Monday, December 29, 2003


Will sign former members of the Utah Jazz for food

Replacing John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt in the front office (Reverend Layden is no doubt somewhere in Utah scouting the plentiful basketball bounty of the Church of Latter Day Saints for the Mt. Zion Angels (THE NBA: WE KEEPS EXPANDING)), Zeke Thomas was treated to quite the spectacle in one of his first game as the Knicks' night watchman.

There was Latrell Sprewell, now a Timberwolf, putting 31 points on Don Chaney's ass, and adding a few insults to injury, mostly directed at Knicks checkwriter supreme James Dolan, James Dolan's mom (hold your head, Mrs. D.), Cablevision's lack of Yankees coverage, and Assistan Coach Lon "I Coached The Atlanta Hawks And All I Got Was This Lousy Hair Piece" Kruger.

Much was made of Sprewell so publically snapping on Dolan and Kruger. Allen Houston managed to lift his weary head out of Psalms for a hot minute to ask, rhetorically, one would think, "What are we supposed to do? Clothesline him?"

A dude comes into your building, puts 31 points down and proceeds to inform of one of your coaches and the man who keeps you in church donation money that they are a bunch of asshats?

You put him in pampers.

Latrell, whose passion makes him one of my favorites, should be eating through a tube right now. I love Latrell Sprewell because he understands that when you drop 30 dollars to sit in the worst seats of an NBA arena what you want is basketball players who at least give off the illusion that nothing else matters other then beating the living Christ out of the opposing team. You want to believe that it matters, that the logo on their chest might as well be tatooed on their heart.
As embarassed as I am to buy into the whole team = country/gang/family/whatever, that's what this is. Why the Knicks and their 11 undersized power forwards, and their Pentecoastal point guards even bother taking the floor is a total magic bullet mystery.

Garden State. Mad trees. Welcome to the Meadowands.

Wednesday, December 10, 2003

I've always had a special cubby-hole in my heart for Jalen Rose. He always struck me as the Inspectah Deck of the Fab Five, that dude who would sit back and, how should I say, watch you play yourself.
Sadly, most of those who have played themselves under his haunting gaze have been...his teammates. (See: Webber, Chris, NCAA Finals, Time Out).
I digress. This isn't about past trespasses, but rather the future.
I once thought that Jalen was going to be an All-Star. But alas, he was caught out there in the land of sensitive thuggery that is the Chicago Bulls.
So, it gives me some joy to see Jalen tapping the bottle and twisting the cap off a Molson, leading the Raptors on a early winter hot streak.
A minor amount of joy. It's tempered by the fact that Metal Face Vince Carter's momz is still in his business, and I still don't feel Air Canada's game. I guess that boils down to the fact that Half Man Half Posterboy For Post-Adolescent Orthodontics once tried to stand in the way of the Philadelphia Seventy Sixers and their destiny. Their be the team that would lose to the Lakers.
Anyway...Jalen and Donyell Marshall and Lonny Baxter have brought heat to the frozen tundra of Toronto. Under the watchful eye of Tara Reid (no kidding) and a Cleveland crowd slowly coming to the realization that they are still in Cleveland, Jalen grabbed his 2,500th board (take a bow, God!), and dropped 20 to sink Ira Newble & Jason Kapono's squad.
Kevin O'Neil (the whodat? coach of the Jurassic T-Dots) says: "We're really not running plays yet. These guys are just going out and winning."
Nice work if you can get it.
Can Milt Live!?

Monday, December 08, 2003

"Can a purple/yellow man not eat up in the Chauncey Billups blog?

This is the question that keeps Oliver Wang, executive VP of the Ed O'Bannon Fan Club, up at night. Too true, God!
Well, what can I add. It's a touching story, really. Camera shy loner, Phil Jackson, leads a rag-tag group of misfits into battle, with the hopes and dreams of that dilapidated factory town on the back of Kareem Rush and Co. Whatever. These dudes play like a bunch of Blade Runners and will probably storm through the Spring barring multiple injuries or bids at Colorado Correction Facilities.
I can say that I am really looking forward to Friday, December 12.
For why?
Because that's when Danny Fortson will throw Karl Malone on the Staples Center hardwood, lean over him and sternly say, "Grey hair...before I put you under the knife, know that I will wipe your seed from the earth."
a) Danny Fortson definitely owns the Director's Cut of Last of the Mohicans
b) Karl Malone is softbatch! Punch in your weightclass, you backwards ass mountain man. What did Steve Nash ever do to you?

Friday, December 05, 2003

Yesterday, your boy copped a turkey sammich at a deli. When I got to the register I noticed that said deli also sold male genital densensitizer. And I thought, "this is what Mo Cheeks must feel like." Just a guy trying to buy a turkey sammich, not get his cock froze. Namean?
Chauncey Billups Portland correspondent, Julianne "Rose Gardener" Shepherd checks in with a farewell verse to the beloved and be-headbanded Bonzi Wells:

Philly 1976: Lead us to the light.
Portland 2003: #1
--In unemployment! Right.
Blazers: lead us to inferno.
Stoked-afarian, herbal, blazing from, like, a 99-lb can of Sterno.
Of course our team self-meds.
¡Hola! Ever tried Northwest strawberry redhead?
It's just the Portland way; we're depressed,
347 days of rain, food stamps stressed
from buying Genesis juice,
too much overpriced organic produce.
But we're gully; we'll battle anybody.
Fans in the stands talking shit?
Find post-game on the Gresham-bound Max train, foam fingers slit.
That's what you get
when you love conditionally.
We are family
straight latchkey, sans Bonzi.
The fuck is John Nash? The fuck is Wesley Person?
(Stats: twelve point two, or eleven point one?
Count Cheeks, what's the number, son?
Try 'one Dunleavy, two Dunleavy, hot cross buns')
That's kid shit. Wait, who the fuck is Wesley Person?
Oh, here we go: ten years on the bench.
And Bonz gets traded just for cursing?
At some wack-ass, no-game-having fan without allegiance?
For this, you want the co-captain should kneel in benevolence?
Sheed wears Bonzi's sweatbands like it was Armistice Day
Anger management: this team is only half minus Wells' DNA
If John Nash keeps blazing trails
Portland MVP '05: Charles, Prince of Wales.

Wednesday, December 03, 2003

'"Those Europeans, they know how to negotiate," Marshall said of Bateer, who actually is Mongolian.'

Tuesday, December 02, 2003

K.G. on players warming the bench with their little injuries and such:"If you're in street clothes and you're not a coach, I don't really look at you."