The gold isn’t in question anymore. It never really was, unless Kobe Bryant ate some bad Beijing duck or Dwyane Wade got lost at the Great Wall.

A few minutes before the teams took the court at the Wukesong basketball arena, two workers came out to measure the baskets to make sure they were the right height. As miserable as Kobe Bryant and his teammates had been from beyond the arc in their first two Olympic games, they had to be grateful for the assurance.

The big American heavyweight was talking much like a young Cassius Clay, his mouth moving as fast as his hands. That’s a trait that could make Deontay Wilder a good bit of money some day, assuming his talent can catch up with his words.

Gone was the pre-practice bravado some of the 8-year-olds wore like a mesh jersey. Seconds before, they said they weren’t scared. Sure, the varsity players are a lot bigger than they are but, hey, this wasn’t going to be full-contact (“Is it?” one asked), which meant guys four-times their size weren’t going to be rubbing their faces in the dirt. (“If they did,” said Tommy Pfeifer, 8, “they would crush us.”)

After four hours and 50 minutes, the 79th Major League Baseball All-Star game finally came to an end in the 15th inning as the American League All-Stars pushed across the winning run to earn an exciting, but oh-so time-consuming 6-5 victory. With the win, it gave the American League home field advantage for the in the World Series.

When the International Olympic Committee denied seven Iraqi athletes the opportunity to compete in the 2008 Olympics, the reason given was that politics have no place in the Olympics.

Most baseball executives would sooner admit reading romance novels than the sports pages, especially in the days leading up to the trading deadline. Usually, there’s some justification.

Senior Steven Brown saw something he didn’t like — one of the players running the “box drill” was standing too tall.
“Stay down,” Brown said as another Little Giant scurried through the pylons and crisscrossed his way back to the starting point in line.

It was the long-ago British actress Dame Edith Evans who asked, “When a woman behaves like a man, why doesn’t she behave like a nice man?”
She would’ve gone Lady Macbeth batty if she scanned the sports pages these days.

LAS VEGAS
Chris Paul probably wasn’t the best person to ask about size, since the 6-footer spends most of his time on the court trying to avoid the big guys instead of trying to act like one. Besides, he’s got other things on his mind this week, including impressing Mike Krzyzewski enough to secure the backup spot to Jason Kidd as the point guard in Beijing.

Jim Zorn never has forgotten that, as a rookie with the Dallas Cowboys, he was required by the veteran players to sing during meals.

Betcha King Larry Landes and his court of good ol’ boy jesters didn’t expect this coming.

Here’s a quick test. Who’s leading NASCAR’s Nationwide tour at the midpoint of the season? And remember, that’s the country’s second-most-popular motorsports series now.

The Washington Redskins have a new coach, a new offense and the same old problem:

There was a time not so long ago when none of this would have mattered, at least on this side of the pond.

SOUTHPORT, England
Even greatness comes with an expiration date. A man can’t play golf at 53 the way he did at 23. Or even 43.

Brett Favre went on national television to try and explain something he couldn’t quite explain. He’s got plenty of company, because when it comes to retirement there aren’t many athletes who can figure out when it’s really over.

So, this is what baseball has come to on the eve of the last All-Star Game at Yankee Stadium.
Madonna.
Madonna and A-Rod.

So, this is what baseball has come to on the eve of the last All-Star Game at Yankee Stadium.
Madonna.
Madonna and A-Rod.

Let me acknowledge up front that Rick Hendrick has sold a bazillion cars through his assorted dealerships, whereas I once traded in a two-year-old Fiat with a nasty habit of destroying piston rings.
Furthermore, Hendrick has overseen seven NASCAR championships, while I was a dismal failure at Burnout and Need for Speed when matched against my controller-savvy son.

The rich and famous, it seems, split up differently than the rest of us.
Christie Brinkley loaded up the kids in the family private jet and flew off to Colorado in search of comfort after discovering her husband was having an affair with an 18-year-old and spending some of the family fortune on Internet porn.

The new Brian France?
Well France, the stock-car racing CEO, third generation, is suddenly quite visibly engaged and taking an increasingly aggressive stance on the public-relations front during the past six weeks, in what is clearly a new higher-profile campaign for the family sport; and perhaps for France as well.

What a sweetheart: Clay Bennett left the SuperSonics name, championship banners and 41 years of memories behind, yet couldn’t bring himself to part with even a few crocodile tears on his way out the door.
Too bad — since those would have been the most appropriate souvenir of all.

The view from section 219, row 14 in the Metrodome wasn’t bad, though being in the middle of a long row meant a night spent pasted to the tiny seats. Minnesota nice only goes so far, so there was no chance of getting up and crawling over people to the aisle unless things got real serious.
For 26 bucks each, the upper deck seats weren’t exactly a bargain, but not much is in baseball these days. I was thinking about that as I added up in my head what it cost the beleaguered older couple in the next row with four grandkids in tow to take in a Twins game.

Summertime blues? Well, maybe in some stock-car racing camps, as team owners try to please corporate sponsors increasingly worried about their NASCAR return on investment. With as much as $30 million a team at stake, this is a legitimate concern, particularly with the sport dominated by a Big Four: Hendrick, Roush, Gibbs and Childress.

In his second season on the NASCAR Sprint Cup tour, David Gilliland has become a solid driver, despite all the financial problems facing new team owner Doug Yates.

The NBA draft was held in Madison Square Garden’s day-care center Thursday night, with milk and cookies for all the diaper dandies and with David Stern on hand to give each of the kids a handshake and a copy of “Goodnight Moon.”

Jim Critzer got the best of both worlds.

He resigned with class and, by doing so, thumbed his nose at all the haters that filled those boxes of negativity he still keeps at the old homestead.

This pretty much comes down to one thing:
Whom do you trust?
Tim Donaghy?
Or David Stern?

The problem with good ol’ boys is, well, exactly that. They’re boys. Not men.

Men fight their own fights, they throw their own punches, they kick their own butts when need be. They don’t depend on other men to do their dirty work.

If a few former coaches at Fort Defiance are to be believed, the Reservation outside of Verona is a good ol’ boys club straight out of the movie “Diggstown.”