Keep to Slap Slots, Not Cheap Shots

Violence in sports is neither a new subject nor an interesting one. It’s like a big Yeah, No Kidding. Nothing bores people more than one of those preachy “Sports Are Getting Too Rough” sermonettes.

So why bother?

I’ll tell you why bother.

After watching one of the most bloodcurdling Indy 500 auto races (and qualifying days), somebody had better talk about this.

And after watching the New York Knicks, Karl Malone and others play something more akin to “Rollerball” than basketball, somebody had better talk about this.

And after watching the Edmonton Oilers, Adam Graves and others use hockey as an excuse for carving up human beings like Thanksgiving Butterballs, somebody had better talk about this.

Sometimes I watch boxing to get a break from the cruelty.

For 50 years or more now, somebody out there has been trying to abolish boxing because of its violence, and all I can ask is: Why? At least boxers know why they are fighting. At least their manslaughter is voluntary.

No boxer ever claimed an innocent victim. Even those who died understood the risks involved.

But when I see Mario Lemieux of the Pittsburgh Penguins mugged like a midnight stroller in Central Park, that, to me, is far more sickening than anything that ever happens inside a prizefighting ring.

When I see a guy like Graves go after a man who arguably is the greatest player in the game and cause him grievous bodily harm--with Lemieux having little or no chance to defend himself--I wonder how anybody could ever feel outrage toward boxing.

What boxers such as Mike Tyson and Trevor Berbick do outside the ring is a thousand times more horrific than anything they ever did to another boxer. Their endless shame is that they couldn’t confine their rage to their profession.

But what Adam Graves did to Mario Lemieux was the boxing equivalent of Tyson running across the ring after the bell ending a round and pummeling an opponent from behind. It was twisted and perverse, and if the commissioner of the NHL had an ounce of guts, Graves would sit out the entire 1992-93 season.

Maybe that would teach him. Maybe that would warn others.

Same goes for those brave Edmonton Oilers who, knowing that they were about to be eliminated from the playoffs, decided to see how many Chicago Blackhawks they could topple like milk bottles at a carnival. Chris Chelios, one of Chicago’s top players, was bushwhacked by one particularly nasty Oiler and left prostrate on the ice.

And then there is “basketball.”

The quotes are mine. Because in my heart, I cannot sincerely describe what the New York Knickerbockers played against the Chicago Bulls as genuine basketball. It was more like “American Gladiators,” except at least some of those Gladiators get to fall onto soft padding. The Bulls fell onto very hard wood.

If what John Starks did to Scottie Pippen on a breakaway, tackling him with a viciousness approximating that of Jack Tatum, is excused by the NBA with a brief suspension and another of those thousand-dollar fines that are supposed to discourage millionaires, then the violence is only going to get worse. Starks should do a year.

And, in an indirectly related scenario, if what Karl (Mailman) Malone is doing to the Trail Blazers is the new method by which professional basketball will be played and judged, then heaven help the college forward or center whose body is not made of mahogany.

I can’t blame Malone--if he can get away with it, why not do it?--but my idea of playing basketball (other than, perhaps, at Venice Beach) is not to have men apply bearhugs, sideswipe one another like bumper cars or actually lift up opponents from one place and move them some other place, like pieces in a game of chess.

Buck Williams of Portland is no saint here. He, too, is doing what he feels he has to do, draping himself around Malone like the assistant who places the cape on James Brown after a song. Williams is an octopus, with two arms on Malone’s shoulders, two around his chest, two around his waist and two around his hips.

If this is what basketball in the 21st Century is going to be like, players had better come equipped with something other than baggy shorts. Is there a law against flak jackets and shoulder pads?

Meanwhile, what we didn’t need this week was a suggestion in the Chicago media that the Cleveland Cavaliers were “marshmallows,” that they were too soft. Swell. A couple of days later, Danny Ferry is trying to beat the bald off Michael Jordan’s skull.

As for the Indy 500, there is little anybody can do. Cars will get faster, drivers braver, stakes higher. Like boxers, auto racers understand the risks in advance.

Simply brace yourself for the carnage. From now on, a good day in sports is going to be a day when nobody dies.