New legislation set to be presented before House committee Thursday would set new drug-testing policy for professional sports. The NFL, NBA, NHL, and Major League Baseball would have to test each of its athletes five times a year, with severe penalties for those who pop positive: Two year ban for a first offense and a lifetime ban for a second offense.

Representative Tom Davis, the Chairman of the Government Reform Committee which has held hearings on anabolic steroid use, along with Senator John McCain introduced the new bill, based on the Olympic model.

However, the NFL says it did not have the opportunity to comment on the new bill. Joe Browne, NFL spokesman, said Wednesday, “Unlike the Olympics, we play every year, not every four years.”

Paul Tagliabue, NFL Commissioner, said he hadn’t even seen the bill, but that the league is not planning to change its policy to avoid the new legislation.

A House Commerce and energy subcommittee approved changes to a different bill on Wednesday, which calls for two tests instead of just one per athlete per year. This bill, called the Drug Free Sports Act, was introduced last month by Cliff Stearns, the Florida Republican who also chairs the subcommittee.

If that bill should pass, it would affect the NFL, NBA, NHL and Major League Baseball. The Commerce Secretary would then be permitted to change the list of banned drugs per sport, and should a player prove that he didn’t know the substance was illegal, the penalties could be reduced.

Representative Edward Markey of Massachusettes, suggested an amendment to the Stearn’s bill that would have allowed a more lenient “three strikes” clause. The penalties would be half-season for a first offense, full-season suspension for a second, and lifetime ban for a third, and Stearn seemed to be accepting of this idea.

“Markey’s idea of ‘three strikes and you’re out’ is a good approach,” Stearns said. “We might want to have it vary, depending upon sports.”

Currently, the penalties for steriod use are a 10-day ban in Major League Baseball, four games in the NFL and five games in the NBA. The NHL doesn’t yet test its athletes, but that may be changing soon dependant upon the outcome of the House vote.

In a surprise move, a Federal judge has overturned the Food and Drug Administration’s (FDA) ban on ephedra, a weight loss dietary supplement that was purported to be mainly responsible for the death of Baseball pitcher Steve Bechler.
In her ruling, Judge Tena Campbell said federal law “requires the FDA to prove that a dietary supplement is harmful, rather than having the manufacturer prove it is safe,..” as is required with drugs.
A FDA spokesperson said that they were “evaluating the decision.”

Ephedrine,the active substance in ephedra is a stimulant that accelerates the heart rate and constricts blood vessels and is used for dramatic weight loss and also by bodybuilders.It has been associated with numerous deaths including that of Bechler who died after a training workout in Feb. 2003.It was banned a year ago and had already been banned by the International Olympic Committee, the NFL and the NCAA, but not by Major League Baseball.
Related Sites.Theathlete.org

WHAT A LOAD OF BALLS!
Sharon Jacobsen

When it comes to the US Masters, one thing’s certain – whoever dons the Green Jacket this year won’t be a woman!

What women will be doing is a fair amount of shouting whilst bearing gripe-sloganed banners in order to let the world know they’re unhappy that a private club has the audacity to make its own decisions about membership. Women simply aren’t welcome at the ‘Augusta National’, the prestigious golf club that’s home to the annual Masters event.

Martha Burk, Chairwoman (or should that be chairperson?) of the ‘National Council of Women’s Organizations’ is calling for investors to sell their stock in companies who hold memberships at Augusta!

I’ve no problem understanding what they’re asking, I do, however, have trouble understand quite why anybody would want to dump their shares over something as trivial as membership to a golf club! Is the club exploiting somebody, perhaps? Are they producing a dangerous product that’s being marketed as healthy? No, they’re doing nothing of the kind.

What they’re doing is simply insisting that their members have a place – a sanctuary some might say – where men can get away from women and just enjoy being men. What’s so wrong with that?

Don’t get me wrong; I’m all for equality and will be eternally grateful for the work the suffragettes did to improve the position of women. We’ve come a long way, honey, and we ain’t going back!

My point in the debate is that although men and women are of equal worth, we are not and never will be the same. And I’m not just talking about our roles in the procreation process, either!

Men cuss a lot. Not all of them, but a lot of them. Men also feel they need to act in a certain way when women a present: pull out chairs, hold doors open and generally be a gentleman. Not all of them, but a lot of them.

What’s wrong with men having a place where they can get together for a round of golf and relax in the knowledge that nobody is going to fuss if they drop the odd expletive or forget to allow somebody else to go through the door ahead of them? Don’t they have rights, too?

I wonder which WOMEN’S ORGANIZATIONS Martha Burk represents? How can there possibly be organizations specifically for women? I also wonder whether ‘The General Federation Of Women’s Clubs’, which is represented by Ms Burk’s organization, is open to male members? Or even any of the clubs that they again represent? If the Augusta National has decided that its membership is open to men only then so be it.

Please, let’s stop this puerile bickering and pack away the ill judged belief that we as women have a right to membership of any chosen club or organization. Let’s just accept that as equal as we are, men need their space and so, ladies, do we.

AUGUSTA NATIONAL turns into one of the world’s great sporting shrines every April. We all know about the quality of the golf, but the experience for the visitor is out of this world.

It is easy to spot the first-time visitors to Augusta National. They are the ones whose eyes, cartoon-style, are popping out on stalks and whose mouths are dangling near the floor. It works every time. However much anyone else builds the place up, whatever your own expectations might be as a result of watching countless Masters on television, actually being there is far from an anti-climax.

For the full, speech-inhibiting effect, all you have to do is walk down the hill by the 10th hole – the flat TV pictures do not prepare you for the sharp changes in elevation – and then on to the 11th. About halfway down the fairway, suddenly you realise that stretched out in front of you is none other than Amen Corner: the 11th green, where Nick Faldo won his two play-offs, in the foreground and Rae’s Creek and the 12th green with the bank of azaleas.
Everywhere you turn there is a recognisable feature which prompts memories of dramas past. At least on the back nine. Discovering the front nine, rarely seen on television, is a joy in itself. If anything, it can alI be a touch overwhelming if not intimidating.

It is hard not to believe that the beauty is not artificially enhanced – the water in some of the ponds is indeed dyed blue. But nothing can detract from the magnificence of the vista of the “cathedral of pines” to be enjoyed from back up beside the clubhouse, either by standing under the grand old oak tree, where anyone who is anyone in golf passes sooner or later, or by sitting on the verandah sipping a pink lemonade.

Bobby Jones, who created Augusta National back in the early 1930s, described the experience of seeing that view for the first time as “unforgettable”. He knew instantly that this nursery garden was where he wanted to build his monument to the game.
“This ground has been lying here all these years,” he said, “waiting for someone to come along and lay a golf course on it.”

Before Jones, with the architectural help of the inimitable Dr Alister Mackenzie and the financial support of a few friendly fellow businessmen, set about building his club after retiring from competitive play in 1930, the land was a nursery that had been created by a Belgian baron called Berckmans. Prior to that it was an indigo plantation, and the clubhouse, originally built in 1854, is considered the first cement-built structure in the South.
Jones and Clifford Roberts, the long-time chairman of the club, knew about the land since it bordered the Augusta Country Club. With a couple of other fine courses in the city, Augusta had the reputation as a winter resort long before the likes of Hilton Head and Kiawah Island came along.

The winter climate is perfect for a leisurely, comfortable game of golf, and even now the Augusta National closes for the summer when it gets seriously hot. These days, except for Masters Week, everyone flies over Augusta on the way to Florida.
The city is 150 miles east of Atlanta on the Savannah River, which marks the
Georgia-South Carolina border. Named after Princess Augusta, the mother of George
III, it was founded in 1735 and was initially an inland port and then a mill town.
Downtown has changed little for decades and the shops suffer during
Masters Week as so many residents leave town.

None the less, the bars and restaurants do a roaring trade, notably attracting clients from the Army Signal School at nearby Fort Gordon. Down by the river there has been redevelopment and the city stages rowing regattas twice a year. But in Masters Week, the place to be is up on Washington Road. Exit the gates of Augusta National and it is a different world. While even Coca-Cola have to sell their product in green cups on the course, here it is neonsignville. Here you can find every established burger outlet and steakhouse chain in America, but don’t expect to get a table before 10pm.

Then there are the motels, with rooms charged at over $350 a night (plus tax), a price hike of around 1,000 per cent on their rates for the other 51 weeks of the year.

Most of the players and corporate visitors hire a house for the week rather than seek hotel or motel accommodation. This largely explains why all the residents who don’t have tickets – and the patrons’ lists closed decades ago – flee the town and use the fees they receive for letting their properties to pay for their holidays. Nightlife consists of parties put on by various organisa tions, companies or influential individuals, while the players chill out with friends in the temporary homes.

Chipping contests around the house are very popular, according to the former American Ryder Cup golfer Ken Green. “You pick out holes all over the house and the yard. It could be a mailbox, a car tyre, or even the boot of a car. The year we rented two houses we were able to play back and forth between them, even using the Jacuzzi or the pool as a hole.
We even sneaked into the neighbours’ yard one time for a few holes, but the following day they had put up a sign saying ‘Out of Bounds’. That was a nice way of telling us to leave them and their property alone.”

The most sought-after invitations are to those events up at the National’s clubhouse. Monday is for the international players. This used to be a sit-down dinner, but the number of overseas players and administrators has grown to such an extent over the last few years that it is now a cocktail party.

On Tuesday night, it is the Champions’ Dinner. This year Phil Mickelson will be host for the dinner having joined one of sporting’s most exclusive club.
‘I am a little concerned with the champion’s dinner. The wine cellar they have is extremely good and I have to pay for dinner,’ said the American with a laugh.

The amateurs, some of whom stay in the dormitory-style rooms in the Crows’ Nest in the clubhouse, have their own reception on Wednesday and, for a reason lost in the mists of time, not to mention the wine glasses, the British Press are offered cocktails in the Trophy Room on Saturday night. Not a single person present on this particular occasion is without hope (not expectation, note) that he or she might end up being invited to play the course by one of the green-jacketed members.
But, of course, the prize invitation comes on the Sunday night when the new champion is dined and wined in the clubhouse whilst wearing his newly acquired piece of (Green Jacketed) evening wear. Now that is exclusive.

By EvilHun129
They say Professional Wrestling these days is on a downtrend. Well, that’s just dandy, because that’s when it gets good!

I love it when the doomsayers come out like starving jackals. When the numbers start to spiral downward. When actions reek of desperation and survival is the best you can hope for.

Why? It weeds out the weak-minded real fast.

As a devout wrestling fan of over two decades, I’ve watched the little mini-recession the business in currently suffering from with more than a hint of intrigue. I’ve read countless enfeebled Tuesday morning bookers rant on the net about how the product has grown stale, how the industry is in dire trouble, and of course, THEIR little recipes for renewing fan interest by pushing certain vertically challenged, charisma-less luchadores to the top.

Quite frankly these people are idiots at best, and in actuality, are maddeningly ignorant of history. They point to the declining ratings and house show figures while comparing today’s WWE landscape to the ill-fated WCW.

“There’s a glass ceiling!” they will cry to all who will listen. “What about the cruiserweights?”

Fools. They just don’t get it do they?

Any casual observer of pro wrestling can easily deduce that it is a cyclical business, subject to what amounts to a natural inhalation/ exhalation process that usually turns over about once a decade.

And quite frankly, it’s those exhalation periods that can be the most engaging. Need proof?

Twenty years ago, when I was first sneaking into my Grandmother’s living room to watch wrestling on WWOR Channel 9, Bob Backlund was the reigning WWF champion. Now let me assure you, this is hardly remembered as a golden age in the business. Fans that once clamored for the heroic Bruno Sammartino or the fiery Pedro Morales turned away in droves. Backlund, despite his impressive NCAA credentials and All-American image, had all the luster of moldy bread.

A dark period? Maybe to some. But look beneath the surface, or at the very least, the middle of the card, and you’ll find signs of life.

At that very same time, Jimmy Snuka was honing a daredevil aerial style that would revolutionize the business and strongly inspire the Rob Van Dams and Sabus of the world. The globetrotting Andre the Giant was battling evildoers and filling territories’ coffers to the bursting point. And a young, well muscled journeyman named Terry Bollea was honing his craft against grizzled veterans like Antonio Inoki and Abdullah the Butcher, all the while taking notes on how to main event and draw the big money.

I don’t think I need to tell you what happened shortly after.

So what does all this mean? Simple. The “Wrestling Recession” is a valuable, and I would daresay necessary, process. It is during this period that risks are taken, bars are raised, and marginal players suddenly hit on the right formulas. Related sites:Women Wrestling

Let the doomsayers creep out. History is on our side.

So now it has become clear to even the people with their heads in the sand(the pollies) that drugs and steriods are rife in Sport.Its a bit shallow to condemn with affront when we all know that the driving force behind all the one upmanship that the athletes are trying to put over each other is..
Greed.
The downfall of civilizations and empires, but will it also be the demise of such an indestructible superpower we have all come to accept as “Professional Sports”? Our retired Super-heroes of the glory days are left wondering; “Where are my stripper filled pool parties in the back yard of my mansion?”. Greed has shattered the hearts of us fans as well as pillaged our wallets to an all time low. For the money spent keeping crybaby athletes “comfortable”, they should start making house visits to satisfy the lust of horny housewives. Rappers make livings of such lavish lifestyles.

Believe it or not, there are a few professional athletes on top of their game, who will tend to a city’s sporting needs regardless of contract depth; however, the team has to show gratitude in the contract offer. Let us not be ridiculous now. Had I been blessed with the gifts that some of these genetic freaks possess, I would damn well want to see the money too. Some players on the ice, fields, tracks, etc. still feel the fury of the crowd and play strictly to make voices be lost; however, their numbers are rapidly dwindling due to the evil “Paychecks” hunting them to extinction. Our pastimes are swiftly becoming just a way for athletically inclined human beings to hit the lottery.

Enough of the bagpipes, let’s get down to the facts here. “Sure I like the Mets. That’s where I want to be. I love the New York atmosphere. It’ would be great to play there.” HEY, wouldn’t you know it; just a short time after comments like those; “I have decided to sign with the Texas Rangers.” Wow, what a coincidence. He must have felt Texas was So great, that he didn’t even want to mention playing there because he did not want to jinx it. There is not a chance on God’s green earth that a 247 million-dollar contract had any influence on the deal. In all honesty, it had to be the school system down there for his future children. Mr. Mike Hampton knows all about putting his financial needs on the shelf for the good of his children. His Mega-bucks deal had nothing to do with his lure away from the Mets. From recent performances I believe he should put his pitching first while he is in the majors, and have his wife handle the well being of his children. It is only a matter of time before the Rockies land him in court for Grand Larceny.

“I shall not play for the Flyers. I will only play for the Toronto Maple Leafs.” What Mr. Lindros was trying to say, (Had his head not been mangled into Swiss cheese), is that he shall play for the highest bidder. Welcome to the deep pocketed NY Rangers. Hope you like heartbreak to go along with your Athletes Foot.

Ok, not all pro athletes are fixated on greenbacks. For everyone of these assholes there is a Brett Favre, Garrison Hearst, Ray Bourque, Cal Ripken Jr., Dan Marino, and so many more. Pure athletes who play for their fans and pride in being the best at what they do. These are the athletes who us, the fans, come out to see. Superstars leaving it ALL on the field. Y.A. Tittle, The catch, Walk off grand slams, spectacular season salvaging saves, game winning three-pointers from Downtown! There is no better feeling than leaving a game with shot vocal chords, and I’ll be damned if I’ll so much as waste a simple clap on the sticky fingered, selfish, Eric Lindros’ of pro sports.

HERE I COME TO SAVE THE DAY!!!

Pay our athletes on a tier system. They make what they earn. Payment based on performance. “Own” your position and own a hefty paycheck the following season. Exceptions shall only be made for franchise players stuck on crap teams, i.e. Cal Ripken. Oh yeah, bye bye free agency. If you hold out, you are tossed out, and that means the league, not just the team you are shafting.

Installing a system similar to this idea should eliminate fans from having to learn completely altered rosters at the start of fresh seasons. Most importantly it will change the “My dick is bigger than yours”, paycheck seekers, to “My GAME is bigger than yours.”

Athletes should step back and realize that it is mostly blue collared guys paying them millions to play a friggin game. Pro athletes need to start playing for their teams and cities.Take their inspiration from the Blind Sports Assoc Athletes need to begin playing for the Fans.
Jeremy Stursberg