Just wanted to comment on all the post-game, um, weirdness after Game 6 Tuesday night. Well, really just Garnett's interview with Michelle Tafoya. Tafoya has no problem drinking sweat in order to get the interview and she got right up in Garnett's grill for this one. Anyway, screaming up to the rafters, "anything is possible!" along with all the other nearly indiscernable stuff that came out of his mouth must have made David Stern literally cringe as he looked on. I am an NBA fanatic and will probably always watch, but if anyone thinks that white America got any goose bumps while watching these Celtics celebrate this championship, you're nuts.
How about Scot Pollard trying to look like he was celebrating with his teammates in that Saran-wrapped locker room! Funny stuff. Let's just say it... This was a very 'black' team. The '08 Celts were a team built around a core group of guys who all shared a similar cultural background (and one Alien who fits in well with this particular demographic). A very good group of guys actually. I'll say that again... A VERY GOOD GROUP OF GUYS. All I'm saying is this isn't going to do anything to help bring back the typical 80's, 90's NBA fan who David Stern covets so badly. Garnett assured that, for now, and probably helped further the "white flight" that has plagued the NBA in recent years.
People just can't relate to that stuff... the whole seemingly anger-driven me-against-the-world chip on the shoulder of many of today's NBA players. The display on genuine emotion while you celebrate reaching the pinnacle of your profession is great... and makes for riveting reality television, but let's keep it in perspective. "Anything is possible" ??? Does Garnett realize that some blind guy made it to the top of Mt. Everest recently? THAT guy gets to yell "anything is possible" up to the heavens. You, Sir, do not. Yes Kevin, anything IS possible! But that wasn't the right moment to yell it up to the sky. That was just weird, and you are kind of a weird dude! I know a lot of journalists have written that maybe you aren't a player who rises to the challenge in the big spots but, c'mon man, don't take everything so seriously.
If only Paul Pierce was as white on the outside as he is on the inside... maybe the NBA could get the credit it probably deserves from America (at least this season). A team made up of a solid group of "made in the USA" basketball players just man-handled a team with a large international flair to it and I'm sad to say this weekend's NASCAR race will probably light up more TV sets than this Game 6 did (possibly TV's on cinder blocks in the front yard but TV sets nonetheless). Oh, someone just corrected me... apparently most of those TV sets are sitting up on top of older, broken TV sets. My bad.
I will say this... Garnett's actions do make a lot more sense when thought about as simply the pure emotions of a very child-like NBA player. It was definitely a little goofy. Maybe I'm wrong but Bird, McHale, and Parrish (he was a Chief after all) didn't seem this way to me. These were manly men, and they appealed to other fully grown, sports-loving, men. Garnett is in his 30's, isn't he? So, what I'm really saying is maybe I'm being a little hard on the guy and his antics probably would, maybe, appeal to the little guys out there... all the younger NBA fans. Maybe some of them will catch it on SportsCenter because I'm pretty sure they wouldn't have been watching it live, at 1 AM on a school night.
Any way you cut it... David Stern's job just got a little harder.
So many former NBA fans simply cannot relate to so many of today's NBA stars, be it because of race, culture, and/or age. There's a generation gap and a large cultural divide and disconnect that, UNFORTUNATELY, only grew wider with the 2008 NBA Finals. Sad reality, but reality nonetheless.
I read your articles on a regular basis and I've become fairly convinced that you are reading my blog on at least an occasional basis. I have, I'd like to think, somewhat uniquely touched upon more than a few topics in this space only to see you eerily tackle the same subject matter in a similar fashion a couple of days later in your space. But no big deal. I don't care. I even remember telling you to feel free to use anything you'd like when I sent you the link to this blog, so how could I be mad? I'm honored actually.
You really do have one hell of a job though.
Your mailbags basically write themselves, essentially fueled by other people's ideas. All that's required of you is a witty response to a bunch of emails that are all tee'd up perfectly for a person with your make-up. You are quite proficient in breaking down sports, gambling, pop culture, and various other tidbits of insignificant minutia using your somewhat humorous brand of sarcastic social commentary.
Next in ease of creation for you has to be the NFL picks column. Those things are a pleasure to write for guys like you and me, feeding off the wacky ebb and flow of the tumultuous NFL, along with all the roller coaster stories that inevitably come from betting this league every weekend. Is it any wonder why there are so many "professional" handicappers out there? Not only is it a fun and stable way to make a living, but it's also a way to keep doing all the prognostication work you enjoy so much about a sport you love without having to risk any of your own money in the process. Actually, now that I think of it, these guys are some really big ####, huh? I am an incredibly good handicapper but a horrible gambler. And I mean HORRIBLE! Many people would view this as a vast contradiction, but somehow I doubt this surprises you. I could explain it but it would take 1500+ words to do the explanation any justice, so we'll skip it (for now).
Gambling has a lot to do with wanting to be right; wanting to successfully predict the outcome of a sporting event so that you can say, "I told you so. I'm so smart, look at me everyone!" It's all very psychological in nature. Well, a lot of times it's just about the thrill of winning money, plain and simple (but not for the truly dedicated like us). Some even say it's better than sex when you win a bet, although ironically many of these people have really fat and smelly wives (by virtue of the fact that they are A. fat and smelly themselves or B. gambling degenerates... see how that works?)
But I digress, as you so often do (a side-effect of the ganja as I'm sure you know)...
So anyway, congratulations on finally attaining cruise control status in your chosen profession. All the heavy lifting is long behind you. You're at the point now that if your well is a bit arid one day and your deadline is fast approaching, you can just go read my most recent musings (or those of some other like-minded sicko with an internet blog) and you'll be right back on track. Fresh ideas are hard to come by. Especially once it's your job to create them on a regular schedule, ya know? Of course you know. What am I talking about? You're the one stealing ideas from some guy who still lives in his parent's basement (or a less embarrassing version of that same scenario anyway). Anyway, you can't schedule creativity, unless you're self-savvy enough that you've actually figured out a way to manipulate your own chemistry. You have to figure out alternate and contrived methods for sparking up the part of your brain that creates all the "magic." For many creative types this can usually be achieved by simply sparking up their bongs (something you say you don't do anymore but c'mon, who you kidding?) Maybe you're telling the truth. Maybe you just spark up your laptop and head over to my blog instead. I'm flattered, really, I am. Now how can I get to where you are? Why don't you reciprocate by helping me out a little with that? Or at least send me a Christmas card with a check in it for Christ's sake! (aren't Christmas Cards always for Christ's sake?) If your ESPN people edited this blog, inserted a few pictures, and then threw it up on Page 2 would it look all that different from some of your dreck? Probably not.
If it sounds like I'm jealous, well, it's probably because I AM... extremely so. More jealous than I could ever express in words. Boiling a bunny on your stove wouldn't sufficiently express how jealous I am of you. See... just because you immediately knew what movie I was alluding to in the previous sentence should not entitle you to the amount of money ESPN is paying you. You are an American Pop Culture SPONGE, much like I am, with the ability to ring yourself out in the form of words on paper. Kudos for that!
But ya know what? I don't hate the player, and I don't even hate the game. I just want to know how I can buy in, or is it just too late for me? How can I take advantage of this great country we live in without having to leave the house. That is my ultimate goal. I need all out-of-house experiences to be voluntary.
Ya know, ten generations or so from now this country will be nothing more than a vacation spot for the rest of the world. A Vegas trip for the Chinese.....
I went to Citizens Bank Ballpark tonight to watch my Mets smack up the Phillies. Here are some random observations:
The homeless guy with the sax-o-phone on the corner outside the entrance to the stadium - his rendition of Take Me Out to the Ballgame gets more and more depressing every time I visit this park. I give him no money.
Coors Field East - What a band-box. Balls fly out of this place. Delgado hit a blast into the upper deck in right field.
............GARY PAYTON. He just hit the biggest shot of his entire playoff career. Please retire now.
Billy Wagner needs to buy David Wright a Rolex. Wright saved his freakin bacon tonight. What a game-saving web gem that was. And maybe a season saver for Wagner in terms of his already shaky relationship with Met fans.
Philly is such a bad baseball town. What a bunch of ignorant, no baseball knowledge having, E-A-G-L-E chanting derelicts. They really don't like Abreu here, and David Bell also. They love Rowand because he smashed his face into the CF fence in what was a perfectly planned PR move on his part. You want to endear yourself to these fans... show them you hustle and that you're retarded. Unfortunately for Phils fans, they'll love him right into a nice, long career here in Philly but he's not a real good fit for this ballclub. He's a nice number 8 or 9 hitter on a good team. To ask him to protect Ryan Howard is a whole other story.
............Can't believe the Heat just stole this game, or more accurately, I can't believe the Mavs just allowed the Heat to steal this game. Why am I not excited? I don't think anyone really believes the Heat can win this series anymore. They stole this game and the series is 2-1 now but we're going to need to see more I think. One thing I did see... Shaq grabbed an offensive rebound on the left baseline with no Mav in sight. By the time he was able to set himself and power up for what should have been his easiest dunk of the series I had already had sex with my girlfriend and made myself a sandwich. His red-twitch muscle fibers just don't twitch in a timely fashion anymore. Can you blame them really with what they've been asked to do for as long as they've been asked to do it. It's just like dogs folks. The Chihwawa (How the hell do you spell that?) is gonna live a much longer life than the St. Bernard, with all life's phases spanning a commensurate time period. Centers just break down sooner, and Shaq's entire game is, was, dependent on physical dominance and athletic superiority. I wonder if he will adapt accordingly and accept a limited role, or just retire.
After the Mets put up their 9th run of the game the fans started showing their true colors. Lots of people got escorted out of the ballpark. It was great. The place erupted into a mess of alcohol-fueled screaming matches between some of the finest people this part of the country has to offer. I can't imagine this ever happening in St. Louis of San Francisco. If only Phillies fans would show up and support their team in person maybe there wouldn't be 10,000 Met fans here. I really think Philadelphia fans are the worst in the country. Nowhere else will you find such a high concentration of reasonably empowered white trash with extremely limited brain power as you do in the Greater Philadelphia region. I think they mainly come from the Northeast part of the city and all points West. Conshohocken maybe, or Chester, PA.
Which makes me think about this stadium, and all new stadiums. Once the bloom is off the rose and the "new" stadium just isn't so new anymore, there's a tendency for the ballpark to revert back to it 's original state of existence. In the end, it's the people who dictate what kind of experience one will have at the game. In this case, it's already beginning to feel a little like the old Vet in here. More and more empty seats each season. A team that can't seem to win over their fanbase, in large part because they're simply not good baseball fans and/or are too busy getting drunk and participating in the Eagles chants. Why is there no culture here, no history, no baseball tradition?
I think the homeless sax guy finally closed up shop for the night with just enough loot to get his cheesesteak and a 40 oz (not in that order).
Best ballparks to see a game? Anybody want to weigh in? Fenway? Wrigley? the Bronx? Chavez Ravine? This joint in South Philly?
We saw this coming. We being me, Bill Simmons, and everyone else whose been paying close attention to these NBA playoffs. Flip Saunders just inserted Tony Delk in one last desperate attempt to salvage this game, this series, and whatever remaining credibility he has as an NBA coach. A one-handed Antonio MacDyess just subbed in as well. Does anyone need to see any more of this? Give me Dallas in 5.
And in a strange twist of simultaneous coaching lunacy, Joe Torre just brought Kyle Farnsworth into a 1-out, bases loaded situation hoping (I guess) that he'll be able to preserve a 1-run Yankee lead and nail down the 5-out save. I really think these coaching moves happened at the same exact time. Wait, let me check my TiVo to make sure I'm watching both in real time... yup, I am. So strange. I can only assume Torre is playing the "these are the Orioles" card.
Is there any doubt what Dwyane Wade's strategy was coming into this potential close-out game 6? Sure, he had flu-like symptoms. I'm sure there was some truth to that, really I believe it. But, it was never anything that was going to get in the way of what he felt he might have to do here tonight. I actually think he's a little disappointed that he wasn't really needed. He came to the gun-fight with 3 bullets and a plan how to maximize their impact. Finally he realized his bullets weren't going to be needed so he just reeled them all off at the end of the 3rd. It was fun to watch.
Poor Michael. Just when it looked like his legacy would be preserved indefinitely, the league comes back to life with a vengeance. The NBA was less alive than Julia Roberts in the scene from Flatliners where you get to see her bra. And then comes Kiefer, Kevin, that guy from Huff....err, I mean LeBron, Dwyane, and an 81-point game to bring the NBA back to the front pages (sort of). And they aren't being too gracious about it either. Wade has the flu before a major playoff game, and Kobe is changing his number to twenty....FOUR. C'mon guys. Just do your thing. The newest NBA fans will be loyal to you as long as you wear your straight-billed hat to the side in the post-game interviews. Leave Jordan out of it.
Farnsworth can't get the save, but he does get the win. God the Orioles suck. Lee Mazilli caught giggling in the dugout, sitting next to a guy who also had flu-like symptoms tonight but couldn't give it a go. But we already know he's nothing like Dwyane Wade (read: not clutch at all). Then again, baseball is such a painfully intense sport, nothing like basketball. Whatever.
82-81 after 3 and Tim Thomas is now drawing automatic double-teams. Vegas changing the odds to win the NBA Title as I type. But what I really need to know is this- Did you see what Devin Harris did to that poor lady in the 2nd row? He does that anywhere else in the state of Texas and he's doing some time, or worse! Literally punched her in her mouth, groped her across her chest, and then ripped her blouse off. I could not be more entertained right now. Well, yes I could, but as dreary as my life currently is, this is the tops! Remember the Seinfeld episode when Mel Torme thought Cosmo Kramer was mentally challenged? He thought Kramer was the "tops". And the Seinfeld sitcom continues to permeate my daily vocab. What is this thing that Tim Thomas does in celebration of his made shots? It looks like something I've seen Will Ferrell and/or Madonna do in their respective professions? He couldn't have gotten it from either of them though (Based on some of his comments about where he's from and who his people are, I'm guessing those entertainers are off limits to him). So, not possible. He's from Jersey by the way. Remember when he said Kenyon Martin was "fugazy?" I just saw an old white guy with the letters D-I-R-K stenciled in blue across his forehead. Only in America. 112-98. Nowitzki is a freak. I can just picture him as a lanky, awkward young boy back in Germany watching the original Dream Team light up the scoreboard and his living room. He must have immediately taken his finger out of the dike, painted a swoosh on his wooden klogs, removed his hand from his weinerschnittzel, and started shooting jumpers. 50 points! We are all Nowitznesses. Goodnight.
I know you're upset. So are the rest of us. We didn't just lose the privilege of watching a bit more of the most fundamentally sound low-post presence in the NBA today playing as well as he has in years; we also lost everyone's favorite desperate housewife, Eva Longoria.
And for those of us red-blooded male NBA fans who are fortunate enough to have TiVo and HDTV, believe me, that's no small loss. But, alas, when one door closes another door opens, and with a little luck we crowd-surfing, eye-scanning masters of the TiVo remote may have a new object of our attention in these upcoming Western Conference Finals. So while we unfortunately lost Eva it appears we may have gained something even better (yes, I said it... even better).
There's no denying the fact that some of the hottest tamales in the world come to us from just South of the Border, but have you seen some of the beauties on the northern side of that same border? Texas has produced some of the finest beauties in all the land, and in quantity too. By the way, could you imagine what it must be like to grow up as the "star QB" for one of the high schools in that football-crazed state. They celebrate high school football down there much in the way John Daly celebrates beer. Friday Night Lights as opposed to Friday Night Miller Lites (however it doesn't appear John Daly does lite anything). Anyway, what a glorious way to get through your pubescent years that would have been. I'm picturing something akin to Matthew McConaughey in How to lose your virginity in 10 seconds, if that movie had ever gotten made. Unfortunately my high school years were more like Emission: Impossible! But I digress...
Back to the topic at hand, the reason why the loss of Eva might not be so bad after all. Did anyone else happen to see Mike Modano's girlfriend? Oh my goodness. As is usually the case, the TNT cameras consistently made their way over to crazy Mark Cuban screaming like a belligerent 12-yr old, as usual. Every time they did, my eyes were immediately forced to change their angle slightly to the left where I saw the most stunningly beautiful woman in the entire arena. I know that money can buy women, either directly or not so directly, but this particular Goddess was clearly not Cuban's arm trophy. After all, he's only won the Capitalism lottery, not the genetic lottery, and the only part of this girl's man that would be fat would of course be his wallet. She was the rare breed of female who doesn't need to settle for a single flaw when it comes to the guy she chooses to share her bed with. Umm, why do I feel like this article just took on a somewhat less than heterosexual feel? I was staring only at her I swear! No man-crush, don't even like hockey. It's just that I was relieved when I finally figured out she was with Dreamy Mike Modano and not some guy whose only a mere 400 million dollars removed from still living in his parent's basement screaming at referees through a TV screen. Ya see, had it turned out she actually was the property of that sideline clown I would have been forced, for reasons of self-preservation, to make believe it wasn't true. Otherwise I'd run the risk of becomingirreversibly disenchanted with the state of this unjust world we all live in. Either that or I'd head on down to the bank, empty out my checking account, and then go get myself about $94 worth of lottery tickets (leaving $6 left over for a bottle of sleeping pills as my back up plan)! Like 50 said, "get rich or die tryin", and when you're as lazy as I am that's considered tryin.
I have said it before and I will say it again; the best thing about HDTV in combination with TiVo in terms of viewing sporting events (mainly the NBA) is NOT how clearly you see the action between the lines BUT rather getting to see in such tremendous detail everything else that's going on around the game. And if you can read lips your entertainment dollar gets stretched even further.
I've been unsuccessful in my limited attempts to find out just who this mystery girl is but let's all hope that she and hockey boy weren't just Cuban's guests for that one game. The fact that, during the game, Modano looked about as enthused as Gregg Popovich did in his post-game press conference doesn't bode well for the possibility of him and his hottie returning for the Suns Series. I don't get the impression that he's the biggest basketball fan in the world. I think his Game 7 attendance can be chalked up to a combination of two things; the lack of big events in Texas to be seen at if you're a celebrity, and the lack of willingness to hang out with Mark Cuban if you're a celebrity. Maybe she's the basketball fan. I can only hope. I guess I'll find out tonight.
THE FOLLOWING IS A LONG-WINDED COMMENT GONE MAD IN RESPONSE TO A GREAT ARTICLE CALLED ANGELS ON THE SUBWAY (in the New York Mets category) by CarolynT. It ended up a bit longer than I expected so it became part of my blog.....
Carolyn-
If only my significant other (not a dude) was a great sports fan like you are maybe she would empathize with me just a little when I tell her why I can't go out for a few drinks with her "friends." Those times when I explain to her how...
"I've watched and followed this team the entire season and you want me to miss Game 5 of the series when they're down 3-1? Are you nuts? Are you even serious? You want me to abandon them now? THIS IS WHEN THEY NEED ME MOST! WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU?"
And then finally she reluctantly says...
"Fine, I'll just go by myself."
And then my focus turns to the idea of her, out and about with some other couple (who happen to both be HER friends from college, NOT mine) at some restaurant/bar (where I know a lot of the Wall Street types go to unwind from their long day of making more money than me before they leave the city for the night) wearing that little dress of hers I love so much, the one that highlights her perfect little.... And before she gets her jacket on I find myself asking...
"Do you think they'll have the game on there?"
And then, smelling blood in the water; which for a woman in a relationship simply represents getting her way and/or completely breaking our spirit (for men it usually just means I think she's gonna let me have sex with her now!) she excitedly answers...
"Of course they'll have the game on there. I always see baseball games on the TVs there, and they're all like 50-inch plasmas. I think there's 8 of them!"
Of course I know she's full of uneducated sports #### but she can't be completely lying. Either way, I gargle some Scope, throw some water on my face, and reach for my nicest "I'm not broke" shirt to put on and head out the door. As we climb into the car I can't help but tell her...
"Basketball honey, it's a basketball game I need to watch. Not baseball."
She smoothly responds...
"Oh, right. I just thought you said the Mets, not the Nets, you stuttering ####."
Somewhat shocked by this rare display of confidence and moxie from such a sweet little package I actually think to myself...
"Wow! She really does know a little bit about sports, AND she doesn't put up with my #### This one might be a keeper."
But that thought doesn't last too long because I then remember how I did say that it was Game 5 of a (Playoff) Series and, it being May and all, that should have been more than enough for her to rule out the possibility that I said the Mets and not the Nets, so I turn to her and say...
"You manipulative, lying piece of..... Ya know what, just take me back to the apartment!" (I make her drive whenever possible. My laziness truly has no bounds).
But knowing full well that we are now much closer to the restaurant, and more importantly a television, than we are to my apartment she says...
"The 2nd period's probably about to start right now. Do you REALLY want to turn around and go all the way back home?"
As much as I hate to ever admit this, she has a solid point (calling the 2nd half the 2nd period not withstanding) and I realize now I've pretty much been played like a fiddle.
And this is just one of the many ways my girlfriend tricks me out of the cave and into a social setting, all so she can make believe I really am the boyfriend she wants me to be (and probably more importantly to her, the loving boyfriend she keeps telling her friends I am!)
AND where, quite torturously, my only link to the world of sports usually ends up being my trusty cell phone (which will inevitably get between 50 and 75 percent more of my attention throughout the course of the night than my girlfriend will).
But sometimes I get lucky and find a nearby television where I can at the very least catch the final few minutes of the game du jour while bonding with all the other poor schleps whose girlfriends and wives will inevitably cheat on them (no doubt with some BMW-driving Metrosexual who couldn't tell you who the Yankee's closer is!) long before the Mets ever win another World Series!
Life truly is a series of difficult (or easy depending on your perspective) decisions that pave the way to a future we (usually) deserve. If your priorities are "out of whack" your life will surely follow suit...
So, clearly, the moral to this story is...
Do yourself a favor and get rid of the girlfriend now! Trust me. She'll suck you dry (in a bad way). All you really need is a subscription to The Playboy Channel (DirecTV Channel 591, easiest $17 you'll spend each month) and the MLB Extra Innings Package (I'm assuming you already have The Sunday Ticket on automatic renewal).
Oh yeah, and you'll have to get a dog.
By the way...
I shouldn't have to tell you this but, just to make sure I covered all bases.... Don't even think about having sex with the dog. It'll just ruin the relationship. Everything's so awkward after that.
