Jay Mariotti Nhl

So now, as quickly as it takes to make one phone call (wink-wink), the story flip-flops. Turns out the 62-year-old Buffalo taxi driver who allegedly was assaulted by young hockey star Patrick Kane, the homegrown pride of that parochial New York town, suddenly doesn't think it was so awful that Kane and his cousin grabbed his throat, "broke my glasses (and) ripped my clothes." The story has gained nationwide attention because: (a) Kane is known as a baby-faced angel; and (b) the baby-faced angel apparently wasn't happy that the cabbie didn't have 20 cents in change for a $15 fare, which trumps Scottie "No Tippin' " Pippen for lows in penny-pinching.

In Chicago, Milton Bradley further endears himself to Cubdom by flipping a ball into the seats with two out, a farcical sign that 100 years without a World Series title soon will be 101. In Cleveland, the poor people still haven't won a championship in any sport since 1964 and might lose LeBron James to New York, assuming the gulls and midges don't eat him first. In Buffalo, they're not yet over the sting of reaching the Super Bowl four times and losing four times, which still trumps chicken wings as the civic identity.

"That's life," Bradley explained. "These people have high expectations. I have high expectations for myself. I never made a mistake like that (losing track of the outs) in my life. Sue me."

"Something needs to be done," the Indians' Ryan Garko said of the birds and bugs that attack Progressive Field. "There's got to be a way to get rid of them. It's kind of embarrassing. We look like a bunch of kids playing on an abandoned field. It's kind of funny, but kind of not funny."

CHICAGO -- They are a mind-numbing machine, really, almost monotonous in their dominance, discipline and staying power. Sport in the 21st century isn't conducive to a dynasty lasting a dozen years, but the winged-wheel jersey and slimy octopus of the Detroit Red Wings have been lodged in our consciousness since 1997, good for four Stanley Cups and maybe a fifth next month.

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WASHINGTON -- There are times, when the house lights are down and the Verizon Center is bathed in red, that Alex Ovechkin seems like much more than a rock star and Charles Barkley's choice as the best athlete in sports (remember, LeBron James and the Chuckster are feuding). Really, it's the closest thing I've seen in an arena to a cult revival, with heavy-metal riffs tearing through the lubed-up, raucous crowd and "ROCK THE RED" stenciled menacingly on the ice.