Bill Conlin: The unwatchable Flyers and the must-watch 'Jay-Hey Kid'

WHEN I'M KING of the World . . .

The Chairman of the Great Indoors, Ed Snider, will avert his gaze from the wretched Sixers and focus on the equally unwatchable Flyers. And unlike the basketball team that absolutely had no chance to make the NBA playoffs, some deep thinkers actually picked the Flyers to win the Stanley Cup. Until last night, they were in danger of sliding off the NHL playoff bubble, where any team that can skate and chew caribou jerky at the same time gets in. Maybe it's time for Snider to stop handing out rewards for deeds accomplished more than a generation ago and start assigning some accountability to the perps responsible for the current uberunderachieving mess. Watching a Flyers game has become an evening-eating equivalent of a train wreck in super-slow-motion. If it wasn't for hi-def, you would opt for the train wreck . . .

When NL Rookie of the Year In Waiting Jason Heyward launched his 446-foot, first major league at-bat bomb Monday, I thought something was wrong with the TV set. Why did his swing appear to be so speeded up? So I hit the replay button on the DVR a couple of times and studied the swing that jump-started the hearts of several million tomahawk choppers. Nothing was wrong with the cable box or the TV. Heyward's amazing bat speed created the illusion. You will soon know why they are calling the 6-5, 240-pound outfielder with the point-guard reflexes and quickness "The Jay-Hey Kid." Had the 20-year-old prodigy, who was playing Class A ball a year ago, gone to UCLA, this would be his junior year. Now you know why Pat Gillick has always favored drafting high-ceiling high school kids.

When I'm King of the World . . .

As part of their noble effort to save the newspaper industry, the Eagles will annually announce their biggest offseason move on the eve of the Phillies' season opener . . . Birds spokeswoman Pamela Browner White - a classy lady, by the way - denies that the announcement of Donovan McNabb's jaw-dropping I-95 trade to the Redskins was timed to help derail the runaway Phillies Express. Just as the weary folks were putting our massive Opening Day Phillies wrap to bed, the Messing Links across Pattison Avenue from The Bank decided to announce a deal that could have been rolled out at any time up to draft day. Anybody with an ounce of PR savvy would have counseled them to wait a day. "Yo, Andy and Joe, announce it Tuesday, a Phillies open date, and you'll have an audience that is even more captive than usual." And, the Birds could have averted the biggest reading crisis around here since your high school English teacher ordered the class to read "Beowulf," then write a term paper on what the hell the epic poem was trying to say. Fess up: Did anybody out there read all of it - the massive Phillies wrap and the piling-on McNabb coverage? On Day 3, I'm about halfway through . . .

Brief March Madness thought: This was the best of the 64-team - OK, 65-team - NCAA Tournaments ever and hoops history's most intensely competed final. Let me ask one more time: Just what the hell are the college presidents depriving us of by refusing to sanction a legit national championship football playoff? . . .

The day after the Phillies headed north, the Clearwater weather finally produced an amazingly beautiful day with temps well into the 70s, gentle breezes and low humidity. In other words, the weather Philly had been having for nearly a week . . . Who knew when the Phillies selected obscure Double A reliever David Herndon in the Rule 5 draft last December that he would emerge as a bridge over troubled bullpen waters? The guy is 6-5 and 230, throws a bowling-ball-heavy sinker and a nasty, late-breaking slurve. He consistently throws strike one. What's not to like?

When I'm King of the World . . .

Anytime an NFL team replaces an 11-season, multiple All-Pro QB with a guy who has hefted a clipboard for 3 years, it will be called "rebuilding" . . . I had a good day yesterday. A kind and generous person from an obscure African nation informed me of his intention to share a fortune of $4.5 million with me. All I had to do to claim my share of this wealth was provide some personal information and make a small, "good faith" deposit in my benefactor's behalf. What a deal. Amazingly, I also received congratulations from no fewer than a half-dozen national lotteries, which had randomly selected my e-mail address. Total winnings: $12.7 million. Of course, I supplied them with my Social Security number and banking information. Wouldn't you? Finally, in a week in which the Eagles traded a veteran cornerback known for bone-rattling tackling, a serviceable veteran linebacker and the greatest quarterback in franchise history, the bloodless zombies running the NFL's Walmart informed me that the Eagles are not rebuilding. Reloading? Nah, teams with Super Bowl rings reload. Restocking? Teams with QBs named Matt Leinart or JaMarcus Russell restock. As one of those P.T. Barnum suckers born every minute, I'll wait for the Internet scam money to start rolling in. But just don't try to sell me that the Eagles are not rebuilding. *

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