After All, It’s Just a Game, So Why Not Whoop It Up?

Perched somewhat obscurely above an advertisement for a January broadloom bonanza, the headline still got my attention.

It read: “ ‘Whoops’ Greet Portland’s Maverick New Mayor”

Whoops?

That’s right. Whoops. The story said Bud Clark, a tavern owner, had made “Whoop! Whoop!” his campaign cry.

Why “Whoop! Whoop!”? I don’t know, but Hizzoner sounds like a guy who would be a coach, owner or halfback in a Peter Gent novel. Too bad his last name is Clark rather than Crane.

Clark already was a public figure, of sorts, because he had posed, back to the camera, with his trench coat spread open in front of a statue. The poster, which was widely distributed, was labelled: “Expose Yourself to Art.”

Art? What do you suppose the proprietor of the Goose Hollow Inn considers to be a piece of art? Clydesdales marching in a neon sign?

The report also stated that Clark rode his bicycle to the inauguration, and that he had defeated a more conservative incumbent. Really? Who? Steve Martin might be more conservative.

Obviously, Portland’s mayor is not a fellow who stalks glumly through life.

Do you know what really amused me about this bright little gem from the solemn and somber, serious and mysterious world of politics and government?

I had just turned from the fun and games pages.

On this particular morning, the fun and games pages were populated by grown men engaged in various stages of outrage and debate over which collection of shoulder-pad-clad college boys should be accorded the distinction of being ranked atop all others as national champions. Brigham Young University won the championship, but had to endure the barbs of detractors.

LaVell Edwards, BYU’s coach, might have consulted Hizzoner Clark for advice on how to handle such a situation. What can a fellow say about a controversy he did nothing to foment?

“Whoop! Whoop!” Clark would suggest.

In other words, don’t take all the hoopla seriously. Let Barry Switzer moan and groan and complain, and then suggest he could better apply his energy trying to find a way to beat Kansas.

“Whoops, Barry,” Clark might wryly whinny. “Kansas 28, Oklahoma 11. Whoop! Whoop!”

I guess it should not surprise me that a mayor would be more whimsical than a football coach. With the exception of an occasional Lou Holtz, most football coaches cannot see past the glare of their projectors. And Holtz wasn’t as funny in Minnesota as he was in Arkansas.

Have you watched The Don Coryell Show the last couple of years? Doesn’t the poor coach look like The Before in one of those antacid commercials? Mt. Rushmore is more animated than a Coryell coming off 6-10 and 7-9 seasons--or, for that matter, off a 12-4 season.

Whoops but no whoopee for the Chargers of late.

During the holidays, when I was vacationing at Fashion Valley, Mission Valley and Target, Bo Schembechler was in town with the University of Michigan for the Holiday Bowl. Bo is a charming believer in letting his kids relax with a bowl game imminent. He lets them sleep when they are not practicing or eating, but otherwise, he keeps them isolated from both humans and writers.

“Whoops, Bo,” Clark might whimsically wheeze. “BYU 24, Michigan 17. Whoop! Whoop!”

I can see where Hizzoner Clark might have a future as a sportscaster. He would be known as the antithesis of Howard Cosell. There would be nothing either loquaciously pedantic or pedantically loquacious about Clark.

“And here with the sports news,” the anchorman would say, “is Hizzoner Clark . . . “

“Whoops, Smokey,” Clark would woefully whimper. “TCU 72, San Diego State 70. Whoop! Whoop!”

So much for an unbeaten record and a berth in the championship game of the Cabrillo Classic. But why dwell on it? And there would be more whoops for the hoops the next night when the Aztecs would lose to Michigan State.

However, Hizzoner would be prepared to slightly alter his dialogue--if Whoop! Whoop! can be considered dialogue--after winning efforts by local heroes.

“Whoopee, Smokey,” he would warmly whistle. “San Diego State 60, Wyoming 57. Whoop! Whoop!”

I know what you’re thinking. Such inanity would better qualify him for a job as a television weatherman. Whoop! Whoop! Another sunny day!

Maybe sports should be covered more like the weather. That, in fact, was the way LaVell Edwards approached the national rankings. He couldn’t control what happened, so why worry?

I think folks sometimes spend more time analyzing sports than enjoying them.

I don’t know if anyone has attempted to analyze Hizzoner’s mayorality campaign, but folks up in Portland certainly seem to be enjoying the bearded fellow who maintains that staying interested in the lengthy City Council sessions will be his greatest challenge.

“Whoop!” cried the crowd as Hizzoner Clark approached the podium at his inaugural.

“Whoop! Whoop!” answered Hizzoner.

When photographers started clicking his picture, he pulled a camera out of his pocket and took pictures of the photographers taking his picture. Sports photographers are more likely to get their cameras shoved down their throats.

From his mossy platform in rainy Portland, Hizzoner’s message was simple: “Whoop! Whoop! Enjoy!”

The world of sports should pay attention, even if Hizzoner’s words--assuming we can consider them to be words--lack the profundity of Socrates, Lincoln or Andre the Giant.

I can’t wait until I walk into Dick Williams’ office after the Padres lose in extra innings to the Dodgers. I will immediately endeavor to put him at ease with life’s trivial travails.

“Whoops, Dick,” I will wittily whir. “Dodgers 4, Padres 3. Whoop! Whoop! It’s only a game. Forget your cares and expose yourself to art.”

Alas, I suspect that Mr. Williams will get a wild look in his eye, tear a hole in the wall like he has seen an apparition of Rodney Dangerfield and dash screaming into the night.

“Whoop! Whoop!” I will woefully warn in his wake. “Don’t go near the Goose Hollow Inn. Or Portland.”