Keyboard Quarterbacks

By Mark La Monica

May 6.

That's the night Oscar De La Hoya returns to the boxing ring.

So, roughly two months away from that fight against Ricardo Mayorga, shouldn't we the readers be in line for some press conference hijinks?

The AP wire sent out this headline Tuesday night: "De La Hoya, Mayorga trade verbal shots."

The headline should have read: "Insert Name Here, Insert Other Name Here trade verbal shots months before fight as you might have already expected."

Whoa, nellie, let me tell you about predictability in the sport of boxing.

It's all showmanship. And a bunch of nonsense spoken by fighters will beget a story, which begets a headline, which begets transmission on the wires, which begets publication in various print, electronic and visual media outlets, which begets hype for the fight, which begets ticket and pay-per-view sales, which begets money for the fighters, which begets money for Don King.

And so we have the circle of life in boxing.

"This clown sitting here to my right has disrespected me," Mayorga said. "He keeps saying that he's going to be fighting in September or October, like he’s fighting a nobody in May."

He didn't stop there. Oh no. Just that one line would only sell about 12 more pay-per-view homes.

"You remind me of an old lady that's past her prime that should be sitting home in a rocking chair doing nothing," Mayorga added.

OK, now that might just be enough to make a few of us find a bar that will show this fight.

De La Hoya understands the business of boxing, and the business of boxing says this: When fired upon, return the fire, or cash a smaller check after the fight.

"I’ve never had any anger toward anybody, or disrespect, except for one man out there who got knocked out," De La Hoya said. "This guy here, May 6, believe me, he will get knocked out."

Pretty weak comeback, Oscar. You'd have been better off with "I know you are but what am I?"

Let's review: We have a boxing match approaching and they want people to know that. We have cheap shots from the lesser of two known fighters. We have a calmer retort from the better known of the two fighters.

Yep, we can rubber-stamp this story. Please bookmark this link because when we're two months away from another big fight. We'll just switch the names. Everything else will be the exact same.

By Mark La Monica

There was no standing and cheering on third down. No chants of “De-fense! De-fense!” when the Dragons were attempting to complete a goal-line stand against the Orlando Predators.  We just couldn't bring ourselves to outwardly display enjoyment at Arena Football.

Sorry, but Arena Football is just plain lame.

I used to think the sport was OK when I saw it on television. Lots of scoring. Pass plays 99 percent of the time. Jon Bon Jovi as an owner of the franchises.

Then I actually attended a game. Well, the first 33 minutes and 19 seconds of it. The Dragons, three-time defending Eastern Division champions, hosted the Predators at Nassau Coliseum on Sunday at 1 p.m. 

The seats would have been considered very good had it not been for the things that were taking place oh-so-close on the field.

Instead, we got to see a weak game with manufactured excitement. Any sport that can tout concepts such as affordable entertainment and fun for the kids among its main bulletpoints on a Powerpoint slide is simply not a sport.

When there is very little pleasure drawn from seeing a touchdown being scored in a football game, there is a problem. 

Sure, the players wear pads and get hit and often get hurt, but this wasn’t football. This was indoor soccer with a NERF ball on steroids. This was the Long Island Ducks on turf.

There appeared to be a few "die-hard" Dragons fans among the 11,678 in attendance, with their Dragons jerseys, Dragons hardhats and other Dragons gear. Two words: Dear. God.

Yeah, those Thundersticks are really cool! They went out of style right after the Anaheim Angels popularized them en route to winning the 2002 World Series.

Sitting in the Coliseum for the first half of an Arena Football game made me wish it were an Islanders game instead, and I hate hockey!

Heck, I’d have settled for a Saints lacrosse game.

Or the state high school wrestling championships that were held there the two previous days.

Or a Tech Expo.

Anything but this.

Some would suggest drinking as a way to dull the pain and make it more enjoyable. There aren’t enough bars on Long Island to make this exciting. The most exciting development was learning that the clock still runs on incomplete passes.

Speaking of passes, how many quick-outs can one person watch in one sitting? Quick pass to the left. Quick pass to the right. Quick pass to the left. Quick pass to the right. A deep ball. Repeat. Do they create their playbooks on a napkin from the Starbucks across the street?

Combine that with the terrible tackling and this was like watching the 2005 Jets play (with one exception – no draw plays on third-and-4), only nine times worse.

At 2:30 p.m., with Dragons quarterback Aaron Garcia on the ground with what turned out to be a broken leg, we called someone to find out what time the UConn-Villanova men’s basketball game started.

"2 p.m.," the voice on the other end of the phone said. "You're late."

Time to exit the Dragons.

By Mark La Monica

Every Olympiad has its defining moment. That snippet of time that “goes big” over all the others and stands out as the signature Olympic imagery years from now.

Mary Lou Retton sticking her final vault in 1984 for a perfect 10. Mike Eruzione’s goal and Al Michaels’ “Do you believe in miracles? Yes!” call 26 years ago in Lake Placid. The Black Power fist-raising of Tommie Smith and John Carlos after winning gold and bronze in the 200 meters in 1968.

These are moments indelibly linked to their respective Olympiads.

In the Winter Olympics, without question the marquee event is women’s figure skating. It has provided many a moment, from spills to thrills, from Dorothy Hamill and Katarina Witt to Tonya Harding and Nancy Kerrigan.

This year, in Turin, figure skating did not deliver my golden moment of the Games. Instead, it came through with the gold-medal photo. Just take a look at Sasha Cohen staring down skaters warming up in an earlier group than hers. She’s such a punk, it’s awesome. She’s got that 1992 gangsta rap winter coat on, with a look that says, “What’s you gonna do about it, sucka?”

Some may look down on that aspect of her game. I look up.

Some say it’s evil. I say it’s admirable.

We should want all our athletes to be fiery and competitive. Joe Namath is called “brash” for his Super Bowl III prediction and it’s a good thing.

Of course, Cohen didn’t win as Namath and his Jets did, but second place in the world ain’t so bad.

But the true golden moment of these Games for the paradigm-challenging Mark La Monica (Hello, third-person reference, it’s been years, where ya been?) came Thursday afternoon New York time. It came during a most unexpected event.

Curling.

Curling!

It's the new sweet science.

During an intense moment in the middle ends of the women’s gold-medal match between Sweden and Switzerland, Swedish skip Anette Norberg slid a rock perfectly into the house to give her team the advantage.

The announcer, whose voice was familiar but name was unknown at the time, viewed the play and gave me my golden moment of the 2006 Winter Olympics in Turin, Italy.

"Hey, lemme tell you," he said. "That’s clutch curling."

I turned the television off.

Life gets no better.

By Mark La Monica

Who among us has not made a desperate, disguised plea for help from a friend?

Tuesday night, as I gathered words and photos for our nightly web readers to enjoy, an IM from Wiffle Ball friend Bill popped up on my screen.

“i'm flipping back and forth between american idol and women's figure skating...” he wrote. “this must be a new low.”

This was his not-so-veiled plea for guidance from an elder statesman. Ever a friend, I immediately went to the least common denominator in an attempt to IM him in front the ledge.

I suggested he take it in stride because Sasha Cohen had yet to skate and she’s really cute.

But I wasn’t really happy with that response, especially since I fancy myself as a legitimate supporter of women’s sports, something you don’t see too much from males. It’s a shame that most males in America need a woman to be hot in order to remotely feign interest in her sport.

So, I quickly recovered by suggesting the visual amazement we experience from the things these women can do while operating on the thinnest strips of metal strapped to a piece or two of leather. Death drops, double Axels, triple whatevers, never-ending spinning without getting the shakes. That’s just very cool.

Then there was the local angle of Emily Hughes.

But there was something I left out of my “Save Bill” campaign. Such disclosure at this time, quite a few hours after his cry for help, should make Thursday night’s long program more comfortable for him and anyone else stuck in such a quandary of watching figure skating and trying to act like they don’t care about it.

It was 9:36 p.m. and I threw on my “Enzo the baker” jacket to go to my car and get the DayQuil. (Yes, it’s been that kind of week.) I was concerned about missing Hughes’ performance, even though I already knew what happened.

“Oh wait, let me go set up the TiVo in the conference room so I don’t miss Emily,” I said.

Chalk that up as No. 6 on my “Thing I never thought I’d say or do” list.

When I returned to my desk a few minutes later, I asked “Did I miss Emily?”

Nope. Whew! Time to turn off the TiVo and remove any physical evidence of such a statement.

So, Wiffle Ball friend Bill, take comfort in the fact that you’re not alone. However, there’s no need to watch “American Idol.” She’s right there on NBC. Her name is Sasha Cohen. And she’s bad-ass.

By Mark La Monica

Stowe, Vt. – The first ski weekend of my career began like this:

“OK, what size skis do you need?” said the rental guy at Mt. Mansfield, the base lodge here.

“Here’s the deal, fella,” I said. “I skied once in my life and that was 14 years ago.”

“Oh, you shouldn’t even be here.”

“Thanks, guy.”

What a way to boost my confidence. It’s 9 o’clock in what potentially could have been the last Saturday morning of my life and this guy is giving me lip. So much for recording customer service conversations for quality control.

The rental guy explains that I should be over at Spruce Peak, aka the kiddie pool. That’s fine with me. The goal for this weekend is to ski and not die, despite Carpet King Wild Bill’s credo of “Ski hard or go home.”

As Lawyer friend Steve, Insurance friend Mike and Wild Bill get ready to tear up the diamond slopes at Mt. Mansfield, Boris the Mad Russian and myself get on the transport to Spruce Peak. This feels like riding the short bus to school.

After a five-minute bus ride, I walk the snow plank toward Inspiration Hill, the shortest, smallest, non-steepest trail offered. I’ve skied once in my life – when I was 16 – and never could figure out how to make that oh-so-important second turn.

The Mad Russian convinces me to get on the lift and take a run before my lesson starts. Right now, that “Yo, we should go skiing one weekend” email ranks No. 4 on my Things I Wish I Never Said list.

With death pending, I get on the lift. On the ride up the mountain, The Mad Russian allegedly talked to me. All I recall was my first-person inner voice alternating between “Wedge! Wedge!” and “You really are an idiot!”

We make it off the lift in smooth fashion, bang a right turn and go straight downhill. Somehow, I turned left, then right, then left, then right, then left. Move over, Alberto Tomba, I’m the next great Italian skier! Tomba La Monica! Join bode.com? Ha! Join La Monica.com!

Then came the crash. Right at the bottom of the hill. Perhaps this pre-lesson run wasn’t such a good idea. Oh great, there’s the Stowe photographer to capture the moment. Where was he when I was tearing up the mountain instead of ligaments? What a jerk!

I was furious. I made another run. No crash. Where you at now, photographer dude?!?

This second run confirms why they call it Inspiration Hill. I suddenly feel that I’ll make it through this weekend in one piece and be able to tell the story afterward. This is truly inspiring.

After a 90-minute lesson which culminated with me in a full tuck down the bottom half of the hill, I decided to graduate to Easy Street Hill.

At this point, my peoples joined me at Spruce to have some fun at my expense.

Easy Street Hill, my patoot! They should call it Boulevard of Broken Ribs.

On the first run, I did well. Went back and forth. Found myself in some kind of mini-halfpipe thing and navigated it. Then I found the spot where the hill gets steep. I crashed. Lawyer friend Steve deemed it necessary to ski in my direction and spray me as I lay on the cold mountain.

On the second run, I did well. Went back and forth. Then I found the spot where the hill gets steep. I crashed. Lawyer friend Steve deemed it necessary to ski in my direction and spray me as I lay on the cold mountain.

On the third run, I did well. Went back and forth. Then I found the spot where the hill gets steep. I crashed. Lawyer friend Steve deemed it necessary to ski in my direction and spray me as I lay on the cold mountain.

I went 0-for-3 and fell at the same spot every time. It was time to curse. The skis. The mountain. Lawyer friend Steve.

Hobbling toward flat ground, skis in hand, snow in face, a dozen or so little kids came zipping by at Olympic speed and skill level. I flipped them the bird. I’m not proud of that, but hey, they deserved it. These little kids, no taller than my leg, ripping up the mountain as I’m ripping up rib cages, knee ligaments and vertebrae deserves a little dose of reality for them.

So much for my downhill dreams. Tomba, I think you’re safe. For now.

By Mark La Monica

Pitchers and catchers for eight teams report to spring training today, marking the official start of the 2006 baseball season.

This is officially the third best sports day of the year. The other days on this list will be addressed when the calendar says they have arrived.

For now, we shall revel in the beauty of baseball returning to our sporting landscape. This is a glorious time, a time to lather up your glove with shaving cream and start stretching your rotator cuff in anticipation of watching and reading about baseball for the next nine months. Box scores, grand slams, near no-hitters, pitching probables, Baseball Tonight.

We are that much closer to exploding sliders, conniving changeups, hanging curveballs, home runs, diving stops, shoestring catches, managerial second-guessing.

It is irrelevant that nothing actually happens on this day. It is enough just to say that today is the day pitchers and catchers report.

All that occurs on this day is those who throw baseballs toward the plate and those who sit behind the plate to catch them show up at their team’s respective facilities in Florida or Arizona. They smile for some photographers, sign some autographs, talk with some reporters.

So why do we get excited about this? Simple. It’s the ceremonial end to winter, regardless of what that little groundhog says. He’s just lazy and wants to sleep in a few extra weeks.

Turn off that hot stove and fire up the radar gun. Make the strength and conditioning coach relevant for a few weeks. Let’s debate the fourth and fifth starters. We can even accept one “pitching wins championships” and one “every team has a chance today” cliché on this day.

Want to talk middle relief? Or maybe about the lefty set-up men? These discussions can begin in earnest now.

We need our pitchers to start loosening upon their shoulders and elbows. If our team is going to have a chance at winning the division or the wild card, or at least giving us a chance to enjoy the summer, we need to get cracking early. The world champion White Sox didn’t get any worse from last season.

Baseball fans can report for the season by sending me an email.

The Best Sports Days of the Year

1. Opening Day for baseball

2. The start of March Madness

3. Pitchers and catchers report

4. NFL Sunday Week 1

5. Selection Sunday

6. NFL Conference Championship Sunday

7. NFL Draft

8. Super Bowl Sunday

9. Sunday at The Masters

10. Kentucky Derby*

Honorable Mention

• FIrst televised baseball game for your team

• Bowl games on New Year's Day

By Mark La Monica

Dover, Vt. -- I touched an Olympic gold medal Sunday night.

My protons trembled from the sheer enormity of the moment. This was Indiana Jones drinking from the cup of the Holy Grail in "The Last Crusade." Only bigger.

Dining at TC's Family Restaurant just down the road from Mount Snow, I put my right index finger on the 2002 gold medal belonging to snowboarder Kelly Clark.

The man in charge of this medal refused to allow me to drape the gold around my neck for as little as two seconds so I could feel the awesome magnitude of Olympic glory. We New Yorkers can be quite forward, eh?

I pleaded my case as a New York sports writer trying to enhance this story by putting the medal around my neck. The guardian of the gold medal wanted no part of me. What nerve! Apparently, New York has very little cachet up here on Route 100. Nor does the $93 bill and gracious tip from myself, Lawyer friend Steve, Insurance friend Mike and Carpet King Wild Bill.

TC's is owned by Clark's parents, Terry and Cathy. Has been for more than 25 years.

"[Kelly] grew up at Mount Snow," our waitress said.

The restaurant is adorned in Olympic gear. The gold medal. The Roots beret from Salt Lake City. Photos. Newspaper and magazine clippings. Her ESPY Award. Dozens of other snowboarding awards, certificates, photos, whatever.

Our waitress said Monday night figured to be insane in TC's. Clark is competing on television in the women's halfpipe in Turin and TC's is "more of a local place" so doing the math does not require a calculator.

Randomly picking a restaurant and stumbling upon Olympic magic is just plain cool. And the meatball hero is really good.

By Mike Casey

Oh boy, what did I start?

Across the diverse nooks and crannies of the web, my Rebuilding the Isles blog received some interesting reaction over the weekend.

It seemed that most of the positive response came from fans who understood that my trade proposals were deliberately bizarre and one-sided, given the fact that I noted that no fewer than three times in my blog.

Most of the negative response came from those who seemed oblivious to my tongue-in-cheek humor, and my warning that "Not much of the stuff I'm about to suggest has a legitimate chance to happen, and I am only taking the Islanders' future into account."

"Honestly," wrote Keyboard Quarterbacks reader Tim La Rocco, "you sound like a kid trying to make some trades in NHL 2006 for PS2."

A good observation, Tim -- although I actually have NHL 2006 for the PC, not the PS2.

I'm sure if I plugged some trade offers into the game, I'd be able to get Joe Thornton in addition to Jonathan Cheechoo and Milan Michalek and Mats Sundin in addition to Carlo Coliacovo. And I could also probably lead the current Islanders team into the playoffs, another virtual impossibility in real life.

The whole point of the blog was to seize upon the frustration of Islanders fans and get people talking about the team again after a demoralizing home loss to the Rangers last Thursday. In that regard, at least, I was at least apparently somewhat successful.

Notably, TSN.ca’s weekly ‘Backchecking’ column stumbled upon my blog, and summarized that, "RW Mark Parrish, LW Shawn Bates, C Mike York and C Oleg Kvasha -- all unrestricted free agents at the end of the season -- could be moved in deals if the Islanders fall further out of the playoff race."

That article subsequently caught the eye of noted hockey blogger ‘Spector,’ who proceeded to dissect my blog in his ‘Trade Rumours’ column this weekend.

Spector correctly stated that my trade suggestions "fall into the realm of wishful thinking," and did go on to skewer me (appropriately), for my failure to recognize the recent rise in the value of the Canadian dollar -- thus making my remark about "poorer Canadian teams" almost completely invalid. I stand corrected.

I found myself growing increasingly concerned that my blog had been widely misinterpreted for fact, rather than fantasy. So in light of all the mixed reaction, ranging from hilarity to outrage to confusion to delight, I feel compelled to caution sports fans that what you read in blogs is not always the gospel truth, but often the myopic opinion of their authors.

Mark La Monica and I use the Keyboard Quarterbacks blog as an opportunity to engage the everyday fan's unique point of view. We try to write with the passion and sense of humor of fans, and sometimes, we can get a little carried away. But that's the whole point.

Alan Hahn, Newsday's Islanders beat writer, could never suggest that the Isles were going to trade Mark Parrish -- unless he had quotes or information from strong sources to back up those facts. We in blogland have a little bit more creative freedom. That's why we have fun with trade suggestions, opinions, and other trivialities, and that's what makes us different from what you can read in the newspaper.

So hopefully everyone now understands that I am not the biggest idiot to come on to the hockey scene since the guy who invented the glowing puck. I'm grateful for everyone who wrote in to tell me what they thought, good or bad, and if I haven't responded to you yet, I promise I will in the next few days.

Enjoy tonight's game against Tampa, and happy reading.

By Mike Casey

After last night’s 5-2 drubbing at the hands of the Rangers, it’s clear that the Islanders are in a sharp downturn. Not a Wayne Gretzky, 110-point season downturn. I’m talking about a Rick DiPietro 3.55-goals against average season.

I know plenty of Islanders fans, and I don't think there is one out there who would disagree with this statement: It’s time for a total destruction of their current roster. Think Indepedence Day meets Death Star.

Of course, not much of the stuff I'm about to suggest has a legitimate chance to happen, and I am only taking the Islanders' future into account... But what the hell -- isn’t this what blogs are for? First let’s cover...

THE UNTOUCHABLES

Rick DiPietro: “Agggh!” you say. “Why would you want to make a guy with an .890 save percentage and an expiring one-year contract untouchable?” Let me clarify: I don’t want to make him untouchable. I just have to.

The Islanders have too much symbolism invested in the 24-year-old goaltender to even consider letting him loose. To do so would be to admit that Mike Milbury’s 2000 trade of Roberto Luongo for Oleg Kvasha and Mark Parrish was a tremendous miscalculation. (As if that weren't already true.)

Like it or not, the Islanders bought big into DiPietro’s stock when they drafted him No. 1 overall in 2000. And now that another player from that same draft – Henrik Lundqvist, selected 205th – is playing so well for the Rangers, the Islanders are, as we say in poker, “pot committed” to DiPietro’s future. As much as they might like to deal him away for draft picks and hope a better goalie comes along, they’ve got to ride out the rough spots, no matter what.

Alexei Yashin: Islanders fans, please get this through your heads: The Islanders are not going to trade Alexei Yashin. Not even if they find out Carol Alt has blackmail material on the entire front office, including Sparky the dragon and most of the Ice Girls. They simply cannot trade him.

Yashin is making $7.6 million per season for the next five seasons. You simply don’t move that kind of cash without a mob connection and an “Office Space”-like plot involving computers and a guy named Samir. Yashin may be the most overpaid player in the NHL, but once again, Islanders fans, I cannot help you here. I may be brilliant, but I am not God.

Jason Blake: Possibly the best trade Mike Milbury ever made was grabbing this lunatic winger from the Los Angeles Kings for a fifth-round draft pick. I mean 'lunatic' in the best possible way here.

Blake represents everything the Islanders should aspire to be in the future, from his tireless hustle to his gritty board work, to his ability to score and kill penalties.

If the Islanders do fall out of the playoff race, teams will come a-knocking, wondering they can pry Blake and his reasonable $1.558 million salary from their despondent clutches. But unless they're offered Todd Bertuzzi, Dany Heatley, or Bryan McCabe for him, I say no deal. If DiPietro and Yashin must be more cornerstones, I can at least have Blake as my template.

TRADING BLOCK:

Mark Parrish is the best, most consistent player on the Islanders. Dealing him at the trade deadline could bring a bounty of draft picks, which could later be used to reverse the Islanders’ usual scenario of front-office members kicking themselves for letting young talent get away.

Parrish is 29 and still in the prime of his career. But his game doesn’t quite fit into the mold I’d like my first-line winger to have. Maybe the Isles could create some kind of package – possibly including Shawn Bates – that would yield them a promising young forward like Edmonton’s Ales Hemsky or the Kings’ Alexander Frolov. Anaheim’s Joffrey Lupul could be had for a lesser price. (Are you liking how I just throw out names without having any idea whether their teams would be willing to trade them? Good times.)

Miroslav Satan: By now, most teams realize they’re taking a bit of a gamble on this guy. He could be an excellent fit on a team desperate for offense. But he could also be a terrible fit on a team that plays a gritty, defense-first style. Quagmire.

My theory is, find that team desperate for offense, and pounce like paparazzi on a Tara Reid dress mishap.

Montreal is a team that might fit the bill nicely. They’ve got the framework of a decent team, but are 21st in the league in goal scoring. They might like a little extra offense, even if it costs them, say, young defenseman and East Islip native Mike Komisarek, plus a fourth-round draft pick.

The only problem is Miro’s price tag. Poorer Canadian teams will not be so willing to take on Satan’s $4 million-per-year salary, so I might have to eat some more of his contract and keep him alongside Yashin for another year for the sake of appearances.

Trent Hunter: If there is one thing general managers love, it is power forwards who score 20 goals in their rookie season. Hunter (10 goals this year) might land me a dependable third-line center, like Washington’s Brian Sutherby, plus a fourth round draft pick. We’re stockpiling draft picks here, people.

Arron Asham: Maybe it's just me, but I don't think Asham has ever been as good as some people think, and I can’t figure out for the life of me why the Islanders insist on giving him as much ice time as they do.

His stock is as high as it’ll ever be. Let’s send him and one of those fourth round picks to Toronto for defenseman Carlo Coliacovo. He can be a future power play quarterback and he's not a bad defender. Now we’re having some fun.

RECAP SO FAR:

I’ve got DiPietro, Yashin, Blake, Hemsky, Sutherby, Komisarek, and Coliacovo, plus an extra fourth round draft pick. I’ve still got Mike York, Brent Sopel, Alexei Zhitnik, Garth Snow, Radek Martinek, Chris Campoli, Brad Lukowich and Eric Godard kicking around.

NOW WHAT?

Sopel ($2.4M) and Zhitnik ($3.5M) are both tough to move because of their big, newly-signed contracts. But GMs also have a weakness for ‘puck-moving defensemen,’ which means I might be able to pawn one or both of them off, as long as I pick up a bad contract in return.

Or how about I trade both of them for Chicago’s Adrian Aucoin ($4.0M, also newly-signed) and Duncan Keith (15 points, 22 years old). I can score a few points with the fans by bringing back Aucoin, and add a good all-around defenseman to an up-and-coming blueline.

So now I have Aucoin, Keith, Komisarek, Coliacovo, Campoli, Martinek, and Lukowich on defense. Not a bad group. But I could use one more veteran with a good presence.

How about the Rangers' Jason Strudwick? The guy has proven to be an extremely valuable locker-room influence, as well as a great teammate and a worthy stay-at-home defenseman. He's a free agent after this season, and it would be worth grabbing him for the added value of sticking it to the Boys in Blue.

Now that my defense is more or less settled, I need to help my forwards.

Here’s where I make my big splash.

THE BIG ONES

I package Martinek, York, Lukowich and a 2nd round draft pick and make a run at San Jose wingers Jonathan Cheechoo (31 goals this season, 25 years old) and Milan Michalek (6th overall pick in 2003). I get a big upgrade in offense and remove some of the surplus defenders from my roster. York and Martinek are unrestricted free agents this summer anyway.

Speaking of free agents, I need to make a splash there, too. So I sign the top free agent wing on the market: New Jersey's Patrik Elias. And I get Ed Jovanovski from Vancouver, to complete my defensive corps.

RECAPPING THE DEFENSE:

My defense is complete. I've got Aucoin, Jovanovski, Komisarek, Campoli, Coliacovo, Strudwick, and Keith. A good mix of offense and defense, youngsters and veterans. Now let's round out the rest:

RECAPPING THE FORWARDS:

Still a bit of work to do. I've got Elias, Yashin, Cheechoo, Sutherby, Hemsky, and Blake to be a good top six. Actually, let's finally give youngster Robert Nilsson a chance to earn big minutes on the second line and bump Sutherby to the third line. Now I just need to fill out the...

ODDS & ENDS

First, I deal my previously-acquired fourth-round pick for Ottawa enforcer Chris Neil. Bye-bye, Eric Godard.

I sign free agent pest/penalty killer P.J. Axelsson, and face-off wizard Yanic Perreault. Depending on price, I may also sign Buffalo's Mike Grier or Columbus' Trevor Letowski for some grit.

Garth Snow walks and Wade Dubielewicz becomes my full-time backup. And that's that!

THE TEAM

Here are you 2006-07 New York Islanders!

1st line: Elias-Yashin-Cheechoo
2nd line: Nilsson-Blake-Hemsky
3rd line: Michalek-Sutherby-Grier
4th line: Axelsson-Perreault-Neil

Pairing 1: Aucoin/Campoli
Pairing 2: Coliacovo/Jovanovski
Pairing 3: Keith, Strudwick, Komisarek all available

Penalty killers: Blake, Sutherby, Grier, Perreault, Axelsson, Cheechoo
Power play quarterbacks: Aucoin, Campoli, Coliacovo

Goaltenders: DiPietro and Dubielewicz

Think I'm nuts? E-mail me and let me know just how crazy I am.

Check out hockeytraderumors.com's unofficial list of 2006 free agents for a little help. Just bear in mind, this is all in good fun!

By Mark La Monica

To give you an idea of what insomniacs do, we point you to 1:58 a.m. Wednesday.

Insomniacs read message boards on longislandhoops.org to see what people are saying about Epiphanny Prince of Murry Bergtraum in Manhattan scoring 113 points in a single game.

Insomniacs scour Newsday.com and other Web sites in search of more information, hoping that a national record of this magnitude garners some 24/7 type pub reserved mainly for major professional and college sports.

Insomniacs stumble upon an AP story in which Prince delightfully said, “It was efficient. It wasn't like I missed a whole bunch of shots. That's what made it even better."

She was 54-for-60 from the field. She took 60 shots? Yes. She hit 54 of them? Yes!

Insomniacs laugh the impressive laugh when such a feat draws reaction from LeBron James. “It’s an amazing thing when an individual does that," James said to the AP when told about her performance. "I don't know who she is, but maybe we'll see her in the WNBA. For that matter, the NBA."

That’s why Nike annointed him “The Chosen One.”

Undoubtedly, the conversation will turn to a bunch of sportsmanship issues and a healthy amount of “How could the coach let that happen?”

Here’s the real question: How could the coach NOT let that happen?

Prince, a senior guard for the No. 2 team in the nation in the USA Today poll, had 58 points at the half in a 137-32 win over Louis Brandeis.

Prince has the rest of her life to be mediocre. Why not give a teenage girl a chance to be Queen of New York City for a few hours and bask in some national glory for a few minutes? Isn’t one of the laws of high school teaching students how to strive for their very best? Why should coach Ed Grezinsky stand in the way of a magical evening that young Epiphanny Prince will never forget when she’s old Epiphanny Prince.

Besides, the moment she makes her first mistake in practice at Rutgers next season, it’s a safe bet legendary coach Vivian Stringer will check Prince back into the Reality Hotel.

Some will argue that her performance wasn’t fair to the other girls on her team. Guess what, they will all enjoy being in school on Thursday when everyone is talking about what happened. Then there’s the fact that they’re the No. 2 team in the nation, one spot behind heated rival Christ the King.

A number of postings on the LI girls hoops message board ripped into the 113-point effort, calling it shameful and disgraceful coaching. One posting went so far as to say “Bergtraum and its coach should be suspended.”

That stuff is bananas, B-A-N-A-N-A-S.

Why is this such a bad thing? Prince set a national record. Not just a school record, or PSAL record, or even a state record. Of all the girls to ever play high school basketball, no one ever scored more points than Epiphanny Prince.

Lisa Leslie likely would have on the Southern California afternoon of Feb. 7, 1990. She scored 101 – in the first half! – for Inglewood Morningside on a sub-Prince 37 of 56 from the field and 27 of 35 free throws. Morningside led South Torrance, 102-24. Leslie average 6.3 points per minute.

And then the opposing coach pulled his team off the court for the second half. Oddly, the South Torrance coach was later suspended for the final game of the season for violating the sportsmanship code.

Leslie was denied the chance to break Cheryl Miller’s record of 105.

"I was kind of heartbroken that I didn't break the record," Leslie told the Los Angeles Times that night. "I asked the (South Torrance) coach before they left the court if they would let me score three more baskets, and then he asked his team, and they said 'No.' "

At last check, Leslie turned out just fine. A free ride to USC, two Olympic gold medals, two WNBA championships, a modeling deal and several guest spots on various television shows.

Surely, the Brandeis players probably weren’t happy about giving up 113 points to one girl. But they can tell their families they were a part of sports history. Ten years from now, that will sound pretty cool.

In Hateration America, we’re trained to knock people down a peg. So when one girl accomplishes something no one else in history did, the public demands a negative outcry. That’s just plain silly.

So stop crying about poor sportsmanship and start repeating 54-for-60, 54-for-60, 54-for-60. That’s 90 percent from the field. When majesty is bestowed upon us, we must open our eyes and enjoy the view.