Since no one seems to be buying them for everyday use, Segway is repurposing its namesake hi-tech scooter for niche uses. First up: The X2 Golf model, a sort of golfcart replacement.

Like its siblings, it’s a personal mobility machine, but it sits on big, soft turf tires and offers a golf-bag carrier on one side and a handlebar-mounted scorecard holder.

They forgot to include a cupholder, for the inevitable beercan-cradling…

As if golf could get any dorkier. No telling if this helps or hinders the efforts to reinvigorate participation in the sport.

The lure of the fairway seems to be losing its appeal, as fewer and fewer people are playing golf these days:

The total number of people who play has declined or remained flat each year since 2000, dropping to about 26 million from 30 million, according to the National Golf Foundation and the Sporting Goods Manufacturers Association.

More troubling to golf boosters, the number of people who play 25 times a year or more fell to 4.6 million in 2005 from 6.9 million in 2000, a loss of about a third.

The industry now counts its core players as those who golf eight or more times a year. That number, too, has fallen, but more slowly: to 15 million in 2006 from 17.7 million in 2000, according to the National Golf Foundation.

The suspected problem is the time commitment: Four hours to get in 18 holes, which is a lot to squeeze out of a weekend these days. I admit, a big reason why I never showed much interest in the game was because I could think of better ways to waste my leisure time; a couple of golf-obsessed friends back in the day certainly seemed to practically live on the course on Saturdays and Sundays.

I have an innovative solution to draw the crowds: Screenings of Caddyshack at the 18th hole! That’s major motivation for plowing through a full course, I’d say.

It’s a veritable ‘roid rage on Capitol Hill, as the crusade against performance-enhancement drugs in the sports world trots toward the horseracing circuit.

And just to underline that they’re not going to pee-test the jockeys, this excellent headline tells it all:

They Juice Horses, Don’t They?

In keeping with the cinematic reference, I would have also accepted, “They Shoot Up Horses, Don’t They?”. The classics never die.

I can’t say I ever knew that skateboarding used to be perceived as a pasttime only for white boys.

It ain’t anymore, as concrete surfing now draws black city kids as well, due in no small part by buy-in from hip-hop artists like Pharrell Williams and other urban arbiters of cool.

In black neighborhoods, skateboarding was regarded as something foreign that crept in from the suburbs. “Black people would look at me like I was the brother who fell from another planet,” said Steven Snyder, 45, a former professional skateboarder and a manager at Uprise Skateboard Shop in Chicago. He compares the social stigma of skating within the black community to that of “making out with a white woman in the 1950s down South.”

Over the last two decades, the sport shifted away from ramp-based vert skating to street skating, a variation that made use of urban structures like stairways, curbs and railings. As the importance of access to ramps dwindled, skateboarding’s fan base grew increasingly diverse.

From the mid-1980s onward, black street skaters such as Ray Barbee, Kareem Campbell and Harold Hunter (who died last year) became prominent. In 2004, Reebok started sponsoring Stevie Williams, a gold-toothed, bling-flashing skater from Philadelphia. Mr. Williams, now 27, has his own line of Reebok gear, DGK by RBK (DGK is an acronym for Dirty Ghetto Kids), and is regarded as a successor to Allen Iverson and Jay-Z as a pitchman with street appeal.

I take special note of this development because, as a hockey fan, I’m sensitive to the perception of my favorite sport similarly white-only territory. That’s gotten some reinforcement of late with Barry Melrose’s recent flap over his comments about the Newark neighborhood around the Devils’ new Prudential Center arena. If skateboarding can pull off this transformation, can ice-skating brigade do it as well?

I always thought the National Hockey League failed miserably to expand its horizons in this way back in the mid-1990s, when oversized hockey jerseys started becoming the fashion garb of choice among rap stars. This was practically an engraved invitation to sell the game to a new audience.

Maybe hockey can start with the roller (versus ice) skates as well. Inline skates are about as popular as the boards, and it’s a simple segue into street hockey games from there. That’s enough of a hook to introduce the same urban crowds to the on-ice product.

I’m not a fan of NASCAR. I’m not particularly a fan of snails, either.

But I am a fan of putting those two together and time-lapsing it all:

Just think how much slime they’d leave behind if they didn’t have restrictor plates!

As for the title of this post: Assuming you’re not pronouncing it “nas-car-got”, you might be picking up on an old, punny little joke:

A snail walks into a car dealership. He says, “Give me a brand-new car, and paint a great big “s” on every door, on the hood, on the trunk, and on the roof.” The dealer says, “Why would you want that?” The snail says, “Because when I drive down the street, I want everyone who sees me to point and say, ‘Look at that s-car go’!”

Vive le NASCARGOT! And pass the deep-fried escargot, s’il vous plait.

NASCAR competition consists of auto-racing teams, but they’re not “teams” in the same sense as those found in other major sports leagues. In fact, in stark contrast to the franchise structure that exists in big-time hockey, football, baseball, and basketball, NASCAR’s competing entities exist only on the sufferance of the sponsorship money they can pull in — if that dries up, the team goes belly-up.

There’s a reason for this state of affairs:

The recent passing of former chairman Bill France Jr., the staunchest opponent of franchising within the sport, have led to whispers that implementation of the ownership system may be on its way in NASCAR. Don’t bet on it. What will keep franchising from becoming a reality isn’t a desire for open competition. What will keep it from happening is the fact that franchising would alter the power structure within the sport, providing owners with much more leverage than they have now, and diluting the influence of the brass in Daytona Beach.

Look at sports leagues that have franchising, and you’ll also find ownership boards and policy groups. You’ll find offseason owners’ meetings where rules changes are discussed and approved. You’ll find that owners who pay millions of dollars for the right to compete also want a degree of authority on how their sport is run, authority that NASCAR is unlikely to give them.

It’s hard to argue with success. NASCAR’s grown into a multi-billion dollar enterprise under its entrenched single-source ownership, so there’s no compelling fiscal reason to change.

It’s one thing to organize a Nintendo Wii tennis tournament.

It’s quite another to stage Wiimbledon, where motion-sensitive backstrokes are accompanied by guys dressed like Luigi.

Only at Barcade in Brooklyn, which — despite this — I’m going to have to hit at some point.

Urban mushing is what you do when you own a Siberian husky and there’s no snow around. It also helps if you live in Southern California.

I have an affection for huskies; they’re probably my favorite type of dog. When I lived in Florida, I always felt like they were displaced there, and probably miserable most of the time, since they’re bred for cold-weather climates. I’m not sure putting them to work in 90 degree weather is the best idea.

I’m not much for swimming.

That doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate Akiko Busch’s multi-layered chronicle of swimming the Hudson River. Especially because it makes multiple references to that part of the Hudson Valley in which I grew up.

I particularly like the portions that describe the peculiar natural nature of the Hudson:

Native Americans once called the river Muhheakantuck, which can be translated as “river that flows both ways,” and indeed, the Hudson River is paradox made manifest in the natural world. Because the bottom of the river, from its mouth to the Troy Dam some 150 miles north, is below sea level, the tidal force of the ocean causes the river to rise and fall; the river, in fact, is one continuous wave, which explains why the tide rises and falls at such different times at different points along the river. Even the word “river” may be too limited; while fresh water from rain and snowfall identifies it as a river, the Hudson is also an estuary. It is a curious sight on a winter’s day to watch the ice floes on the river surge to the north, back toward the river’s source rather than south toward the Atlantic Ocean; there is something mesmerizing about watching an event in the natural world unfold with such a contrary rhythm. Stranger still is watching the ice floes in the center of the river flow one way while those on the edges flow in the opposite direction. Such spectacles seem to challenge every notion we have about the natural order of things, powerful evidence that our ideas of innate order are not always to be trusted.

To me, this narrative evoked the movie The Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner. The swimmer is much in the same situation as the runner: On his/her own, ultimately reliant on solitary muscle and will to see the exercise through to the end. Plenty of time for self-reflection and soul-searching. Which follows that, if any Hollywood producer is looking to option an avant-garde film about the challenges of competitive swimming, they could do a lot worse than Busch’s piece.

And you thought turf toe was a bogus sports-related injury. International competitive-eating superstar Takeru “Tsunami” Kobayashi will not be able to down another 50-plus hot dogs this year, due to jaw arthritis:

In an entry on his blog entitled “Occupational hazard,” Kobayashi said: “My jaw refused to fight any more.”

The injury occurred only a week after the slender 29-year-old started training to win his seventh straight title at the annual July 4 Nathan’s Famous hot dog eating event on New York’s Coney Island.

“I feel ashamed that I couldn’t notice the alarm bells set off by my own body,” he said. “But with the goal to win another title with a new record, I couldn’t stop my training so close to the competition.

“I was continuing my training and bearing with the pain but finally I destroyed my jaw.”

Let that be a lesson to you kids: Easy on the weiners. Especially you kids.

My Football Club is where you can chip in, along with several thousand other fans, to scrounge up enough money to buy your very own professional team!

Hang on, though: This isn’t football as in National Football League. This is football as in futbol, as in soccer. English league soccer, to be specific.

What a buzzkill.

Not only that, but we’re not even talking Premier League glam-clubs like Manchester United, et al:

With an average of 500 signing up daily on his website, [organizer Will Brooks] reckons he’ll have more than £1 million ($1.98 million) to go shopping with within the month. “We can’t be certain what club we will be able to buy,” Brooks enthuses, though he knows the top teams will be beyond his budget. “It would be a mistake to bite off more than we can chew, and, in any case, a lot of people are saying ‘please buy a club of the size that will make the journey more exciting.’ ”

Given their potential purse, Brooks and his 50,000 partners are likely to get a smaller club, a third- or fourth-tier organization. But they would run it. They’ll vote online on the purchase, help pick the manager, and vote on which players to buy or sell. As Brooks says, it’s just like popular fantasy soccer or baseball games – but it’s not make-believe.

So the plan is to buy a low-minor league club, get a charge out of owning and running it, and hope it generates plenty of notoriety and support. A big bonus comes if the team can ride this way into eventually winning its way up to Premier level.

It’s a novel concept. In American terms, it’s sort of like applying the Green Bay Packers community-ownership model to English soccer, without the benefit of the grandfathering conditions that allow the Packers to exist.

Call it pessimism, but based on my previous encounter with a “wisdom of crowds” approach to business ventures, I see this effort fizzling out quick. For instance, the democratic approach in allowing participants to vote on which club to target for purchase will result in just one thing: Most of the voters on the losing side subsequently dropping out of the project, since “their” team would no longer factor in. Fans are funny like that.

That’s assuming $2 million will even be raised, or that even a low-tiered club will even be attainable. All in all, a better concept than a viable gameplan.

By posting the above image of high-school (and college-bound) pole vaulter Allison Stokke, I supposed I’m contributing to the out-of-control Websploitation that she and her family are encountering:

The wave of attention has steamrolled Stokke and her family in Newport Beach, Calif. She is recognized — and stared at — in coffee shops. She locks her doors and tries not to leave the house alone. Her father, Allan Stokke, comes home from his job as a lawyer and searches the Internet. He reads message boards and tries to pick out potential stalkers.

“We’re keeping a watchful eye,” Allan Stokke said. “We have to be smart and deal with it the best we can. It’s not something that you can just make go away.”

But this accompanying photo is hardly titillating, and anyway there are loads more accessible image sources for the sudden 18-year-old phenom, starting with the original disseminator.

Not that anyone’s asking me, but rather than try to stamp out this wildfire of Web celebrity, maybe Stokke and her family should, in turn, exploit it. It occurs to me that pole vaulting is among the niche-iest of sports; that Stokke should come across even limited fame within that context is a unique situation.

So why not make the most of it? Why not buy/procure the now-defunct AllisonStokke.com site, make it the official online home of the only recognizable pole vaulter (male or female) out there, and make some money off the situation while it lasts?

The best parallel I can think of, at least in terms of fringe sports celebrity, is Gabrielle Reece. She stood out on the volleyball circuit with both her play and her looks, and has parlayed that into a physical-fitness mini-empire. No reason why Stokke can’t achieve the same thing, even for a pre-defined limited stint.

So, those brand-new Rollerblade Twister II Pros that I picked up a couple of weeks back?

I managed to lose a wheel off the right skate. I didn’t notice the loss until well after the wheel and its axle were long gone, somewhere along (I think) a moderately bumpy stretch of sidewalk. Thinking back on it, I do remember a weird bump-bounce that made me do half a double-take, but at the time I neglected to diligently stop and check.

I’m not particularly thrilled about this. I’ve barely put these blades through a workout. This was only my second or third outing on them, and I haven’t even remotely put them through a stress workout. At best, I’ve given them fairly standard urban-trekking break-in period. And already a breakdown?

Partly, I’m to blame, because I didn’t double-check how tight the axles were out of the box. I’ve done so now, including on the replacement set I’ve since bought.

I’m just crossing my fingers that a loose axle is all this was, and that this won’t to be a persistent issue. If so, I’m going to have a very dim view of any Rollerblade products when making future skate-related purchases.

American hockey fans are fuming over NBC’s decision to end its broadcast of Saturday’s Sabres-Senators game with overtime to go, opting to start its scheduled Preakness horseracing coverage instead. The NHL playoff game turned out to be the clinching game for Eastern Conference champ Ottawa.

Naturally, comparisons with the 1968 Heidi game of NFL (actually AFL) lore are made. Although those comparisons are probably coming from opposing momentums: The Heidi game — more accurately, the forceful reaction it got — represented pro football’s eventual ascendancy to coveted television draw; the (let’s call it) Horsie game, on the other hand, seems to underline the decline for the National Hockey League as a major television sport, with the nadir perhaps yet to come.

I’ll add to the cacophony of online noise over this with a couple of thoughts:

- Since I don’t live in Buffalo or Rochester (Sabres affiliate territory), I was one of those peeved hockey viewers. I think NBC flubbed big on two counts: By mentioning the coverage switch to Versus only once, audio only, in the hurried way it cut off coverage from the game; and again when, through the early part of the Preakness coverage, not running an onscreen scroll or other indicator directing viewers to Versus for the remainder of the NHL game. I myself missed the one-and-only announcement of the channel change, and it was only by luck that I instinctively turned to Versus to discover the hand-off. No question, a shoddy way of handling the situation.

- As far as the properness of NBC cutting off coverage in the first place: The financial commitments are pretty well-known regarding the network’s NHL contract. What’s not as apparent is the Preakness package. Simply put, the race coverage is a couple of hours of infomercial-like segments, featuring a slew of on-camera interviews with sponsor representatives, topped off by the new minutes of the horses running. That’s committed advertiser money, in what’s basically product-placement buys. It may not have been fair of NBC to yield to that financial pressure, but with its overall ratings picture so dismal, it would have been a tough pill to swallow to have to give back chunks of that money in favor of continuing coverage of a low-revenue hockey game.

- It should be noted that this game was originally scheduled as a night game (7 or 8PM). It was moved to the 2PM start specifically at NBC’s request. That makes the pullout more galling. It also makes me wonder why it couldn’t have been scheduled earlier in the afternoon, at noon or 1PM, which would have avoided the whole conflict.

- The popular conspiracy theory suggests that this was a blunt way for the TV guys to tell the league that it needs to ditch OT for the playoffs, and adopt the time-compacted shootout. That doesn’t really make sense in this case, since even a regular-season style short OT and shootout combo still would have encroached upon the Preakness timeslot. I wouldn’t count on seeing a change in playoff overtime format — yet.

I’ve been jonesin’ for a pair of inline skates for a while now. I chucked my ancient (vintage 1991) Rollerblades a couple of years ago; and even though those were in okay condition, I hadn’t used them for probably a couple of years before that.

I’m back on the horse now, though. I made an impulse visit to the BLADES Board and Skate shop on Broadway, and walked out with the Rollerblade Twister II Pro blades.

I would have preferred pure hockey blades, but the selection at the store was limited. The Twisters are something of a cross between the recreational and aggressive/stunt models, although the only thing about them that suggests rail-shredding is the outer-boot plastic shell that has fewer aeration holes than the prevailing styles. Plus, the normal-sized wheels in no way resemble the tiny little pea-rollers that define aggressive boots. These skates are very reminiscent of my old pair, so I’ve got a high level of comfort there. And I admit, the minute I tried them on, the fit was so perfect that there was no way I wouldn’t buy them.

The biggest sticking point was the heel brake. I don’t like it. And yet… I’m loathe to admit it, but at this point, with all the downtime, I actually need it. Otherwise, I see myself taking a few too many painful tumbles.

So I took advantage of the beautiful day to strap on the blades and do a little urban gliding. My biggest challenge was finding enough concrete surface in which to stretch my legs/break in the skates — without colliding with anyone. I lucked out and found a spot to do about 45 minutes of rolling.

It was fun. Only spilled twice, resulting in a few burst blood vessels in the palms and a slight knee-scraping. Which was actually two spills too many. But I had to keep reminding myself: Baby steps. I was more amazed at how I could have forgotten so many basic cut-and-swerve moves, proper balance shifting, and other subtle body adjustments after only a few years. But by the end of the break-in, I was making the proper moves, and felt confident enough to take some time next weekend to head up to Central Park for an extended session of blading. (I am going to need that damned heel brake; but it’s removable, so eventually it’ll end up in the closet.)

Longer-term step: New hockey stick, and finding a for-fun league to get some games in.

I’m wondering just which bull-based sport is more idiotic:

Bullfighting, which consists of taunting and dancing around an enraged bull for the longest period of time possible?

Or bullriding, which involves actually mounting a just-as-enraged bull and hanging on for dear life for several seconds?

On the one hand, bullfighting relies upon the matador avoiding direct contact with the bull — but only works if the event is prolonged for the longest possible time, thus risking harm. On the other hand, bullriding is all about direct contact with the bull — but by design, the bucking ride is of short duration, and the rider skedaddles out of the pen as soon as he’s disengaged.

I guess degrees of difference don’t matter — they’re both pretty stupid. If people really want to make a sport out of bovine-bothering, just drop the pretense of ceremony and go cow-tipping instead.

Straight outta Toronto, and now invading New York City via Brooklyn, the Pillow Fight League brings two thoughts to my mind:

1. The kitschy fighter names/personalities (my favorite is Betty Clock’er, with Ruth Lesley — say it realfast — a close second) makes it obvious that this is a postmodern version of the original bad-girl sporting spectacle, roller derby.

2. You can expect to see PFL matches on Spike TV any day now. That’s if ESPN doesn’t beat them to it (and I wish I were kidding about that second part).

Have no doubt, the five-year, $250-million deal that brings David Beckham to the Los Angeles Galaxy will indeed have a major impact on soccer in the United States.

And here’s what it’ll be: A whole generation of soccer tykes, when witnessing their teammates screw up on the field, will let fly the backhanded jeer, “Way to go, Beckham!”. Thus putting the original “Way to go, Pele!” — forged during soccer’s last heady American heyday in the 1970s — out to overdue pasture.

Beyond that? Sorry, no.

Simply put: Beckham’s playing in MLS because he wants to be in L.A. — not the other way around.

The Pele-NASL-Cosmos comparison may be too convenient to seize upon, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t fit. Just as the Brazilian superstar was playing out the string of his on-field career 30 years ago in New York, Beckham’s making plans for a Hollywood future, and any benefit to Stateside soccer will be short-lived and largely incidental. Anyone expecting more than that is kidding themselves.

NASCAR has been thirsting for a race venue in New York City for more than a year, even offering to put up its own money for a track and transportation infrastructure.

Despite that, gearhead hopes in the tri-state area will go unmet. The plan to build on Staten Island was dropped yesterday, in the face of unyielding opposition from the borough’s government.

“While we are disappointed that we could not complete the speedway development on Staten Island, our enthusiasm for the metropolitan New York market is in no way dampened and we continue to view the region as a prime location for a major motorsports facility,” said Lesa France Kennedy, president of [NASCAR sister company] International Speedway.

Standard lip service, and an indication that NASCAR is going with the Plan B that it should have pursued in the first place: A track somewhere in New Jersey or Long Island (upstate would be too far away, considering Westchester would be impossible to swing; ditto Connecticut). That’s more feasible, but much less a feather in the cap than a presence inside the city limits would have been. Although, really, Staten Island is so detached from the rest of NYC — because the subway doesn’t go there — that it would have had the same extra-metro feel anyway. Pretty much a wasted effort, all told.

For now, Big Apple gearheads (yes, there are a few) will have to trek to Pocono Raceway in Pennsylvania, about a hundred miles away. I would say “continue to trek”, but come on…

Is there a more stirring sight than a human river of runners, working its way down the manmade canyons of the big city?

Well, it’s stirring provided that you have a cherry view of it from a rooftop somewhere, and you don’t have any particular place to go. But if you have to be out and about on this New York City Marathon Sunday (pardon me — that’s the ING NYC Marathon), you’ll have to factor in a lot of contingency time: The marathon is cutting a fearsome swath though the five boroughs, leaving snarled traffic (automobile and pedestrian) in its path.

In particular, it sucks on the other side of the Williamsburg Bridge:

Brooklyn will be particularly hard-hit, as the marathon slices the borough from north to south along Fourth, Bedford and Manhattan Aves. Drivers trying to head east or west should take the Belt Parkway to the Gowanus or the Prospect expressways, but both routes are expected to be jammed.

So if you can’t stay inside, what’s your recourse?

“On marathon Sunday, there will be streets closed in every borough and over 2 million spectators along the route,” said Department of Transportation Commissioner Iris Weinshall. “We encourage New Yorkers to use mass transit every day - but on Sunday no encouragement should be needed.”

Interesting recommendation, because as it happens, the subways are out of whack, thanks to weekend construction work. I’ll add another fucked-up line to those cited: The V train, which was MIA yesterday evening as I waited in vain for the uptown-bound for some 20 minutes (I finally dashed across the platform to catch the third F to pass through).

I guess this all conspires to make this a lazy, do-nothing Sunday. Right up my alley, actually, with football and hockey on the tube all day. But to get into the fleet-footed spirit, I will bone up on the myths of physiological prepartion for long-distance running.

I’ve turned my sports-knowledge acumen loose on that much-debated issue: Why doesn’t America go ga-ga for soccer, like other countries do?

My conclusion: Americans don’t need it, and it has nothing to do with the usual suspects among team sports on this continent. Rather, it’s because of a surrogate sporting event that fulfills everything that soccer provides. That surrogate is none other than NASCAR.

How can I equate the most fundamental ball-based team sport with a motor-vehicle race? It all has to do with crowds. Consider these parallels:

- Both sports appeal to very broad, populist fan bases.

- Both take place in open-air stadium-style venues that hold tens of thousands of fans.

- Both feature a carnival-like atmosphere in the stands, where fans party and mingle practically independently of what’s happening on the field/track.

- Finally, both involve game action in which, by design, not much of consequence happens during long stretches (engendering the crowd behavior described above).

To me, it seems that soccer and NASCAR occupy the same landscape on the sporting scene, as they relate to societies on either side of the Atlantic (I’m ignoring the usual fiction of soccer being the “world’s game”, for the reality that it’s a European game, popular there and in Europe’s greater cultural sphere of influence; that leaves out the Pacific Rim). Contests in both sports have more the feel of events or gatherings, with whatever happening at center stage being almost incidental for most of the folks in the stands. In that sense, it’s not as imperative to keep up with the game action too closely. Certainly, other North American sports have a dose of this, but it doesn’t seem nearly as acute there.

Soccer and NASCAR fit the bill for the essential spectator-sport experience, while not demanding too much from those spectators. Just being there does the job. Small wonder both attract such huge crowds.

So, that’s why soccer ain’t gonna make it in the U.S. NASCAR provides a similar sensation, with the added hook of Americans’ ever-present obsession with cars. Corner-kicks can’t hope to compete.