Good morning, City Desk readers, and welcome to another Freedom Friday! How about this "heat wave," enh? ENH?

Michael Phelps, Olympiad and hero to long-necked people everywhere, crashed his Escalade in Baltimore last night. To give you an impression of how bad the accident was, here's WaPo's headline: "Phelps Uninjured in Two-Vehicle Crash." There wasn't enough room in the headline to mention that the person in the other car was left uninjured as well--only "shaken up."

It's an important story because Michael Phelps is A FAMOUS SWIMMER AND IMPORTANT YOUNG MAN, and when he was fresh out of high school, he was arrested for driving under the influence. Five years is nothing in journalism years--so maybe the the solid graf that addresses Phelp's sobriety was worth including. Then again, there's this [emphasis mine]:

Police found no reason to perform any tests on him, [Officer] Guglielmi said. Officers also examined both vehicles and found no evidence of drugs or alcohol, he said.

Throwing in that bit about the drugs--something WaPo didn't bother to do in a single one of these traffic accident stories from Tuesday--now that was pure genius! After all, there was that DUI, and the picture of Phelps taking a monster hit with those Aquaman lungs.

But as good as WaPo is about keeping us abreast (swimming joke!) of Phelp's fuck-ups, the paper was strangely silent about Subway, which dropped the heavily wreathed Phelps like an ugly newborn seven months ago in the wake of the bong pictures, only to bring him back on board in recent weeks for a series of print and TV commercials, in which Phelps gushes about his love for jalapenos and banana peppers alongside a nervous and sad-looking Jared.

C'mon, Phelps gettin' his endorsement back wasn't worth even a blog post?

Do you cry easily, sweet reader? The September issue of Esquire features a heart-breaking story by John H. Richardson about Warren Hern, the only remaining late-term abortion provider in the country. For the last several decades, Hern has been the target of brick-throwing, gun-firing, vitriol-spewing, COLLEAGUE-MURDERING "Pro-lifers." Told with an elegant yet enthralling second-person voice, Richardson's story is almost enough to make a non-believer embrace Original Sin, if only as an explanation to what tempted Bill O'Reilly's mother to raise the spawn of Satan as her own. In fact, it's almost enough to inspire a guy--who, as Dogbert once said, doesn't like to get "gooky stuff" on his "paws"--to put his money where his mouth is. Too bad  I'm too damn dumb for abortion school!

Obesity is apparently off limits, but I'm pretty sure it's still OK to call smokers "addicts." Thankfully, there's a less unhealthy alternative on shelves as we sprechen! From Jacob Sullum at Reason:

A new review of 89 studies confirms that the cancer risk associated with smokeless tobacco is tiny when compared to the cancer risk associated with cigarettes....

[The authors] estimate that if all male cigarette smokers in the U.S. had used smokeless tobacco instead, the number of tobacco-related cancer deaths among them would have been 1 percent what it actually was in 2005 (about 1,100 vs. 105,000).

Holy metastasizing lung tumors, Batman, why hasn't some do-gooding (good-doing?) public health advocate endorsed Snus? Sullum can tell you:

This comparison highlights the absurdity of the main "public health" objection to promoting smokeless tobacco as a harm-reducing alternative to cigarettes. Opponents of this strategy claim to be worried that it could lead to more tobacco-related mortality in the long run if it attracts nonsmokers to smokeless tobacco. But Lee and Hamling's numbers indicate that if a significant percentage of smokers switched to oral snuff, the tobacco-related death toll would be smaller than it is now even if every nonsmoker in America started using oral snuff too. By the professed standards of public health, which seeks to minimize morbidity and mortality, this is a no-brainer. As with the opposition to electronic cigarettes, something else is going on here: a moralistic crusade to conquer sin disguised as a scientific quest to conquer disease.

If you've never read Jacob Sullum on cigarettes (and weed), you should. Especially if you're the kind of person who knows what's best for everybody but your coke-snorting daughter. (Catch that? I just said "F you!" to Vice President Joe Biden, Destroyer of Families!)

Happy Friday, y'all. Don't get scammed!

"One out of 5 Americans admitted to peeing in the pool," said the voice.

Wham!

Then somebody from Georgetown University in a doctor's smock showed up on my screen to say, "Michael Phelps admitted peeing in the pool."

Bam!

Et tu, Mikey? Or, I guess, Et unus?

I love myUpshur Pool, and jump in all the time, even though my brain tells me folks are peeing away like it's the Preakness infield. That's why I don't think about it. Ignorance is piss, so to speak.

And even after the Fox report, I'll keep jumping in. But from now on I'm steering clear of crowds of five people or more.

And if I see Michael Phelps in the deep end, well, might as well cue the Jaws theme. I'm outta there.

That's how Caps' play-by-play man Steve Kolbe ended his awesome call of David Steckel's game winner last night from Pittsburgh.

Nothing like OT playoff hockey on the radio.

The game started lousy for the eventual winners. At the end of the 1st period, with the Caps down 1-0 and trailing the Penguins in shots on goal 18-5, the Kolbe and, particularly, his booth partner Ken Sabourin, sounded resigned to a bad ending.

"The Penguins got help from the official on that one. Check's in the mail!" said Sabourin after Kris Letang's goal gave Pittsburgh a 3-2 lead early in the third period. His point was that a referee had deflected the puck right to Letang, and was clearly on the take.

"Check's in the mail!" is what you want from the home crew!

The Caps scored twice over the next 88 seconds.

Steckel's shot snapped the franchise's long losing streak in playoff overtime games and kept 'em alive to tighten up the 1-7 record in playoff series with Pittsburgh.

But, that's the past. Once again: Doesn't this year just feel different?

We'll find out tomorrow. I'll be listening.

***
The Caps' post-game show, aired on WJFK during the playoffs, isn't for everybody: An earnest and nervous caller said he wanted to "give props" to the Capitals only to have the rest of his garbled goodwill message cut off mid-thought.

The hosts, led by Jonathan Warner, announced that only callers 18 years old and older are allowed on the air and quickly hit the next line.

Within seconds an older and unsober sounding dude was yelling "Me and my wife, man, our heads literally went through the roof!" He got to say his whole piece.

Yes, the airwaves are an adult domain.

***

Ryan Zimmerman's at 29. Half-Dimaggio plus one!

***

Is there turmoil in Georgetown sports?

Yesterday Hoyas Athletic Director Bernard Muir announced he'd be leaving the Hoyas to take a job at the University of Delaware.

On paper, doesn't seem like a parallel move. Muir's new title will be Director of Athletics and Recreation Services.

"Recreation Services"?

Sounds like Muir's job description just went from overseeing one of the NCAA's highest profile basketball programs to making sure the Ultimate Frisbee field in Greek Circle gets watered.

Muir's leaving comes just as Hoyas e-fanzines are buzzing about the departure of Robert Burke, a Georgetown assistant basketball coach and head coach John Thompson III's longtime court partner.

Burke played alongside JT III at Gonzaga, coached with him at Princeton and came to Georgetown at the same time in 2004.

The school has not announced that Burke is leaving. And until an official reason is given, the message boarders will provide their own rationales.

Posters at mdhigh.com, a high-volume rivals.com site, have attributed Burke's departure to game strategy and recruiting problems, and some sort of squabbles between the program and Curtis Malone, the idolmaker behind DC Assault, one of the strongest AAU programs in the country.

There are also alleged sub-plots involving David Falk, the super-agent who has historically represented a lot of Georgetown talent.

Maybe, in the end, we'll find out it's just because Georgetown beat most of the top teams in the country early on, then lost 12 of its last 16 games.

***
Just as the Have Nots were on the verge of Having, Mother Nature threw a curveball.

Bishop Ireton of Alexandria has won just four boys athletics titles in the Catholic schools conference, now called the WCAC, in the last 40 years: three in soccer and one in lacrosse.

None have come since 1994.

But last night, in WCAC's baseball championship game, Ireton was up a run over Paul VI in the sixth inning. With the biggest sporting accomplishment in the school's history within sight, the clouds opened up, and umpires suspended the game.

DCSPORTSFAN.COM says the replay is tomorrow night. Because of the 48-hour rain delay, Paul VI will be able to put its ace pitcher, who was resting last night, back on the mound.

God has both dogs in this fight. But if Taylor Swift has any say, Ireton's a cinch.

***
Michael Phelps is back!

In the tabloids, that is. A Baltimore stripper named Theresa White has sold her tale of three-way romance with the Olympic swimmer to News of the World.

If you believe the news, he's spent all his time since Beijing banging or bonging.

But his stamina remains world class, says Stripper Theresa.

***

Roger Clemens' nickname was Rocket, not Rocket Scientist.

Clemens showed up this morning on "Mike and Mike" on WTEM, where the pitcher plead his innocence by saying "my stepdad" had heart disease, so therefore it would be "suicidal" to "take any of these dangerous drugs."

Your step-dad can give you swine flu, Rocket. But not heart disease.

***

Wonder how Roger would do on the Wonderlic? Take it yourself.

***

Story tips? Wanna Play the Feud? Tube amps for sale? Send to: cheapseats@washingtoncitypaper.com

Pot is legal for sick folks according to state law in California. But DEA agents have been on a binge of raids there lately involving firms that provide medical marijuana to the needy.

George W. Bush, according to the story, always told his troops to ignore California codes.

Why would Bush, being of the party that boasts of its love of states rights, be so gung ho against pot?

It might have something to do with all the drug use he was alleged to have done during his lost years, but never confessed to.

Or the answer of his anti-pot bent might be found on another leftover from his administration: the web site of the White House Office of Drug Policy.

On the section for "Street Terms," in the B's, you'll find "Bush" listed as a cool-kids' synonym for pot.

That's gotta hurt.

'Course, you'll also find "Righteous Bush," "Bobo Bush," "Kate Bush," and "Potten Bush" on the same official White House list of marijuana euphemisms.

"Kate Bush"? For real?

Is there a chance in hell Michael Phelps or any other American stoner ever really smoked "Kate Bush"?

Wilbon's piece attempts to slam the bong-sucking swimmer.

Wilbon's been the hardest-working superstar in sports newspapering for a while now. But if his latest column were a Goofus and Gallant panel, Wilbon would own the Goofus role the way Olivier did Hamlet.

Wilbon compares pot smokers to dog killers and stop-sign running drunks.

Even with the occasional caveats Wilbon throws into his paragraphs, his argument is beyond laughable. Given Wilbon's profile and credibility, his argument's downright dangerous, since it's based on the same insincerity and/or stupidity that allows SWAT teams to go unpunished for terrorizing innocent families.

As she should: Pot smoking is funny. Pot smoking a punch line in every movie or sitcom dealing with adolescence. On That '70s Show, pot smoking is practically a character.

All Jenkins' one-liners about pot smoking make the Post Magazine story about a SWAT team shooting up a house and killing dogs and terrorizing families over pot even tougher to absorb.

Michael Phelps' arrest will be good for America. That photo of him working a bong should hang in every judge's chambers in the country.

Smoking pot is better used as a punch line than as a reason to put somebody in jail.

It was really unnerving. Our managing editor at the time finally asked him to knock it off, and that was the end of the Wet Chin.

But check out this week's Sports Illustrated, with a picture of superstar swimming star Michael Phelps, sporting...the Wet Chin.

It's almost impossible to look at the cover of this magazine, even if you don't share the memory of Jeff's wide-eyed terror campaigns against his officemates. Here's that chin up close.

I was never sure whether Jeff was ahead of his time or not, but I think this settles it. And I think I should probably mention that Jeff is a very good writer, and his first novel, The Unknown Knowns, is coming out next March. There's an excerpt from it on the Hunter College M.F.A. site. The passage is about water.

If Barry Svrlugla's reward for covering the Nats last season was to be the lead reporter on all things Michael Phelps, Chico Harlan deserves a front-row seat at the Second Coming. Since taking over from Svrluga earlier this season, Harlan has ably covered a team that is now re-threatening 121 losses.* Moreover, Harlan has reveled in the kind of gallows humor that comes only with covering a cellar-dwelling, quadruple-A-ish squad. Witness his brutal assessment of reliever Luis Ayala, back when the team's 10-game losing streak was merely a three-game skid: "A reliable setup man in Montreal's and Washington's bullpen since 2003, Ayala this year has become a 6-foot-1 white flag. He appears, the game ends." And Tampa Bay Rays reporters don't get clubhouse-interview gems like this:

Asked after his most recent start -- his fourth consecutive game with at least four earned runs -- to describe his last month, [Tim] Redding settled on a precise assessment:

"Horse[expletive]," he said.

Redding might want to take some interview tips from Teddy, a member of the Nats organization who also loses a lot. In an interview with KidsPost today, he found a way to be more positive than Manny Acta:

Are you ever going to win a race?

[Gives a thumbs up.]

* Update 5:03 p.m.: Using a little something called "basic arithmetic," I realized that the Nats are mathematically eliminated from losing 121 games this season. It's totally on the table for '09, though.

Photo by Flickr user Scott Ableman

At this point, all signs appear to point to some combination of hoax, scam, or publicity stunt. And a transparent one at that, according to Wired: "Casting further doubt on the pair's announcement is analysis by several bloggers showing that their photograph bears an uncanny resemblance to a commercially available Bigfoot costume."

Isn't that always the way? Well, at least there's a consolation prize, in the form of the Most Topical Bigfoot Description Ever:

"According to the team, the Bigfoot creature is 7-feet 7-inches tall, weighs over 500 pounds and has feet that are over 16 inches long, or about size 24. By comparison, Olympic swimmer Michael Phelps is 6 feet 4 inches tall, weighs 165 pounds and has size 14 feet. Phelps is also nearly hairless, while Bigfoot appears to be covered in fur."

For more on the Georgia Bigfoot press conference, see the Wired article. For more on Dranginis's closer-to-home Bigfoot quest, see City Paper's story "Hot For Creature." For more on Michael Phelps, wait about ten minutes and someone near you will start talking about him.

Dino

Tell me about the menu: Everything's on it, Phelps Phans, not just three paltry dishes for each course. The only up-charge is for some ridiculously large steak. If you want some ridiculously large steak, why are you at a "rustic Italian" joint in Cleveland Park? Why are you not home watching Michael Phelps listen to his iPod?

Rather stay home and watch Michael Phelps listen to his iPod while Rowdy Gaines endlessly oogles him? Restaurant Week at Dino is Restaurant Month, through the end of August. Phew! Phelps!

How about the booze? Wine list is large. It's on a clipboard. There's another edited, annotated version for non-sommeliers. It includes clues like "explosive" and "bracing." So does Rowdy Gaines when he's oogling Michael Phelps. Go with wine, which comes in a 5 oz. or 8 oz. pour. I started with a G&T while waiting for a friend and it was just shy of $11. It was "bracing" and all, but not worth $11 and not worth missing Michael Phelps swim a 200 IM heat, winning while still conserving energy.

What if I like cheese as much as I like Michael Phelps? You're totally in luck. Instead of the graham-nut apple crumble topped with black peppercorn gelato, you can get a selection of cheeses for your third course. But why would you want to? Only Frenchies do that and did you see the way Michael Phelps' relay team SMASHED the Frenchies in the 4 by 100? Because Rowdy Gaines did and he thought it was AWESOME. U-S-A!!! U-S-A!!!

Can I have some more booze please? Yes, yes you can and---get this---it's free! Dino, in an unprecedented RW move, offers a complimentary pour of dessert wine, grappa, or (for the non-boozer) limoncello. Michael Phelps would order the limoncello, Rowdy Gaines? Total grappa guy. You decide.

So how's the food? O-M-G!!! O-M-G!! It was like Michael Phelps did a flipturn in my mouth! Get the caprese salad. The heirloom tomatoes are gold-medal contenders right now. By next week, they may be only bronze, but next week Michael Phelps will be the greatest human being of all time and you can again leave the house.