I am dying of colon cancer.

I know it, even though I haven’t been diagnosed as such. My doctor says I probably just have a muscle strain. But she’s wrong—I know she’s wrong.

This is how my brain works—and I loathe it. For the past several months I’ve been experiencing a dull pain in my left groin/stomach area. It occurs mainly when I do physical activity, but I’m aware of it many other times, too. I’ve been told it’s not a hernia or a strainer groin. So I have diagnosed myself—colon cancer.

Over the past, oh, 10 years, I’ve had them all: Colon cancer, testicular cancer, brain cancer, lung cancer, pancreatic cancer. I’ve gone through numb extremities and trouble breathing (which I’ve been experiencing the past few weeks as well). I know I’m a hypochondriac, yet that knowledge in and off itself is not nearly enough. I still think about the latest disease, which is surely eating up my innards. Why, about two years ago I knew—knew—I was going through the early stages of Lou Gehrig’s Disease.

This obviously has nothing to do with sports, but it does have something to deal with my lifestyle/profession. Though being a sportswriter has allowed me the freedom and flexibility to watch my kids grow up, it also leads to much solo time, sitting before a computer, thinking lonely thoughts, plenty of time to google “stomach pain” and “numbness.” I also often think of the Kurt Cobain line, “Just because you’re paranoid, doesn’t mean they’re not after you.” (He didn’t originate the thought, but it was in a Nirvana tune). I think, “Just because you’re an insane hypo doesn’t mean you have a crippling illness.”

Anyhow, I hate this about myself. Really, really hate. I love life, but bring down so many wonderful, fleeting moments by focusing on my impending illness and death. I drive my poor wife crazy, and fear passing such thinking onto my children.

Advice?

Yesterday evening I finished the best sports book I’ve ever read. It’s called “A False Spring,” by Pat Jordan, and chronicles the author’s brief career as a minor league pitcher for the Milwaukee Braves in the late 1950s and early 1960s. I’ve long known of Jordan, but I never paid much attention to his work. Well, this book is, in a word, beautiful. Literary, fascinating, reeking of a supposedly innocent time period that I’ve long been fascinated by.

With that point being made, here’s my list of the five best sports books I’ve ever read:

1. A False Spring, Pat Jordan—I’m in awe, but also jealous. I simply don’t have to chops to match this sort of writing. As introspective a sports book as I’ve ever seen.

2. Namath, Mark Kriegel—Mark’s a friend, but this comes without bias. Namath is a fascinating dude, and Mark digs inside his head. Wonderfully written.

3. Ted Williams, Leigh Montville—I couldn’t put this one down. Montville might be the best sportswriter of our generation. The insight into Williams is insane.

4. The Bronx Zoo, Sparky Lyle w/ Peter Golenbock—More about the information than the writing. Diary format, really, really funny, chronicles Lyle’s 1978 season with the Yankees. Can’t stop laughing.

5. Joe DiMaggio: The Hero’s Life, Richard Ben Cramer—An all-time classic. Painful, for those who love DiMaggio. But Cramer does exactly what a biographer should—he pulls no punches. The final days of Joe’s life are
some of the most gripping.

It’s a sad time to be a human being. First, the octuplet lady does her thing. Then the monkey does his thing. And then, a few days ago, ESPN does its thing—and dumps Emmitt Smith.

This was disappointing, because now—without Emmitt or George W. Bush—who’s going to entertain us with linguistic tonadoes? Rush Limbaugh? Too annoying? Barack Obama? Too intelligent? Chris Berman? Too … well, who cares about Chris Berman?

Here’s the thing that confuses me about Emmitt Smith’s dismissal: What did ESPN really expect? Anyone who has dealt with Emmitt knows that while he’s a pretty decent guy, he’s not the brightest bulb. Keyshawn and Steve Young? Neither man is great at the job, but both are intelligent. Emmitt, however, was merely a very good dancer who thrived on milking his own brand. He could run the ball, moonwalk, smile for the cameras, etc. But explaining football in English? Not his strength.

The first-ever JeffPearlman.com predictions page. Guaranteed to be 100% (not) accurate …

AL East

1. New York Yankees—Will run away with everything. Sabathia and Burnett will both win in double figures. In fact, Sabathia will probably be the first guy to win 15.

2. Boston Red Sox—Just not in the same class. David Ortiz will have a rotten year, likely plagued by steroid allegations. They’ll probably release Smoltz, and he’ll be signed by, oh, St. Louis.

3. Tampa Bay Rays—Hard to do it again. But they’ll hang around.

4. Toronto Blur Jays—They’ll surprise for a while, then slip back to earth, then consider trading their ace. But they won’t.

5. Baltimore Orioles—Added nothing.

AL Central

1. Detroit Tigers—Edwin Jackson is the man.

2. Chicago White Sox—I could see them adding Alex Rios.

3. Minnesota Twins—I can almost guarantee Joe Mauer is an MVP candidate.

4. Cleveland Indians—Victor Martinez will be traded to Boston. Mark my words.

5. Kansas City Royals—For three-straight years in the early 2000s I picked KC to shock the world (Where have you gone, Mark Quinn?). I’m not falling for it again.

AL West

1. Los Angeles Angels—The class of the division.

2. Texas Rangers—Admittedly a stretch. But I’m probably America’s lone Ron Washington fan … and this division suddenly stinks.

3. Seattle Mariners—Don’t be surprised if they add Jack Wilson from the Pirates. Maybe Ian Snell, too.

4. Oakland A’s—I’ll be shocked if Holladay and Giambi last the season.

NL East

1. Philadelphia Phillies—Raul Ibanez is a stud, as if Jason Werth. I’m guessing they’ll trade for Cliff Lee and sign Pedro Martinez.

2. Florida Marlins—Hanley is the man. But Andrew Miller? Boy, does he stink.

3. Atlanta Braves—They have lost their way. Look for a deal for Ryan Church.

4. New York Mets—I just have a hunch that everyone will get hurt and Omar will, at some point, call a press conference to humiliate himself.

5. Washington Nationals—Lastings Milledge, the modern-day Darren Bragg. That’s not a compliment.

NL Central

1. St. Louis Cardinals—Too deep, too strong. And John Smoltz, who will arrive at some point, kicks butt.

2. Milwaukee Brewers—I like it.

3. Chicago Cubs—They’ll likely lose 10 of 13 in August. Just because.

4 Houston Astros—Not good enough.

5. Cincinnati Reds—Terrible.

6. Pittsburgh Pirates—Paging Ed Ott … Mister Edward Ott …

NL West

1. Los Angeles Dodgers—Manny, 2008: Bliss. Manny, 2009 (assuming he returns to this planet to play baseball): Headaches. But they still rule.

2. San Francisco Giants—Great young pitching, plus a surprising young star. Maybe an infielder.

3. Colorado Rockies—Goodbye, Clint.

4. Arizona Diamondbacks—Pitching overcomes all this year … and they have none.

5. San Diego Padres—A mess.

AWARDS:

AL MVP: Joe Mauer, Twins

NL MVP: Albert Pujols, Cards

AL Cy Young Award: Zack Greinke, Royals

NL Cy Young Award: Tim Lincecum, Giants

AL First Manager Fired: Probably no one.

NL First Manager Fired: Clint Hurdle, Rockies

On December 24, 2008, I decided that I was giving up soda. I drank it way too often, and the benefits (refreshing! awakening! taste!) were overwhelmed by the negatives (liquid crap into the body). For the ensuing two months, after averaging about 1 1/2 sodas per day, I stopped.

Then, today, I had a Coke.

However, I’m not upset. In fact, I ask you to step into my shoes.

I’m in Tennessee, doing a story about the coal ash spill that took place in a small town outside of Knoxville called Harriman. This afternoon I was fortunate enough to find a nice couple who agreed to show me around; talk about the disaster; etc. For about six hours, they drove me into the heart of the devastation—a beautiful rural community now buried in black mounds of crap. According to environmental groups, the air is suspect; the water even more suspect. Different chemicals and metals have infiltrated the streams and lakes, creating a potentially toxic brew.

Enter: Soda.

While the couple that showed me around is very angry at the government for allowing this to happen, they (naively, I think) do not fear the water. So when I arrived at their house, they offered me a prepared lunch (a ham-and-cheese sandwich with two pickle slices and chips. Very nice and kind. But the dialogue went like this: Woman: “I hope you like ham.” Me: “Yeah, uh, yeah.” Woman: “Is something wrong?” Me: “Uh, well.” Woman: “Are you a vegetarian?” Me: “No, but I’m Jewish. I don’t eat pork.” Man: “But that’s ham.”) and a drink. “We have water and soda,” the woman said. “What can I get you?”

Again, you’re me. Here’s the choice:

A. Metal-laced water.

B. Denied soda.

I had the Coke. And a cheese sandwich.

Yum.

On a serious note, these are wonderful people who have been unfairly destroyed. The day was actually an excellent reminder of how, politically speaking, I can sure be an anus. These were die-hard Republicans who owned more than 200 guns, belonged to the NRA, surely believe in pro-life and anti-gay marriage. They were sheltered, not overly curious … and wonderful. Living in New York, it’s easy to forget that decent people exist who share none of your values.

While sitting in the airport last night I was sucked into CNN’s coverage of the Academy Awards’ red carpet stroll. My favorite moment, without question, came when the network’s “fashion expert”—some schlubette (to borrow one of my mom’s terms) in  Marshall’s-influenced duds called Angelina Jolie’s outfit “a disappointment.”

I have little interest in Jolie, save for the fact that she was dazzling in “Changeling,” perhaps the best flick the wife and I saw this year. I don’t care about her relationship with Brad Pitt, her 324 adopted children, her tatts, her Tomb Raider days. But for Jan Schlubette to call her disappointing would be the equivalent of me calling a merely very good season by, oh, Derek Jeter or Albert Pujols disappointing.

Which, come to think of it, I do all the time.

Hmmm.

Me, 1995, doing a story on life as a waiter for The Tennessean.

Believe it or not, I cut my hair without using a mirror.

Earlier tonight I flew from New York to Knoxville. Immediately after we landed in Tennessee’s version of Tulsa, I asked the women in front of me about my hotel.

“Oh!” said one, “that’s great! You’re right downtown, and downtown Knoxville is … AMAZING!!!”

I was sure she was kidding.

“Really?” I said. “Amazing?”

“Oh, yeah,” said he friend—sans irony. “It is amazing.”

In the course of covering sports for a living, I’ve been to, oh, 80 American cities. Here are the ones that are legitimately “amazing”:

New York.

Chicago.

Austin.

San Francisco.

Miami.

Los Angeles.

San Diego.

Boston.

Seattle.

Philadelphia.

Vancouver (I know it’s not American, but it is North American—and fantastic).

That’s pretty much it. I mean, I loved living in Nashville, and Atlanta has some highlights, and Pittsburgh during the summer months in wonderful, and Kansas City boasts a nice four-block area. But Knoxville? Knoxville!?

This actually perfectly encapsulates something I have never loved about the South; the cliched-yet-oft-true contention that its denizens, in sincere efforts to be nice, over-hype. Every restaurant is amazing. Every person is a sweetheart. Every teacher just blows so-and-so’s mind. I found this infuriating in Nashville—just tell me where I can get a good burger, and don’t include McDonald’s and Krystals, dammit …

PS: Side note: I really loved the wrestler, and a part of me wanted Mickey Rourke to win. But the other day I saw a recent video of him calling someone a “faggot.” Really turned me off to the guy.

All writers I know Google themselves. Not all the time, mind you. But after a book comes out or a story comes out. I like to think it’s human nature—you want to know what people are saying. Hard to blame one.

I, for the record, Google myself, too. Not all the time, but somewhat regularly. And when someone blogs about me, I almost always write them. Not to criticize or rip, just to acknowledge. Not sure why—ego? joy? curiosity? But I do.

The other day, I found a blog with a headline, ASSHOLE, THY NAME IS JEFF PEARLMAN. The woman who runs the joint doesn’t identify herself beyond, “Lady Blue,” and she seems to like:

A. The Yankees.

B. Slamming writers.

I’ve got no beef with this (I wrote the John Rocker profile—I’ve been called A LOT worse than “asshole), but I was curious. Hence, I e-mailed her, and we had an exchange, which, again, can be read here.

I invited her to write a defense of ARod, which I will post here, under the title, ASSHOLE, THY NAME IS LADY BLUE …

In defense of Alex?

I can’t defend Alex for his actions. Baby Jesus could make an appearance tomorrow and be unable to defend Alex. Alex can’t even properly defend Alex.

He knew what he was doing. He pulled down his pants and had his cousin inject him with performing enhancing drugs(seriously though, who knows what really happened). He was tested, it came back positive and now a few years later-the whole world knows.
Young and stupid my ass. Though as time goes on I really do believe more and more that Alex is an idiot. Great player, but a mental midget.

But you know what…as I’m typing this…I am sure there is some athlete..somewhere…pulling down their pants and getting something they should not be taking injected into their system. Or maybe they are swallowing something? Who knows.

I guess my point is-who isn’t doing something and where is the outrage for that? Maybe I am just a cynical bitch, but I don’t think there are too many athletes out there that are playing their respective games pure as snow. Baseball, football, basketball-so many are doing something that they are not suppose to and they have been for a while. How many people in the Baseball HOF are totally clean? I really don’t think there are too many to be honest.

This situation that the sport is in right now has been going on for a long time and you know what, it’s gonna continue to go on. There will be new things for people to take and there will be no test for it. Then by the time there is a test developed everyone will have moved on to something else. Just as before people will claim ignorance to what is going on(smirk), then when it comes out, they will scream from the mountain tops about how wrong it was(or maybe that is just for baseball-any other sport no one gives a damn supposedly).

What really gets to me is that the same people who are screaming bloody murder right now about what Alex did had their eyes closed for how many years?? Am I suppose to take all this righteous indignation I see everywhere seriously? Sorry but I don’t. I find it all pretty comical.

With regards to your article-you took issue with Alex’s teammates showing up to his press conference showing their support to him. Um? What were they suppose to do? Show up and throw rocks at him?

Maybe they should have done what Roy Oswalt did: call him out for his actions and scream that his records should be erased? Oh wait, is Oswalt still hugging Miguel Tejada and whispering to him everything is gonna be okay? I wonder if Roy told Tejada that he feels as though Tejada cheated him out of the game?

These people have to play with him. They travel with him. They are a family for better or worse. If they want to succeed, they need him to to well. Let’s face it, Alex is pretty much a mental midget. He probably googles himself, read what people are saying about him and then cries himself to sleep. If this team wants to win they need to outwardly show him support in some fashion. They are not fools. Privately they probably hate his guts, maybe Derek has an Alex voodoo doll he sticks pins in every night. Who knows?

I’m a fan and I want my team to win. That’s pretty much all I care about. Call me selfish, I don’t care. In order for that to happen, Alex needs to do well. I’m at a point where I really don’t give a rats ass about steroids or any PEDs because you know what-it seems to be the norm everywhere. It’s been that way for a while and guess what-it’s not going away no matter what anyone thinks. Take more steroids Alex-but do it around Late Sept/Oct and make sure your dumbass does not get caught! )

Wow this is long and I don’t even know if any of this makes any sense to be honest. The ramblings of a crazy woman folks. Oh well. Peace Out!

* I don’t actually consider Lady Blue to be an asshole—just a frustrated sports fan.

Right here.