EVEN ROY JONES...



Random notes from the Indy/Detroit on Christmas Day (while eating potato salad, napping, and polishing off a Yuengling six pack)

-First off, what the fuck is up with the slow-mo, black and white montage of the Pacers/Pistons brawl, accompanied by Coldplay's, "Clocks." Because who among us, when presented with images of Jermaine O'Neal caving in someone's head, is not thinking of the real tender ivory tickling of Chris Martin? ATTENTION ESPN: IT WAS A BAR FIGHT. IT JUST HAPPENED TO TAKE PLACE IN A REALLY BIG BAR...A REALLY BIG BAR THAT HAPPENED TO HAVE A BASKETBALL COURT. I mean, Jesus Christ! Indiana is a dry state on Xmas day, kids. Throw on some Fabulous Thunderbirds and let's get to wrasslin!

-It wasn't but 30 seconds into the actual broadcast of the game when this tool up and opened his pie-hole:



Truly, nobody in the continental United States deserves a visit from the cockpunching robot more then Tom Tolbert. While commenting on Jermaine O'Neal's 15 game suspension, Double Tee proudly offers up that he had also had 15 game breaks in his storied 7 year career. But those vacations were due to him being flat out benched because he was a slow cracker! Tolbert continues to make several jokes about the fact that he was a sub-mediocre hoopsman. Does anyone else wonder how the hell this qualifies him to comment on the game of putting the ball in the basket? Like, if I used to drive a bus, and then I kept crashing the shit...I wouldn't then become a public expert on bus driving! Yaoming?!

-Tolbert's two bon mots for the day were, "Fred Jones can flat out score," (which is flat out untrue) and memorably, "REGGIE MILLER AND RIP HAMILTON ARE A COUPLE OF GREYHOUNDS OUT THERE!"

-I swear to God, Ronald Dupree is like the Zelig of the NBA. He must be playing for 4 teams at once. Everytime I turn on a game he's got a different uniform. (ed. note-this was the potato salad talking. ron has only donned chicago red and detroit blue)

-It's always interesting to hear what the NBA arenas are pumping over the P.A. Apparently Punjabi MC is taking Indianapolis by storm. It's a spritely curry-flavored jam with an up and coming MC by the name of Jay-Z! Be on the look out for that kid, he'll go far.

-Watching Detroit play offense is like watching old people eat.

HOW THE EAST WAS...



Made somewhat more intersting? Half-man/Half-Butterscotch Krimpet is coming to the Swamp. Some in Jerz might be pretty excited to see Vince Carter run the break with the Kidd and the kid, Richard Jefferson (though isn't R.J. a younger, more durable version of Vinsanity, Rod Thorn?).
Lord knows when Carter will throw on the Meadowlands Blue, as his achilles heel continues to be his Achilles Heel. Jersey coach Lawrence Frank was cautious, "There is obviously a great deal of tenderness there. We've seen it during examination."

Oh, she may be weary...Carolina alums do get weary...

Toronto recieved some scrappy players in return. Good on them. They will still suck exhaust unless Chris Bosh becomes the second coming of Moses Malone.

The real winner of this trade may well turn out to be Sonny Crocket's Miami Heat. Word around Peter Vescey's toupe closet has it that Pat Riley is close to signing the traded-and-soon-to-be-released Alonzo Mourning for the league minimum. They are also trying to work out a deal that would send the legally blind Eddie Jones to Toronto for Jalen Rose. Wade, Jalen, Shaq and a kidney-hampered Zo is still enough for this Eastern Conference.

YOU'LL BE WEARING A BLACK SUIT A LONG TIME



A Univesity of Florida education. It is the stuff that bench warmers and real estate agents are made of. One thing they apparently don't teach on the manicured lawns or under the flourescent lights of UF is self-preservation, because last night Raptors forward and UF alum Matt Bonner--the dude his teammates affectionately call, "Opie,"--stared death in the eye.

As his Raptors team approached the home stretch of a game with the Timberwolves, a game they would eventually win, Bonner made a hard foul on Kevin Garnett, sending him to the ground. According the Last fucking Mohican, KG: "It was a hard foul. That didn't even spark me until I saw him pointing into the crowd like he's some enforcer."

When Matt Bonner, a man who told the Raptors website that he would like NAPOLEAN DYNAMITE TO PLAY HIM IN THE MOVIE OF HIS LIFE, started feeling his own gangster a little to much, he was rather abruptly pursued by both Garnett and Latrell Sprewell. Even Rap's coach Sam Mitchell had to laugh

"I think his life flashed in front of his eyes when Latrell Sprewell and Kevin Garnett went running at him."

Matty tried to front to the press after the game,

"Never in a million years did I expect to be ejected from an NBA game in the fourth quarter, with two of the greatest players in the league coming for my throat. My life wasn't flashing in front of me, [because] it just seemed so surreal."

Ok, Tuffy. We all know next time the Raps and Wolves man up, dude's face is gonna like my Mom's back in March of 1990 when I came in skipping into the house with this tape in my hand...

Welcome to the Terrordome, Opie!

THIS IS THE REALEST SINCE KUMBAYA



Yesterday started like any other for Sixers backup combo guard Willie Green. Upon entering the warm hearth of camaraderie that is the Sixers locker room, he was welcomed by his mentor, Allen Iverson, who shouted over the din of reporters:

"That's an ugly shirt, Willie"

He was referring to the burgundy and yellow blouse that Green was rocking. Much a guffaw was had at Green's expense. Inside him burned the fire of a thousand suns...HOW MUCH LONGER WILL THESE HOSTILITIES CONTINUE!? He reached deep inside and turned that pain into gain. When Coach Jim O'Brien called his number, finally called his number (after he received a two straight DNP-Coach's Decision's), he went out and unleashed all his burgundy and yellow fury on the Denver Nuggets.

Assisted by amateur fashion critic, Iverson's near triple double, Willie put the Sixers over the hump, scoring 17 points in the last 16 minutes.

The performance prompted Nuggs forward Carmelo Anthony to declare, "I was going to put money on his motherfucking brains, but then he seemed so lively out there...it is the holidays after all."

After the game, Iverson praised his young student:

"It made me feel good to be his teammate. He could've easily put his head between his legs and when it was time for him to be called on, he might not have been ready. But he was ready."
Um, I am fairly sure that A.I. meant Willie had his head in the sand. But I will co-sign the idea that, had Green had his head between his legs the whole oxygen to the brain thing might've stymied the fucking offensive spaz attack the homie had. Green who recently told the Sixers website that the Wayans brothers romp, White Chicks, was, "funnier then I thought it would be," seemed to take his good fortune in stride, "I just wanted to do something to spark the team," as he disappeared into the Philadelphia night. Adieu, sweet prince.

AND SHE KEEP ASKING, "HOW IT SHOOT IF IT'S PLASTIC?"



Word to Cedric Ceballos, the Phoenix Suns are really bringing back the old-school (to me, because I'm Kicking and Screaming like that) style of play that made me love basketball in the first place. I'm talking about the Running Rebel Anderson Hunt! The fuck you know about Mookie Blaylock and the Sooners, dude?! Fuck a NCAA violation!

The Suns are 18-3, first place in the whole damn world. Even Kobe "Keep Your Hands Off My Mexican" Bryant is looking up to these multi-culti young gunners, as they sit comfortably at the top of the Pacific.

With free-agent signee Steve Nash, and his international house of point guards back-ups, Leandro Barbosa and Yuta Tabuse, the Suns are basically pushing the ball down opposing teams throats and out their asses. And then that's where the most popular four men in McCain Town come in. When either Amare Stoudemire, Joe Johnson, Quentin Richardson, or Shaw Marion are coming through the lane you better move! You (and when I say you, I mean Chris Mihm) will get ironed, steamed and cleaned the fuck up!

Young Q. Richardosn, aka Mr. Brandy, is not getting carried away with all the success: "It's definitely a nice thing, but all this means nothing if we start going downhill."

Okay there, Sylvia Plath. You were on the Clippers last year. How about a little carpe diem?!

I mean think about it: we could be unshackled from the cornea mauling half-court clusterfucking that the likes of Jeff Van Gundy and Rick Carlisle hath wrought! Is there a new era of freedom that will come rising like, well, not a Phoenix, because that ruins this riff...but you see what I'm getting at.

After feeling the burn last night, losing to the Suns 121-100, Orlando Magic PG Steve Francis pondered this very question. Could the run and gun stylee bring a trophy to the desert?

"I don't want to say it won't work. But it would be so hard for them to do that throughout the playoffs. I don't think in history there's been a team to run to the championship. But you never know. They might be the first."

Ah, but point of order, Franchise: We all know what happens to those who try to change the game...



What did I tell you about playing those away games, Stringer!

RELAPSE, I STAY ZAPPED, MY URINE AIN'T CLEAN



Read the headlines, suckers. Today's the deadline. He who fell from the tree of Marbury is not BALCO-ing it. Just saying that Young Telfair dropped 11 points in 25 minutes for his first significant contribution of the year, as the Blazers beat the Celtics in some last-second shit.

"Once you get that first point you get your momentum. I call it getting, 'hyped,' or, 'amped.'

You got that Blazer babies?



He who gets no tan for he is always in the shadow LeBron went on to say, "Now that I'm getting a little clock I wanna say that, Janet Weiss, I am young, gifted and black. You need to call me, or, as I like to say, 'holler.'

Also happening last night while you were watching The O.C.




Behold the paranormal analysis of the Max Von Sydow of this hoops shit: Ray Allen declared last night, "Rashard is playing like a man possessed," referring to his bredren in green, Rashard Lewis. The Emerald City kids have been positively skeeting on squads, using their Oswald-range three pointers to dizzy up other teams. Rad Vlad Radmanovic went 5 for 7 from behind the bonus arc and the Sonics ashed on the Mavericks, 107-102. I don't get it either.

Things got a little hectic towards the end of the game when Sonics guard Luke Ridnour undercut Mav's forward Dirk Nowitzki, while both were going for a board, sending Dirk tumbling to the ground. D-Notz was kinda miffed, addressing the press afterwards, "I don't know what his intentions were. He wasn't going to get the rebound."

After the game, Nowitzki gave a talk to 500 German exchange students where he let his nifty mane down a little bit more.

"Children. Many of you may have witnessed the spill I took tonight. I know that you must have gasped as I rolled on the floor in deep pain after the little Herr Ridnour foolishly took my legs out from under me. Some may wonder, why did I not retaliate. Do not worry, my little angels from the Fatherland. I will see that dude. And when I do, I will tear his fucking heart out like Mola Ram. One love, my little Short Round's."

YOU JUST REALLY NEED A HUG, STUPID



Truly, no division is as beshitted as the Atlantic. I, as a Philadelphian, shiver at the thought that a revitalized Jerz (what with Jason back) team might make a run in a div. where 8-9 gets you first place.

(Which reminds of a dream I had the other night where I was hanging out in a supermarket and some dude got on the Pathmark P.A. and said, "I have a trade to announce. The Sixers had sent Allen Iverson to the Knicks for Allan Houston." And then I started smashing gallons of milk all over the place. I keep it real milk-smashy up in my vision quest state.).

Anywhoo, the T-Dot Raptors are in 4th place, with the mountaintop in their grasp and all. But this is life during war time. And for the Dino's the war is within...the locker room.

Nobody is feeling the emotional shrapnel worse then playground legend-to-NBA-darling, Rafer Alston. At odds with his team and rookie head coach, Sam Mitchell, Alston has threatened retirement, despite the fact that he just signed a six-year multi-million dollar contract. That, and Canadians get the best pills. Rafer could have a little side hustle hooking heads up with Percocet and Cialis.

"You know, I think it's time. I'm tired of getting into it with my teammates, I'm tired of getting into it with coaches. I don't know if I'm a good fit for this team, I don't know if I'm a good fit in this league any more. "

Skip! Aren't you something like one year removed from signing white T-shirts and doing dribbling exhibitions at the Harry Truman fucking Community Center in West Topeka. You really wanna get back on the bus with Hot Sauce?! Do the Dew!

Jalen Rose, who has his finger firmly on the pulse of team dynamics (especially since the American Red Cross has officially declared dude TEAM CANCER), and who is unsurprisingly co-captain of this doomed Exxon Valdez of a team, said, "I've been on teams where guys didn't get along, where guys did nip and tuck at each other, but this is not a team for that."

Immediately following this statement, Jalen caught this man:

Peeing in his Powerade. Good times.

BLOW THIS LIKE A TRUMPET



With a new lineup full of hot shit free agents (Carlos Boozer and Mehmet Okur) and a point guard coming off a star-making Olympics performance (Carlos Arroyo), the Utah Jazz looked primed to make a run deep into the very trill Western Conference playoffs. And after notching a 6-1 record to start the season, that seemed exactly where they were going. But they play 82 games for a reason. And that reason is so that every squad have their little meltdowns, their conniption fits, etc.
Sometimes it lasts all season (or several seasons...Chicago), sometimes it lasts a week.
The Jazz are going through a rough patch, right now, losing 9 of their last 11. Some within the Utah camp have suggested a little sit-down, a team only chopping-it-up sesh. But NAW! According to Matty "The Killer Bee" Harpring, "I don't think anyone has a beef with anybody."



Besides, Head Coach Jerry Sloan doesn't believe in such open-hearted shennanigans. He told the Desert News, "I've been in those things. I know exactly what happens: Some guys do all the talking, and sometimes those guys do the least amount of work." Snap! He continued, "Talking just gets you deeper in the hole, I think, a lot of times.If a meeting helps, or they go stand in the corner on their heads for half an hour before a game, I don't care." Yes, Jerry!
Never one to be detered, we here at ChBill. HQ gave General Jerry a holler.
CB: What's the greeting, old timer?
Sloan: (unintelligible noise)
CB: It sounds like you're scraping bricks against a chalkboard.
Sloan: Breakfast. Oatmeal.No milk. Ever.
CB: I wanted to give you a platform to maybe articulate your feelings on the season so far, seems to have had its up's and down's.
Sloan: It started and we were up, and now we're hip-deep in manure. So that's pretty accurate.
CB: Even Boozer seems to be letting up.
Sloan: Well, he's got problems at home. You ever see his old lady?
CB: Haven't had the pleasure.
Sloan: Well she's no Audrey Hepburn. Lemme tell you, I think we'll pull it together once we get that Russian kid back--
CB: Kirilenko?
Sloan: Honestly, ever since Stockton retired I haven't bothered trying to learn their names. But once we get that guy back we should be ok. He takes up space. It's the locker room I'm worried about. Every night before the game I gotta deal with Carlos Arroyo blasting that fucking reggaeton shit! I'm always saying, "YO-YO, DON'T YOU HAVE ANY GOD DAMN TITO PUENTE!?" But he doesn't listen. These guys are soft, you know? Back when I was balling, before I even played in the league...you know, we would be out there playing on gravel and broken glass lots, with a milk crate for a hoop. And if we couldn't find a milk crate we'd just use Billy Hopkins' little brother because he was kinda slow.
CB: That's vivid. Was Walker Evans there to document that?
Sloan: I just don't wanna hear any more Tego Calderon, I don't wanna hear Harpring talking about how his rims keep spinning. When I was coming up, we had the Hopkins kid, our bodies bleeding all over the place from the glass, and when the ball would deflate we would go and grab a fuckin' hornet's nest. Because we loved the game. I don't know if I can say the same for that big Turkish kid who starts.

STRETCH CHINA LIKE...



Things are not going so well in Screwston. After aquiring Tracy McGrady over the off-season, the Rockets looked poised to rise like cream to the top of the West. But the Boss Hog Outlawz are playing like half and half.

Maybe it has to do with the fact that 1993 Heisman winner, Charlie "You Need To Get Jesus In Your Life" Ward is their starting PG. Could be that T-Mac is getting double teamed and Yao has still not found his beast mode. Regardless of the reason, they're 3-7 in their last 10, and 6-10 on the season.
When you are desperately anticipating the return of BOB SURA then you know you got issues. Sura had this prediction for his comeback, "My ability to get in the lane and create easier plays for (McGrady) and Yao, rather than those guys having to work for everything they get, will lighten the load on those guys a little bit. My ability to get in there and get rebounds and try to push the ball and create some easier opportunities for us, we haven't been able to get too much on the fast break, or too many shots in transition, so hopefully I'll help out that way."

That's right, Homie. You are Pistol Pete. We got it twisted.

Gollum-like Head Coach Jeff Van Gundy, who is known to get so stressed during games that coaches next to him begin losing their hair, said, "We're medicore." Not to put too fine a point on it, Sunshine.

When asked what he could do to turn the frown upside down, Yao Ming said, "We've lost our direction." The Ming continued, "I feel like I must take leadership from he who is bald like egg . I engaged with him in discussion about the future of our Clan. I said, 'Choose the sword, and you will join me. Choose the ball, and you join your mother... in death. You don't understand my words, but you must choose. So... come boy, choose life or death.' In Shanghai we have a saying.'It is not a game.'