The Sporting Life

I think Frankenstein’s monster would make a great quarterback. For one, look at the arm on that guy. For two, while you’re wasting time trying to figure out how to tackle him, here comes old buddy Dracula to suck your blood.

In his book, My Prison Without Bars, the disgraced Pete Rose talks a lot about why he should be forgiven for sports betting and be allowed to enter the Hall of Fame. But in my book, I talk a lot about how we need a sport where monkeys and dolphins battle it out street fighter style to determine once and for all which one is the smartest. The point is, my book is better.

A lot of people think I would have a disadvantage when it comes to playing basketball because of my height. And they would be right, if it weren’t for the gun.

I’m not known to be a tennis pro, but this one time I really set the court on fire. Acing serves, working the baseline, killing the backhand – I really left my competition begging for mercy. It wasn’t until after the game that I found out I was in a court of law.

I think a way to make soccer more interesting would be to add wolverines.

If some guy tries to tell you that horseracing is the sport of kings, I think a clever way to answer is simply by saying “nay.” Because in horse language it means “I agree. Horses are superior to humans and I am proud to serve them.” You know, in case those paranoid horse kings are spying on us.

Pretty much every one I ask agrees with me when I call running a sport. But this cop I met one time was pretty adamant about calling it “evading arrest.”