Sports world may be messy, but it’s not hopeless

This just in: NBC has traded Bob Costas to CBS for Ashton Kutcher and the entire library of “Green Acres” reruns. The deal has not been finalized, but Chris Paul has threatened to try to block the deal, citing many of the “Green Acres” episodes as kind of schlocky and in need of another rewrite.

This just in: Washington has traded the Lincoln Memorial to St. Louis for the Arch, three Italian joints and the Rams. Chris Paul has sued to try to block the deal, citing the Rams as a fictional entity with no real market value.

The world of sports has always been shamelessly loopy, but the last week in particular seemed rocket fueled. Trades, firings, hirings, brawls.

Inveterate L.A. fan Lolly Hellman witnessed that ugly Xavier-Cincinnati game this way:

“I switched channels ... and they were fighting on the floor and cussing and swinging punches at one another like hoodlums. Afterwards [one of] the players said, ‘We’ve got a lot of old-time gangsters on our team, so people better watch out.’

“What has happened to college basketball? What has happened to football? It’s just a game. There should be no stepping on one another, slamming of helmets to incur injury.

“I am sickened by what I see. My granddaughter was sitting with me and she said, ‘Grandma, can’t you make them stop this?’ I told her Grandma is too late to help these young men; that is a job their parents should’ve taken care of.”

Amen, Grandma.

We measure a lot of raw emotions in this nation. Approval ratings. Consumer confidence. The Sexiest People Alive. All valid data, don’t get me wrong. But if you measured the level of fan disgust with what’s gone on lately, you might see some disquieting records.

For many, the NBA lockout was a final straw.

“The NBA is back, but as Jimmy Crack Corn often said, ‘I don’t care,’” writes reader Michael Preminger. “I’m a longtime fan, but … I’ve learned to live without it, and I feel better about myself. I’ve finally gotten back to painting (still life, mostly blueberries with an occasional apple turnover). I’ve returned to my favorite form of writing — epic tone poems. (After much careful research I am almost finished with my work about the Visigoths versus the Boston Celtics.)

“I’ve rekindled my love of UPPERCASE LETTERS. I’ve used the hours I would have spent in front of the TV to walk along Hazeltine Avenue and count the number of apartment air conditioners that need dusting. I’ve thought of new friends and old nursery rhymes. I’ve practiced my penmanship and polished my sneakers.

“Sure they’re back, making their millions, but during all their time off did one of them ever ask, ‘How’s Preminger doing? Is he all right? Would he like a muffin?’ My guess would be NO.”

“Sure they’re back, in their much too long shorts (cute on 9-year-olds, not on grown-ups), and we’re supposed to say, ‘Poor babies, we hope you’re OK.’

“Well, I have a painting of two pineapples looking over a sunset to finish, and a poem to complete and miles to go before I stand.

“My family and friends are what’s most important to me … so, owners and players, fill your pockets and slam your dunks, I’ve got a life to lead.

“More paint, Shirley.”

Wryly and dryly, Preminger raises some excellent points. I am mostly with him. Hope he finds his muffin. And Shirley brings him more paint.

Yet, for every bad scene in sports, I still find two good ones. For every hoodlum, there are two heroes. At least, that’s the ratio I pretend to see.

I can still warm my hands on that sixth game of the World Series, for example, and I still get a smile thinking about the Stanford-USC overtime.

I regret that Albert Pujols didn’t finish his career in St. Louis, for it is probably America’s best baseball town. But what if Babe Ruth had not gone to New York? What if the Falcons had never traded Brett Favre? And I think those St. Louis fans forget a little too quickly how they snatched Lou Brock from Chicago.

Crazy trades and broken hearts are a fact of life in sports, since the days when the Romans let loose the lions. Since that point, has anything ever been just a game?

Not always pretty, these contests, and frequently a bloody, meaty mess.

On the other hand, isn’t sports still the safest topic for fathers and sons — and grandmas and granddaughters — to discuss when they can’t seem to find common ground on anything else?

My guess would be YES.

Flawed or not, sports gives us what we all could use more of in life: shared passions, teachable moments and ultimate epic poems.

chris.erskine@latimes.com

twitter.com/erskinetimes