Of M.C. Hammer, Z. Cavariccis and the New Jersey Generals. Sort of…

We’ve decided we are undoubtedly not…and it is not. As the “founder” of said blog, I have also determined that if I was (you know, profane, despicable…basically, a miserable blight on society and the planet) it would be Buzz’s unalienable right to so claim. It would also be my right to tell him to f-off, decry him ignorant, narrow-minded and rain down all other sorts of unnecessary energy-wasting nastiness. We’ll pass.

At The Legend, you cannot question our “journalistic dishonesty.” Because we’re not journalists. Nor do we claim to be. That’s what makes this blogging thing, and the grand ole’ InterWebs, so wonderful. So, who exactly am I and what exactly is this blog all about? Nobody likely cares, but here goes (we will in no way try to compete with the likes of EDSBS, who, by the way, could hang right with any of Buzz’s soldiers of the print brigade).

LCG is aimed at entertaining people like me with sports banter. I am a fan who loves the game(s)…a dude who loves to write about sports, argue about them and, when appropriate, reminisce about the way they used to be. The innovation that is the “weblog” allows me to do such things.

I write before and after what are fairly long days in the “communications industry.” I am lucky enough to work in marketing/PR for several of the better-known brands in the world of sports. Obviously, my Internet marketing skills have not been adequately applied to this blog endeavor (first rule of Web marketing, don’t choose an agonizingly-long URL that nobody can remember). I am a Mets season ticketholder and a long-suffering member of Jets Nation. I inexplicably watched regular season Knicks basketball in 2008. I love playoff hockey but still can’t eloquently articulate the definition of an interference penalty.

My sole purpose for this blog is as a creative outlet to say all those things I feel like saying about sports (along with my buddies Erie’s Scribe and The World’s Tallest Jockey who I’ve known since the age of eight or so). Sometimes it’s a random rant about a team I dislike. Other times, it’s an observation about things lots of people are talking about. On still other occasions, it is pure unabashed attempts at humor or spirited sarcasm aimed squarely at people typically completely deserving of such.

But, at the end of the day, this thing makes me happy in that a few folks may come here every day and be mildly entertained. It’s nice to think a post succeeds in soliciting a chuckle or even a slight nod that says “wow this random guy was thinking what I was thinking.” So, we’ll keep doing everything we’ve been doing. But we are also going to attempt a new weekly feature in the spirit of this blog’s founding. Our tagline says this blog is for those who remember “when it was OK to throw inside, hit the quarterback and trash talk a bit…”

For me, that was the 80s and 90s when I lived and died sports. It was before I had a job, or a fiancee or knew there was any significance in the combination of the number 401 and the letter ‘K.’ It was back when Gary Payton was “The Glove”…when Wally’s World helped put Miami of Ohio on the map…when Cecilio Guante cards always showed up in my Topps baseball packs (along with that hard-as-a-rock piece of gum).

It was when wearing JAMS shorts with brightly-colored matching solid t-shirts was something I (apparently) did intentionally. The years when some of my most eagerly anticipated days were those when I was allowed to don my football jersey to school. It was a time when Bo Jackson and MJ were fun-tacked to the walls, when I was reading about the Incredible Bulk on the cover of SI and somehow adopted the Colorado Buffaloes as my favorite college football squad (despite seemingly every individual on Bill McCartney’s roster boasting an impressive rap sheet of serious criminal offenses). During these years, I bought many “cassette singles” for $3.49 from the likes of such diverse and timeless artists as Nine, White Lion, Dangerous Toys and Bell, Biv Devoe. Oh, yes, you know.

If you remember these things fondly, we welcome you. And, if you just want to see pretty ladies from time to time, we certainly relate to that as well. In recognition of the glory days, we’ll kick off the “LCG Weekly Reminiscence” in a few. It will be a random look back at a year in sports through the lens of one personally memorable moment from that season, along with some hopefully amusing commentary on other things going on in my life/world at that time (and maybe yours?). You know, what was playing on that phat yellow Sony Sports Walkman…the sick-as-hell Pumps we were rocking…or how we anxiously awaited the opening of the cinematic classic “The Program.”

We’ll try to bring a little VH1 “I Love the 80s/90s” feel and see if we can take y’all back and bring some enlightenment to the young whippersnappers. By the way, the New Jersey Generals were led by Doug Flutie and Herschel Walker, and my dad and I used to go watch them play at the Meadowlands. Oh, yes, and Z. Cavariccis were awfully-awesome parachute-style pants that I (and I am NOT alone) convinced my mother to spend absurd amounts of money on in the 80s. They were huge, pleated, tight at the top and bottom and unquestionably ugly. Most importantly, they also bore the unmistakable mark of their maker right on the zipper. Niiice. I had a pair of white Z’s that were particularly stunning. My friend Jesse, though he’d deny it to this day, went leopard print Cavariccis. Three words that should never appear together. Truly unprecedented.

See you in the way back machine later this week.