Over Christmas break, SportsCenter was usually the cure to my 2 a.m. boredom. Only the Pete Rose scandal and the BCS Championship dilemma got a little redundant after about its third night on the air.

The first broadcast analyzing the Rose situation was a bit interesting.

But that's beside the point. The point is that I'm sick of all the quandary in sports that overshadows what sports is really about -- friendly competition, victory, passion and unity -- just to name a few.

I'm tired of hearing about the Kobe Bryant trial, the millions LeBron is making, and, according to Philadelphia radio personality Howard Eskin, the excuses made for Allen Iverson missing practices. In fact, the Phantoms game that couldn't be finished because the minor league hockey matchup was an hour-and-a-half-long brawl was rather entertaining. But the off-the-field drama overshadows the genuineness of sports and the real legends of the game. Or maybe the game just isn't what it used to be and the athletes don't feel a passion for the game as deeply as they used to.

It was one particular broadcast last week, though, that reassured me that times have changed. In the middle of the 76ers game, an emergency newsbreak interrupted the second half and a reporter announced that former-Phillies relief pitcher Tug McGraw died after a battle with cancer. I didn't think much of it. It was just another fan favorite who had passed away, right?

About a half-dozen broadcasts and tributes to McGraw that appeared on numerous channels throughout the night made me realize why his death really hit home for Philadelphia. Not because McGraw struck out Willie Wilson to clinch the 1980 World Series. His arms raised in triumph as he jumped off the mound is a sight Philly fans, who haven't seen a title since 1983, will never forget. It was what McGraw did off the mound that fans will always remember.

I wasn't born when McGraw was at his peak. When he was first diagnosed with cancer, my mom, who probably wouldn't know Jim Thome if she fell over him, reminisced about what a great man the relief pitcher was. To think that my not-so-interested mom admired McGraw really intrigued me.

The day after the 59-year-old died, I was assigned an article on the fans' perspective of McGraw. The sports reporter and I ventured out to a sports bar in South Philly in search of baseball fans. Of the seven guys we approached, each one had a memory of McGraw.

One wore his 1980 Phillies T-shirt in memory of McGraw, whom he had met at a driving range and talked to as if he was a "friend forever." Another customer told me that he went to Phillies Dream Week, and, even though McGraw wasn't there, stories and jokes were always told about him.

The secretary who greeted the pitcher before each practice and game admired his optimism, despite the challenges. She watched McGraw through the glass doors of her office as he made small talk with everyone who beeped at him, and hugged and kissed every lady that acknowledged him. He learned to be a barber, in case baseball didn't work out and, even though it did, he cut homeless people's hair in New York City. Most importantly, the secretary of 22 years remembered that McGraw retired on Valentine's Day -- to celebrate his love of baseball.

Do athletes play for the love of the game anymore, or solely for the love of the green? Maybe I'm a pessimist, but in classic sports, detecting corked bats wasn't a major concern. There was no need for a salary cap. And it wasn't so necessary to check the police logs before SportsCenter aired.

But times have changed and so have sports -- I guess.