"The mind ought sometimes to be diverted that it may return the better to thinking." --Phaedrus

Since the boys back home were whingeing about this sudden proliferation of football news at the expense of baseball cantering, Sports Amnesia has graciously conceded not the entirety of the fan base is cogniscent or even cares about the advent of the twists and turns of the Euro 2004 (just as I will be conspicuously absent from any commentary about something called the Olympics when the time comes), and thus returns to its roots of April, the pine tar and the steroids, the 40 year olds outperforming the generation that followed them, the cold blood thrill of interleague rivalries renewing, abeit, with an irretractable aim to intersperse such observations with football.

That said, as one casts a hesitant eye upon the recent comings and goings of a week's worth of baseball, or perhaps more precisely, reveres it with the telling glance of historical perspective, one cannot help but observe some strange developments.

The Slack Pack

The current bottom feeders in nearly all six divisions would hardly rate as shocking; Baltimore, Montreal, Pittsburgh and Colorado have arrived at their current underachieving levels with a predictable precision that would be admirable for those clocking themselves against the speed of mediocrity.

An argument might have been made against the KC Royals reassuming their familiar nest in the nadir of the AL Central if their shocking performance last season were any indication of future success but really, once the ink had dried on their signing of that perennial pariah Juan Gone, back in the doldrums of January, regardless of his two MVP awards and 429 career homers, their season was already doomed. Juan Gone is the antithesis of whatever youthful enthusiasm the Royals toyed with last season and his signing forged a newer, more cynical and impatient approach. That they will still have Juan Gone in August and not Carlos Beltran, is indicative of the errors having been duly made, the momentum of a franchise duly gutted.

We might mention that seeing the Seattle Mariners 9 games back from the lead, hopelessly mired at the bottom of the AL West is surprising until you consider how demoralising it is as a franchise to choke so consistently and so artfully two years running and to do so with an aging cast and a rapidly diminished carry on bag of dumb luck, was simply too much for the Mariners to overcome after swallowing the loss of three of baseball's biggest names over the course of half decade.

No, a truer manifestation of the unthinkable is found nestled in the bosum of the NL Central where one finds the astonishing 35-31 record of the Milwaukee Brewers. Conjecture over this heretofore unfathonable development would be meaningless if it not examined through the lens of the fortunate relinquishment of the stigma that was the Selig family, and thus, having been spared the ignominy of additional humiliation, are finally allowed an interesting cast of youth, of particular note being Lyle Overbay, acquired through the trade of the disabled Richie Sexson, ready and able to take his swing at infamy. Lyle Who, indeed. With the departure of the Seligs it is now allowable to admire the wonders of that paen to bad beer, Bernie Brewer, as he slides from his perch into a beer stein following each Brewers home run and victory.

And yes, still within that same NL Central lie the Cincinnati Reds, cursed, almost since the very day of the Junior trade back in February of 2000, finally allowed a modicum of breathing room, as has Junior himself now that he's snuggled into the forum of the 500 career homer family.

All of these miniature surprises, and more, like the rapid demise of the Arizona Diamondbacks, and (good god, what is happening in Tampa?!) have set the season on its ear despite the traditional triumvirate of power that continues to be concentrated in the Bronx, Fenway and well yes, exclusively within the rivalry itself, predictable and perhaps forlorn with its absence of tangible controversy.

Art Howe Still Has A Job

Yes, this must rank somewhere on my own personal Richter Scale of surprises. It is a supreme testimony to the inadequacies of the surviving members of the NL East that for all their shoddy play, all the bonehead fielding errors, all the hitless hours of a mediocre batting order, all the first base blunders as Piazza stubbornly stumbles like a child at his new position and all the submoronic miscalculations by Art Howe, on this day the Mets not only stand a mere two and a half games from first place, but have the unmitigated gall of optimism to begin to make trades to strengthen themselves as though this mirage might continue.

Rather ominously, despite this optimism, Mets GM Jim Duquette logically refuses to endorse Howe, has fired his batting coach and continues to allow Howe's future to dangle precariously as though the deeper understanding of this success is that it has been achieved not in part because of Art Howe, but in spite of Art Howe.

So perhaps the question of where the Mets stand at this moment in time with the return of the Human Hammy Jose Reyes and the acquisition of Astro outcast Richard Hidalgo is a moot one whilst the Artless Howe still stands in the dugout like the captain of a ship that is destined to see its sinking stern disappear beneath the quiet lapping of the waves.

Lakers Amazing Implosion

Although the NBA is not often addressed herein, the speed and ease with which the Pistons dispatched the Lakers in the Finals was almost as shocking as the speed with which the dynasty has been dismantled. Speculation runs rampant as Phil Jackson takes a year's sabbatical to contemplate what team of superstars he might next steer into a collision course with championships, as Shaq preemptively announces his desire for a trade as though the oft injured limbs of a rapidly aging 32 year old and a 30 million dollar contract will be in great demand and Kobe awaits word on whether he will spend his future with the Lakers or in a high security prison somewhere in Colorado. As we watch the dying embers of the once seemingly inpenetrable walls of superiority that was the Lakers the question begs, who is more likely to add another championship ring to his collection?

Euro 2004

Of course, all of this pales in comparison to the battles to be waged this evening in Portugal. Yes, minions, it is back to the business at hand. For tonight, England will face the nasty squad from Croatia needing only a draw to advance and join Greece and Portugal in the Quarterfinals. A mere 4 years ago in Charleroi, England sat precariously in this very position, fresh from their satisfying victory over the Germans and the disaster of a Belgian riot squads hosing down hooligans with water cannons, needing only a draw against Romania to go forward and it was then, at that juncture between success and abysmal failure, they suffered the humiliation of a loss that sent them packing, disfunctionally and prematurely, back to the motherland.

The Croatians are a notorious bunch. They've publically admitted that part of their strategy is to goad English teen phenom and perenially hot head, Wayne Rooney, into an early ejection. Their fans have been called out for racist slurs against opposing squads. Their goons are underdeveloped on the pitch but dangerous not only for their latent talent but also for their penchant for diving and dirty play. They are the perfect foil and on paper, the English should have a go at them with little difficulty but paper is meaningless in this tournament and the reality that hopefully manifests itself tonight will be that England rise higher still, above the squalor of their opponents' side and dispatch Croatia quickly. As to avoid unnecessarily jinxing the squad, Sports Amnesia will refrain from a prediction and hope for the best result, which would likely be a quarterfinal matchup against the Portugese hosts.

Until then, it is time to don the colours of Saint George and go off into the night seeking pints of ale to fortify the spirit and celebratory scenes to follow.