The Vernal Equinoctial Year

Not the 20's film starring Fatty Arbuckle. I'm talking about the intercalary year. Look dog, we need it ok? In order to keep the calendar year synchronized with the astronomical or seasonal year.

Only on the extra day do we find life possibilities such as this:



1. The possibility of Jim Nantz doing colour-commentary on Kimbo Slice. CBS + Elite XC? Hopefully this will replace How I Met Your Mother. Don't know Kimbo? Here you go. (thanks for the update Unkie Matt)



2. Fellow Alien-life-form Sam Cassell maybe reunited w/ ol' running mate KG in Celtic-Town. This pretty much sucks for fans of all other hopeful Eastern League teams. He's 38 though- will he make a difference? In response, Rondo dishes 16 dimes. Oh snap! Take that pussy cat!




3. Walleye has a leap year baby??? Wolves fans saddened as a hero fails to come home. yet, the perfect ending.

Pat Riley's Fantasy Land NBA

This guy:


Became this guy:


Who all the while has been culturally morphed into this guy:


...and who later has to relate to guys like this:

(note the look on Riley's face)

This is not a video game. This is not the 80's. Pat Riley is out of touch. Recent evidence you ask? He gets Daequan Cook in the first round of the draft this year- a young kid from Dunbar (Dayton) who was a bench player for last year's 2nd place Buckeyes. He didn't start in college and was drafted in the first round. He is a young, raw talent. Probably got a little attitude problem. Fine. He went from Dayton to Dwayne Wade in 2 years. I get it. But you know who doesn't? Pat Riley.

Riley sends DQ to Iowa to play D-League Ball for a 5-game stretch and states the following: "It’s really about Daequan getting there and saying, ‘Yes, sir. Whatever it takes. What do you want me to do? How are we going to do it? I’m going to play hard and play as hard as I can. I’m trying to get myself ready,"’ Riley said. "So we’ll see what happens in five games and then we’ll make a determination from there."



I understand his intentions. I do. He wants to send a message. He wants to see a change. But Daequan's NBA rookie year has been made up of exposure to the following teammates: Ricky Davis, Smush Parker, Mark Blount, Jason Williams (see above), and the recent addition, Shawn Marion. soooo.... 5 games. In Iowa. "Yes, sir. Whatever it takes." Get real.

Reticent, but rewarded

SWTFG, this is the best thing I've seen out of the Cavs trade yet. Since becoming somewhat national with St. Joe's, I always liked Delonte West's sideways game. Ghostish, out of place, but deadly in areas I tend to appreciate: creativity, being out of place, floaters, DE-fense!, a preter-awareness of self that lends to becoming oblivious.

Highlighting all of that is this (def pay attention around 3:20):



______________________________________________________________


So this is how it is. With the Cavs. To me:

• Ben Wallace is a liar. Walleye is a pessimist. Joe Smith is a successful and kind-hearted drug dealer shadow man. Delonte West is sinister.
• Drew Gooden is BooBoo Dooden, fully equipped with one of worst sets of decision making machinery God had ever wrought. Larry Hughes is the original sad clown— fragile psyche, teardrop tattoos and all. Ira Newble slept with Danny Ferry's second girlfriend. Shannon Brown filmed it.

Those are the good things.

Whereas Steve Nash was behest by the heavens after Lucifer recalculated. I mean, the Lakers getting a gift and the Suns buying theirs, that was organic. Memphis wants to die. All totally natural. Bibby out of Sacramento: Time for the Hawks, time for Bibby. Makes sense. Kidd out of NJ. Fine.

But this Cavs move was like CWebb to the Warriors. Or Damon Stoudamire to the Spurs. Square peg, round hole. It's like, "Why?" I saw how Shaq's counter-force could Bring the Suns out of the West where their past contra-Shaq style had not. It was centrifugal. But Webber is so not what the Warrios needed. It is alien.

Here are my fears about the Cavs' yahtzee:

• Larry Hughes can ball, deep down inside. He recently seems to've woken up. And Mark Price was working with him on his shot. I'm concerned we traded Larry "Howard" Hughes right as he was about to payoff, a la the Bulls trading Tyson Chandler as the thermometer popped. Plus, even if Mr. Sensitive was a painful liability on offense (until recently), he covered tough. He always was there to play tough D.
• Delonte's game is a dangled carrot. It's a mirage. You think there's something special there. There is. And it's always looking at you in street clothes.
• Ben Wallace paints his self as a hard working, lunch pail kind of guy. But he really acts like a fucking princess who always thinks she deserves more... like a shooting guard. Except, as we all know, Ben can't score at all. So, he whines, doesn't produce, and complains how to do his hair. His low post game is the Matthew Lesko of the NBA. His nickname is Big Ben. He literally has hands like a clock.
• Ira Newble = lockdown D.
• Walley Scerbceees = front-iron jump shot, jog up the court, tussle hair, smooth hair, get scored on, jog back down the court, wait for it, wait for it, front-iron jumper... [repeat].
• Donyel Marshall is eating ribs. His career is over. Cool. Whatever. Happy trails. Burn free, brother.
• Shannon Brown refines his purely athletic game and becomes a Plasma-Donation-Line version Dr. J.
• Joe Smith hangs out with Damon Jones at a strip club. Oh, wait, already happened. In a month they'll be smoking crack with each other. In two months Anderson Varejo will be hooked on crystal meth. Sasha Pavlovic is missing. Boobie replaces meals with pills.
  
• DooDoo Booden can hit the open jumper consistently. And weird shit motivates him.

All these fears will be moot when the players who left are revealed as StarScreens, coupled with Lebron transforming all the arriving players into motherfucking Megatrons.

REJUVENATE

More Finger Waving in Houston.

Already having to struggle (heh) with the loss of Steve Francis this season, Houston's hopes at a League title have taken yet another blow. Injury has befallen the gigantic and foreign feet of Yao Ming.

"This is unbelievable," Rockets owner Les Alexander told KRIV-TV in Houston.
"This is the most heart-breaking. This is the worst I've felt."

Well good Les. Because you are rich and from Texas, so I hate you. It's not like your 12-game winning streak was going to last forever. One, you are in the West. Two, you have Tracy McGrady and "Skip 2 My Lou" on your roster. Oh, and Carl Landry. and Steve Novak. Whatever. It's not like you were getting out of the first round anytime soon.

But for the rest of us fans, there is a silver lining is this dark cloud of broken chinese feet. We get more Dikembe Mutombo's finger waiving and superlative command of the English language. I think we are ALL winners today, my friend. Even you, Les.

They'll Give a Blog to Just About Anyone.

this guy has a blog on nba.com :




Only people on drugs write like this.

What's Missing?

So far, this year's NBA season has been highly entertaining. Blockbuster trades both in the off-season and at the trade deadline, the return of the Lakers and Celtics, my Cavs getting players I can actually root for, and quality regular season games where it actually seems like both teams are trying for 48 minutes.


But there's a whole in my heart.
What's missing from this, the finest NBA season in recent memory?





It was originally thought that Arenas, arguably the craziest player currently in the NBA, would return this month w/ Caron Butler to make the Wizards somewhat of a respectable team again. But dude is just not ready.

These are just a few reasons why Gilbert Arenas is missed. Aside from the tiger face tattooed on his stomach (see above) that looks like it's whistling. And aside from the fact that he recently admitted to cheating at Halo 3 online. "Gilbert wears a size-13 shoe on his size-14 1/2 feet because he’s afraid of making his feet look too big."




Of course, you can dive right into his psyche here.

The Pudding of Proof

Last night, what's left of the Cleveland Cavaliers defeated the Wizz of DC. The game was profoundly entertaining for more than a few reasons. 1, What better way to prove that the trade was the right move - we obviously didn't need any of the warm bodies that we dumped on Chicago and Seattle. 2, we won w/ last minute D-League signings and a whopping 44 minutes of T.O.'s best friend. (dot biz) The proof is in the pudding.


Damon went 7-11 from 3. And he looked like this in the process:




Not really a good thing. but I'll take it.

------//

FILKAP: And... D-league call-up Billy Thomas shot 11 3s himself last night. This game was a control group experiment in an attempt to determine Lebron's greatness. The fact that Damon Jones and a kid from the DL could EACH take ELEVEN 3s in a game which the Cavs still win proves that Lebron is not just equal to one great player, he is actually several great players that only take up one roster spot.


------//

BOOMBOX: good point. I forgot to add this from my earlier research.
looks like the Wizz didn't protect their pudding cup.

I Love You Danny Ferry

OMG. THIS IS REAL.

Danny Ferry, I would like to thank your balls.
And thank Chicago for being so stupid.
and Seattle for being so cheap.

Welcome home, Wally. You silly Spaniard you.
I may actually get cable television in my home.

Chinese Water Torture

The Knickerbockers are looking good. Isiah really has this team gelling.


! !


I think what makes this video so great isn't just that Zach Randolph and Nate Robinson are amazing teammates, but the way the video itself is presented. Book-ended by by an advertisement for "RealestNiggas.com" while also including a random photo of a chic standing in front of a Jim Morrison poster. This things got some real internet power!

somedays I really miss college.


In other related news, look what is about to start the next arms race:



the cold war 2- electric boogaloo. coming this summer!
fucking Olympians and their damn McDonalds.


one more random note for today: Juan is back!
too bad I don't care about baseball anymore.
but I do have this card somewhere in my closet:



Juan, please stop depreciating its value.
this was the Jackson Pollock year for Donruss.

Steve Dakota & His Grill

Somewhere in Marion OH is a real place to eat called Steve Dakota Grill. Somewhere in the title of the "grill" is an apostrophe and an S, but where those lie, I will never know. Is it a Dakota Grill owned by Steve? Or is Steve's last name Dakota? I order the only mediterranean dish on the menu and stare at the decor, 80 percent of which is real taxidermy. They say Steve shot it himself. the other 20% is antler chandeliers and antique movie posters about hunting in Africa. I drank a Red Stripe. The caesar salad had a hard boiled egg in it, no croutons. whatever.

We arrived at four. A woman turned 56, such an occasion demanded we be there. Early dinner. I would be able to catch the League's All-Star game at 8pm back in the capital city, maybe sing some karaoke in the process. I figured I would work on my "Word Up" by Cameo while the game was on (appropriate)- but it was all for not. Steve Dakota and his grill had rendered me moot. Instead, I droned away on the couch barely watching anything while sipping a mason jar filled with Seagram's Gin, Pellegrino, and lemon juice out of one of those little plastic bottles that looks like a lemon. I could have seen Xavier's David West in his first All-Star game. Or maybe it was Bret Michael's Rock of Love - Mud Bowl 2. I couldn't really tell. Really there are a lot of similarities when you think about it.





The few things that stuck out in mind about the League's weekend: Dwight was the only guy whose shirt was tucked-in at the dunk contest's introductions - I'm positive he won because of it. Steve Nash was rocking Nike's new recycled shoe, "Trash Talk." (uh, ok) - and Lebron's dunk in the end where he put the game away while karate-chopping Dirk in the neck was the MVP moment of the game. Seriously. No one cared about Basketball Jesus 2.0's (5) 3's in 19 minutes of play. It was the karate-chop.

One final note: worst all-star game jerseys ever. ever. depending on which way you are running down the court, you could be on either team. sounds perfect. I mean, the game is meaningless, right?

Notes thus All-Star; Black Superman's Earthly powers come from orange ball

Are you kidding? NBA legend poster. I felt five years old, watching Superman be real.

An hour after this, still vaguely thinking about the awe it filled me with, I was sent a txt msg from my friend Fro. It was Flight School Jordan. Pre-NBA-championship, post-dunk-champion Michael Jordan, wearing a towel over his head; the music attached was Pat Benatar's "Love is a Battlefield," which starts so nostalgically with, "We were young..."

Fucking amazing. Because this is the new shit. This is isn't flying up from an earthen plane, like Mike Air had it. This is Black Superman descending upon on Earth. This is big shadow first.

Dwight jumped up, not out, from far away and THREW it through the basket. A friend of mine used to dunk like that in 8th grade, on 7' hoop. Black Superman's dunk is not so much a jam as it is an affront to gravity and it's demon spell over silly inanimate objects.

As I've said, as we all know, Jordan is forever frescoed, but now there is a new category beyond anything MJ could do. It's the only category exclusive of MJ, the Dwight Howard category. Michael created his own category, which tides of players visit for their own games. Every player's game has some Michael in it. No one has this Dwight Howard. Amare has a uniqueness, but has never exploded in imagination like this. Black Jesus and Black Superman jump into a bar...

Then there's Gerald Green:



Rudy and Jamario: "What is he doing?" Dwight: "Fly, fly, fly fly..." Gerald: "[Pictures a Houston girl he used to fuck], burgers, fucking, jumping, destruction."

I would've liked to see more Gay Moon and less Gerald Green. He is from Houston, so he's constantly pointing to his awful forearm tatt and throwing out the double-H. And he's missing his right ring finger. So, this gesture of homage to place and placement simultaneously draws attention to and distracts away from a mysterious injury which Green is sensitive about. (It happened when he was a child.)

I just feel bad for him, him and his dopey look of a supremely abused but talented and brooding teenage boy. Some people exude... blankness. When you look in their eyes, there's a Nothing back there. When Gerald green is running and jumping and competing physically, the Nothing is absent. But as soon as he has to answer a question and construct an opinion — Blankman.

He signed his stupid shoes and gave them to Darryll Dawkins, who rightly threw them to the floor. Unbelievable. Totally entertaining though. This sounds like I hate Green, but I don't. He has poor critical thinking skills. But the Birthday Cake was a sweet dunk. Get it?

I was hoping for more from Rudy. I was convinced by the Rookie/Soph game of his anachronistic game. It's totally ABA. And he's named Rudy. With different shoes, tattered socks and an old camera Rudy Gay could be 1977 in a thousand moments. With that huge glossy smile!?

HEEYYYYYYYYY!!! GUYYYYYYYSSSSSS!!!!!!




And how about the Texas star himself? Boobie.




He shaved the star into his head prior to winning the MVP of the game!!?? Is this a kid's movie script from the late 80s?

LeBron has been talking about how good Boobie is since early practices. When Mike Brown finally played him on some reg minutes, it elevated the Cavs past any prior conception. LB was equally prescient about Sasha Pavlovic, who equally aided the Cavs play.

So, does anyone get the feeling Mike Brown just kind of orders Chinese food for everybody when they stay late, and during games his job is to remind them how many timeouts the Cavs have? His team has Death Wish LeBronsen. What coaching is he really doing? "LB, hit'em with the uzi this time."

Here, Daniel Gibson shruggs off his player ass balln skillz with a grandad-nerd-in-a-teenage-superstar body:





And finally, Rudy Gay's favorite uncle and third mixed son share a little about touching, when and how.

(images from www.nba.com)

No Kidding pt.2 - Jerry Can't Shut Up.

First there was wow. As a master of the english language, let me be the first to proclaim this as wowee-wow-wow. so what do you think Mark Cuban is doing right now? I have a guess, but there's just not enough time today to Photoshop a picture of Marc Cuban bitch-slapping Jerry Stackhouse. It is Friday people. Seriously, some people have plans for the night.

Happy Valentine's Day

"I can't afford R. Kelly."
...maybe now you can, Delonte. Life-size.

Valentine's Day Flashback: enjoy.

No Kidding - George Bitch Slaps Dallas

well played Devean, well played.
I wouldn't want to be on Vince Carter's team either.


"Money, I get it, paper I got it.
Heaters, I keep em, bitches I got em." - truth

Pat Tillman Wants a Raise.

seriously? I'll keep this short because no blog can harness the disdain I possess for Kellen "I'm A Soldier AND a Stuntman" Winslow.
(and "Tha U" en general)


maybe you forgot about this:


and all this:


You're right. WE totally owe YOU. dick.

Please Sip on Larry's 40.

After not having cracked the 20-point mark this month (and only twice in all of January), our beloved Larry Hughes went off for 40 points on the Magic, in Orlando no less. Where the hell have you been, our 12-million-dollar man?

(x2 = no way)

Now I could go on and on and on and on about how disappointing Larry has been for my Cavs, especially after how sick his game looked for the Wiz during the (contract) year before we signed him. Whatever. This blog sums it up pretty well.

But now Larry has put together a nice little month as the trade deadline approaches. Hell, he even made my fantasy squad. And the Cavs still NEED a real point guard. period. I mean, I do love me some Boobie, but seriously. We have Shannon Brown (?>why), Gibson (ok), Hughes (not a PG + overpaid), and this asshole:


(chinese shoe deal + he is a dot biz)


So here's my wish list:

1. Jason Kidd. PROS: playoff experience. veteran. still has game. easily the best PG on the market. knows the East. wants out of the Nets organization. CONS: beats women. (photoshop con) racially unsure of self. old (34).


2. Mike Bibby. PROS: playoff experience. veteran. still has game. merely old-ish (29). CONS: worst tattoos in the league (con?). racially unsure of self. seedy entourage. used to wearing the color purple.


3. Andre Miller (my personal choice) PROS: led league in assists w/ Cavs in 01-02. knows the East, and Cleveland city-scape. 76ers want to trade him. CONS: issues w/ BMV. we traded him for D. Miles (unforgiveable?). old-ish (31)


4. Sam Cassell. PROS: playoff experience. veteran. still has game. wants out of Clippers organization. (surprise) CONS: alien-life form. mouthy. hard to look at. real old (38).


Please, Danny Ferry, TAKE YOUR PICK. Make a move and unload some of these warm bodies on a sucker GM. The last time you tried to "get Lebron some help," you acquired Larry Hughes, Damon Jones, and Donyell Marshall. Please right these wrongs and bring us a point guard. Larry's 40 is getting warm.

Today's "Why you stay in school" hard lesson, brought to you by 2002

Thanx to the Boombox post, 2002 feels so close, and yet eternities ago.

First, this is the list of all the players considered "early entry" for the 2002 draft. In that list are few recognizable names. (Who's surprised Qyntel Woods came from JUCO?)

Lebron James would be on this list just the following year. And finally after 2005, no more high schoolers. No more lives recklessly baited and switched. Well, less lives, and less recklessly.

Looking up the "other" names on the 2002 list reveals little, and frequent references to volatility. Then there's ill guided arrows like Lee Benson, Jr. He's from Dayton, Ohio's roller-rink of urban trash and rural soot — also the intersection of two of the greatest highways in this country, I-75 and I-70, which incidentally made Dayton a huge truck-stop hooker paradise for the big mob years of the 50s-80s. It's like halved Akron. What does that have to do with Lee Benson, Jr.? Read this 2003 "from Prison to the Pros" article by Tom Worgo.

The unknown LBJ somehow was playing at a Kansas community college? At 28? To his credit, he was killing it.

Where is he now? From prison to the pros, to Europe, to prison?

What about this cat Kei Madison, fellow preemy? Let me give you a lil' treat. The Google image results for Kei+Madison.

I especially like it in redacted form: eight black guys who hate you, four queer whites, this:



, two fairies, two equal but opposite Asian women, Oscar Madison, two crazed Euro cyclers, and two kitties.

Wow, Google, you are the best fucking free ride around.

Type in Cincinnati+Chili, go in deep.

Taking a tangent, I looked up Scottie Pippen, to see if he was on one or both Dream Teams. He is on both. But also:

• Derrick Coleman and Shawn Kemp were on the '96 Dream Team.

Let me reiterate:

• Derrick Coleman and Shawn Kemp were on the '96 Dream Team.

Those Olympics were in Atlanta. How much cocaine did those two do and how many strip clubs was it done in? All of it, and all of them.

Pip is their kind of guy too, but you know, I like Pip. He's not quite as Eazy E as those guys, and he was far superior at the actual game. Michael Jordan, legitimately, is a wizard (later a Wizard). Pip was his falcon. That's a special relationship.

Just sayin is all.



Back to the early declarers. Free Darko had talked about how warped and short-sighted announcers had become in calling college games, tunnel visioning on the potential of professional results rather than watching basketball for purity of basketball. Mike Connelly could be talking about winning a national championship this year, instead of playing in an arena where the lights are purposefully half-lit to keep costs down. And the only cheering is from the tourists they let in for free. Where would MJ be if he'd declared after a year at UNC? No '82 jumper over Georgetown.

But MJ would still be the frescoed chapel of basketball greatness, regardless. In the same way Lebron will be. All the other Wally Pipps could at least have taken a few classes, maybe discovered they like management or some other corporate drivel, something that could fulfill a life sans the ball court dribble. How does the love of the game and the economics of the game ever balance? The 2002 early-entrant list illustrates something so much realer; guys who aren't living the dream, but who had lived in dream and now are in a night-terror life playing semi-pro ball in Turkey, or one of the 'Stans. If you declare early or go for a one year carnival ride at the holiday college of your choice, does that mean you're in love with the wrong side of basketball, or are you just aware of your destiny? Are you an asshole for taking away someone else's chance at an education? Is high level basketball not superior knowledge of a physical discipline?

Anyone who really read this, and who is thinking ahead, might distill it and say something like, "For every Lebron, there's 100 Lee Bensons."

I look at it and say, since I'm degreed, I'm crafting a letter to declare eligibility for the 2008 draft.

Flux Capacitor in Texas

This just came in.

Truths:
1. Steve Francis is paid to play professional basketball.
2. Steve Francis plays for the Houston Rockets.
3. Steve Francis is out for the season.

Wow. What year is this? I wonder what is on his iPod right now. I'm gonna guess... Master P.

now go get yourself some ballin ass wallpapers. thanks EA!

To Begin Again. Again.

HOOPLA!

Lost in the shuffle of recent NBA trade shockers is the unlikely architecture of greatness deep within the smoky hills of Dolly Parton’s home.

YES. The Grizzlies have plucked two once-highly-heralded BIGS from the rummage sales of our great nation’s coastal basketball outfits. YES! (2) League orphans have been fastened together like the Duncan / Robinson Twin Towers of 90’s Tejas. YES!!! Darko and Kwame are the new pungent sparkly 4 and 5 of the Memphis Grizzlies.

Your table is ready! “Success, party of 2?”

The undeniable existence a young black boy named “Gay” playing professional ball in Tennessee acts as a distraction for development- these two outcasts can now fly under the proverbial radar of TN’s basketball fan base. No one will heckle them as it was in Detroit, DC, LA and Orlando. They will grow, together, expectations floating distant in the dirty Dollywood wind. Wipe away those tears Mike Conley Jr! This is what you left early for!