Posts Tagged ‘Kobe Bryant’

The NBA is 10 weeks into it’s 2014-2015 season.  It has been another completely fascinating season for an fascinating league.  The storylines are thicker than a rapper’s booty model girlfriend and the characters have continued to be so rife with ridiculousness that you can’t possibly capture it all in a (*Author’s note: undoubtedly too-long) post.  So I’ll just try to touch on my favorite things in the NBA so far this season.

New York Knickerbotchers

In spite of landing a highly sought-after GM (*Author’s note: none other than the master of Zen himself, Phil Jackson) and getting a new coach (none other than the utterly un-sought-after Derek Fisher) the Knicks have become an abomination.  There hasn’t been something this ugly occurring in New York City since this scene from Friday the 13th VIII: Jason Takes Manhattan.

If you’re searching for Derek Fisher?  You better check the bottom of the Eastern conference where the Knicks have prepared to cellar-dwell in a tank-off battle royale with the Philadelphia 76ers.  They’ve traded away any possible assets to the team, dumping JR Smith to the Cleveland Cavaliers (*Author’s note: more on that later) and generally slashing and burning their way through their roster like it’s Peruvian rain forest in the way of “progress.”

What has Carmelo Anthony done, watching his team disintegrate from between his once-clenched fists like sand from an hour glass?  In the most Carmelo way possible: by scoring a lot and wearing weird hats that look like they were designed by Michael Jordan’s stylist.


Carmelo’s hat, which can only be described as acid-washed Willy Wonka  Couture, has for sure been the Knick’s MVP this year.

The Browhairmian Rhapsody

While you may not be able to tell if Anthony Davis is furrowing his eyebrow, or if he is actually letting his lower forehead region play host to a caterpillar gang-bang, one thing you cannot mistake?  How far his game has come this year.  The 3rd year man out of New Orleans is having an absurd year.  Here are his stats from this season.


(*Author’s note: I’ve added in some key points here in a crappy, moronic attempt to draw a dude with a unibrow.  See?

Swaggy Giveth and Swaggy Taketh Away

In spite of playing what, at times, completely devolves into D-League basketball, the Los Angeles Lakers have remained supremely watchable.  Unlike all the 30 spray-tanned contestants that came ball-gowning out of their limosines on this week’s The Bachelor, though, I’m here for all the wrong reasons.  I’m watching the Lakers to see if Kobe will defiantly try to treat father time like he’s Smush Parker.  I’m watching to see if Swaggy P will continue his assault on the record books (*Author’s note: for most delightfully insane quotes) and I’m watching to see if I can appropriately shout out “Sacre Bleeeechhh” when Robert Sacre gets used in the paint.

The Lakers are, in short, a train wreck.  But they’re not a sad, depressing, black and white trainwreck.  They’re a climactic, Hollywood, Imax catastrophe that begs us to watch.  The catalyst?  Who else.  Swaggy P.  Or, for those of you without a pack-a-day Twitter habit who aren’t fiendishly looking to shoot up with NBA pop culture references as soon as you find a vein, I’m talking about Nick Young.  He dresses in pants that are – I’m not joking, here – called “Crotch Droppers” (*Author’s note: seen below)


dates a hyper-successful female rapper, and somehow has the courage (*Author’s note: read: Swag and/or stupidity) to call out Kobe Bryant when he feels it’s necessary.

Hell, he celebrates missed 3-pointers, and ranks himself as the best 3-Point shooter.  Ever.

He and Harvard grad Jeremy Lin routinely have insane conversations that leave you wondering if Swaggy is really clever or completely out of his mind.  The answer might be both.  That’s what makes this Lakers team so interesting: I just wrote about a dude whose nickname is “Swaggy” instead of Kobe Bryant.  In the mean time, I’ll keep tuning in to the Lakers’ games when I can.  They’re the SyFy channel movie of the NBA.  They’re horrendous.  They’re awful.  And yet I revel in their trashy goodness because it’s better than flipping the channel elsewhere and watching the soul-crushing depression that we call “The News.”

Kerr & Curry

Nope.  That’s not the name of TNT buddy cop drama.  At least not yet.(*Author’s note: keep your eyes peeled, though, because I would bet TNT has something similar to that exact name in pre-production right now.)


Curry is something of an offensive savant.  It doesn’t quite do him justice to just say that he’s “good” or “really f-ing good.”  There’s something different about his game, somehow, in a way that can make even the most long-winded writers (*Author’s note: See: me) struggle to quite put their wording to it.  It’s almost like you’re watching a genius compose a piece of music.  There’s so much at play, his crazy handles, his constantly probing court vision, and his hair-trigger release that allows him to get balls out of his hands faster than a hooker with police lights suddenly appearing in her John’s rearview.  There’s a next-levelness to Steph Curry’s game that has enabled him to be orchestral in his running of an offense.  At once, scoring, distributing, and doing things in a wholly unique and unconventional way.  He’s why the warriors are must-watch TV.  He’s why I’ll find myself cracking a late-night caffeine-in-a-can so that I can watch him play.

And Steve Kerr appears to be exactly the right fit for this supremely talented Warriors team.  He’s done a masterful job of balancing egos on a young team with a ton of talent and has gotten this team to buy into a defensive concept that has them looking like legitimate title contenders.  Klay Thompson has continued his Team USA fueled growth into becoming one of the best scorers in the game.  Unleashed in a fun, free-wheeling offense, and somehow still buying in on defense, Thompson appears to have been worth that dump-truck of money the Warriors tipped onto his lawn with all the grace of my 2-year-old Tonka-trucking it up.


It turns out that everybody does, in fact, Love Draymond as Draymond Green has also rocketed up the developmental ladder, finding himself in the midst of a stunning breakout year.  Kerr and Curry, Draymond and Klay.  The W’s went from a super-fun Michael Bay action movie (*Author’s note: a ton of flash and sizzle without ever really becoming something special) and have morphed themselves into a Christopher Nolan super-hero movie; substance and style all rolled into a scintillating package and given a terrible Christian Bale-beard on Andrew Bogut.

Blatt to the Future


As soon as LeBron decided to un-take his talents from South Beach it became clear that the Cleveland Cavaliers were to be his team.  Not GM David Griffin or Comic Sans manifesto-maestro, Dan Gilbert.  No.  This was about one thing and one thing only, and it was about that right from the start.  Keeping LeBron James happy.  So it’s been fascinating to watch the Cavs struggle to find their way.  They’ve traded and bartered, begged and borrowed and stolen.  They’re like that guy who’s treading water really hard and hasn’t drowned yet, but you find yourself what will happen when the lactic acid starts to creep into their proverbial limbs.

The Cavs have lost 9 of their last 11.  King James’ body is currently be usurped by the 40,000 minutes that have been put onto his young knees and Kevin Love looks like he might not have been worth trading Andrew Wiggins (*Author’s note: a thought that seemed preposterous a few months ago).  Will the Cavs be okay?  I think so.  Will they be good?  Who the hell knows.  LeBron hasn’t quite been himself this year, that much appears to be true.  Kyrie Irving has been playing more like start-of-the-pickup-game Uncle Drew than post-Pepsi-Max Uncle Drew and LeBron has been whispering sweet nothings into former teammates’ ears about getting the band back together.

The Cavs have been scrambling to make things work and make them work now.

They traded for Timofey Mozgov, got rid of Dion Waiters, and landed JR Smith and the copious flat top of Iman Shumpert.  Will these tweaks pay off?  Can LeBron get his body right in time to make a push through the lackluster Eastern conference?  Does JR Smith remind anyone else of DeLonte West (*Author’s note: and does this terrify LeBron beyond all measure?).  I can’t wait to keep watching to see if these questions can get answered.

In a league never short on storylines, these have been some of my favorites so far.  What about you?  What have you liked or hated so far about this incredibly fun NBA season?


After a long off-season with some insane storylines: (*Author’s note: Bron-Bron goes back to Cleveland, Phil takes the helm in NYC, Kobe and Derrick Rose prepare for their returns, and the Cavaliers prove that they are the NBA equivalent to Meatloaf and will do anything for Love.) the NBA season has finally arrived.  I’m sure, if you’re a hoophead like me, you’ve already pored over a 20 or more previews and watched as dozens of talking heads asked “The Important Questions” about this upcoming NBA season.

So I decided I’d take a little more outside the box approach.  I’d take a look at five storylines that may or may not be flying underneath the radar and investigate them.  Here are 5 questions that simply must be asked before the NBA season goes into day 2.

1.  Whose hair will get talked about the most in Cleveland: LeBron James or Anderson Varejao?

Anderson Varejao has come strong with his token-black-guy-in-High-School-Musical hair for the past few seasons.  Does it kind of look like the Brazilian hair version of the confetti that comes out of those toy champagne-poppers that people bust out for New Year’s Eve?  Yeah.  Does it flop oh-so-gloriously, like Pau Gasol trying to draw a charge in the low block?  Definitely.  Varejao’s stat line usually includes a triple double when he’s playing: points, rebounds, and times spent tossing his hair like model doing a “wind-blown” look in front of a power fan.

LeBron’s hair, like everything else about LeBron James, was highly scrutinized this offseason.  If you think about LeBron’s hair like a Civil War battlefield (*Author’s note: you know, like a normal person) it seemed like the front lines of LeBron’s hair were gradually ceding precious ground to the inevitable reverse Kareem-ing that seemed to be happening.  The head band on his dome kept moving back, gradually sliding towards making him look like he was wearing an NBA yarmulke that came with the sun roof option.  But for a brief moment this year, Bron-Bron called for reinforcements.

Photo Courtesty of

He got hair plugs.  His hairline made a dramatic, suicide charge, that had Twitter imploding in on itself like a dying supernova as LeBron suddenly looked like a new man.  But then?  Just like that: poof.  The new hair was gone again.  It had Nightcrawler’d (*Author’s note: the character from X-Men, not Jake Gyllenhall) out of the picture, teleporting off of LeBron’s dome.  Did he unplug like a rapper doing an acoustic set on MTV?  Had the Twitter backlash driven his new follicles to a full-on retreat?  We may never know.  But it’ll be something that’s totally worth watching.

2.  Where will Kobe hide the body of Swaggy P after he inevitably murders him?

That the situation in LA is a mess is hardly a secret.  I’m not sure if they’ve already copyrighted the term, “Blunderbuss” to describe how great Jerry’s son Jimmy has done running the franchise, but if they haven’t I’m going to send off a quick e-mail to the US Patent Office.  What will make a disgustingly unwatchable Lakers team infinitely more watchable this year?  The fact that Kobe Bryant is back.

And not only is Kobe back, but he’s in full on crotchety old man, I-don’t-give-a-fuck-because-I’m-a-veterans-veteran and make Rip van Winkle look like a rookie, mode.  So what happens when Kobe, and all his mamba-venom, run into Swaggy P and all his long-two-point-jacking bravado?  It could get ugly.  Since Swaggy P is essentially a 3rd-world-poor man’s Kobe and he has become a pseudo-celeb based on the fact that he’s dating Iggy Azalea, it could lead to a fascinating power struggle.


Photo Courtesy of: I’m sure you can tell I just crappily photoshopped this myself.

But let’s be honest: the struggle won’t last long.  We all know that Kobe’s competitiveness borders on homicidal.  So when he ends up drowning Swaggy P in the training room cold tub, after the Swagster goes 4-19 from the field at some point this year, the question will be this: where will Kobe stash his body?

4 Potential hiding places:

  • Wherever Jim Buss hides all of his “mistakes.”
    • A dude like Jimmy Buss isn’t going to live a completely clean life.  That much we can rightly assume.  So what do his “handlers” do when the Blunderbuss fires off an errant round and they need to dispose of the evidence?  I’m sure they have a secret passageway underneath the Staples center to spirit out bodies.  And we know Kobe would have access to these.
  • Smush Parker’s house.
    • Kobe and Smush have had a simmering, sometimes boiling, feud. And what better way for psycho-Kobe to exact his revenge (*Author’s note: other than, you know, just having no one else on the planet give a damn about Smush Parker – which has already happened.) than by a classic Hollywood Noir frame-job.
  • The Medieval German Castle Dungeon Laboratory where Kobe gets his strange knee injections.
  • Donald Sterling’s basement.
    • Because everyone would just assume Sterling did it.  I know I would.

3.  Will the 76ers play so bad that we retro-actively are declared the losers of the Revolutionary War and we have to give back thirteen states to Great Britain?

There’s a legitimate chance.  Have you seen their lineup? It’s a crew so Motley that Tommy Lee should be playing the drums.  They’ve got guys you’ve never heard of.  Young dudes who have names you can’t pronounce.  Michael Carter-Williams is their best player and he has a name like a serial killer and shoots 40% from the field.  While the team has a few young pieces with some upside, they appear to be doomed to another season so far at the bottom of the standings that they’re somewhere below the Earth’s crust.  The one bonus? Nerlens Noel, rocking a flat top the size of a small mountain peak on his dome.  (*Author’s note: and that’s trying really hard for a silver lining.)

4.  Will Chris Bosh continue his slow metamorphosis into a Velociraptor before our very eyes?


(*Author’s note: It’s time for you to start lining up your Jurassic World jokes, Twitter.  The season is back, the next installment of the Jurassic Park franchise is off and running, and Chris Bosh is probably going to continue Chris Boshing his way around the court.  Personally, I don’t know if the Heat will let Bosh have enough time off from the team to finish shooting his scenes as a stunt double for the velociraptors, and that could lead to some conflict.  Get.  Your.  Popcorn. Ready.)

5.  Will reigning technical foul king Boogie Cousins get out-teched by Larry Sanders?

Boogie seems to have troubles with the refs.  I’m not sure if this stems from the fact that he’s a post player who consistently thinks he’s getting hacked (*Author’s note: a hallmark of good NBA post players is their insistence that they’re being fouled and their willingness to get T-ed up for it. Hell, even not-good NBA post players get a lot of techs.  See: Perkins, Kendrick.) or if he’s just got a lousy attitude, but whatever the reason, Boogs has lead the league in techs for 2 straight seasons and finished second 3 years ago to the aforementioned king of posturing/scowling, Perkins.

But someone is coming for Boogie’s belt.  Someone equally tatted and equally trialed-and-tribulated by the officiating community.  Someone who once racked up a whopping 14 T’s of his own 2 seasons ago in a mere 71 games and who will be an what appears to be a super frustrating scenario buried in the frozen tundra of Milwaukee.  That’s right, baby!  I’m talking about none other than Larry F-ing Sanders!  If you doubt Mr. Sander’s ref-taunting technique, or don’t think anyone can hang with Boogie’s panache in the ref-flouting business: ladies and gentleman of the jury, please let me submit to you my favorite ejection of all time not involving an NBA fist fight.

Gif Provided via and, apparently @wiz_spurtin

The Los Angeles Lakers still don’t have a head coach.  It’s now been 3 months since their schedule mercifully came to a close and there is still no head-man to lead the legendary purple and gold franchise for the upcoming season.  There’ve been potential hires.  There’s been rumors of big names cashing fat checks and heading to Hollywood.  But, so far?  The Lakers have found themselves empty-handed.

In recent weeks, however, the Lakers have appeared to be leaning towards former Cavaliers coach, Byron Scott.

Kind of.  Sort of.

The story broke mid-week last week that Byron Scott was going in for his third interview with the Lakers organization.  His third!  He wasn’t interviewing for a position in the CIA deep cover operations unit.  He wasn’t signing on to be a solo-mission astronaut being sent into deep space with no human contact and billions of dollars of equipment not to mess up.  He’s essentially going to be scribbling down a few plays on a clipboard and trying to keep Kobe Bryant from choking out Robert Sacre for being so Robert Sacre-ish.

All those interviews beg the question: what the hell were they asking him in all of those hours spent talking things over?  Well ask that question no more.  We here at Burnpoetry were able to obtain a confidential interview questionnaire that Scott was asked to fill out by the top Lakers brass.  As you can see below, it’s no wonder it’s taken him so long to try to land the gig.

1.  2 Trains leave San Pedro, California at 3:30 PM. Train 1 is driven at 45 MPH and is piloted by a Swagductor, who is wearing bejeweled gator-skinned loafers that have 3-inch-spikes sticking out of them and is currently dating an Australian rapper.  Train 2 is being driven 52 MPH by the most homicidally competitive player the NBA has seen since Michael Jordan.  If both conductors expect to average 17 shots per game and the Lakers have just picked up a shoot-first point guard who is prone to turnovers, how long will it be until there’s a gigantic, steaming pile of train-wreck rubble at center court?


A) 15 Games into the season
B)  The All-Star Break
C)  Instantaneously.  Like, Polaroid picture fast.
D)  You’re fired.

2.  (Please circle one) Are you #teamlamar or #teamkhloe?

3.  Let’s say, purely, super-hypothetically, that you had an older sister who was smarter, more charismatic, and wildly more competent at running an NBA franchise.  What would you do about it?


A)  Ever heard of OJ?  I’d pretty much do that
B)  Spitefully hammer the team that she and your father loved directly into the ground like a stake on a railroad chain gang
C)  Wake up every morning thanking the sweet lord above for nepotism strong enough to land you the organizational reigns
D)  Plant 10 pounds of weed in Phil Jackson’s her boyfriend’s trunk and phone in an anonymous tip.

4.  True or False: Pau Gasol is the Spanish version of Benedict Arnold?


A)  True
B)  False

5.  Mitch has $56,912,541.  Kobe takes away $23,500,000 and Jeremy takes away $14,898,938.  How many dollars does Mitch have left to flush down a gold-plated toilet on over-the-hill veterans?

A)      Steve Nash Dollars and Carlos Boozer Cents
B)      √Juwanhoward
C)      Is Drew Gooden around still?
D)     Unlimited amounts.  The luxury tax can suck it.

6.  Are you cool with black people?  I know that sounds like a weird question, but there’s just a lot of heat out here at the Staples Center right now surrounding racists.

A)  Yes
B)  Are you a moron?

7.  Are you, in fact, a secret agent sent by Phil Jackson with the sole intent of bringing about the devious ruination of this once-great franchise?


A)  Yup
B)  Nah

8.  What is your personal philosophy with regards to growing a nasty mustache and constantly having people call you Mark Dantonio by mistake?

A)  Won’t happen on my watch
B)  ‘Stacheless 4 Lyfe

9. (The following is a guest question written by a confidential Lakers player)  What is the true meaning of life?

A)  Getting Kobe the best look in an isolation play run specifically for him
B)  Getting Kobe the best look in an isolation play run specifically for him
C)  Getting Kobe the best look in an isolation play run specifically for him
D)  Getting Kobe the best look in an isolation play run specifically for him

10.  Essay portion of the interview:

In 10,000,000 words or less, try to explain away the fact that this photo exists:



A Native American sweat lodge in the heavily wooded mountains of Montana.  A lone man sits inside, wearing a Rambo style headband and smoking a peace pipe.  He is shirtless and his heavily muscled back is turned to the entrance of the tent.

The tent flap is pulled back, spilling light into the smoky, smoky interior of the tent.  A tall, athletic black man in a flawless Prada suit and sunglasses steps into the tent.  His face is shrouded in darkness.

UNIDENTIFIED BLACK MALE:  Phil. . .?  Phil, I know that’s you.  Listen, man, we need you back.  I need you back.

He sets down a black alligator briefcase that thuds heavily onto the dirt of the floor.

UNIDENTIFIED BLACK MALE:  You know what’s in it.  You know what to do.  We play the Kings on Sunday.  Be there.

Phil Jackson lifts his graying, bearded face up into the light.  The unidentified black male turns and strides into the rustic, fading sunset.

PHIL: (in a low, smoky, whisper)  See you there. . .

The unidentified black man strides to where the sun spills in on his face.

PHIL: Kobe.

Kobe Bryant turns as the sun hits his face, revealing his identity.  He walks out of the tent and Phil slowly rises, tightening his headband.  He quickly leans over and takes another rip on the peace pipe and then turns towards the tents entrance.



The NBA season is fast approaching.  For my 11 loyal readers that means one thing: prepare to be swept away in a spam-tsunami of NBA-related posts, dumb jokes, and LeBron hating.  With the tipoff for the best sport in the world slated to happen on Halloween night, it’s high time we look at some of the fascinating storylines for this upcoming NBA season.  This post will probably be far, far too long anyway, so here we go. . .

Can the Heat Repeat?

The Heat seemed to figure it all out last year.  Dwyane Wade realized that he wasn’t the #1 gyu (*Author’s note: typo intentional) on the Heat, The Veboshiraptor battled through injuries down the stretch, everyone cussed out Mario Chalmers constantly, and Mike Miller inexplicably turned into a whiter, more trailer-trash-looking Reggie Miller in the NBA Finals.  And LeBron?  Well, he played power forward.  He played point guard.  He played center.  He damn near served the $17 dollar hot dogs in the Miami Heat concession stand.  And he was the best player at each spot.

I know the trendy pick is to always compare the latest, greatest, NBA superstar to the gold standard of such things, whose name doesn’t even need to be mentioned her for most of you to get it, but LeBron is really turning into a kind of brave new world of NBA superstar.  He looks like he should be in the starting lineup for the Monstars.  Make no mistake about it, though, I still hate him.  I’m in awe of LeBron like citizens in an oppressed country are in awe of their dictator.  I really don’t have a choice but to acknowledge who’s in charge of the league right now.  But that doesn’t mean that I don’t want some insurgents to come and overthrow the despotic James right off his throne.

A Facelift in L.A.?  No way. . .not in that town.

In a town where natural beauty, graceful aging, and inner beauty matter most, the Los Angeles Lakers have decided to get a little work done.  In a Bruce Jennerian facelift, the Lakers have made drastic overhauls to their team that should pay huge dividends.  They landed Dwight Howard, easily the biggest move of the offseason, with the intent to convince the superstar center to stick around for good.  They also got whiter, older, and more Canadian at the point guard position.  I know, I know.  That doesn’t usually engender a lot of confidence when you throw those three things together discussing basketball.  But, in this once case, it was a gigantic pickup for the team.  Steve Nash, 2-time MVP and a perennial guy-everyone-wants-to-play-with first teamer, has joined up with his one-time Western conference foes in the pursuit of a last run for an NBA title (*Author’s note: and to be closer to his kids during a potentially ugly divorce case.  Allegedly.)

Will Howard continue to whine, sob, and blunder his way through the league as he so often did last year?  Or will this change of scenery, and coaching staff, do him some good?  I’m not a huge Howard fan, but love the fact that he makes the Lakers tougher defensively around the rim, playing the role of a more athletic Andrew Bynum.  You have to assume that someone as gifted as Nash, someone with the ability to turn Marcin Gortat and a bunch of scrubs into a .500 ball club in the competitive Western conference, can find ways to keep Gasol, Howard, and most importantly Kobe Bryant happy.

Nash is old, though.  He’ll turn 39 during this season , which in basketball years is close to 102, but if the Lakers can get good minutes out of him each night they should be a force offensively.  If Howard can accept his role on the team and protect the hoop with all the ferocity that has earned him three Defensive Player of the Year awards, they should be much improved defensively.  Now, if only Pau would just get a haircut.

(*Author’s note: potential nicknames for Dwight Howard tangent in 3…2…1…

–  Sweet Dream, or a beautiful Dwightmare
–  Dwihard With a Vengeance
–  Howard the Dunk (instead of Howard the Duck)
–  Reign Wilson (The guy who plays Dwight Schrute on The Office is named Rainn Wilson)
–  Dwilight: Breaking Dawn

The Lakers’ starting lineup will have 33 combined All-Star appearances.  And they might not be the favorites in the West.  (*Author’s note: I’ll touch on the other teams out in that division a little later)

Who Will Rise to Twitter Dominance?

Will it Be Swaggy P (AKA Nick Young) or will Boogie Cousins (AKA Demarcus Cousins) continue to hold down the #1 spot?  Will some newer, dumber, player step up to fill the void?  We need more Twitter handles, NBA players.  Step your game up.

Celtics Keep a Private Jet

RIP “Boston 3-Party.”  Your awesome nickname will be missed.  After losing Ray Allen, the Celts have managed to keep their mercurial superstar Rajon Rondo and added Jason “The Jet” Terry to their lineup.  Terry was an integral part in the Dallas Maverick’s NBA title two years ago and can be an excellent scorer and 3-point shooter when he’s hot.  He’ll mix well with the veteran lineup and should bring some energy to the team that’s fiery but in control.  The Celts didn’t get any younger with this move, however, and are watching their title door slowly close.  With their talent level and veteran experience, however, if these guys stay healthy (*Author’s note: a big “if” in an 82-game season) that door could slow down to Indiana Jones boobie-trap-sprung-by-accident-in-a-dark-cave speeds.

Shaquille O’Neal: Shark-Jumping Stunt Specialist

If you love the NBA, you love Charles Barkley, Kenny “the Jet” Smith, and Ernie Johnson.  Their playful interactions, insightful analysis, and fearlessness in critiquing current players when it’s needed are all integral parts of what make their broadcasts so much fun.  The contrived, forced enjoyment of NFL pregame and postgame shows is something I completely loathe.  For most NFL pre/post game shows they toss 11 guys behind a desk, giggling like they’re tweenage girls who’ve been huffing Nitrous Oxide, each trying to out-celebrity the other analysts and they take something away from the game.

Shaquille O’Neal’s all 11 of those guys rolled into one.  His presence, and moderator Ernie Johnson’s forced attempts to include him in the breakdown of games, hangs around the show’s neck like a 7’0”, 350 lb. weight.  He’s as articulate as Tarzan and generally mumbles his way through broadcasts like a strange combination of Barry White and Shy Ronnie from Saturday Night Live’s digital shorts.  I still love Inside the NBA.  But Shaq definitely jumped the shark the moment he sat his diesel-sized ass down on the set.

What Other Dumb Stuff Can JaVale McGee do?

I feel like this could be a gameshow.  Every time JaVale suits up and steps onto the court for the Denver Nuggets this year, contestants would chips to place on various Bingo-styled spaces labeled with predictions like: “Will refer to himself in the 3rd person” and “will tweet a pre-game picture of himself shirtless” and “will try to dunk from the three-point line during a fastbreak” and whomever ended up with the most amount of correct predictions would win.  Sure it’s basically harder to accurately predict than a Russian Roulette game in a Taiwanese opium den, but let’s be honest: if you’re not tuning in to watch JaVale McGee every night you’re missing out.  He’s completely and thoroughly watchable in exactly the same way as Flavor of Love was watchable in the mid-2000s.

To Be Continued. . .

(*Author’s Note: This is the fourth in a 5 part series detailing my favorite sports memories of all-time.)

Full disclosure, I’m not one of those people who thinks that being a fan or a hater of a certain team is a binding agreement.  I don’t think that we, as crazed sports fans, are contractually obligated to like or dislike a certain team for all of time.

I understand that some fans take vows, much like some twisted ESPN-induced wedding nuptials, that they will love, honor, and cherish the Washington Redskins or that they will loath, hate, and despise the Oklahoma Sooners.  I get that.

While there are some teams that I feel that I will always have a certain level of hatred for (*Author’s note: here’s looking at you, BeVo and Butthead.  Who’s “butthead” you ask?  I’m not entirely sure, but it just kind of wrote itself.  Maybe Mack Brown or DeLoss Dodds.  You make the call.) I also subscribe to the age-old “out of sight, out of mind” and the even more clichéd, “time heals all football/basketball/track/soccer/team handball wounds.”

So when I say that I used to strongly dislike the Los Angeles Lakers and that they, through a sports-life-altering moment, became my favorites in the span of one game I understand that some of you will turn up your noses.  You’ll flip me the “I will always hate the Lakers, even if Lamar Odom married my sister after he divorces Khloe Kardashian,” bird.  Some might even challenge my fandom.

The simple fact is, and some of you will inevitably disagree with me on this until you’re buried six feet under in your team-colored caskets, there are moments in sports that can irrevocably change the way we look at a team or a player.  I had both of these happen in one fell swoop in the winter of 2009.

My fiance and I had booked a cruise that departed from Long Beach in early January.  She had surprised me with tickets to the Lakers and Pacers game at the Staples Center.  I was giddy.

I had been to several NBA games in the past, all at the U.S. Airways Center to watch the Phoenix Suns, but this was a chance to see something totally different.  It would be like watching the Packers at Lambeau or watching the Cubs play at Wrigley.  If the Cubs didn’t perennially suck.  It would be a chance for an NBA fanatic to see the place where the NBA logo once played.  Where Magic had passed to Kareem and where Kobe Bryant not only wore a crown on his shoulder in tattoo ink, but wore the crown as (arguably) the best player in the league.

Prior to arriving in L.A. I wasn’t a Kobe Bryant fan.  I found him arrogant, dispassionate about his teammates, but firmly believed he was one of the greatest athletes on the planet and would have killed to see him live.  We managed to finagle a ride to the game from our extremely Japanese hotel (*Author’s note: how can any hotel be “extremely” Japanese, you ask?  They had a meditation garden on the 8th floor that connected directly, by crushed gravel path no less, to a karaoke/sushi bar.  That’s how Japanese it was.) and thereby avoided the inevitable cab ride that would’ve racked us up a Tom-Hanks’-salary-for-Larry Crowne-sized bill.

We arrived in time for the shoot-arounds and I promptly geeked out so hard that my fiance had to physically restrain me from jumping off the upper deck and sprinting down courtside.  I settled for repeatedly reminding her who every player was that I could identify and taking grainy, low-resolution photos with my camera.  Pau Gasol’s photo looked like a bigfoot sighting.  Mainly because Pau simply looks like a Sasquatch.

Despite the fact that we were high up, I could see the game and the warmups and Jack Nicholson sitting courtside with an 18-year-old skeeze (*Author’s note: we had seen an L.A. gossip newspaper detailing Nicholson’s courtship of this true freshman from Brown University and were shocked when she showed up sitting next to the King of Hollywood.) with remarkable clarity.  Even Sasha Vujacic’s greasy euro-trash version of the Hanson brothers’ hair was clearly visible, flopping in the night air.

Before the game tipped off the Lakers got their player introductions.  For the intro, the team dropped down a huge square of white screens that had 6-story high projection images of the Lakers throwing down vicious dunks and rejecting shots with authority.  I videotaped it with my camera and you can hear me, drowning out the PA announcer himself with remarkably high-pitched screams.  Although the audio would suggest otherwise, I’m pretty sure I hit puberty a while before this.

The game was a high-paced, back and forth affair with lead changes and a great deal of drama.  The atmosphere was perfect.  There were celebrities, both real and imagined.  “I swear that’s Leo DiCaprio right there. . .or. . .maybe it’s Matt Damon.  No, definitely DiCaprio.”  (*Author’s note: it wasn’t.)  And a big-screen kiss from Heidi Klum and some girl who was also sitting with her and Seal that was cheered wildly by anyone with testosterone.

I’m pretty sure Phil Jackson stopped coaching to cheer for that.

As time ticked away the clearly superior Lakers couldn’t quite pull away.  Kobe dropped 36 points with 13 assists and 7 rebounds.  Seeing him live was incredible.  He had complete command of the court.  Even from where we couldn’t quite tell if Jack Nicholson’s date was wearing a shirt or not (*Author’s note: my fiance and I still debate on this one.  He is Jack Nicholson, after all.) it was obvious that Kobe was the man.

The Pacers gamely kept the score close.  It was a tie ball game as the Lakers got the ball for one last possession.  Everyone in the Staples center had one name on their lips.  Except for a few grossly Euro-Garbaged-up girls who had implanted-up their Vujacic jerseys and had been screaming at him the whole game in an attempt to score some future child support and/or green cards.

Kobe had the ball, slowly circling the outside of the three-point line as time wound down.  There was something carnivorous in the way he eyed the basket.  Something very tantalizing filled the entirety of the stadium. 

Everyone knew Kobe was going to take the shot.  Everyone knew Kobe was going to make the shot.  Then. . .Kobe made the shot.  As time expired Kobe hit a turnaround 2 pointer from the elbow for the win.

The fans went crazy.  Even though the ending had been as predictable as High School Musical 3, it was amazing.  Never before had I felt so confident that someone would simply will themselves into a heroic moment and never before had I seen someone fulfill a prophecy so effortlessly.  Kobe had wanted to score.  He’d wanted to win.  Then he’d gone down the court, with an entire opposing team knowing that he would shoot the final shot, and done exactly that.

With that one night, that one game, that one basket, that one moment I metamorphosed.  I became a Kobe Bryant fan.  I became a Lakers fan.  It was that incredible a moment, that cool.  Just by being there, surrounded by A-listers and paparazzi and fans that could actually dance when they were shown on the “bust a move cam” I felt suddenly like some Hollywood bigshot.

Jumping around joyously while wildly celebrating with my fiance and the random dude in front of us sloshing eight dollars worth of beer (*Author’s note: at the Staples Center that’s roughly an 8 oz. beer.) was a great moment.  It altered my perception of the NBA.  It made me realize that certain games, certain moments of sporting bliss, can make you do a 180-degree turn faster than Blake Griffin in transition. 

I had been baptized in glitz and glamor and steely nerves that not even Hollywood could capture in cinematic glory; born again in the purple and gold of Lakers fandom, I reveled in the moment and won’t soon stop.

It was a marvelous night, a great game, and a shot that I’ll never forget.


Joakim Noah, the starting center for the Chicago Bulls, was recently caught on camera dropping an “F-Bomb.”  No, not that F-Word.  The other F-Word.  This latest gay slur, allegedly directed at a heckling Miami Heat fan, follows on the heels of Kobe Bryant’s  use of the same word and subsequent $100,000 dollar fine.

Commissioner David Stern has taken a strict stance against such homophobic language and the fine on Noah dropped in at $50K. 

But that got me thinking, what if Stern decided that he really needed to draw a line in the sand; make a statement so bold against these intolerable remarks that every player would have no choice but to cower in terror at the consequences of such bigoted statements?

The natural response to these kind of transgressions in professional sports is to “hit ’em where it hurts.”  Meaning: the Wallet.

But what if Stern exercised his considerable clout and decided to lay a non-monetary smackdown on Noah.  What if David Stern found some unique ways to punish Joakim for his idiocy?  Here are a few suggestions, since I’m pretty sure Stern is an avid reader of this blog.

1.  Make Him Sub-let the Basement of His Mansion to 10 Members of the Westboro Baptist Church for a Month

A month spent in close quarters with 10 of the most inbred, backwoods, yokels since the hillbilly rapists from “Deliverance” and I bet Noah would suddenly feel pretty enlightened and tolerant.  A month spent hearing the disgusting hate-speech drivel piped out from between bucked, Red-man stained teeth and I bet Noah realizes the error of his ways.

2.  Make Him Shut Up

This one may sound simple, but nothing could be more of a challenge.  Noah never shuts up.  Much like his game, which idles at crack-fiend-after-Redbull RPMs, his mouth is constantly open.  He shouts, screams, bellows, and pops off at the mouth.  The only true way to get him to close that pie-hole is to simply melt his mouth shut. 

Impossible, you say?  Maybe.  But here’s how that works if you’ve forgotten.  Just picture Noah as Neo.

3.  “Queer Eye for the Straight Guy” His Dirty Ass

Except do it at gunpoint.  Have him held down, shaved, cleaned up, and shown pictures of his draft-day outfit over and over again.  I have covered at length how gross Joakim, his pube-beard, and his jankety man-pony hair looks.  If he wants to make fun of the gay community, let them ridicule him back.  And let them save me from having to watch him run up and down the court looking like he was raised by Yetis.

5.  Every Time He Scores Make Him Use a Timeout, Stand On the Scorer’s Table, and Do This Dance

He doesn’t score very much, but after 2 times of that hideous, spastic dancing on the jumbo-tron Noah would be begging for a chance to properly apologize.

6.  Make Him Build Something

An arc, perhaps?  (*Author’s note: I apologize.)

7.  Make Him Sing a Duet of “Stan” With Elton John

Eminem did it.  It helped his image.  Watching Noah stumble his way around with one of the all-time greats and completely humiliate himself would be terrific punishment.

8.  Make Him Play 1-on-4 Against the Aryan Brotherhood Prison Gang Team in San Quentin

He wants to be a bigot?  These guys are professionals.  He thinks he should tough-talk someone while using slurs?  Wait until he plays some street ball with a bunch of hulking Neo-Nazis.  And when they tell Noah to “Hit the Showers”?  He better not drop the Head and Shoulders while he’s shampooing that mane of hair.