#1. Hey LeBron, how did botching the streak taste last night?
Yum.
Oh, that good, huh?
#2. The Heatles got Yoko Ono’d. And by a team without their two best players. The Heat somehow lost for the first time in 27 games to a team with a guy that looks like he’d be the on the Bachelorette – as the contestant who is the lead singer of a Dave Matthews cover band– running the point guard spot.
#3. When reached for comment Jerry West (*Author’s note: AKA The Logo) had this to say:
The Logo strikes again.
#4. LeBron complained after the game about the referees. Considering that, at one point he went some 250+ minutes without getting called for a foul this year, I’m not sure that he’s really justified. I know a lot of you will point to his unbelievable skill and his disdain for committing fouls, but his absurdly low foul rate this year pretty much renders any complaints about refereeing by James laughable.
#5. Make no mistake about it, LeBron got pushed around last night. Considering he’s built like a defensive end, I think he was probably okay. However with only Shane Battier and a point guard that he verbally berates as often as possible to have his back. LeBron decided he needed to take matters into his own hands. Here’s a fun GIF of him screaming at Chalmers. Strange that the dude didn’t have his back when the going got tough. . .
#6. Vigilante justice by Sheriff James! It didn’t go well. He ended up with a flagrant and a bunch of microphones in his face for him to complain to.
#7. Every streak has to end. In this case, Miami was Frank the Tank and the Chicago was his soon-to-be-divoring-him wife from Old School. I hope Eric Spoelstra climbed into the team bus and said, “Do you think KFC’s still open?”
#8. It looks like the 1972 LA Lakers’ streak of 33-games is safe for now. Somewhere, Wilt Chamberlain’s ghost is smiling. And having a ghost 3-way.
#9. Is 27 straight still completely un-friggin-real? Of course. I still think the Heat will win the NBA title. They just seem too good not to. But anytime I can cheer wildly for LeBron to lose to anyone, you’d better believe I’m going to Carpe the hell out of that Diem.
#10. As for all the coverage of the heat and their Harlem Shake video and their insane streak? The Minnesota Timberwolves summed it up best with this response video:
Every year when I was a kid we would all spend time decorating up our little paper bags, glue-gunning hearts and glitter and any number of toxic items all over our Valentine’s Day Drop-Bag. We would put them out on our desks and everyone would take a turn dropping off their Valentine and/or treats and we’d get to look at them at the end of the day. This year, to celebrate V-Day in a digital age, I put out a Valentine’s Day Digital Drop-Bag with the hopes that I’d get some goodies.
You won’t believe who left me Valentine’s Day cards. The first picture is the front of the card and the second is the inside. Check it out:
Bo Pelini stopped by and left a card:
LeBron James took time out from annihilating the league to stop by as well:
So did his teammate and BFF, Dwyane Wade:
Ndamukong Suh even left me a card:
Wait, LeBron left two? And this one was also just signed “Latrell?”:
Tony Romo sent us a card:
Wow, Lawrence Phillips took time out from his un-busy schedule to send us some love? You shouldn’t have, LP:
Manti Te’o broke his self-imposed social networking gag order just for us:
Lance Armstrong? I bet his Valentine’s Day was a ball:
The largest question surrounding one man’s knee in the NBA this year no longer belongs to Kobe Bryant and whatever happened in that dungeon laboratory in Germany last summer. No. It now has hoopheads wondering if/when Derek Rose will make a comeback this year. There are generally two schools of thought on the youngest player ever to win an MVP’s imminent return. Several former players have come forward saying Rose should wait and his own team owner has been a vocal proponent of “not rushing him back.” It seems that the balance is shifted toward Rose making a return this season, albeit a delayed one. Having torn his ACL in late April and getting surgery in early May, it may be a while before Rose is back at full strength. Perhaps the even bigger question is this: for a player whose game relies so much on his dynamite explosiveness and his Intercontinental Ballistic Missile-speed drives to the hoop, will Rose come back the same player? For those answers, we’ll just have to wait.
When Ricky Rubio injured his knee last season I was more upset about it than a grown man should so readily admit. Why? Because Rubio is phenomenally entertaining. He’s a Honky Harlem Globetrotter. He’s the Spanish Jason Williams (*Author’s note: except much better all around), He looks like he is a stunt double for a member of One Direction, makes everyone around him exponentially better in a very Steve Nashian way, and made the Timberwolves one of the most watchable teams in the league. Now, with Kevin Love hurt for 6-8 weeks, the recently re-tooled T-Wolves will need to put some of their new pieces into action in order to stay competitive. But with – for lack of a better term, here – a pretty weird group of guys on one team they Wolves will be must-watch T.V. They have Lou Amundson (*Author’s note: the Hair up there), JJ Barea, Kevin Love (*Author’s note: when healthy, a legit top-10 player in the league), Chase Budinger (*Author’s note: best white dunker since. . .ever?) Andrei Kirilenko the Magic Dragon, Nikola Pekovic, and Brandon Roy and they picked up the Cleveland Steimsma. Not since the ’86 Celtics have we seen a team this pasty, with this much potential. It should be a fascinating season up north and Rubio’s recovery and continued high-level of play should be a gigantic part of that.
Flopping Fines for Panty-Waisted Prima Donnas
Flopping in the NBA is kind of like all the idiotic Facebook game invitations we all get. Unless we have the sense to block them out – and let’s be honest, here, there’re just too many to keep up with in many regards – the 88 Farmville requests, 39 Schoolstream invitations, and the 14 requests to sign up for the latest game that tells you whether you’re more like Samantha or Carrie from Sex and the City can really be an annoyance. We all complain about it, but the overall package is so good that we just keep coming back. What makes the flopping so bad is that some of the league’s biggest stars are some of the worst offenders.
This offseason the NBA showed why it’s the most progressive and innovative league in major sports by adapting on the fly (*Author’s note: enjoy your stodgy, crusty, leatherbound book of rules, baseball). They saw a problem with the way the game was being played and took a stance to adjust the behavior. The league put into place mandatory penalties for the other kind of “faking it.”
Violation 1: Warning Violation 2: $5,000 fine Violation 3: $10,000 fine Violation 4: $15,000 fine Violation 5: $30,000 fine Violation 6: Player has a mandatory 1-game stint playing for the Bobcats
With these new fines in place, I can only hope that the league follows through. Hopefully this means no more LeBron collapsing to the floor like the victim of a well-place sniper shot. No more Kobe flopping in an attempt for a late-game call so hard that Pau reflexively flops, too. With these new fines in place I’m hoping that the entire roster of the San Antonio Spurs will star in a 30 for 30 of their own next season called Broke II: Flopsome and Jetsam (and Title 1 Bankruptcy).
Harden to Houston
James Harden is now officially a Houston Rocket. I almost touched on his imminent departure/contract negotiations in part one of this post, but I realized that whatever I wrote could be 180 degrees incorrect by the time anyone read my article. I’m glad I waited. Harden was last year’s sixth man of the year. He averaged nearly 17 points coming off the bench, played above-average defense, and was more than happy to defer the spotlight to either Kevin Durant or Russell Westbrook. The Thunder would have us believe they were tapped out financially and couldn’t go deeper into the luxury tax abyss by giving Harden a fat deal. They offered him a deal, which Harden allegedly turned down, and then shipped him out to try to get something in return for their third-wheel all-star.
In sending away one of the league’s best Glue Guys, a player good enough to play for the US Team at this year’s Olympics, and a key piece to of an NBA Finals team, the Thunder are risking a lot. Sure they’re going to save money, sure they still have two of the best players in the league in their starting lineup, and sure they got back a very good scorer in Kevin Martin (*Author’s note: the only proven commodity in the trade, with the Thunder also getting rookie Jeremy Lamb and a heaping pile of draft picks) but at what cost? Many of the media outlets around are calling this trade a win for the Thunder, but it should be fascinating to see how this team functions without their bearded left-handed right hand man.
Other Fascinating Subplots to a Potential Incredible Season
- Which team will rule New York? The Brooklyn Nets? The New York Knicks? This suddenly fascinating rivalry will be must-watch. Does anyone realize that Jay-Z doesn’t actually own the Nets? It’s that huge Russian guy who has more money than Hova.
- Will Linsanity continue? Or will it fade into Bolivia like Mike Tyson once predicted of his career?
- Will the Clippers overcome the Lakers for the best team in L.A.?
- How many T’s will Boogie Cousins get?
- Will Carmelo pass the ball? Ever?
- Will Ray Allen’s mother usurp Gloria James as the most talked about/overexposed Mom on the Miami Heat? Or will JaVale McGee’s mother finally rip that title away from her fellow Moms?
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.
The NBA finals are finally upon. This gloriously inglorious, cluttered to the point of brutality, NBA season has finally reached a head.
On one side we have the Miami Heat.
On the other the Oklahoma City Thunder.
The self-glossed, self-inflated pomposity of a team with the audacity to promise 7 NBA titles before they had played a game and the skill-set to make some immediately nod their heads in agreement when they heard the bold proclamation.
The young, hungry, terrifyingly athletic group lead by a modest wunderkind, a supremely confident point guard and a beard that would make Rick Ross say, “Wait. . .what?”
Oklahoma City has Kevin Durant, the best scorer in the world. Miami has LeBron James, the best player in the world. Durant is relatively new to the spotlight, or as much as any 3-time scoring champ who was the 2nd overall draft pick can be, while LeBron’s chef’s third cousin is completely and thoroughly accustomed to being a topic of heated media discussion. (*Author’s note: Skip Bayless would verbally attempt to impale him and Stephen A. Smith would slam down the race card like he just hit Blackjack at a million dollar table.)
Both have elite level talent at the top-end of their rosters. Both have coaches that are, at the very minimum, serviceable in most situations and have been proven to be very good at times. In short, the NBA finals this year should be fascinating, dramatic, and a great watch for sports fans of all makes and models.
Here are a few key storylines that I’m interested in watching during this year’s NBA Finals:
The Big 3²
(*Author’s note: please excuse me. I’ve just discovered how to make the “squared” sign on a PC. ². Sorry. Last time.)
At this point we’re all pretty tired of hearing about the “Big 3″ on each of these teams, but their impact on their teams cannot be overstated. On Miami it’s James, Dwyane Wade, and velociraptor mongoliensis Bosh. With the Thunder it’s Durant, James Harden and The Russell West-B in Apt. 23.
We know Durant and James will be gigantic in this series. But what about the other parts of the equation for each team?
Will the VeBoshiraptor be healthy? Or will he play like he just got capped by Robert Muldoon? Will anyone put up with me continually yelling, “Shoot heeer!” everytime Bosh makes a play? The key to the Heat’s resurgence in the Boston series was Bosh’s return and, eventually, his return to form.
Will Harden continue to wreak havoc off the bench, or will the Heat’s athletic, swarming perimeter defense slow him down? Will his beard trump LeBron’s moving beard-tribute to the 16th President of the United States. (*Author’s note: I’m still 94% convinced that LeBron’s beard is somehow an elaborate cross-promotion for the Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Slayer movie.)
(*Secondary Author’s note: that’s still the second best tribute to Abe in the NBA. Here’s the first.)
The Russell West-B in Apt. 23 and Dwyane Wade will play crucial second-fiddles in this series. While I have no doubt that Westbrook can score with Wade, it will be interesting to watch his matchup with Mario Chalmers and see if he’s able to be his usual explosive self.
The Coaching Matchup
It’s been well-documented that Heat coach Eric Spoesltra could be on the hot-seat. He’s found himself in the wholly unenviable position of being damned if he does, damned if he doesn’t, and totally f-ed if the Heat don’t deliver this time around.
Scoliam Neebrooks is facing his own kind of pressure. While not nearly to the submarine-hull-at-Marianas-trench-bottom PSI that Spoelstra’s facing, this dead ringer for Liam Neeson needs to conjure his inner Col. Hannibal and come up with a plan that comes together. How do you slow down LeBron, his go-to-gyu (*Author’s note: intentional typo alert) Dwyane Wade, and the VeBoshiraptor? Seeing how he utilizes the young talent off the bench and his bigs will be something to keep an eye on.
The Refs
I’m not normally one to harp on the referees. I’m not one of those people who think the league is rigged (*Author’s note: *cough* *cough* New Orleans wins the lottery *cough*) and I’m one of those people who thinks that as long as we keep trying to seamlessly incorporate technological advancement into the refereeing of sports we can cut these guys a little slack.
However the free throws could play a huge role in this series. Will LeBron be at the line longer than a virgin waiting on The Hunger Games to come out? Or will Durant get more freebies than a college football player attending USC? Hopefully the refs stay the hell out of the way, like good refs should and can keep the flopping to a minimum.
2-3-2
It’s not a defensive formation that will automatically elicit a technical foul, nor is it some weird lingo for a new reality show that features a group of two bros, three frenemies and two hipsters who are all piled into a shack in the wilderness, a handgun, and a potential alien that is hidden among them. (*Author’s note: but I’m sure that Fox has that one in the works)
What that refers to is the NBA’s championship format. It’s different from the other rounds and lends itself to big trouble for the Thunder should they lose either game one or game two. The team that wins game one wins the series 72% of the time. OKC has a great home crowd. Miami has a crowd. The Thunder have a significant homecourt advantage and it will be interesting to see if this format helps or hinders them in their quest.
I’ll have more coverage of this, hopefully, amazing series. Keep tuning in and I’ll keep gushing.
Do you hear that? That deep, timpani roll just off the horizon that’s cascading our way? Reverberating, humming deep into your solar plexus like you’re standing too close to a didgeridoo? That’s the sound of the Thunder. That’s the sound of youth morphing into experience and a building, tempestuous roar that, like a stormy sea slamming into eroding rock cliffs, signals the passing of time.
The torch was passed last night.
Not willingly. It was ripped from the aging, championship-ring-wearing hands of the San Antonio Spurs who, mere games earlier, had looked to be unbeatable; an unstoppable, silver and black clad tide that was rolling in and nothing and no one could stop them on their way to the title.
Successions to the throne are rarely clean. There’s poison, vitriol, and if you watch Game of Thrones, incest (*Author’s note: a whole lot of incest). The Spurs are a far classier bunch than the Lannisters, but they still gave the Thunder their all. And somehow the kids from OKC prevailed.
I’m torn on the Thunder. They bring all kinds of positives to the court, but I still am not entirely on the Thunder bandwagon. It’s an enigma to me, because I can’t fully jock the Thunder without coming up with a list of why I shouldn’t. There’s this whole Yin and Yang thing going on, with an occasional Ying Yang Twins thing sprinkled in. Just trust me, it’s complex.
So I decided to present you, my 4 readers, with a list of 5 reasons to root for the Oklahoma City Thunder and 5 reasons to root against them.
5 Reasons to Root for the Oklahoma City Thunder:
1. Kevin Durant
Kevin Durant may be the best basketball player on earth. You could argue that LeBron James has that title, and his MVP performance and more-multi-faceted game certainly would back that up if you wanted to present the case. But make no mistake about it, Kevin Durant is the real deal.
He’s 23-years-old. When I was that age I was jamming on wrinkly jeans from the floor of my bedroom and brushing my teeth with Diet Mountain Dew on my way to an already-5-minutes-in class lecture. He’s led the league in scoring 3 times.
He’s humble. He’s well-spoken. He’s 6’10″ and can handle the ball like a guard, shoot 3′s like he’s playing NBA Jam TE on easy mode, and attacks the rim with a ferocity that seems suicidal given that he looks to weigh about 108 pounds.
If he hadn’t gone to Texas I might like him even more.
2. James Harden
Even though my wife claims that his beard makes her “want to punch him in the face”, a claim which I find to be particularly amazing (*Author’s note: I’m a lucky man) I still like Harden. He does everything. Scores, distributes, comes off the bench without complaining and plays good defense.
Guys like Harden are what make championships possible. Guys like Harden are what make teams great. His progression this year may be exactly what has helped to get the Thunder over the Western Conference Finals hump. Even if he looks like a mutant-spawn of an illicit Rick Ross/lumberjack mountain-shack affair, the guy can flat-out play and you can’t help but root for him.
3. Substance Meets Style
The Thunder are just a damn fun team to watch play. They can score. They can defend. They have 3 guys who could literally jump up take a quarter off the backboard, make change for it, then play a now-suddenly-overpriced $.50 game of Pac-Man before they hit the ground. They do all of this while winning, which is the most impressive part of the equation.
When the Thunder are in the open court on a fast break even the whiter-than-Wonderbread crowd in OKC suddenly finds itself standing and preparing to get funky.
4. Scott Brooks. . .Looks Exactly Like Liam Neeson
Here’s a quick side-by-side:
If you think you’re going to kidnap Liott Neebrooks’ chance for a title you’re sorely mistaken. He’s a man with a definite set of skills. And he’ll use all of those considerable skills to hunt you down and find you.
5. They’re Not the Heat/Celtics
5 Reasons to Root Against the Oklahoma City Thunder
1. Don’t Trust The Russell West-B in Apt. 23
Russell Westbrook. He’s definitely one of the top 10 players in the league. In his own mind he’s a top 1 player in the league. When the line between reality and whatever’s floating around in his Chris-Brown-looking head.
While I’m completely in awe of his ability I generally get the feeling that somehow he believes himself to be every bit the equal to Kevin Durant, who is a once-in-a-generation talent. Where Harden and most of OKC knows their roles, The West-B in Apt. 23 often times appears to be the Thunder’s version of Joe Pesci. Phenomenal as a #2 but at his best when offsetting Bob DeNiro.
2. Kendrick Perkins
Perkins stumps around on court looking with the grace and the general demeanor of the title character Blackenstein.
He’s borrowed every scowl, dirty move, and faux-anger-that-gets-very-un-faux-technical-fouls manuver in the Kevin Garnett: Anything is Possiiiiiblllleeeee Guide to Overblown, Theatrical Intensity handbook.
3. This :
4. This:
5. And this:
These guys can shoot pretty good, considering they clearly have a team-wide vision problem.
I’m not a fashion expert. In fact, I don’t understand anything that’s trendy or cool anymore. I feel like we’ve fallen through a portal to some kind of alternate dimension where it’s cool to dress like Willy Wonka; a terrifying land where Superman wants to be Clark Kent.
The Thunder are at the front of this brutal assault on our 1080-p’s. They step to the podium with glasses that would even cause a hipster to stop sipping his Latvian-imported micro-brew, that he can’t pronounce but knows deep in the soul-less chasm of his heart that it just has to be better than anything made in America, and spit it out onto his carefully wrinkled pants.
This atrocity cannot go un-recognized, but compared with the Miami Heat, who’re equally stylistically inclined? This final piece of the un-rooting puzzle might just not be enough. Go Thunder!
The latest installation in the Men in Black franchise is coming out this Friday. I’m sure you know this, since we’ve all been force-fed a gag-inducing portion of advertisements and gimmicks to let us know that this — along with Burger King, the NBA Playoffs, Sprite, iHop, and some kind of car — is something we can’t afford to miss.
I was a fan of the first MIB movie. I was also in elementary school.
I’m not saying that the first part of that 2-sentence statement was contingent on the second half. But I do feel that it has at least something to do with why I was such a fan. When the first movie came out, Will Smith was at the height of his powers. He was an action movie/buddy-comedy goldmine and a rapper who was the epitome of non-swearing, unthreatening fun that made suburban mothers okay with popping Big Willy Style into their Nissan Minivans. (*Author’s note: the last 14 words of that sentence are not dirty. I swear it. Damn you, double entendres. Damn you.)
My brother and I loved the first movie. At the time it had a multitude of things going for it that made me obsessed with the film. Aliens, high-tech special effects, and a wise-cracking young hotshot butting heads with his grizzled and grumpy older partner. It had all the elements of a movie that a young male would find impressive.
We’ve now come full circle. As is often the case, my nostalgia has given way to a feeling of dread. What used to be awesome to the 1997 version of myself has turned into me shouting at the TV during the 14th preview for MIB III during the NBA Playoffs, “Oh, right, because Will Smith screaming with terror while riding in a space-aged vehicle is so f-ing original!?!?”
I’m a Will Smith fan. I like him as an actor, if I have come to realize that his rapping is no longer for me, but I feel like there are other things on Will Smith’s career priority list that he’s neglecting to go after the obvious cash-grab that is an entirely unnecessary third chapter to the Men in Black franchise.
In fact, here’s the things I think Will Smith should have done instead of making Men in Black III.
#1. (*Author’s note: this one is glaringly obvious) Make Bad Boys 3
I can’t explain my outrage when I heard that Will Smith was doing a “part 3″ movie that wasn’t prefaced with Bad Boys. I was shocked, then appalled. Then re-shocked. Then I involuntarily started quoting Detective Mike Lowery.
The facts are these: Bad Boys and Bad Boys 2 are two of the finest action/comedy movies ever made. They are the only movies in which Martin Lawrence can tap into his neurotic, spastic humor without making me want to pour battery acid into my eyes like it was Visine. These movies are like the pre-Monta Ellis trade Golden State Warriors. They’re so damn fun to watch that you don’t care if they’re more style than substance and more exploding Ferraris than powerhouse acting performances (*Author’s note: in this analogy, the exploding Ferraris would be Steph Curry’s ankles).
At this point, I’ve even got a plotline hammered out. Detective Mike Lowery (Will Smith) is marrying into Detective Marcus Burnett’s family. Marcus, along with a host of crotchety uncles, cousins etc. (*Author’s note: preferably someone like Charlie Murphy) is all-too happy to haze and/or initiate Lowery into their clan. All of this is playing out on the backdrop of both detectives being investigated by a crooked internal affairs agent with ties to the Jewish Mafia in South Beach. The Chief (Joe Pantoliano) is in the midst of a messy divorce and has his hands firmly tied behind his back.
The rest of the plot goes a little something like this: Car chase, car chase, automatic weapon fight, machine gun, club scene, wedding gun fight, kidnapping, LeBron James cameo, explosion, rap music, Martin Lawrence too shocked for words, car chase, credits.
You get the point. The beauty of the Bad Boys franchise is that it allows Michael Bay to do what he loves, namely blow shit up and spend millions on special effects, without it feeling disgustingly CGI-ed or too Shia LaBeouf-y. The chemistry between Lawrence and Smith is so funny that even the most chaotic scream-sessions seem enjoyable.
#2. Come Out With a Rap Song Featuring Sisqo That Samples the Entire Music Track From a Previously Created Song
The music industry needs this. We need this. I’m not sure where Sisqo has gone. Probably somewhere that would be alternately terrifying and hilarious to us if we knew. Is his hair still an un-polished silver that looks like it’s a weird coat of primer-paint? Has anyone showed him their thong-th-thong-thong-thong? Besides men, I mean. I think we need to know. A Will Smith/Sisqo collaboration would offer us the perfect vessel to answer these pressing questions.
All they have to do is hi-jack another ’80s tune with an upbeat tempo, re-write a few of the words like an un-funny parody and they’re suddenly off and running. It would take some of us back to our childhoods and Smith back to the top of the charts. (*Author’s note: Alright, the second half of that is probably inaccurate)
I know that his kids are currently attempting to get their Emilio Estevez game right, taking over Hollywood in the footsteps of their parents, but if Will wants to re-establish dominance now is the time. Bieber’s “rapping” about fondue and Buzz Lightyear on his latest track. The music game would be Smith’s for the taking.
At this point, I’d even be fine with him re-making his own remake. Sound confusing? Don’t tell that to the people who are already re-doing Spiderman about 20 minutes after the first franchise seemed dead. (*Author’s note: I’m leaning towards a re-envisioning of “Will 2k” but maybe changed up to something like an upbeat party jam about how dope it will be for the world to end called, ”Will 2k12: Mayan Apocalypse.”)
#3. A Fresh Prince of Bel-Air Reunion Show
I’m not asking for the series to come back. I’m just asking for an over the hill, obese Carlton (Alphonso Ribeiro) and a using-Just-For-Men-Gel Will to have to come home because Uncle Phillip Banks has become embroiled in a corruption case. Will will have to get Carlton to abort his beginning-level Ponzi Scheme and Carlton will have to try to keep Will out of one last stint in rehab. Sounds like a boatload of fun, right?
In summation, Will Smith has other, much more pressing needs to take care of before he should’ve made this movie. Shame on you, Big Willy. Shame.
LeBron James had just been shot. Recoiling in agony, his arms flying into the stadium-lit night air, he was assassinated in front of a crowd of 20,000 people. I immediately began looking for a grassy knoll, eyes bulgingly scanning the crowd for the shooter, and somewhere members of LeBron’s crew probably leapt off their gold-plated chairs screaming into their Bluetooth headsets, “We’ve got a shooter!!!!”
He fell to the ground, tattooed arms instinctively reaching for his undoubtedly gaping exit wound. Madison Square Garden had just become a gigantic crime scene; a nightmarish scene with thousands of eye witnesses to a brutal, brutal murder. Nicolas Cage himself may have been the only one who could solve a diabolical murder plot at such a gigantic sporting event.
Then, a miracle! LeBron was alive. The Chosen One (*Author’s note: which he has tattooed across his bulging back, in case anyone was going to forget) decided, in that moment, to show us just how chosen he really was. Like a majestic, 27 PPG-averaging Phoenix he rose from the ashes of certain doom.
He was going. . .to try. . .to. . .walk. . .it. . .off.
Grimacing so mightily he chewed through his mouthguard like it was a soggy slice of a peach, he stood. The crowd held their breath wondering silently, “Was LeBron about to go all Teddy Roosevelt in this piece?”
He took a few steps, wincing visibly. I was certain that his spinal cord had been exploded into runny pudding, you know, like the kind that’s been sitting on a buffet line for 4 hours. I feel certain that I can speak for the entire nation when I say that tears welled up in our eyes as we watched this leviathan courageously attempt to fight through his traumatic injury.
He took a few steps. . .then grabbed wildly at his neck. I felt certain that he was simply holding his now-decapitated head on with his bare hands and, at any moment, it would come tumbling off like he’d just been guillotined in the French Revolution.
Or at least this is what LeBron James wanted us to believe.
It’s this moving depiction of an injured player trying to fight through the pain — a shtick that’s so laughably overdone that it’s burned to a crisp – as presented by one of the NBA’s great new talents in the acting department that has fired up and pissed off so many NBA fans.
An operatically dramatic one-man show, LeBron’s antics against the New York Knicks, while they happened a while ago, have stuck with me since. Not merely because it was LeBron James, the guy who, fairly or unfairly, often times finds the entirety of his 6’8″ frame crammed under a microscope for scientifically thorough examinations but because flopping has become an increasingly problematic part of today’s game.
Moments after the aforementioned charade was done playing out, and it’s air-time was roughly the length of Titanic, LeBron was completely fine. He stepped to the line and calmly, un-hurt-ly, nailed two free throws. Occasionally he’d remember to grimace on a trip down the court, but for the most part he was back to doing what he does best: filleting defenses with his insane strength and world-class athleticism.
Here’s a video of a few of his transgressions from the same game that had me more wound up than usual. In real-time? It looks like a fairly hard hit. It was definitely a foul. But watch when it slows down and we get a frame-by-frame analysis. (*Author’s note: also, LeBron weighs as much as a defensive end in the NFL, so he should be able to absorb a hard-pick without crumpling to the floor like a too-drunk bachelorette at her own party. Also, he weighs more than Tyson Chandler. Just saying.)
That the NBA has a problem with flopping isn’t exactly big news. People know about it. Players have reputations that can become inexorably linked to their on-court pantywaist-dom. It isn’t just the European players, with their alleged soccer-influenced ideas on contact, and it isn’t just futbol that needs to be ridiculed for its Lifetime Movie Network acting jobs.
Blake Griffin does it. LeBron does it, too. Two of the biggest stars in today’s game are drawing heat from around the league (*Author’s note: Frank Vogel, the head coach of the Indiana Pacers got fined $15k for pre-criticizing the refs for the bad job in fairly calling fouls on LeBron James. Not even Phil Jackson, he with the legendary penchant for racking up 5-digit fines, got fined for looking into a crystal ball and bombing on the refs. . .before the game. That’s how concerned Vogel was about the calls.) for their part in the ongoing epidemic.
So then what? Do we just grit our teeth, LBJ-in-faux-agony style and hope that the refs figure it out? David Stern has gone on record about his disdain for the floppagebut has claimed to have his hands tied. After mulling the problem, and potential solutions, here are a few ideas that I was able to come up with.
1. A Committee of 5 Flopping Judges Must Be Formed
The committee’s 5-member panel should have:
- Two ex-players (guys that know just how detrimental and inexcusable a bad flop is from first-hand experience)
- A former coach from the league and/or the collegiate ranks,
- A fan who is appointed by the owners from a selection pool chosen by online voting (campaigning is encouraged, i.e. “I’m the candidate that’s tough on flops!”)
- A hyper-judgmental tweenage girl, brainwashed from a young age to hate flopping, who will heap an inordinate amount of scorn and eye-rolling at any player she believes she is tougher than.
- An old man who firmly believes that basketball should be more like it was when they played the games in cages and somehow, through a geographical oddity, did in fact have to walk uphill both ways to school.
These judges would have gametape sent to them to analyze and decide which infractions violated the newly constructed flopping legislation. They will decide what types of punishment to dole out. Here are a few ideas.
2. Punishment, First-Time Offenders
- Written warning
- Verbal abuse
- A literal slap on the wrist
3. Punishment, 2nd Time Offenders
- Flopper must publish and leave up for no less than 3 days a grouping of 60 straight tweets stating, “I will not flop.” The 2012 version of writing on the chalkboard after class.
- Flopper must pay for a 2-minute Public Service Announcement that airs during the NBA Finals that features slow-motion, high-def replay of their flop and Charles Barkley ridiculing them the entire time.
- Flopper draws a random season ticket holder’s seat number from a hat and then must carry that person on their back for a TNT-televised suicide windsprint.
4. Punishment, 3rd Time Offenders
- Flopper must do a live, pre-game rendition of a James Blunt song to show the crowd how in-touch with his sensitive side he is.
- Suspension (*Author’s note: I seriously think they should do this.)
- Fines (*Author’s note: this too.)
- Flopper will be walked out, hand held, during 10 pre-game introductions by his Mommy and will then be introduced as such: “And now. . . starting as Joakim Noah’s Hairdresser. . .he is a worse actor than the cast of the remake of Beverly Hills 90210 and the only one who “fakes it” worse than he does on the court is his wife in the bedroom. . .”
Chris Bosh is the 3rd wheel. He’s the single friend that somehow gets dragged along to The Lucky One and ends up sitting two seats over munching balefully on his popcorn while trying not to hear his companions making out. LeBron and Dwyane Wade are the ones making out in this scenario. Figuratively, of course.
Bosh is the guy who’s least debated, least celebrated, and would definitely be the Ringo Starr of the self-proclaimed “Heatles.” But there is one place that Chris Bosh is the belle of the ball, however: the internet. Bosh moves from the peripheries of sight, working as a very accomplished bit player, to stage center right up in the front with a glaring spotlight shining on him.
Could it be his strange on-court demeanor? Seemingly laid back despite his various attempts to hood himself up, opening his mouth into strange Edvard Munch-ian screams. (*Author’s note: Munch’s most famous piece recently sold for $119.9 Million. Or, roughly how much LeBron lost in advertisement deals by doing “The Decision.)
Could it be the fact that he has reportedly been spotted, GASP!, reading books before the Heat’s games? (*Author’s note: I’m a little hazy on the actual details of these reports but I recall hearing tales of Bosh’s indulgence in the Twilight series. This detail, if actually true, seems like it would be far more damaging to a team’s collective psyche than finding out that — and this instance is purely a figment of my overactive imagination — say, one player was having an affair with another player’s mother.)
After all, arguably the most intimidating players in the league can barely read. Kevin Garnett messed up his own shoe deals’ slogan and Derrick Rose just paid some other kid to take his SAT for him so he could get into the prestigious institute of learning that is. . .wait for it. . . Memphis.
It could be the fact that Bosh himself looks so much like a Raptor that when he played in Toronto (*Author’s note: where the team name is, ironically, The Raptors) people could be heard murmuring in the stands, “Damn, that mascot can really hoop!” This final theory, which just so happens to be my personal favorite is what has elevated Bosh’s internet stardom to nearly that of his purse-carrying, male-model-wanna-be-ing counterparts.
Every time I watch the Heat play, and I’m completely out of variations on the F-word to scream at LeBron I find myself watching Bosh Jurassic Park his way up and down the court. When he gets the ball at the top of the key, with no one guarding him I find I usually end up screaming this:
When explaining Bosh’s career, which is a very strange one, albeit far from over, I will more than likely do so to my young by printing off this monologue and reciting it line for line:
All of these things have propelled Bosh into the public forum, but where he has really come into his own recently has been in the GIF world. Which is really just a nerdy alternate universe for internet obsessed types who spend hours dicking around online in an effort to get a laugh. Bosh may be an NBA All-Star, but he’s a GIF HOF’er.
Here’s the best of the best of the Chris Bosh GIFs, feel free to submit your own.
In this one, which we will tentatively award the Bronze medal, Bosh decides that he’s been compared to a Velociraptor enough and throws his hat into the ring in the “Geico Impersonating World Championships.” He does look like he is about to snatch a fly out the air like a reptilian version of Mr. Miyagi.
In this GIF, Bosh pops out of nowhere to invade a LeBron James interview. Stealthily sneaking into the bottom of the frame the sneak-thieving Bosh appears with sudden, raptor-like viciousness to try to steal away the camera from LeBron. LeBron, who in recent years has shied away from the spotlight like a criminal making a break for the fence at a maximum security prison, was heard saying after Bosh’s guest appearance that, “They should all be destroyed.” It was unconfirmed as to whether he was talking about the people of Cleveland or a pack of dinosaurs brought back from the Cretaceous period.
And here would have to be my number one Chris Bosh GIF of all time. This is the gold medal winner, the piece de resistance of Bosh somehow managing to make a fool of himself despite being a world-class athlete and, from all accounts, a pretty good dude. I know I called him a Velociraptor for about 550 words of this post, but in this GIF Bosh makes sure we all know that, if we’re going to be accurate with our species designation, he’s actually more of a Dilophosaurus, or ”Spitter.”
(*Author’s note: After shattering box office records around the world, the movie The Avengers has continued to garner millions of dollars and rave reviews. **SPOILER ALERT** Bosh has a scene-stealing cameo.)
It’s that time of year again, Sports fanatics. The time of year when there’s so little actually going on in the sporting world that all we can do is constantly recap the year that was. With women’s soccer and a merciful pause in Baseball for the All-Star game this is the time of year that bears a good deal of reflection. Last year’s Hatchspys was a star-studded affair and, while I didn’t have a red carpet for anyone to walk, I did lay down a silky smooth layer of hate for the sports stars to enjoy.
Best Actor in a motion picture: Shaquille O’Neal
Mr. O’Neal, everyone’s favorite Irishman, recently starred in a new movie. I’m not talking about “Kazaam 2″ or “Man of Steel” or even pulling a cameo in a video game like his now legendarily shitty “Shaq-fu” in which Shaq was a Mortal Kombat style ninja for Sega. No.
The Big Perv-istotle was recently caught on not-so-candid camera with a group of lovely ladies engaging in what could only best be described as whack-a-Shaq. When news of Shaq’s impending sex tape being released to the public came around to “The Diesel”s attention he did what any normal citizen would do in this instance: he hired a team of Crips to find and kidnap the man with the tape and shake him down Suge Knight style.
While this story inexplicably hasn’t gotten nearly the amount of media attention that it deserves, as Shaq’s recent retirement overshadowed it, I couldn’t help but feel that it deserved a Hatchspy. Prior to this tape being released the only “4-Way” Shaq had ever participated in was a trade to the Miami Heat.
He was famous for his lack of conditioning while playing and, from what I hear, his . . .um. . . endurance has continued to be his weak point.
Hopefully Shaq’s legal team shoots better than 52% from the free throw line or he may end up putting Icy Hot on his cellmates lower back. And not for pain.
Worst misuse of a cellphone: Tie, Taylor Martinez & Anthony Weiner
We may never know what Husker quarterback Taylor Martinez actually did with his phone when he was back in the locker room of the Texas A&M game that fully erupted Mt. Pelini on November 20th of this past year, and unfortunately we know exactly what the aptly named Mr. Weiner did with his phone, but these two will be tied in the Hatchspy record books.
Martinez, who allegedly called his father while in the locker room during a particularly ugly game last fall, came out of the locker room where a waiting Pelini dressed him down in a manner that would make a drill sergeant look serene. Weiner, a Congressman from New York, pretty much just dressed himself down. To nothing. And then sexted some photos. To which I can only respond: OMG. ROTFL. TTYL, Weiner.
Worst new sports cliché: “It is what it is.”
Finally unseating bajillion time winner ” Giving it 110%” as the 2011 Hatchspy sports cliché of the year, “It is what it is” is part Yogi Berra idiocy, part Bill Belichik-ian ‘answer a question without revealing a damn thing’ and fully obnoxious to hear over and over again. I understand that sometimes, as a people, we find ourselves without anything particularly relevant to say
(*Author’s note: see: every time I blog) but athletes are required to talk and so we sometimes are dealt the underwhelming whimper of a quote, “it is what it is.”
This quote, tossed around like drug-money in a strip club this year, has split and divided like a cancerous organism in the sports stars of my generation who say it more than just about everything except “I plead the fifth.”
LeBron James, for instance, used the phrase so frequently during the that I found myself shouting at the T.V. like a petulant child, “Oh, REALLY, LeBron?!? Is it REALLY what it is? How f-ing profound.”
Needless to say, if people had mute buttons, my fiance would have pushed mine.
Best Broadcaster: Charles Barkley
Not much to say on this one. Barkley’s the man. He hates on whomever he wants and he’s so funny about it that most of the time they can’t even possibly take it personally. Quite frankly, I just want to party with him. Can you imagine anything cooler than hitting the Vegas Strip with Chuck Barkley? I can’t. And for that fact, coupled with the fact that he can be a surprisingly insightful and witty analyst, makes the Round Mound of Rebound a Hatchspy winner.
Worst Coaching Analogy: Derek Dooley, in comparing his Tennessee Team to the Germans during WWII
No, I’m not kidding. This actually happened. Dooley, who took over a reeling Tennessee football program for the never-classy Lane Kiffin, was as quotable a coach as had ever set foot in Knoxville. He was folksy and witty and the media loved his affable nature.
Dooley’s down-home Southern Charm took a 180 degree goosestep, however, when he compared his team full of underclassmen to the German’s during the invasion of Normandy beach. I’m not sure if Dooley was busy skipping stones down at the crick or fishin’ with his pa’s fishin’ reel instead of going to history class but there’s literally no one worse to compare yourself too than the Nazis. Except maybe Kiffin.
Regardless of the intent behind his analogy, Dooley declaring his team to be part of the Axis and therefore unwittingly naming himself Der Fuehrer of Dixieland, the foolishness of this statement is purely legendary.
Ringo Starr Fifth Wheel Award: Chris Bosh
Chris Bosh, previously famous for playing a velociraptor in “Jurassic Park 2,” has cemented his status as a professional fifth wheel. Playing for the self-glossed “Heatles” this season, Bosh was at times lost in the shuffle. He was Ringo. That’s not to say he didn’t have a few “Octupus’ Garden” moments, where he was truly able to shine, but for the most part he sort of faded to the background. At least as much as a guy with a longer neck than a Brontosaurus could
That’s all for the official 2011 Hatchspys. Who would you have nominated and for what?
