Owens signed a one-year deal to join his reality television tag-team partner, Chad Ochocinco, in Cincinnati. The move gives Carson Palmer his deepest and most potent receiving corps ever, with Antonio Bryant coming over from Tampa Bay and rookie Jermaine Gresham expected to make an immediate impact. Palmer, in his second year back from injury, is primed to have a big season with Cedric Benson handling the running load again. He’s being drafted as one of the first QB2s, but could become a weekly starter in short order.

The Bengals appeared to be the fit all along for Owens, but that didn’t stop the chatter about the Rams, Raiders, Bears, Jets and seemingly countless other squads. There was talk about Owens’ salary demands. There was talk about his locker room demeanor. There was talk about his ability to fit as a secondary option.

The Bengals ultimately decided that veteran receiver had something left in his tank, as I’d argued all along after watching his efforts in Buffalo last season. There were flashes of his old breakaway self, but perhaps too few to convince some (look at the line and QB play in Buffalo).

In Cincinnati, Ochocinco is unquestionably the headliner. Owens will be the No. 2, with Bryant sliding down in the pecking order (he slid very deep in a draft in which I participated on Tuesday night). There’s potential for 60-70 receptions if things go properly and this unit stays healthy. I’d ranked him as a WR3 this preseason with the assumption that he’d enter a situation in which he could make an impact. Owens might have had a larger statistical impact in St. Louis, but he’ll have the opportunity to produce in what could be an upper-tier offense, particularly with Antwan Odom and the defense ready to get after it.

Now, I mentioned that Ochocinco is the headliner here. The Bengals are banking that Owens doesn’t become the locker room equivalent of a heckler.

Harmon is back in the fantasy chat hotseat on FOXSports.com at 2pm ET/11 am PT. Got a burning keeper question? Trying to sort between receivers?

Light it up!

I understand that people are going to keep asking the questions. I recognize their need to get a soundbyte out there and lay the verbal smackdown on “the decision.”

In the past week, Michael Jordan, Magic Johnson and countless other NBA legends have lined up to make their sentiments known about the gathering in Miami.

It was a different era, where the players hardly dealt with one another, Magic & Isaiah’s embraces aside, and fought to beat one another senseless. It was also a different era, where the salary cap didn’t exist, free agency was reserved for secondary and tertiary players and where the money didn’t weight you down with an extra zero.

They’re the legends of the game, and while we certainly appreciate their thoughts on the matter, and I don’t know that we’ve been surprised by anything said. The video game titles of the era said it all — “Bird VS. Magic” — “Jordan VS. Bird.”

If anything, maybe it serves as a nice marketing piece to get the names back in the discussion (not that we don’t talk about Michael, Larry & Magic). Maybe it forces new NBA fans that wish to deify a LeBron James to do their homework and go back and watch the DVDs and classic games of the 80s and 90s teams. Maybe it forces them to take off the rose-colored glasses and recognize the history.

You have to give James and company this – we’re 10 days from training camps beginning in earnest, the trade deadline is approaching in MLB and orders for face paint have spiked on college campuses — and we’re talking about the NBA! David Stern can talk about how much he hates the way this was handled and so on, but every day that the NBA takes centerstage is a good day.

In “Highlander,” the mantra was that “there can be only one.”

Well, I guess that that “one” resides in Los Angeles and wears No. 24.

I have a new theory about what caused the powers to converge in Miami. I blame the “participation trophy” mentality.

It was a ridiculously busy week followed by a lengthy and gruesome illness. As such, the posting slowed over the last couple days.

Somewhat-rested, I’m ready to get back after it and start banging away on content.

I have a TON of audio to edit and post in the next several days, including interviews with Amare Stoudemire, Tim Tebow, C.J. Spiller, Dexter McCluster, Golden Tate, Mike Williams, Gerald McCoy, Ben Tate, Patrick Kane, Shaun Phillips, Jon Beason, Larry English …

Need more?

… how about Patrick Willis, Takeo Spikes, Dashon Goldson, Vernon Davis, Andre Berto, Jonathan Dwyer and a host of others.

Get inside the Dome. There are a ton of rants, ramblings and stat views to come in short order.

Football season is coming.

Lock and load.

I do have to ask the base question. I posted it on Facebook and Twitter, and I reiterate it here ….

Is there a better or more complete switch from “face” to “heel” than LeBron’s departure for Miami? This trumps Rocky Maivia becoming “The Rock” or Hulk Hogan’s rise in the black and white colors of the nWo.

On Thursday, the grandiose spectacle that was the “decision” (I refuse to capitalize it) was unleashed after the countdown clocks wound to triple zero.

The Cavaliers are incensed, believing that they did everything possible to keep him there. In his letter to fans, did Dan Gilbert intentionally leave out the Ferry and Smith firings, essentially telling fans and LeBron (and his team) that he was loyal to LeBron in those dismissals?

LeBron made the best decision for winning and for business. I had thought he’d stay home in Cleveland, but the idea of a Miami “Legion of Doom” or Chicago run wouldn’t have surprised me. In the end, he’ll play with his friends and try to bring another title, or series of them, to Miami. How can you blame him from a straight business move? It was a brave, bold choice.

Although, forget about the money side of things for a minute. He’ll make up a lot of the salary differential in state taxes he won’t pay for taking up residence in Florida.

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I don’t know. I wished there had been some cheerleaders, a marching band or that Will Smith had popped out from behind a curtain to start singing. Wouldn’t that have been something?

Instead, there was silence and a whole lot of nothing.

The open letter helps to build some drama, and many have likened LeBron to Art Modell (including Larry Fitzgerald on his Twitter feed). He’ll be the villain in Cleveland forever, but most of the bile nationwide is reserved for his marketing people and the network that broadcast his announcement.

I made the wrestling references before to remind folks of the fact that while you may have had that initial – “why???” and anger moment (remember the shots of grown men crying when Hogan revealed the nWo?), those guys eventually became crowd favorites.

Winning gets people on your side. Winning brings, well, HEAT.

Cue the “Miami Vice” theme and let’s talk some football.

It was announced in a simple statement (via Twitter) that the superstar small forward (30.1 PPG in 2009-10) had quietly agreed to a five-year extension of his contract worth an estimated $85 million. There was no pageantry, no entourage, no grandiose posturing or billboards or primetime special surrounding the deal. He could have waited another year and brought the noise and funk to the losers of the 2010 free agent sweepstakes. Instead, Durant is expected to sign his new deal on Thursday and get back to work alongside Russell Westbrook.

The sequel to this summer’s madness will have other leads. Who will be the man in the seat opposite the man/woman in Larry King’s seat next year?

I like that it was done simply in the new world order.

Tell you what. Let’s make it more modern. Sound the vuvuzelas.

Can we add a couple musical acts for this hour-long special? Maybe find someone that Elton John hasn’t played with yet, or let Ron Artest sing his “Champion” song?

Seriously, it’s great PR and a spectacle to end the weeks, nay, months of rumor, conjecture or speculation. And, we’ll be the better for it. The NBA has been in the news for an extra month beyond the end of the Finals – and I can just see David Stern sitting at his desk, fingers extended in a Montgomery Burnsian-like fashion with an “Excellent” muttered under his breath for good measure.

Roger Goodell has to have mixed feelings. He doesn’t have the full media scrutiny of the media during the recent rage of arrests. Unfortunately, he also doesn’t have the media frenzy that normally surrounds the final weeks heading into training camp.

Major League Baseball has Strasburg and the wonderful world of trading card sales ($20K, anyone?). The All-Star Game is in the news only because of the usual litany of omissions and the talking heads getting incensed over perceived snubs.

I get that you want to stand up for the local pitcher or hitter that was omitted, but let’s at least make some cohesive, intelligent arguments to support your candidate. Remember, the rosters are put together with several factors in mind. You have the NATIONWIDE TV audience, the people in the park, the players, executives, commissioner and coaches/manager to consider. Pure stat guys (I like my numbers, but let’s not kid ourselves) are going nuts about strikeout totals and such, but take the full picture into account.

But, I digress.

I won’t be watching Thursday’s special. I figure I’ll be more entertained by the collection of comedians (real and self-appointed), scribes, pundits and friends that make up my Twitter list (I’m @swollendome, for those interested) than with the elimination chamber or whatever the hell is going on during that hour.

I would be intrigued to see the GMs or owners or some team representative in some sort of competition, with the last man standing declared the victor of James’ services … as he sat on a throne with assorted capes, sceptres and crowns in the various team colors decorating the walls.

I joked on the daily podcast that I do with John Halpin that James and his team should have worked with Dana White to present a solid UFC undercard.

Or, let’s take fighting to another level. Resurrect the “Living In America”-type entrance for James and his posse like that used by Carl Weathers before he was bludgeoned by Drago in Rocky IV. I know that James Brown isn’t availab, RIP, but we can probably work up a re-mixed version of the song and add a Lil’ Jon “Yeahh!” or something.

Man, to be a producer for a day …

Instead, I’ll be watching “Bad Lieutenant” (the Harvey Keitel version) and watching the Ubaldo-Carpenter battle on the DVR. I’ll let @sportsguy33, @darrenrovell1, @adamcarolla or @PetrosandMoney fill in the team abbreviation.

I’ll have plenty of time to break down the teams as they get assembled before tip-off of the new season.

I’m not spreading my bets around like most. Despite the late money moving toward NY (literally, per the movement of stock prices on Wednesday), I still believe that James stays in Cleveland.

Still, nothing would surprise me at this point.

Wake me when it’s over.

He was 45. He was 45.

I let out an audible sigh and thought back to watching Probert go to work from the third deck of the United Center. Other than “The Anthem,” nothing brought the faithful Chicago fans to their feet faster and more enthusiastically than Probert dropping the gloves.

You watched him when the Red Wings visited the old Chicago Stadium, the enforcer who sneakily piled up points for Detroit, and cheered for whomever he battled in the Hawks sweater. And then, like when A.J. Pierzynski joined the White Sox, he became “your guy” while battling former Hawk Stu Grimson, Tie Domi or the enforcer of your choosing. It wasn’t a matter of if, it was when Probert was going to enthrall the crowd and send a message.

He was the hero of those early hockey video games depicted in “Swingers,” where you’d send Probert out in search of your opponent’s top scorer. And Don Cherry made a mint off Probert in his video series.

The fierceness with which he battled on the ice mirrored his off-field issues. Probert had several well-chronicled run-ins with law enforcement that included assault charges and substance use. He was indicted by a Federal grand jury on cocaine smuggling charges in 2006.

Probert found some peace in recent years. He reconciled with the Wings and appeared at Red Wings alumni events, including Steve Yzerman’s sweater retirement in 2007. The hockey-savvy crowd cheered their longtime enforcer.

Each day, I get the opportunity to sit, write and react to the latest sports news and accomplishments on the field. Retirements, off-field transgressions and shifts in personnel bring me back to those days of rabid fandom in Chicago.

In mid-June, I thought of those late-80s and early-90s Blackhawks teams fondly while watching Roenick tear up and Toews, Kane and Neimi skate around with Lord Stanley’s Cup. I revisit those memories again this week with a sigh.

Probert was just 45.

Click here to see Probert at work against Domi.

Anyway, I rolled off with a huge (this ain’t Venti) cup of Joe to check out a 10am showing of “Grown Ups.” It wasn’t crowded. Most of those creeping toward the ticket window were shouting about Woody, Buzz or the aforementioned Twilight phenomenon, so I crept into a fairly quiet, sparsely attended screening — just in time to see the previews.

I’d heard rumblings of another “Meet The Parents” film. I almost cried after seeing the trailer – not of laughter, but of fear and misery. I’ll see it at some point on ye olde Roku player because of my love of the DeNiro-Keitel combination.

And then, we got to the main event. Perhaps 10am isn’t the best time for slapstick (and sometimes juvenile) humor, at least until the coffee kicks in. Just listen to an interview with a stand-up comic and they’ll tell you as much. So, the jab-jab-jab delivery sometimes had the effect of a sledgehammer on me at times, but the general tone and sentiment of the movie shouldn’t be dismissed.

We’re used to seeing Adam Sandler and his band of merrymen delivering zingers, ridiculous (in a grand way) set-ups and one-liners galore. The inter-play that you’ve seen in past films in there, but they’re, well, grown up. That is to say, fans of the members of this troupe, see that this is the ideal for filmmaking.

It’s like when George Clooney, Brad Pitt, Matt Damon and the band of thieves get together for another Ocean’s caper. Or, when Ben Stiller rolls up Owen Wilson and the boys or Jason Segal, Paul Rudd, Jonah Hill … you get the point.

You feel as if you’re looking in on a genuine exchange, where the one-liners and smack-talking echoes their private exchanges and that the over-arching storyline is but a notecard in an improv sketch.

The cast members have, in fact, grown up, with kids of their own, and those hopes, fears, moments of pride and confusion all ring true. See Rock’s “Good Hair” for a look at fatherhood through his unique lens.

And we thank Sandler and the team at Happy Madison for giving us the gifts of Salma Hayek and Maria Bello (and the comedic timing of the radiant Maya Rudolph, who gave birth to a baby girl in November).

There are a couple shots in the film of the parents standing back and watching the kids play and interact with one another. Anyone who has cared for a child a kid knows the thoughts that run through your head during those quiet moments and the little smile and gleam in your eye that occur. That step back from the everyday hustle and bustle can’t always occur at a picturesque lakeside resort. But, as Sandler’s Hollywood agent character and his spoiled family (and everybody else, for that matter) learn, it’s necessary to hit the pause button.

Along the way, we get a great re-telling of the old “let’s create a 30-year old sports grudge” (Seinfeld’s Race, “The Best of Times” and myriad other tv shows and films — I’ll compile a list this weekend and post) with great work from Colin Quinn and Steve Buscemi.

The water park scene gives us quick-hits from Dan Patrick and Norm MacDonald. Don’t worry. The “pee in the pool” ad series doesn’t give away all of the scene.

In the end, I don’t think anybody walks away unsatisfied.

You get the one-liners and shenanigans that put these guys on the map.
You get Kevin James working the physical comedy and showing range with the, uh, unique situations presented by his familial unit.
You get the additions of Madison Riley and Jamie Chung as Schneider’s daughters from past marriages.
You get the aforementioned female leads.

And, at the center of this thing … you get a lot of heart.

Andy Samberg Opens The FIFA World Cup with EA Sports

Late last week, I had the opportunity to head over to the Universal Citywalk in Los Angeles for a soccer festival conducted by EA Sports. They loaded up crates of soccer balls, video monitors and connected US and UK fans through the “Balls to Brits” event. There was a huge monitor with a feed from London and a huge soccer display in LA, where smack-talking notes were sent back and forth via soccer ball boots.

Andy Samberg of “Saturday Night Live” opened the event and launched the opening salvo (three tries). I had a chance to chat with Samberg on his viral video brilliance, his work on SNL, his love of soccer and comedic inspiration. He was, as you’d expect, ready with a bevy of one-liners and wit.

I joked that I wasn’t going to sit and watch Game 7 after investing a ridiculous number of hours watching the three-month marathon that is the NBA Playoffs. Rip Van Winkle awoke to see that nothing had changed. The never-ending investigation of USC athletics … ended. Ubaldo won 13 games … almost as many as the Orioles.

In the end, I invested another three hours and was misera …. umm, entertained, by the final game of the season. I nearly fell asleep in the free-throw shooting festival of whistles that was the fourth quarter. Seriously, that was just painful to watch, particularly as the Lakers clanked free throw after free throw (they would convert two-thirds of their free throws for the game).

It came down to loose balls and rebounds. Period. True to form, the victor in Game 7 was the team that won the rebounding war. The Lakers out-rebounded the Kendrick Perkins-less Celtics by a margin of 13 overall (15 more offensive rebounds to offset the pathetic shooting display). At the center of the action was the dynamic duo, MVP Kobe Bryant and Pau Gasol. They combined to shoot a miserable 12-for-40, but lived at the free throw line and scored 42 points to go along with the astounding total of 33 rebounds.

The fact that Ray Allen couldn’t buy a bucket, Rondo has yet to develop an outside shot (his late three-pointer, notwithstanding) and there was little movement and ability to get to the bucket in the fourth quarter when the worm turned. Again, I saw the shots of Kendrick Perkins all suited up on the sidelines and wondered how this final game would have changed had he been able to participate in this one. If nothing else, there would have been five (or six) more hard fouls to give and Rasheed Wallace’s minutes could have been metered out a little bit more. I have to say that Glen “Big Baby” Davis was tremendous in this one, providing quality minutes and, well, a big body down low to at least give the Celtics a rebounding option (nine in his 20 minutes and change).

In a contest replete with as many missed shots as celebrity sightings, we did at least get the appearance of Brian Scalabrine for 51 seconds. More than a few Michael Rapaport references were made in sports bars and homes across America, and I just started yelling about “beautiful girls making you dizzy … like you’ve been drinking Jack and Coke all morning.” Seriously, I’m a fan – go rent “Big Fan” with Patton Oswalt and Rapaport (gets you jonesing for football after this rough-and-tumble Game 7).

Bryant won the Bill Russell MVP Award, although I still think they should take it to a metal shop and give Gasol half.

I mentioned Bryant’s rebounding before. There was where he shone on Thursday. His outside shot was terrible, and we can credit some good perimeter defense from Ray Allen. Bryant missed a number of free throws as well, but got to work on the glass.

And, his supporting cast picked him up. Derek Fisher knocked down a big three-pointer. Ron Artest (wearing No. 37 in the reverse of Dennis Rodman’s No. 73 during his Lakers tenure) knocked down a huge three-point shot off of a Bryant pass and did his best Rodman “thank you very much” acknowledgment to the crowd. He also caught a pass while cutting across the lane and tossed up a shot, hitting the ensuing free throw, to aid that fourth-quarter barrage.

Artest had been invisible for much of this series, leading many to start bringing up the name of former Lakers stopper, Trevor Ariza, who was swapped out for Artest this offseason. His 20 points, 5 rebounds and 5 steals helped carry the Lakers this evening and silenced the critics.

Some fans will start looking ahead to next week’s draft and the all-important July 1 beginning of free agency. I’m frankly shocked that I wasn’t offered a live look-in on LeBron James’ facial expressions while watching this Game 7. That might have been as entertaining as this slugfest. I’m counting down the six weeks until the start of NFL training camps.

Raise a glass to Kobe Bryant on winning his fifth title and to Phil Jackson on his 11th. The Artest experiment worked.

Now, how much does Phil want No. 12? Kobe was already talking up another run for a title.

Let’s put it on the shelf for awhile and enjoy the boys of summer.

PS – Can someone write the NBA equivalent of “One Shining Moment?”

It’s a one-question clip with some comical responses therein. The players were asked about the potential new home of the NBA’s biggest free agent.

Bulls, Knicks, Nets …. Lakers? Lakers are a new one here …

Check it out .

I’ll admit it. My emotions got the best of me when Patrick Kane’s shot flipped past Michael Leighton at the 15:54 mark of the overtime period. I got misty-eyed and just about fell out of my seat.

My memories of frequent journeys to the 300-level at the old Chicago Stadium, more than a few wrinkled, gnarled copies of “The Blue Line” and screaming like a fool with my brothers flooded my brain. “Fanfare for the Common Man” by Aaron Copland ranks among my most-played tracks on iTunes. Wayne Messmer’s old-school rendition of the National Anthem and the accompanying pandemonium still plays in my head at sporting events.

They were still calling the play in the booth as Kane dropped his stick and skated back down the ice toward Antti Niemi. Following a brief review, the goal was confirmed and the celebration began. I can only imagine the roar that emanated from Rush Street and the litany of profanities echoing in the bars of Philadelphia.

It’s only fitting that a series fought tooth-and-nail with bodies flying all over the ice and defensemen laying out to block shots would end with a shot that squeaked through the cracks and found the side of the net. And, in the midst of aural assaults on umpires and referees, it’s also fitting that the final goal would need to be reviewed.

After 49 years of futility and the horrible memories of the “Dollar” Bill Wirtz era that fill the minds of former players, executives and fans, nobody thought this series would be settled easily.

Winger Scott Hartnell did everything possible to extend the series, standing tall with his red beard in front of the crease to score two goals. Hartnett established position and paid the price with a big hit from Conn Smythe winner Jonathan Toews on his second goal.

I also can’t say enough about Leighton, who goes down as the loser in this contest, but who successfully fought out 37 shot attempts. At times, it appeared as if we were watching a practice session, as the Hawks produced several rapid-fire offensive sets.

The Hawks have to celebrate the efforts of Niemi on the other end of the ice. He didn’t face nearly as many shots as Leighton, but he stonewalled a high number of glorious chances with an array of moves that would have made the late-career, karate-kicking Elvis proud. Niemi’s work in the first three minutes of overtime was a veritable clinic on playing the position.

Think about this for a second. Toews is just 22. Kane won’t turn 22 until November. Veteran Marian Hossa, who becomes the “third time’s the charm” poster boy after losing in the Final with Pittsburgh and Detroit, turned 31 in January and has 11 years left on his contract.

The good times have begun in Chicago. Drink deeply and savor it. The theme of the night: Seize opportunities when they’re presented because there’s no guarantee that you’ll see a rebound shot.

The Stanley Cup is coming for one hell of a parade in Chicago.

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I would be remiss if I didn’t offer a few thoughts on the post-game celebration and commentary.

First, I can’t help but smile about the grand presentation of The Cup itself. There’s a pageantry and respect for the institution that transcends team colors and loyalties. No hockey fan disrespects the red carpet ceremony and the glorious, iconic and most recognizable trophy in all of sports.

The same can’t be said for NHL Commissioner Gary Bettman, Conn Smythe winner Toews and “Public Enemy No. 1” Dustin Byfuglien. All three were roundly booed by the salty crowd, with Byfuglien receiving the hate for his spirited and physical work on the ice and for frustrating fans with the pronunciation of his last name.

Second, the smile on Rocky Wirtz’s face cracked away some of that frustration that had lingered for years. In just his third year as the head of the franchise, Wirtz’s Blackhawks raised The Cup. He altered many of his father’s longstanding (and often misguided) policies. Wirtz reestablished relationships with the franchise’s legendary players. He reworked the TV packages. He established relationships with the other teams in town. And, most importantly, the team’s talent evaluation kicked into another level and the pocketbook came out during the free agency period.

Finally, I have to give a nod to the players on the last Blackhawks squad to reach the Stanley Cup Final against the Penguins. No. My Sergei Krivokrasov No. 25 sweater doesn’t factor in here.

I’m talking about ….

Steve Larmer, Chris Chelios, Dirk Graham, Michel Goulet and netminder Ed Belfour.

And, of course, there’s Jeremy Roenick, who served as a member of the NBC broadcasting team. Roenick teared up when The Cup was presented to the Hawks and he watched his former team’s celebration on the ice. He made a directly comment to a boy who cried following the Hawks’ Game 4 loss to the Penguins, citing that he’d waited 18 years for this triumphant moment.

Host Dan Patrick and analyst Mike Milbury had different responses to their colleague’s emotional display. Patrick looked slightly uneasy before trying to comfort Roenick, while Milbury half-mocked him before celebrating Roenick’s career and his own near-misses with The Cup.

“Why is this affecting you?” was the question from Patrick.

Roenick responded with “it’s the Chicago Blackhawks.” If given a chance to elaborate, you may have heard the tales about his eight years with the club, the pain of being swept by Mario Lemieux’s Penguins and the fact that he never got another chance to hold The Cup despite playing in the league for another 16 years. The first eight years of his career were spent in Chicago. I can only imagine which image was burned in Roenick’s mind during this exchange to produce that response.

“I’m happy and I’m proud” Roenick remarked in response to Milbury’s comments about how he wouldn’t cry.

I know that there will be countless references to Roenick’s post-game emotions in the blogosphere. For many message board posters, it’ll be the time to take the potshots and rip Roenick for getting caught up in the moment, and more than a few hosts will snidely try to work up quotes and instances from Roenick’s past to have a chuckle at his expense.

You’ve got a guy in the broadcast team who battled for the better part of two decades to grab hold of The Cup, playing for both of the participants in this series during his career. He bled, broke bones and excelled as an elite goal-scorer (513 goals, good for 36th all-time), but never had his day to go boating, fishing, horseback-riding, snorkeling or drinking with The Cup.

He got paid and obviously had a successful career. He’s a good sound byte, has always been willing to speak his mind, and excels in the analyst chair. That doesn’t fill the void of setting out for the grand prize, taking the hits and grinding through season after season and coming up short.

For me, there’s one fundamental number at play.

Roenick was the same age at Toews and Kane when he got his shot.

That’s right. I said it. I’ve watched a couple of his minor league starts. I’ve witnessed him obliterate minor league hitters. I’m not saying that he’s devoid of talent. In fact, I found myself inching closer to the edge of my seat with each pitch. I’m just tired of the split screens and just wish that we’d pause for a moment and let the kid pitch. Let him get that first pitch across or in the batter’s ear in front of the national media and a salivating fantasy baseball audience.

Strasburg may eventually punch out enough hitters and win enough games to warrant those Cooperstown comparisons. I just want to follow along the path without those grandiose expectations that few can reach.

For the Pirates, it’s like a World Series moment and that coveted role of “spoiler.”

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On the undercard in this “Prospect Tuesday” is the debut of Mike Stanton of the Nationals. I know. You’re envisioning a 30-something middle reliever when you hear that name. You’ll think differently when you hear the crack of the bat.

Stanton ripped 21 minor league home runs, demonstrated a strong batting eye and is mature beyond his 20 years. However, he’s never taken an at-bat above Double-A. It’s possible that he comes up and starts parking balls into the outfield like Jason Heyward (currently slumping) has in Atlanta. Stanton will hit his share of extra-base hits and could be considered for a fifth outfield slot in roto leagues. Just be ready for the hard times when hits don’t come as easily.

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This is a unique day in recent baseball history. We have two of the most heralded prospects in the game arriving to the majors on the night. Everyone except those preoccupied with Game 3 of the NBA Finals will be watching.

Break out the thesauruses for some new adjectives. The new world order begins tonight.

As such, it took weeks to wind to completion, and more than a few twists and turns occurred in the NFL to alter the initial response to certain picks. My selection of LenDale White in the ninth round says it all (my full diatribe concerning his release from the Seahawks can be heard at a sports bar near you …).

Check out the draft here .

What do you think? Any surprises in this PPR league that allows zero transactions?

I’ll review this draft later on during the week while posting the grid form.