsuits and that Annika Sorenstam is falsely accused of possessing more outward genitalia. And PLEASE forget about the WNBA...just forget it, because the Lingerie Football League is cancelling out that mistake in a major way anyway. No, my beef derives from the fact that none of these statistics, championships or excused Sunday alcoholic binges would even exist if it weren't for these athletes' mommies.
So what would sports be like if, say, mothers had a tangibly larger role? Would such events and daily reports be filled with warm feelings of support, love, and a kissed bandaid on a torn ACL? Or would they deteriorate under postpartum hormones of over-protectiveness and what-the-hell-is-up-your-apron? As a gift to all my moms out there, I'm going to find out:
Mrs. McNabb: You boys look hungry!
NFL Comissioner Roger Goodell: Wilma, these are private negotiations, you can't be in here!
Mrs. McNabb: Why don't you boys just put an end to this silly lockout and fill yourselves up on some of my hot Chunky Soup!
Roger Goodell: That would work on us if your son Donovan was still an elite quarterback -
Mrs. McNabb: Oh Donnie will do better next year, I assure you. Let the boys play.
Roger Goodell: I'm going to fine you $100,000.
Mrs McNabb: And I'm going to shove this wooden spoon up your -
Result = The lockout ends well before mini-camps commence, but after truckloads of Campbell's Chunky, everyone converts to offensive guard, and Goodell still gets booed at the 2012 NFL Draft.
Mrs. James: LEBRON RAYMONE JAMES! WHAT IS THIS MRS. WADE IS TELLING ME ON THE PHONE?!
LeBron: Mom! You stepped on my chalk! Now it's just powder -
Mrs. James: Now I know the son I raised isn't going to publicly humiliate Mr. Gilbert on national television with this The Choice nonsense -
LeBron: It's The Decision, Mom, and Dan has done nothing for me in Cleveland, so -
Mrs. James: You march right to that phone, young man, and call Mr. Gilbert to let him know you're taking your skills -
LeBron: Talents -
Mrs. James: Talents, to South Beach, and you will do it with respect, or someone will not be getting new Nikes for Christmas!
Result = The dumbest hour in ESPN history never exists, and the Miami Heat get swept by the Philadelphia 76ers in the first round.
Mrs. Ovechkin: Alexander, you haven't touched your vegetables.
Alexander Ovechkin: Oh, I'm sorry Mom. It's these stupid hockey playoffs. I'll never make it to the Stanley Cup Finals.
Mrs. Ovechkin: Aw, does my little Ovie want an ice cream cone or some new teeth to feel better?
Ovie: Um, Mom...about that...I don't think you should call me Ovie anymore. I think I need a new nickname - something more grown-up, like...Alexander the Great!
Mrs. Ovechkin: But...but I've always called you Ovie...
Ovie: I know but - oh Mom don't cry -
Mrs. Ovechkin: The tears are Russian out of me!
Ovie: It's just that all the other players are starting to call me that and they're making fun of me -
Mrs. Ovechkin: It's that Sidney Crosby boy, isn't it?! Well, I'm going to give his parents a piece of my mind!
Ovie: Mom no! Don't -
Result = Tattletale McMommasboy wins the 2012 Ovie Cup.
Mrs. Uncle Mo: Get your ass out of hay this instant!
Uncle Mo: I'm not going! My stomach hurts -
Mrs. Uncle Mo: You made a commitment to this Kentucky Derby and you are going!
Uncle Mo: I'm just a horse! No one will notice I'm even gone.
Mrs. Uncle Mo: They're saying you're the favorite! Why would you quit now? And how would that make Auntie Uncle Mo feel? She bought you all those saddles and that little person. You are not quitting!
Uncle Mo: I'm gonna hurl.
Mrs. Uncle Mo: You're fine. Now get the hell up or I'm calling Elmer.
Result = Animal Kingdom still wins the derby, and Uncle Mo is euthanized in the middle of the track. Hey, moms aren't perfect.
Lisa O'Halloran: Michael Joseph James Luca Jr! Stop writing that blog and do the dishes!
Result = Pulitzer Prize winner These Bubbles Blow: Michael Luca's Guide to Dish Washing. Yes, women are crazy, but in our fathers' eyes they were holes in one. Happy Mother's Day.