Norman Chad

By the time you read this, it is possible the Golden State Warriors might’ve lost a game. It’s also possible you might look out the window and see pigs flying first-class on a Virgin Atlantic flight.

By the time you read this, it is possible the Philadelphia 76ers might’ve won a game. It’s also possible you might look out the window and see pigs flying first-class on a Virgin Atlantic flight.

If I were running for president – nothing stopping me, actually, other than some outstanding student loans and an unwillingness to wake up before noon most weekdays – I believe my platform of “No More Intentional Fouling in the NBA” would win a lot of swing states.

Today we revisit the devilishly fascinating world of daily fantasy sports – Slogan: “Winners Get Paid Every Day, Twice a Day If You’re a DFS (Daily Fantasy Sports) Employee” – to examine the NFL’s hilariously evolving stance on America’s latest gambling passion.

Favorite baseball memory? Listening to games on a transistor radio.

Turn on your TV right now, and before you can count to 10, you probably will see a daily fantasy sports commercial. Fantasy sports is swallowing America, one daily draft at a time. Your Aunt Bess can do it – it’s fun and, well, you can even play for free!    DraftKings was TV’s single biggest advertiser the opening week of the NFL season. And, according to Bloomberg News, the DraftKings and FanDuel fantasy sites generated $60 million in entry fees for the NFL’s Week 1, twice the amount of money Las Vegas sports books handled.

When I was on vacation this summer – I went to the Galapagos Islands to run with the bulls; alas, I was misinformed, so I ended up swimming with the tortoises – my pager went off alerting me to a news break, which I called up to find the following words, “Nick Saban Speaks Out.”    My Speedo nearly fell off my sleek, tan body by itself.

Facing corruption charges from U.S. prosecutors and endless bashing by worldwide media, embattled FIFA president Sepp Blatter resigned last week, then agreed to sit down for an exclusive one-on-one, bare-all interview with Couch Slouch. We met at a café around the corner from a bank where he’s had an offshore account since 1938. He sipped on Dom Perignon and I drank Yoo-hoo. Here is an edited transcript of our conversation: Couch Slouch: Let’s start on a positive note – was there ever any doubt in your mind about winning a fifth term as FIFA president?

Couch Slouch learned a long time ago – I believe I was 3 years old – that, in America, money talks and poverty walks. My mother and I used to take the bus a lot, which put us squarely in the middle of the class struggle. Anyway, while on a Los Angeles metro bus myself the other day – the 33 line, which goes from the bowels of the city to the beach – I wondered about the seeming incongruities of certain people getting certain jobs:

In a stunning intersection of sport, commerce and eye-popping-greed- that-empties- somebody’s-wallet capitalism, the Floyd Mayweather-Manny Pacquiao boxing blockbuster on Saturday will be available in homes across TV Land for a mere $90 (actually, $89.95) – and if you want it in high definition, it will be $100 (actually, $99.95). Extravagant price aside, I will say this: If you’re planning to pay-per-view this extravaganza and are considering watching it in standard definition to save 10 bucks, you ought to just listen to the fight instead on radio, if you can find it.

New MLB commissioner Rob Manfred wants baseball to move into the 21st century – Couch Slouch disagrees with him right there; the 20th century was a lot better than people remember – and, along those lines, has proposed a number of new-millennium changes. Manfred, it appears, would like a game that is faster, a game that is higher-scoring, a game that resonates with a younger fan base and a game that embraces social media.

If I lived in Boston, I would stake out one of the entrances into town – you know, where they have a “Welcome to Boston” sign – and, like a Revolutionary War sentry standing guard with a sidearm, detain every passing motorist with the words, “Halt! Who goes there?” (Incidentally, you could never do this in Los Angeles, where I currently reside. L.A.’s got too many entrances into town and most of the motorists there would just as soon run you over than slow down, plus many won’t even see you because they’re texting their lunch date that they’re running about 15 minutes late, which is a lie, because they’re really running about a half-hour late.)

For my money, the Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show and the World Series of Poker are America’s top two sporting events, the only difference being, dogs whine less than poker players. Once again, intrepid Siberian husky Chuchi’s Yuki kept an exclusive journal for Couch Slouch on his four-legged week in New York as he competed for best in show: Wednesday: A wire fox terrier won it all again last year? What’s that, 14 times now? Why don’t they just save us all the trip and award it to the damn wire fox terrier by Skype? ... Hope it’s not too late, but I brought a pinstriped water bowl for Derek Jeter’s retirement. … Every other dog used to be Fido; now every other dog is Fifi. … I’ve got a thing for chocolate brown Irish water spaniels. … Even a Shih Tzu would have given the ball to Marshawn Lynch.

If I had known that Pete Carroll and Bill Belichick were going to meet in Super Bowl 49, I would’ve just watched college football all season. Since the AFL-NFL merger in 1970 – yes, youngsters, that’s pre-ESPN but it was a big deal – there have been few coaches Couch Slouch has disdained more than Carroll and Belichick. Next thing you know, the 2016 presidential election will come down to Donald Trump and Wile E. Coyote.

Hidden in plain sight, the most powerful power couple in American sports lives under the same roof, travel considerations notwithstanding. Jeanie Buss is president of the Los Angeles Lakers and fiancé Phil Jackson is president of the New York Knicks. Whether they are in the same bed or in different arenas, this constitutes a massive conflict of interest that the NBA seems untroubled by.

I don’t go anywhere without the NFL – for instance, after a dreadful second night of my honeymoon, it temporarily saved my first marriage in October 1984 with a great slate of games the next day – but the league, as good as it is, can always use a bit of improvement. Couch Slouch humbly proposes the following somewhat revolutionary rule changes: