Keyboard Quarterbacks

By Mark La Monica

Here are five words that won't shock the world: Muhammad Ali changed the game.

Here are seven more words you've heard plenty of times before: There will never be another Muhammad Ali.

Here's why we'll never see another athlete the likes of Ali. We won't let it happen.

"Ali Rap" aired this weekend on ESPN. The hour-long special hosted by Chuck D (who is the new best friend of my boy -- and Newsday NFL columnist -- Bob Glauber) highlights the captivating personality of Ali. Through his rhymes and his ability to entertain, Ali was really the first athlete to embrace and succesfully use the power of the media.

We're not here to discuss Ali's boxing or his impact on the world. Everyone already knows that. What you may not realize is that we'll never have another personality such as Ali. We'll never have someone who can captivate us the way he did. We'll never have it again because we won't let ourselves have it.

Every time an athlete opens his mouth and says something other than the typical cliches, those quotes are on the Internet. Then they're on ESPN. Then they're in the newspapers. Then they're on sports talk radio.

Then the analysts come around and debate for three hours the effect those words will have on the psyche of the team in the locker room and on the field. Then, the fans will call the talk radio shows and hammer the Internet message boards with their two cents. Occasionally, they'll chip in a nickel if the Web site's bandwidth allows for it.

Then the athlete will respond either with a retraction, a clarification or a statement issued through his team, agent or attorney.

Sportswriters hate getting canned, cliche quotes. Editors hate editing them. Readers hate reading them. But, when we come upon an athlete who speaks his mind and answers questions honestly, the media blows it up to outrageous proportions. All of a sudden, what was once a thoughtful response to a question is front-page news and top-flight material for television.

See: Jeremy Shockey, TIki Barber, Terrell Owens, Chad Johnson, dozens of others.

Could you imagine Muhammad Ali's rhymes and bravado getting by today's media? Impossible. Because 38 seconds after he said "I am the astronaut of boxing. Joe Louis and Dempsey were just jet pilots. I'm in a world of my own," Google servers would shut down from all the search results produced by a news search for "Muhammad Ali."

It would be a field day for bloggers, columnists, TV talking heads, etc. See: "Ocho Cinqo."

The extensive media coverage isn't necessarily a bad thing. It isn't necessarily a good thing. But the next time you watch an interview or read a story about an athlete, pay close attention to the words they are actually saying. Then realize that they've probably said next to nothing.

We'll never have another Muhammad Ali because we won't allow it to happen. Athletes may float like butterflies still, but it's the media that now stings like a bee.

By Mark La Monica

Ain’t no press conference like a Don King press conference because a Don King press conference don’t stop.

Nor does the inherent comedy involved in the sights and sounds that accompany The Don.

Caught up at the Hilton in midtown for the Online News Association conference today, I crossed paths with The Don. And Tessio. And Big P. And a bunch of other folks that made life on three hours of sleep worth living.

Sadly, The Don was not the keynote speaker. He was doing publicity for his roast by the Friars Club on Friday night.

After listening to a panel discussion about blogging, the blogosphere and every adjectival use of the word blog, I strolled the halls of the Hilton Hotel with Web friend Shawna.

We walked out into the foyer and there he was . . . The Don. In all his glory. In all his diamonds. In all his hair.

Not content with just being at a web conference –- translation: free day off disguised as occupational betterment -– I decided to act. It was time to blog.

“I think I should follow him,” I told Shawna.

I did. Up the escalator, into the press conference room, into what looked like the green room for some new reality show called “Gangsters and Gloves.”

Vincent Pastore was first up on stage for photo ops. You may know him as Angelo Ruggiero from the HBO film “Gotti.” But it’s more likely you remember him as Big P from HBO’s “The Sopranos.”

Why he was there, I’m not quite sure. But that’s a separate issue. He posed to the left. He posed to the right. Photographers shouted at him. They all wanted him to look into their lens.

“Hey, you want us to sing, too?” Pastore said.

The stoutness of a well-bred Italian man. The black suit. The black shirt. The black and red tie. This guy is a combination of Papa La Monica, Cousin Joe Manny and just about every guy I ever called Uncle.

His time on stage was done. But while sipping ginger ale at the fully loaded bar, he introduced himself to someone by saying “My name’s Omar Sharif."

Beyond ridiculous.

The madness continued.

Abe Vigoda strolled in. What Tessio from “The Godfather” has to do with this Don, I’m not at liberty to discuss.

The Don eventually made it on stage. His tuxedo shirt was roughly 12 degrees below zero, what with three diamond chains, an iced-out ring and matching American flag lapel pins. Diamond-studded, of course.

“Only in America, my man,” The Don boasted to no one in particular. He was a professional wrestler making his entrance. That was his tagline. Sort of like Hulk Hogan and his “What’cha gonna do when Hulkamania runs wild on you?”

Forget about the Stock Exchange at 9:30 a.m. This was the opening bell.

The Don didn’t have to speak. His presence walks into the room before even his hair. He smiled for anyone and everyone. And we do mean everyone. Gianni Russo, aka Carlo Rizzi from “The Godfather.” Leroy Nieman. Joe Frazier. David Dinkins. Danny Aiello. Michael Spinks.

Michael Spinks? I haven’t seen him since Mike Tyson destroyed him in 91 seconds back in 1988.

Then, slinking in from the side was Gilbert Gottfried. This was my nirvana.

“Hey, Johnny Crunch, what’s up guy?” I said.

“Oh, so you’re the one who saw the movie?” he said.

This was indeed the funniest and most surreal moment of my life. I just called Gilbert Gottfried by his character’s name in the Andrew Dice Clay movie “The Adventures of Ford Fairlane.”

He responded, even-keeled the entire time. Not sure if he appreciated getting checked like that, but he seemed impressed by the obscure reference.

Plus, Gottfried claimed the fifth spot on my Nicky Eyes Hit List. (Nicky Eyes has one line in “Goodfellas.” That line? “What’s up, guy?” Gottfried is the fifth celeb to be asked that question by me. This is monumental.)

Gottfried then asked if he should go up on stage and take a picture with The Don. Thinking of the joy that would bring to the masses, I encouraged such an endeavor. He obliged. Gottfried put on a pair of boxing gloves and pretended to punch The Don.

My life is one step closer to completeness.