By Joel Warner
By Michael Roberts
By Alan Prendergast
By Michael Roberts
By Michael Roberts
By Amber Taufen
By Patricia Calhoun
By William Breathes
They may be fools, but they're our fools.
Occupation: Hot-for-Jesus love machine
Coach Mac wasn't content to have other guys get together in big, sweaty masses and talk about how bad they'd been to their women. He had a deep need to punish himself, too--and he gave himself a good, hard flagellating this year. McCartney claimed in a new book that he used to be a boozehound and first said "I love you" to his wife, Lyndi, during an alcoholic rage triggered when she "took the Lord's name in vain." Then his minister, James Ryle of Boulder, dished some more dirt to the New York Times, telling a reporter that Lyndi went bulimic after Coach Mac told her he'd diagrammed a few plays with another woman. It didn't seem to matter that the affair had taken place a full two decades earlier, long before the McCartneys' own daughter played the field herself and produced two out-of-wedlock grandchildren sired by two different CU football players. Just because the "sexual sin" was 24 years old was no reason not to dredge it up and let it hurt so good. Why, it was almost like getting nailed to the cross--well, like getting nailed, anyway.
Most Notable Achievement: Named one of People magazine's 25 most intriguing people of the year.
Most Notable Disappointment: During illicit fling, needed fifth down to score.
Quote (from Lyndi): "I vomited every day for more than seven months."
THE DENVER NUGGETS
Occupation: To be determined
After the Lugnuts started the season 1-14, vice president of basketball operations Allan Bristow offered fans a ray of hope by suggesting that the team might bid on Golden State Warriors thug Latrell Sprewell once he got off his one-year suspension for choking and threatening to kill his "bitch," otherwise known as head coach P.J. Carlesimo. And that was one of Bristow's better ideas. Up until then, the Lugnuts had merely dumped promising forward Antonio McDyess to Phoenix, assembled a cast of no-names to kill time at McNichols before firing up the cash register at the new Pepsi Center, and named Charlie Hustle--otherwise known as Bill Hanzlik--to keep everyone peppy during the slow march into the valley of death. But, hey--maybe Latrell will win his appeal and sign with the Lugnuts this season. They can always use another choker.
Most Notable Achievement: Scoured nation's backwaters to find Priest Lauderdale, a 7-foot-4-inch man whose preferred method of finding the basket is bumping his head on the rim.
Quote (from McDyess, after returning to town with the Suns): "This is a little worse than I thought."
Occupation: Chip-shot artist
It was a banner year for Our Miss Brooks, poster child for the Webb administration's love of patronage and perks. When B.J., Denver's manager of parks and recreation, wasn't parking her Mercedes with the personalized "B.J." plates in a private downtown lot using her official city parking pass--so she could inspect Coors Field during a Rockies game, she told an inquiring Channel 4 reporter with a straight face--she was using her cabinet-level clout to get herself prime tee times on crowded city courses. In fact, reports said the super-duffer played more than twenty rounds of golf in a four-month period--the equivalent of two solid weeks of "fore!" play. That's the kind of dedication you just have to applaud. Give us a B! Give us a J! Give us a B.J.!
Most Notable Achievement: Managed to pop wheelie with stock-model golf cart on back-nine straightaway at City Park.
Most Notable Disappointment: After 4,783 rounds, still not sure what a "mulligan" is.
Quote: "I'm Tiger Woods."
Occupation: Travelin' man
Denver's high-flying airport boss treated DIA like his own personal landing strip, but after the city's October blizzard brought traffic to a standstill at the world's leading "all-weather airport," Jimmy-Boy came crashing to earth like a ValuJet DC-9. As the big blow progressed, members of the public found themselves buried in snowdrifts along Pena Boulevard while fleets of city plows worked to keep runways open for planes that weren't going anywhere. DeLong later apologized for having boogied out to South Dakota before the storm hit and also for not checking in with his subordinates until long after the blizzard had passed. Apparently, the city's top aviation guru thought the situation was well in hand thanks to his inspired backup plan: having secretaries drive snowplows in the event of an emergency.
Most Notable Achievement: Earned enough frequent-flier credits on South Dakota trip to win free Gameboy.
Most Notable Disappointment: Plan to send automated baggage carts out as rescue vehicles failed when system jammed.
Quote: "I regret that I wasn't here."
Occupation: Interior decorator
Hell hath no fury like a bureaucrat scorned. Just ask Thin Lizzie, the Denver finance manager and chief Pepsi Center negotiator who whipped out a can of green spray paint last spring and laid some major hurt on the wardrobe, shower curtain and bed of her former paramour, a Denver fire-division chief. The 49-year-old Orr--who reportedly suspected the friendly fireman had been hooking his hose up to someone else's hydrant--pled guilty to misdemeanor charges of harassment and criminal mischief; a judge ordered her to pay restitution for all the stylin' clothes she'd spritzed and tacked on fifty hours of community service and two years of probation. As further punishment for the Thelma-and-Louise-style rampage, Orr was ushered out of her City Hall office but kept her $82,000 salary after being named a "special consultant" to the mayor. Hey--love really does mean never having to say you're sorry!