Joe Morgan may be gone, but his ignorant spirit lives on. Murray Chass and Phil Rogers wonder how in the world Hernandez could be the best pitcher if he didn't have the most wins. Yes, we're still having this damn discussion.

Yesterday, on the heels of John Wall's first career triple-double in his sixth career game, Colin Cowherd once again took to the airwaves to air his grievance about Wall's play. It was tasteful; he invoked Wall's dead dad and everything.

On Tuesday, John Wall played his first home game as a Washington Wizard. During his introduction, he came out to "Teach Me How To Dougie" and performed the accompanying dance. Colin Cowherd was less than thrilled because Colin Cowherd is an asshole.

Danny Woodhead, the Jets castoff and Rex Ryan-anointed "little fucker," made his Patriots debut yesterday and is already being touted as the economy-sized Wes Welker. Chief among these proponents is Dan Shaughnessy. Of course. Let's look at the best of the worst.

"If I'm Reggie Bush, I give back the trophy," Tony Dungy said yesterday in his capacity as football's freelance moral compass. This is all he does anymore: intone some insufferably pious crap that's just aching to be cross-stitched onto a decorative pillow.

Around The Horn returned from its fortuitously timed hiatus today to finally discuss Mariotti the best way they know: with a timer and a scoring system, and by barking like trained seals.

After Lou Piniella announced he was retiring after last Sunday's game—fittingly, it was a blowout—the Chicago and national media started yammering on about who would replace him, and What It All Means For The Cubs. Please make it stop.

Last week, I posted this video of a bike collision between an easily distracted helmet-cammed bicyclist and a jaywalking pedestrian. It proved to be fairly popular and elicited a strong reaction. Here are some emails I got.

A guy riding his bike with a shoulder-mounted camera hits an old man. Words are exchanged. Disputation seems inevitable. Then both graciously agree on their mutual culpability and move on. Moral: Old people need to watch where the fuck they're going.

Bunning, onetime pitcher and current obstreperous shitbag, waggled his cane yesterday at young Strasburg: "Five-hundred twenty starts, I never refused the ball. What a joke!" Then he clutched his shoulder and cried, "My arm!" That was either sarcasm or thrombosis. [Politico, via]

The wife of Bobcats forward Stephen Jackson was held at gunpoint by home invaders, locked in a bathroom, and robbed in the couple's Charlotte home Wednesday. Trauma aside, she's fine. But don't tell that to Rick Bonnell of the Charlotte Observer.

Bryce Harper is good at baseball and he knows it. He has a reputation as a bit of a whippersnapper, though, and after getting ejected last night for making a gesture at an ump, that rep will continue to grow.

Newsday, a collection of tire ads that old people leave lying around diners in Farmingdale, is cracking down on any use of sarcasm or name-calling or "negative characterization" in its corpse of a sports section. To which I say: Brilliant idea, assholes!

You had to know Vitale would have a chubby for Tebow, the embodiment of heart. It was inevitable. The college basketball sportscaster chimes in today with an unbearable column about why Tebow should be taken high in the draft.

Nantz pronounces himself appalled at Tiger's naughty language. "How about the father and son who are standing right there by the tee? How about the hundreds of people who are around that tee who hear that?" How about you fuck yourself? [Chron.com]