HEY KNICK FANS –TELL ME HOW GALLINARI’S ASS TASTES!

..answer: like over-cooked pasta with vomit ragu.

DLEE DRAFT GRADES

Atlanta Hawks 

Grade: lazy

Round 1: None
Round 2: None

Analysis: No picks? I wonder what their war room looks like. Do they just hang out, chug brews, and play Wii? I’m curious..

Boston Celtics 

Grade: B

Round 1: J. R. Giddens (30)
Round 2: Bill Walker (47), Semih Erden (60)

Analysis: Giddens looks pretty talented but they made his personality seem like the second coming of Denzel in Training Day. I predict a bitch-slap moment with Paul Piece in the future that culminates in a full-on Bloods vs Crips shootout ten yards from the Fleet Center.
Side note: Bill Walker is a good find this late assuming his legs hold up ..which I highly doubt.

Charlotte Bobcats 

Grade: F

Round 1: D.J. Augustin (9), Alexis Ajinca (20)
Round 2: Kyle Weaver (38)

Analysis: Are you shitting me? Wow. MCJ has to be the worst judge of NBA personnel in history. How can someone so good on the basketball court be so clueless off it. Oh wait, Elgin Baylor, Magic, and Bill Russell were insanely incompetent too. Guess Shaq’s future as a GM is gonna be a real shit-storm.
Augustin is a worse version of Jameer Nelson and to take him here over Bayless when you already have Felton is bananas. Then taking a lanky big guy who averaged FOUR POINTS in --FRANCE?
I’m gonna make a crazy call here ..Bobcats in lottery next year.

Chicago Bulls 

Grade: A

Round 1: Derrick Rose (1)
Round 2: Omer Asik (36), Sonny Weems (39)

Analysis: Lucky motherfuckers. First MCJ, then the Curry trade, then Rose. As CP3 proved, one amazing point guard who plays D and has a team-first attitude can turn an entire franchise around. The fact they can trade now Hienrick for front-line help makes them that much sicker. All they need now is some dipshit fools to take the Larry Hughes contract off their blood-stained hands. *cough* ..KNICKS..*cough*.
Side note: I love watching the Bulls war room where they pretend to be nervous when they knew they were taking Rose a month ago. Perhaps they were scared Rose’d get assassinated by Isaiah on the way to the podium.

Cleveland Cavaliers 

Grade: C+

Round 1: J. J. Hickson (19)
Round 2: None

Analysis: Call me crazy, I don’t think JJ Hickson is gonna motivate LaBron to stay in Cleveland. Highlights made him look like a dark Tyler Hansborough ..if that’s possible.
JZ is already writing a HOT 97 single in prep for BronBron’s move to Brooklyn.

Dallas Mavericks 

Grade: D

Round 1: None
Round 2: Shan Foster (51)

Analysis:. It is soooooo over in Dallas. They’re gonna disappear faster than the Steam-punk fashion trend. What’s that? You don’t know what Steam-punk is? Don’t worry, it’s already over ..just like Dallas dreams of the finals after the Kidd trade.
They need to trade Dirk now before it becomes too late. If they don’t act soon they’re gonna do some dumb Gasol-like panic trade when Dirk starts phoning it in. Like the Gasol trade to the Kidd trade, or the Garnett trade to the Shaq trade ..this proves how the right/wrong move when on the cusp can either put you over the top or absolutely destroy your franchise.

Denver Nuggets 

Grade: Lame

Round 1: None
Round 2: None

Well done Denver. Miss the play-offs next year and then completely implode. So much for the idiotic notion of 2 superstar scorers on the same squad being an unquestionable path to success.
Note to George “Melonhead” Karl: defense wins championships ..try it one day.

Detroit Pistons 

Grade: whatever
Round 1: None

Round 2: Walter Sharpe (32), Trent Plaisted (46), Deron Washington (59)

Analysis: I don’t know any of these dudes. I doubt you’ll ever know them either.

Golden State Warriors 

Grade: C+

Round 1: Anthony Randolph (14)
Round 2: Richard Hendrix (49)

Analysis: Randolph is so skinny that if he gained 20 pounds he’d be considered a human bamboo pole. Serious, this guy may be the first bulimic basketball player in the history of the NBA. 6’10” and 197 lbs?? To put this in MMA perspective (*as I often like to do) he’d have to GAIN 8 pounds to fight the 6 foot Chuck Liddell as a LIGHT-heavyweight. (At least Randolph would have a hell of a reach, no?)
Speaking of reaches, I think this guy is a reach at 14 for GS. They just took last years clone of this dude last year in Brandon Wright.
Nelson better get these motherfuckers to Dinky Doughnuts ..fast.

Houston Rockets 

Grade: B+

Round 1: Donte Greene (28)
Round 2: Joey Dorsey (33), Maarty Leunen (54)

Analysis: Nice job for picking so late. This guy Green is more soft in game and brains than a retarded nerd with erectile dysfunction in a Nolita singles bar. Still, he does have “upside” at the 28 spot.

As for Dorsey, I’m one of his few fans. He’s a total Larry Smith, Rodman, Charles Oakley throwback. He’s small but (when motivated) he can rebound and defend like a demon from the gates of hell. At worst, he’s the second coming of Reggie Evans. At best, he’s a mini-Ben Wallace.

Still, Houston already has Chuck Hayes so I guess it’s kind of redundant.

Indiana Pacers 

Grade: A

Round 1: Brandon Rush (13), Roy Hibbert (17)

Big night for Larry legend (*legendarily boring interview as well ..did you see that shit? If not, it’s probably cause you fell asleep). Anyway, getting a broken down O’Neal and 18 million per off the books while picking up TJ Ford and Hibbert in exchange is pure genius. You get undervalued size in Hibbert (waaaay undervalued) and pick up a winner in TJ (*wish the Knicks got him) while also creating cap space for the future.
Then they lucked out with Bayless but were so over stocked at PG they traded him for Rush & Jack (both solid/good attitude guys ..but mediocre). All they gotta do now is dump Tinsley and they’re set. I think you’ll see surprising improvement in this squad next year and then no doubt in summer 2009.
A+ for the TJ/Hibbert trade
B- for not getting better value for Bayless

Los Angeles Clippers

Grade: A-

Round 1: Eric Gordon (7)
Round 2: DeAndre Jordan (35), Mike Taylor (55)

Analysis: I’m also a rare full-on Gordon fan. Everyone jumped off his bandwagon when he struggled during the second half when he injured his hand and Indiana went down in flames. The guy has mad range on his J and barrels over defenders like a bowling ball on way to the hoop. If Ben Gordan can make it at 6’3” there’s no reason to think Eric can’t as well. At worst, he’s the second coming of JR Smith. At best, he could be the second coming of Mitch Richmond.
As for DeAndre, hilarious that scouts used to project this guy at NUMBER THREE in the draft. Still, at 35 this is a no-lose pick. If he pans out the Clippers look like geniuses. If not, who cares..

Los Angeles Lakers 

Grade: assy

Round 1: None
Round 2: Joe Crawford (58)

Analysis: Joey Crawford’s in the draft? I woulda taken Dick Bavetta..

Memphis Grizzlies

Grade: Hmmm.

Round 1: O.J. Mayo (3), Darrell Arthur (27)
Round 2: None

Analysis: Mike Miller/Love/Cardinal for Mayo/Jaric’s horrid contract. Looks like a great move for McHale initially. Still, if the Grizz parley Mayo into Beasly (as I expect them to) it could be an outstanding move (*assuming they don’t include Conely in the Miami deal). That said, I think Mayo is going to be a good pro but I don’t see him as anything too amazing ..he’ll be Billups at best (*and probably take just as long to fulfill his full potential).
Mayo also wins the Greg Oden award for oldest face in the draft.
As for Arthur (*AKA: this year’s green-room roadkill), I was never a big fan of this guy but at 27 he’s a steal. I was wrong about David West --maybe Arthur can fit that bill as well..

Miami Heat

Grade: Hmmm.

Round 1: Michael Beasley (2)
Round 2: Mario Chalmers (34), Darnell Jackson (52)

Analysis: Oh Beasly. Your DUI is waiting…as is your paternity suit..as is your lawsuit from the guy you punched at Scores…as is your fine for walking out of practice while dumping over the Gatorade tank.. as is your suspension for bitching to the press that your coach is a douchebag...as is..
Get the picture?
I also picture him dropping 20p 10r in his sleep. Trouble is, Z-bo can do the same thing and look where he’s at..
Chalmers is a nice find at 34. They were talking about him at 12 which was crazy but to get him in the second is mighty sweet. Unlike Beasly, he seems like the kind of guy who’ll be a nice back-up PG for the next 10 years and then winds up even better as a coach. His acquisition could effect the pending Memphis trade.

Milwaukee Bucks 

Grade: B

Round 1: Joe Alexander (8)
Round 2: Luc Richard Mbah a Moute (37)

Analysis: The Jefferson trade was sweet but what the hell do they do with Alexander now? He’s two inches short of a Gugliotta. That’s a very important 2 inches.
Moute looks like a nice role player. Didn’t know he’s an African prince. That said, doesn’t he have something more important to do with his time than sit and watch Redd drain 3’s?

Minnesota Timberwolves 

Grade: B

Round 1: Kevin Love (5)
Round 2: Nikola Pekovic (31)

Analysis: I think the Mayo trade works pretty well for Minn ..if they were in the EAST. Frankly, I just think getting Miller and Love improves the Wolves just enough to make them mediocre in the west. It’s a possible talent upgrade but:
A) Love COULD be a total bust (..although I’m hoping not).
B) Love and Jefferson are both short/stocky post-up guys.
At least, they got rid of Jaric’s contract, no?
Side note: Pekovic looks pretty good ..too bad he’s on lockdown for 2 years.

New Jersey Nets 

Grade: B

Round 1: Brook Lopez (10), Ryan Anderson (21)
Round 2: Chris Douglas-Roberts (39)

Analysis: Mixed.
1) Brook Lopez at 10 is a safe pick considering Kristic is probably toast. Still, the buzz is he doesn’t like to play basketball and here’s what was overheard as they miced him during the draft: “~this is BOR-ring!!” “Who’s the coach of the Nets? Frank? Who’s that?” “Can we switch the TV monitor to the Euro Cup??” (alright, I made up the last one..) Anyway, I wouldn’t expect much more than 13p 7r outta this guy down the road.
2) Ryan Anderson: they compare him to a poor white-man’s Yi. Unless you’re trying to corner the market on future Brad Lohaus/Brad Sellers wannabes I don’t see the point.
3) CDR: I completely don’t understand how he goes so late. Where’s the flaw major in his game?? Handle ..check. Shot ..check. Defense ..check. Creativity ..check. Winning experience ..check. Length ..check. Seriously, he might be better than Gallinari. Totally reminds me of a 6’6” Cutino Mobley.
4) As for Yi/Jefferson: If you get LaBron in 2010 ..okay. Otherwise, LAAAAME.

New Orleans Hornets

Grade: Blah

Round 1: None
Round 2: None

Analysis: The Hornets sold the No. 27 pick to the Blazers for $3 million. Unless they were gonna take CDR (which they should have) I’d say it’s a good move.

New York Knicks

Grade: VOMMIT

Round 1: Danilo Gallinari (6)
Round 2: Got this e-mail from Hans:

dude,

i know nothing about this guinea the knicks just drafted...but his highlight reel was hugely depressing. usually the international highlight reels are full of amazing moves, dunks, etc.

this guy looks slow and unexplosive. and he's 6'8". is he a SF?

tell me he's awesome. please.
hans

MY REPLY:
unbelievable they passed on Gordon & Bayless for this dude. i can almost guarantee both average double digits rookie year. even the schmucks who drafted him played down his skills saying shit like, "should turn into a solid player" "pretty good at a lot of stuff" "doesn't need to start". "has defensive issues he needs to work on"

I wanted Avery Johnson as coach. he NEVER woulda taken this al dente piece of shit. looks like the Knick philosophy hasn't changed. D is not a pre-requisite to play on the team. ironic you e-mailed me about Gallinari. i made a comparison of his game to Polsky while we watched the draft...some guy named Hans Bungle.

translation: Gallinari might do well at Children's Aid but may have major problems in the NBA.

i could be wrong but ...groan.

dlee

Orlando Magic

Grade: B-

Round 1: Courtney Lee (22)
Round 2: None

Analysis: Solid not great …totally shoulda gone for CDR.

Philadelphia 76ers 

Grade: A-

Round 1: Marreese Speights (16)
Round 2: None

Analysis: Gotta say, this guy looks like he could be a major steal. Good size, athleticism, young, good stroke, fluid motion. The knock was on his conditioning. I’d say it’s worth risking a 16 pick on lottery talent at that spot.

Phoenix Suns 

Grade: B+

Round 1: Robin Lopez (15)
Round 2: Malik Hairston (48)

Analysis: Robin Lopez seems way cooler than his brother. I get a feeling him and Nash are gonna be smoking pot and riding around the Village on skateboards a lot. Who wouldn’t want to hang with a 7ft Sideshow Bob? Can’t wait to see him and Varejao guarding each other. Play by play guys will be spitting bad jokes like watermelon seeds at a county fair..
Hope Robin doesn’t wind up tasting Shaq’s ass.

Portland Trail Blazers

Grade: A

Round 1: Jerryd Bayless (11), Nicolas Batum (25)
Round 2: None

Analysis: I’ve recently pondered moving to Portland and this confirms how cool it would be in terms of hoops. Assuming Oden healthy, they are SOOOOO loaded for the next 5 years. Add last years well-reviewed import Rudy Fernandez to the mix and these guys are sitting in the catbird seat of the future. Oden, Roy, Aldridge, Bayless, Fernandez, Allen’s deep pockets, Pritchard as GM, McMiilian as coach = future success.
Not only that, they got Frye, Outlaw, Batum, and Webster to use as trade bait.
Sick.

Sacramento Kings 

Grade: C

Round 1: Jason Thompson (12)
Round 2: Sean Singletary (42), Patrick Ewing Jr. (43)

Analysis: Nice kid. Passable game. Kinda early in the draft for another Channing Frye.

San Antonio Spurs 

Grade: ?

Round 1: George Hill (26)
Round 2: Goran Dragic (42), James Gist (57)

Analysis: No idea.

Seattle SuperSonics

Grade: C+

Round 1: Russell Westbrook (4), Serge Ibaka (24), D.J. White (29)
Round 2: DeVon Hardin (50), Sasha Kaun (56)

Analysis: Westbrook claims he's a point guard. Hey, i can also claim to be a point guard when i'm on the court. Still, any asshole who's ever seen me handle the rock (like a drunken sailor handling a sloppy French whore) knows if I'm at the helm you better look at the sidelines for someone better to guide your ship. Don't get me wrong, he's a phenom athlete who plays great D and finishes. Thing is, he can't really shoot and has no mid-range game. kinda like ...Fred Jones or Antonio Daniels.
This is a major reach.
DJ White = Lonnie Baxter
Ibaka = whatever
Kaun = actual decent back-up C with Jeff Forster potential ..still, he already signed a contract in Russia so..

Toronto Raptors 

Grade: ?&(^%!

Round 1: None
Round 2: Nathan Jawai (41)

Analysis: I think the O’Neal trade is eerily similar to the dreaded Kidd trade. Giving up a young stud for a high-priced vet on the downturn?
Time will tell..

Utah Jazz 

Grade: A-

Round 1: Kosta Koufos (23)
Round 2: Ante Tomic (44), Tadija Dragicevic (53)

Analysis: Koufos was supposed to be top 10 next year. I’ve seen this guy. He’s pretty damn good for a legit 7 footer. Give him a year or two and this could be a major steal.

Washington Wizards

Grade: D-

Round 1: JaVale McGee (18)
Round 2: None

Analysis: El Busto.
Never EVER draft a 7 foot guy who averages 7 rebounds in a shit conference.
Especially, if the have a ridiculous name like JaVale McGee.
Smell ya later..
DLEE

get big

Welcome to 2008, my friends. It's going to be a hell of a year and I can't wait to be a part of it.

Time to talk resolutions. But first, the obligatory progress check on last year's goals:

I made one New Year's Resolution. That ain't saying I only want to improve/change one thing; just that most likely I will be pretty much the same schmuck this year as I was last year so I may as well set a realistic single goal for something that I might actually do. And that thing is giving up sugar soda. No more sugar soda anymore. That stuff is just no good. Delicious, but no good. It won't be easy but I can do it. And if I succeed, I might move on to some other resolutions. You'll be the first to know.

Well, I gave that shit up for a large part of the year, maybe 6 months, maybe 9, but somehow I slipped and now I am half diet soda, half regular. I need to get that straightened out.

As for resolutions for año cero ocho, to hell with that. Once again, I am going to be the same schmuck as I was in years 1972-2007, making the same bad decisions, cracking the same obvious jokes, feeling much of the same stress. Why kid myself? I am weak and scatterbrained and can rarely keep my train on the tracks for more than a few seconds at a time.

So in lieu of changing the things I do, I have decided to change the way in which I do them. No more half-assery, no more tentative Charlie Brown-style pussin' around, no more laying low and hoping nobody notices me. Every thing I do this year, I will do with passion, with flair, with commitment. If I suck, I will suck with a vengeance. I will scream and yell and apologize with sincerity. On the rare moments where I excel, I will gloat and dance and let the world know how awesome I am.

I will look people in the eye. I will speak in a full voice when I share my opinion.

The simplest acts in life, the ones we think of as mundane, are really opportunities to demonstrate grace and panache.

Example: the elevator door is closing. You want to activate the sensor that makes it open again so you can get on. Maybe someone is on the elevator pretending not to see you, maybe it's empty. Either way, the instinct is to halfheartedly stick a toe in, or your umbrella, or give it a lame wave of the arm -- something that could trigger the sensor but might not.

Fuck that. From now on I am kicking my entire leg through that door, kung fu style. I may even let out a yell. Or I may go Rockette style, humming a show tune as I let loose. Either way, I will go big and my life will be slightly more exciting because of it (providing my lower leg is not severed and I avoid groin pulls).

When I go on a coffee run, I will tell even more enthusiastic corny jokes to the cashier. They may think I am a fool, but their day will be better for it. (*Tried this today and it was met with a cold stare and complete silence -- who cares, it was worth it!)

When I play basketball, I will jack up a few crazy shots just for the hell of it -- they won't go in, but they will be fun. Nobody will mind.

I have always shied away from physical contact -- handshaking, hugs hello, unironic high-fiving, etc. No longer: I am going to embrace you and slap your hand whenever I get the chance. You are great, man. I like you! Why not show it?

If there is a chance for a good fake fight, I will take it.

So that is my simple resolution: to take 2008 and make it my personal joyride. I am going to soak up every moment, I am going to be loose and goofy and full of spice. Join me. Or at least tell me your resolutions.

Would a midsummer moustache be out of the question? I hope not.

PPF FYI

This is the first installment of a little thing we like to call "Past, Present, Future." It is really no more than a cheap excuse for me to reveal a few things about myself, things you may not have known. Things you need to know. It's so simple I don't think I even need to explain how it works.

I. School/Work/Career

Past: I never had good study habits growing up, but it didn't really come back to bite me until my sophomore year in high school. Sometime around February 1985, I had a secret psychological breakdown. I still don't know exactly what caused it or what it meant, but I just about flunked out of school before I got the ship righted again. The truth is, my h.s. diploma is as tainted as HR ball # 756.

Present: My job is a daily battle to survive. My head is cluttered with intense anxiety and various lame plans for escaping that day's nightmares and moving on to tomorrow. I can't focus, I have little time for my family, and I have no time to think about carving out a better career for myself (or even updating my resume). I am always exhausted or overcaffeinated.

Future: Using "To-do List" technology, I will become more organized and efficient. In my extra time, I will think creative and productive thoughts, one of which will eventually help me land a job I really love. My work-life balance will be ideal.

II. Bowling

Past: I am pretty decent for a down-the-middle, no-hook bowler, with a career high of 193 or 194. I average about a 150.

Present: I have not bowled in quite some time and I miss it. Let's go bowling this weekend.

Future: I just want to go on record that no child of mine shall ever participate in bowling with the bumpers along the gutters -- at least not on my watch. Maybe if they go to another kid's birthday party or something like that that's out of my control, it will happen. But I am completely opposed to it. When my kid first goes bowling, she will get the 33 or whatever we all get the first time we bowl, and then she will want to get better. I have too much respect for her as a person, and more importantly for bowling as a sport, to let her do the bumper thing. It's moronic. Are kids really excited after they get a strike that was banked off the damn bumper? WHY TEACH THEM THAT IT IS OK TO SUCK? SUCKING IS NOT AS GOOD AS EXCELLING. A REAL STRIKE = EXCELLING. A BUMPER-AIDED STRIKE = SUCKING AND BEING LIED TO ABOUT IT. IF YOU THROW IT IN THE GUTTER, YOU NEED TO STRAIGHTEN THAT SHIT OUT AND DO BETTER THE NEXT TIME. OTHERWISE, WHY FUCKING BOWL AT ALL? Apply the bumper theory to other sports and you will see how stupid it is.

III. Basketball

Past: Once I stayed up 'til 1:30 am on a school night watching the Showtime Lakers squeak out a home win against the hapless, hustling '86 Knicks. Magic Johnson kept complaining to the refs all game, infuriating me. After the game I sat down and wrote him a bitter, irrational letter. I never sent it, but I still remember the exact anger I felt that night. I might type that shit up again from memory right now. I used to be passionate about basketball.

Present: I am trying to play more hoops. Whenever I see pictures of Laguna Beach I get inspired. I can't watch the freaking Knicks without a barf bag (wouldn't it be funny if the Knicks ran a promotion called Barf Bag Night?) but I did recently plop down 150 bucks for NBA League Pass. On the rare nights that I have time, I get to watch any NBA game I want. And I like it a lot. And if I ever get around to faxing them a copy of my cable bill, I can watch 'em all live on my compooter, freeing up the TV for the wife.

Future: I am getting old and slow and will probably have to stop playing at some point in the next few years. But I do look forward to the Knickerbockers' memorable 2013 playoff run. Also, I don't think a player should ever be called for a charge if he has released his shot already and then crashes into a defender who is just setting up there trying to get the contact (and possibly injuring both players).

Also, why isn't there a good basketball website? Free Darko is OK from time to time but they take things a bit too seriously for my taste. Wizznutzz is of course magnificent but doesn't work on firefox for mac, in fact it crashes my browser. Plus, it is more of a site about humanity than it is about basketball. So somebody either clue me in to what I'm missing or let's start a damn basketball website that is good.

IV: Diet/Health

Past: I have eaten nothing but crappy food for the last 37 years. My pop used to make me nachos for dinner -- Doritos with Monterey Jack cheese melted on top. I have continued gaining weight every year of my life. I did go on a modified version of Weight Watchers for a few months six or seven years ago. I lost about 15 pounds but then decided to go back to regular old Bungle-style eating and I gained it all back in like half an hour.

Present: I seem to have stabilized at an unhealthy and grotesque weight and body shape.

Future: I will continue to gain weight until my first heart attack, pre-age 50. Then, motivated by terror, I will lose weight and be skinny for the rest of my days.

V: Shoes

Past: I have never had really cool work shoes, but I have owned a shitload of basketball sneakers through the years. Even at this moment, I own 6 pairs.

Present: For Christmas, my wife got me a pair of boot-shoes that I really like. Check 'em out:

I have had good experiences with the Clarks in the past. Real simple and comfy. I think these will be my regular work shoes for the next few months. (Update: Unless my feet keep sweating the way they have been the last couple of days.)

Future: I will continue to wear shoes.

VI: Drinking

Past: Between the ages of 16 and 35, I drank a ton of beer. Fuck that, more than a ton. About 8 tons, by my conservative estimate. I used to love drinking beer, I really did. Just the sight of an unopened case of Old Milwaukee made me giddy with anticipation. I never liked blacking out or morning-after anxiety, though. I used to encounter both of those about once a week.

Present: I drink about three or four beers a week. Maybe twice a year I will exceed three beers in a night. On those nights, lock your doors and hide your fireworks.

Future: I will continue drinking about three or four beers a week. That works out pretty good for me.

VII: Relationship with La Toya Jackson

Past: I never had an intimate relationship with La Toya Jackson.

Present: I am married with a child and vehemently deny that there is anything going on between me and La Toya Jackson.

Future: Who can predict the future?

VIII: Facial Hair

Past: I never had much more than a few stray hairs stickin' outta me chin.

Present: In 2007, I finally attempted to grow a moustache. It wasn't all I hoped for, but it was pretty incredible nonetheless. I miss it. My misstache. Whatever, here is the final photo taken of it before it got shaved.

Look into my eyes (but not too close!) -- I think this shot demonstrates how emotionally difficult it was for me to euthanize the ol' lipsnake. At the very least, you get a free gander at some chest and neck zits. And since we are here, it is time for me to give my long overdue moustache-troops donation info. If you pledged money in support of my 'stache, you can give it to the Intrepid Fallen Heroes Fund. I'm sure they are corrupt and your money will end up somehow going to Dick Cheney's rent boy, but it's worth a shot. I am giving $40 as promised. In case you have forgotten, here are your pledges.

Future: I need an excuse to grow another one. A better one. A moustache that redefines masculinity for the 21st century. What, you say my first moustache already did that? Then I'll do it again.

IX: Hometown

Past: I grew up in NYC, then lived in Madison, Wisconsin for 6 years. Then I moved back to NYC and I've been here for the last 14 years.

Present: I live in one of the "luxury" apartments of Stuyvesant Town, but the rents are getting so ridiculous we will have to move soon. Maybe to the boonies of the Bkn.

If we do move, maybe the suburbs are a good bet, too. Although Brooklyn is not getting left out of the suburban-style holiday fever, let me tell you. Check out this atrocity:

Future: I think I will move to Southern California at some point in the next five years. I want to be outside 52 weeks a year. I want my kid to ride dirt bikes and catch rattlesnakes. I want beaches and mountains and a newspaper with all the box scores in it. This city's got me feeling like a motherfucker.

scrub 2.0

When we took our baby in for her 6 month check-up, she was big for her age. Tall, but also heavy. In fact, her weight was ahead of her height on the weight-height index or whatever they call it. The doctor assured us it was nothing to worry about.

"For the first couple of years, it really doesn't matter if they're overweight or not," she said. "But once they turn two, if they are overweight, they will probably struggle with weight for their entire lives."

What?

That doesn't seem right.

Anyway, when she went in for her one year check-up, she had sprouted up in height and had seemingly put her obesity problems behind her thanks to a daily regimen of healthy eating, good sleep and punching other kids in the face for no reason. So we relaxed.

And then came her two-year checkup, and wouldn't you know it, she got fat again. Like she's in the 80th percentile of weight to height. We'll try to help her regain her figure, but I guess she's probably screwed.

And it made me wonder, if she's screwed, if her appetites and habits are already too ingrained to change, what hope is there for poor 38 year-old fools like me?

Since I was like 7, I've taken really crappy care of myself. I don't know why exactly, probably some deep-rooted fuckedupedness, or maybe just laziness, or maybe poor self-esteem, or self-hate, or maybe because taking crappy care of yourself just feels good.

My diet is a disgrace. I've understood this for years; I've watched myself go from an awkward skinny guy to a fat guy in baggy clothes trying to fool the world. I'm not as fat as the fattest person you know but I probably eat worse food than he does. One night about 8 years ago I ran into a guy from high school at the Blue and Gold, and he was like, "Damn, you got heavy." And that was like 15 pounds ago. (P.S. for some reason I didn't box his stupid ears when he said this.)

So it's true. I need to exercise more, lose weight, and take it easy on the chunky chews. And I never do a damn thing about any of it except for acknowledging it. This condition, along with the fact that I recently shotgunnned a Pabst on a pitcher's mound, makes me an American. But being an American doesn't help me live longer or look more like the stallion that I know lives inside me. I need to make some changes, or at least promise to make some changes and then forget about them.

I have a new desk at work, and the other two people in my office are very fit. One is a woman who prepares and eats healthy meals every day. The other is a dude who is 6'5", maybe 195 pounds of lean manhood. Once or twice a day, he drops to the floor and does 50 pushups. It's pretty cool, actually. He's a fascinating character, a real-life southern gentleman with a great sense of humor and a positive attitude. He's sort of my new hero. And the woman is constantly pressuring me to eat right, to the point where the three of us and one other guy are all now eating our meals together every day -- veggie wraps that we make right in the office. So I am getting on the right track. I need to join my buddy and do some pushups, but I think hitting the wall after 3 might make me look bad.

But diet and exercise are just the first step. I need to do a bunch of stuff that will make me a better man. Here's my short list of small goals I don't expect to reach:

-Stop reading celebrity news in any format. My wife will bring home an Us Weekly and I will pretend to judge her for it for a few minutes, then I inevitably read it cover to cover myself. Celebrity gossip is the lowest form of entertainment, it's like batter-fried cheez doodles for the brain and I want you to stop reading it, too.

-Continue my semi-return to hoops. I played (and won) three full-court games on Saturday in 90 degree heat, and it made me feel 10 years younger. Then we had a terrible Sunday night softball game without DLee, and it reminded me that if I get only three hours a week to play sports, it may as well be spent playing the game I love best and not the one that actually makes me gain weight as I play.

-Buy a Wizznutzz T-shirt. I never look at Wizznutzz anymore because it crashes my Firefox every time I go there, but JCJ has one of the most original and compelling sites on the ol' intertubes. So check out their store for some awesome designs.

-Continue downloading some of the great songs you guys suggested for me. Thank you for the effort, I am far more able to rock now than I was a week ago.

-Not tell anyone the embarrassing story about how I returned my (GIFT!) iPhone to the store, had problems with the Apple staff, caused a bit of a scene, got what I wanted, and made an asshole out of myself in the process. And the assholery may not be over yet. Lesson learned. Oh, and the iPhone is pretty cool, other than the ludicrous decision to a) use the slow EDGE network that is about to get phased out and b) load full versions of websites. Loading stuff takes forever, unless you're in a hotspot. And hotspots don't really help you when you are using a MOBILE device. Anyway, I am ashamed on a number of levels about the thing but I think I'll get over it.

-Refrain from stealing cigarettes in bars. Hasn't happened in like 10 years, but it's always good to stay vigilant.

-Think more of others and less of me. Tough and generally unrewarding, but probably necessary in the end.

-Root for Stephon Marbury even though he may have some knuckles in his head. His charity stuff seems to me to be unequaled by other athletes.

-Blog at least once a week, maybe twice.

-Drink lotsa water.

-Actively hate the Red Bastards. I don't think we can catch 'em, but I want to get into the playoffs so we can possibly face them. Unfortunately, I think they have a better team this year so they might pound us, but it would be fun just to get there.

-Organize my workspace at the office. Before the juggernaut gets loose and it's too late.

-Read one book every month.

-Get more sleep. Starting right now.

If you can think of any other ways I could suck less, let me know.

38 not special

Ouch.

I am 38 years old today.

Old enough that I actually consider lying when people ask me my age, especially at work.

I played hoops for half an hour on Saturday against a bunch of dudes, mostly around 18-22 years old. They split us up into teams by age, and I was the oldest by far. The guy I was guarding was probably like 19 and he thought he was pretty good. I laid off him and dared him to make an outside shot. He insisted on driving and I blocked his shot like three times. On offense, I threw my fat ass around in the lane and got like 85% of the available rebounds. Then I'd roll out a few ancient head fakes and score. They started calling me "Vlade." That's what it's come to -- on a good day, my game inspires comparisons to a 55 year-old bearded Serb who looks like he's in desperate need of a shower. (Reality check: Vlade is only a year older than me and was actually well known for his extreme commitment to cleanliness.)

I'd like to fill you in with a pbdotc-style 'chicken soup' column in which I list all the things I've learned in my 38 years, but nothing comes to mind.

So let me just say that the world has been incredibly kind to me and I appreciate it with all my heart. My good breaks are way ahead of my bad breaks. I've got more than I could ever want and I love this planet as much as I did when I was 21. I can still run around and play and laugh and drink and high-five and sing like a true asshole when called upon.


Which leads me to discuss something that I really don't need.

Dudes, I didn't ask for it, I didn't plan on it, and I don't fully support it, but I am getting an iPhone today as a gift. And I will make love to it all night long.

Enjoy pbdotc's recap of Sunday night's softball in the rain. In my opinion it was the most satisfying game all season. Even if I still don't know how to shotgun a beer properly.

the open man

I guess I've mentioned 6 or 8 times on here that Kevin Garnett is my favorite basketball player. Probably ever. I don't even know that much about him. But I get the sense that he is a righteous man in almost every way. And I think that righteousness reveals itself in how he plays ball. He may not be the ultimate 'winner' -- the guy who will get pissed, take over a game and destroy the opponent all by himself. He's more of an "I'm excellent every day, all day, forever" kind of dude, which is interesting because he is also one of the most intense and competitive players in any sport. But rather than score 35 a night, even when that is the thing that would benefit his team the most, he chooses to spread the ball around, clinging to the probably naive belief that the open man is the right man to take the shot, no matter his name, no matter his salary, no matter his ability. The sad thing is that in Minnesota, that open man was never good enough and kept getting worse. But Garnett kept looking for him, encouraging him, believing in him. Trusting that more help was on the way. It was only in the last couple of weeks that he realized help wouldn't arrive until it was too late, until he was no longer good enough to use it.

You could probably legitimately criticize him as an athlete for this openheartedness; I choose to applaud him. He plays the game the way he lives his life: with a love and respect for his fellow man. Every time I hear him speak, I can't help thinking: there is a person of tremendous depth and humanity.

Now, in Boston, the open man is going to be Ray Allen. When it's not Ray Allen, it's gonna be Paul Pierce.

And on some nights, the open man is gonna be KG himself.

simple and right

Look, there's not that much going on right now, so I am going to keep talking about HIATUS and the moustache project and that type of crap. You may not really care about that stuff, you may be all, Enough Already, but I won't stop. All I can say is, when you see this moustache, you are going to have a hard time not falling in love with it. In love with me. In love with us.

So feel free to click elsewhere for awhile if you aren't interested. This is what we're about right now.

So my HIATUS is going to (finally) officially start on Tuesday. I guess you could say it starts today but I am working a few hours on Tuesday (and not getting paid, long story). How did that happen? Where did HIATUS go? Where have all the cowboys gone? My HIATUS is now less than a three week deal (although I did have two weeks in Cali that were pretty spectacular, have to count those). The reduction in time off has forced me to scale back my little boy dreams about what exactly is going to go down in the next three weeks.

I gotta simplify. So here's what I got (in addition to the usual glorious things I do every day):

1) See my ailing pops as much as possible.
2) Play basketball enough so that I suck 42% less than I do now. The last time I played was an embarrassment to pudgy pushing-40 fuckups everywhere.
3) Read at least one book. First, probably the Paul Auster book that Mrs. Sandals just loaned me. Then finish Stop-Time.
4) Have afternoon drinks at least one time.
5) Write a story based on an idea I had as I was going to sleep the other night. Not a great idea but good enough to get out of bed and write down.
6) Ponder how the Knicks just managed to get more unlikable. Zach Randolph? They didn't give up much but I would rather have nothing than have him.
7) Grow a moustache. It starts on Monday and runs through the end of July, which has prompted me to finally give it a name: The Monthstache. It's like a reunion tour of your favorite band. You have a limited time to catch it so don't miss out. I think I'm going for a Don Mattingly 1984,
with a dash of horrible late-period Eddie Murphy as well:

There, that's it. Very manageable.

on the beach

It was, as Ice Cube would often say to me back in the early 90's as we laid on our backs in the sand after a carefree afternoon spent wading in the surf, chasing girls and playing Kadima, a good day.

Walked in 72 degree sunshine. Played hoops at Laguna Beach. Took Baby Bungle into the ocean and she loved it.

Didn't even have to carry any keys. The less keys you're carrying, the more fun you're having.

Only downside is I got me some sunburn. Neck, nose, arms, feet, legs, and, I believe, eyeballs. Nose is looking like it might just fall right off. I used some SPF 40 sunblock, too. I guess I was a little haphazard in the application, and I paid the price.

To protect my eyes and face, I borrowed some low-budg hat and eye-wear from the in-laws. I was sexy. So sexy that I decided that when I grow my manly stache, I may have to sport some oversize cheapo sunglasses to keep it company. Picture this stud with a full-on furlip. It's scary.


Also, I kind of just plain suck at basketball these days. I had a decent moment here and there but I was out of breath and I kept getting stripped of the ball by younger and more competent players. Oh well, I did manage to win most of the games, including one against some dudes who shoulda killed us. No pictures were taken, so you'll just have to imagine how sexy I looked in my sweaty undershirt.

I hope cW's rooftop blowout was a blast, I wish I could have been there. Rooftops + Warm Weather + Beer = Guaranteed Fun.

I saw Spiderman 3. Piece of shit. And I loved 1 & 2.

I am also looking for a nice HIATUS read. I bought a Babe Ruth biography and I can already tell it sucks. I think Mrs. Sandals is hooking me up with a Paul Auster book I haven't read, but until then I am open to suggestions. As always, a good coming of age novel would be swell.

stop the flop

Jeff Van Gundy, who is turning out to be a somewhat entertaining and insightful announcer (I like the sarcastic interplay between him and Mark Jackson -- it's like a slightly more intelligent update on Bill Walton vs. Snapper Jones), went off the other night about flopping and how he hopes it is addressed next season by the league. I agree 100%.

Flopping, and the way defenders leap dangerously underneath driving offensive players in an attempt to draw charging fouls, is the single biggest reason basketball isn't as much fun as it used to be.

In the Golden Age of Basketball, an offensive foul used to happen a few times a game, when the player with the ball either:

1) Cleared out space with his off hand as he shot
2) Ran at full speed into a defender who was planted.

Rarely, and I admittedly have no statistical data to support this, would an offensive player be called for a charge when he had already left his feet on his way to the hoop. Nor when he was backing down a defender in the post. Now the paint is full of bodies. Guys are diving all over the place searching for calls. Defenders are scrambling to get in front of driving offensive players in an insane race "to the spot." Guys are falling down and getting hurt. Whistles are blowing. Flow is interrupted. Channels are turned.

Suggested solution:
1) Review game tape and punish floppers with a point system leading to an eventual suspension.
2) Stop calling offensive fouls when guys are being undercut. Stop calling offensive fouls when dudes fall down after a post player leans on them slightly. Adjust the dial on block/charge by like 25% until guys stop using "step-in and take the hit" as a defensive strategy.

One guy who plays pure defense is Andrei Kirilenko. He rotates off his man to help, he goes after blocks and steals, he tries to stay in front of the guy he's guarding, but he doesn't resort to flopping and begging. As much of a mess as he is offensively, he is a joy to watch on D.

***

Hope you had a good weekend. I have only three work days left until HIATUS. I have started putting together some ideas for how I will spend it. Thanks for your suggestions. I appreciate DLee's thought that I should be looking for another job that is less soul-sapping. I probably won't get around to it, though. I'm fucking spent. One thing I will attempt to do is eat better. Stay away from the chunky chews. Get back to my sexy weight.

Disjointed new softball recap is live.

brent barry: deadbeat scuzzball

I've been so very tired lately. Just counting down the daze until my hiatus rescues me. I have been working one (Shawshank) job from like 9am-7pm and then coming home and working on my other job from like 10pm-4am. So I would guess that at my best I am operating at 62% efficiency right now.

Last night I tried to stay up and work but got so burned out that I decided to treat myself to a ten minute break to watch some of the Spurs-Suns game I had DVR'd earlier in the evening. It was like 3am and I plopped down on the couch, honestly thinking I could go back to work after a few minutes. Of course I started drifting off to sleep almost immediately. You know that state when you are fighting to stay awake but like 80% of your brain has entered shutdown mode, and you keep waking up and trying to convince yourself that you can snap out of it, but it's a hopeless battle? That was me. Just cashed. Every few minutes I would open an eye or two and look at the TV screen. However, my powers of cognition were so depleted that I could no longer understand what it was that I was watching. Again: I ceased comprehending that there was a basketball game on. The last thing I remember was seeing Brent Barry and thinking, "Oh...that dude. I think he owes me money!" I repeat: I thought Brent Barry was an acquaintance who owed me money.

That is fucking tired.

Two more weeks of this crap. Two more brutal weeks and then it's moustachioed afternoons at the bar, bike rides down the WSH, dancing with bruised redheads in the park, and figuring out the rest of my life. Oh, and maybe some Doritos when nobody's looking.

The real reason I'm posting today is to alert you of two fresh pieces of digital content:

1) Season's first softball recap is live, thanks to PBdotC.
2) My good friend from college, redneck-thwarting bcny, has started a cool blog. Check it!

O'Malley's Rule: Never Bet with Your Heart

From last Monday through this Sunday, my life was a 168-hour suckfest of the 19th order.

One week, countless humiliations, failures, aggravations, irritations, and anxieties. And I am completely spent now. I look and feel like a zombie with a tequila hangover.

Working a week at my old job was far far more unpleasant than I'd anticipated, and I'd anticipated it being quite unpleasant. It was good to see certain people but others acted like fuckweeds. I'll spare you the details.

I also repeatedly tripped on a stupid bunched-up rubber safety mat that had been improperly installed. This happened like 38 times. Once I actually fell forward and jammed both hands hard on the counter. When you're already in the middle of a crappy day, stuff like that really turns you into a raging maniac. Which for me meant that I muttered a few swear words, phoned in a complaint to the facilities department, and continued my business. But in another universe I stormed out of the room without saying goodbye to anyone, after kicking those who desperately needed it right in the balls.

In the middle of the shittiness of the work situation, I was further tested when Ma Bungle got stuck in Toronto for three days due to bad weather, leaving me to take care of Baby Bungle on my own. Thank God that she's such a good kid. She didn't give me any problems at all. Only a couple times did she even say "Mommy?" as in "Where the fuck is Mommy?" When she did, I would say, "Mommy's at work," and she'd nod and say, "work," like, "wow, mommy works hard for the good of this family and I for one appreciate it." What a kid.

The nanny helped cover some of the extra baby shifts, so on Saturday I rushed out of work to relieve her after what was probably the lamest day in my mediocre career. Not the hardest day but one of the most stressful and unsuccessful. A series of small calamities, some of which were unresolved when I bolted out of there. I hate leaving stuff in the air.

Ma Bungle finally got home at like 2am. Then this morning we had to do some stuff, which we did, and then I wanted to go home and watch some of the Wisconsin game on TV. Of course, a) it wasn't televised here and b) they shit the bed anyway. Serves me right for picking them. On the way home from our errands I stopped for a six-pack of Rolling Rock at the corner deli and the lady behind the counter had to look up the price on the wall (bad sign).

"$13.00," she said.

"$13.00?!?" I said. "I think there's some kind of mistake."

"No, no mistake," she said.

I shook my head and returned the sixer to the shelf. I've been buying Rolling Rock beer in New York City for over 20 years, and I am fairly certain that it is never $13 for a six-pack. The reason I buy it is because it is never $13 for a six pack. For more than five years it was $5.50 at the deli across from my shitbox apartment on East 9th street, although that six-pack was actually a 12-pack that the guy sawed in half to maximize his profits (and give us a good deal at the same time). Generally I don't think it should be more than $7 for a sixer, even at a deli. Although maybe I'm a couple years behind on that. Whatever the case, I went to Gristede's right next door to the deli and picked up a sixer for $7.58, which suddenly seemed like a bargain.

Ma Bungle did bring me back a nice gift from her trip, a pair of swanky headphones (pictured above). I am liking them much better than my previous pair, which occasionally sent mammoth electric shocks through my skull.

I am ready for some spring weather and some Yankee baseball.

The tournament thus far has seemed way suckier than usual. I haven't seen that much but it just seems dull. And somehow CBS only booked college basketball's best play by play man Gus Johnson for the first weekend, replacing him with snooze-inducer James Brown at the Sweet 16. Senseless. And that curmudgeonly prick Billy Packer and his terrifyingly bland partner Jim Nantz will get the big assignments as always. I just don't fucking get it. Sigh. I guess my memo of two years ago fell on deaf ears.

2 points for each thing you suggest that probably annoys Billy Packer, up to ten suggestions per person.

shankin like al franken

So I am halfway through my 6-day Shawshank Tour at my old job. It hasn't been easy. Not one thing in particular has ruined it, just a series of small bad things that at the end of the day make my brainial ulcer bleed. In short, there's some fucked up bullshit going on. But what can you do? The Man lays down the rules, the rest of us just try to get ours and get out before we get squashed. Only three days left. Only three days left.

Too bad Wisconsin lost their lanky honky. They might have done some damage in this year's tournament. Oh well, I'm still picking 'em to go to the Final Four, because that's what you do when your school is a 1 or a 2 seed. Otherwise the possibility of acute roundball regret is too scary. Usually you insulate yourself by turning in a second, less emotion-based bracket, but not this year for me. Too busy. Go Badgers! Do it for Rashard Griffith! Do it for Steve Yoder!

Get even more caught up in the hoophype with Dan K.'s Slate piece about the death of the bracketmaster. I was the bracketmaster at one time. I loved it and hated it and finally gave it up. And I don't miss it even one little bit. My wife will never let me forget our vacation in South Florida in 2003 (starting on 3/16 -- also note that that was verbungle.com's frist month of existence and that I was already longing for a moustache), when I wasted a significant portion of the trip holed up in the hotel room fixing glitches in my first-ever internet-based pool. Sorry baby.

Oh and nobody got MDillyhairmetalballaddat: the answer was Warrant's "I Saw Red." What was MDilly thinking? What was America thinking?

beer, ball and baptism

That was my weekend. Hung out with BJL, his buddy Will, and the King of Beers on Friday night. It was fun as hell, even if we were patronizing what may be the worst bar in NYC, a bar with a name like a Simpsons punchline, a bar where bands (Live, Bush, Blues Traveler, Collective Soul) that have been mathematically proven to suck still rule the juke box like it's 1994. Still, the Bud was cold and tasted as sweet as the first girl you ever kissed.

On Saturday I played ball. My leg was operating at like 82% efficiency but for some reason I freaking turned back the clock and played out of my mind. Shooting, rebounding, passing, even remembering to hydrate properly. Ma and Baby Bungle were there watching, maybe that was it. Whatever the case I need to bottle that shit and guzzle it every time I play. It felt like 1988 except that I wasn't wearing a T-shirt with a pink and blue Nike Air logo on it.

Then on Sunday I got baptized at 1st Presbyterian Church on 5th Avenue, former nursery school of Hans and DLee. Baptism and all that stuff is weird, standing there in front of all the people and getting publicly moistened. What really bothers me about church is how everybody except me knows all the rules and traditions and when to stand, what to say, where to go, etc. There was one point where everybody turns to each other and shakes hands and says "Peace be with you" -- only since I didn't know that was what you were supposed to say I just said, "How ya doin'?" At least nobody laughed.

Anyway, I'm going to heaven now so you can all kiss my ass.

At least I'm not making rock videos like this poor bastard:

That face is not selling tickets.

For ten GP's, which horrible hair-metal ballad did MDilly insist on defending to me in like 1990? (MDilly, please refrain from answering until 6pm CDT on Monday, February 12th, 2007.)

Also, DLee, tell us what we need to do to make the permit a reality. We will marshal whatever forces we need to marshal to make it happen. Give us names to write to, numbers to call, officials to bribe, low-level bureaucrats to blow. Canceling softball would be like canceling Christmas. It simply cannot happen.

growing old takes the romance out of failure

First, a couple of clarifications/addendums to the Moustaches of Peace post.

1) The month I have off is UNPAID. Hopefully I am eligible for unemployment, but I definitely do not get paid by my current employer. So it ain't gonna be all that great, other than the fact that I will be spending it growing one of the most intense and, in a certain sense, significant moustaches of the last 20 years. Won't you join me?
2) Maybe the Paypal thing is too aggressive for the Moustache project. I think pledged donations are fine, and you can send in a check once you actually see me deliver the moustache you hoped for. So Paypal is coming down, don't think anybody used it anyway. So far I have the following pledge amounts:
Dipak: $20
D. Kois: $10
pbdotc: $10
Christina, Doug and cW are all in but without specific dollar amounts. You can make a pledge by clicking on the photo on the right, or you can just wait for the results and donate based on how much you enjoy the final product. And of course, you can back out at any time (assuming you don't care about disabled war veterans).
3) I really enjoyed the Moustache Starting Fives you all put together. I am going to give everybody who submitted one a ten point bonus and I am going to give the 30 point Grand Prize to pbdotc. His list contained four moustache icons and then a nice humorous finish with Rosie O'Donnell. Well done to him and to the rest of you as well. It was a very tough decision.
4) I forgot that my 5-year wedding anniversary is on June 1st. So in the interest of complete disclosure, let me announce that the moustache project will actually get underway on 6/2/07.

I left my cellphone in a cab this weekend. I was on my way to basketball and I got dropped off at 11th st. and 6th ave. The driver pulled away and then a minute or so later I reached into my pocket and realized the phone was gone. I could still see the cab -- he was stopped at the light at the corner of 11th street and 7th avenue. I know that's a crazy 3-street intersection -- Greenwich Ave., 11th st. and 7th avenue -- because a kid in my elementary school got decapitated by a truck while crossing the street there in like 3rd grade. Armed with the knowledge that it would probably be a long light, I decided to make a dash for it. I ran right in the street, full sprint, flailing my arms so if he looked in his rear view he migt see me (I suspect he did, but chose not to care). When I got to about the halfway point in the block, the light changed and he drove away, making a left onto 7th avenue. I almost gave up but decided to push through in the hope that he got hailed again. Sure enough, someone had flagged him down and he pulled over. I was still a good 80 feet away as he started to pull from the curb, but at this point I simply was not going to let him escape. I screamed out "TAXI" like a goddamn lunatic and he heard me. He stopped, I opened the back door, and there was my cellphone, gently tucked under the ass of the new passenger.

It would have been a happy story except:
1) I hate my cellphone because it keeps shutting down for no reason.
2) I pulled a muscle in my lower leg and after about three or four good games of ball, the leg shut down completely and still hurts.

The moral of the story is that old greasebags like me have to stretch before doing anything physical.

It was a good weekend anyway. Hope you dug it too.

Oh, I figured out with 92% certainty what it is that happened in the last 15 years that fucked up professional (and college) basketball. Remind me to tell you sometime. Or you can state your own opinion and if it matches my (92% correct) opinion, you get 20 GP's.

For The Weekend

It's late late Sunday evening. It's snowing in New York City, there's a thin coat already on the ground, the night is beautifully quiet in Stuyvesant Town and blogging conditions are excellent.

It was another fine weekend.

So you didn't do anything cool like you used to do, like pull your plonker out on the streetcorner or shoot off 99 Flaming Balls and other assorted fireworks or pretend to be a sexually confused 14 year-old boy or steal a homecoming float or offer to sock a crazy street person in the face to protect your crew or sell Loverboy tapes on the L train or ride around Chicago drunk in the trunk of a Honda Civic or tell a bearded college kid in a diner that you and your lady were starting a new society on the side of a mountain someplace and did he want to come along? or get beat up by a dozen skinhead townies or wake up with mysterious blood on the (open) door to your shitbox apartment or convince a cute girl to get off the other dude's lap and come sit on your lap to win a juvenile bet or try to steal a crane or try to steal a boat or set yourself on fire trying to consume a flaming shot or climb a building and sit in a covered wagon or streak for a good 2 miles or throw fruit onto rooftops or pee on a hot grill or invent a new dance called The Unknown Soldier or drive drunk to Chicago or listen to "Unsatisfied" like 68 times in a row at 4am while eating Cheetos in your friend's car in a Howard Johnson's parking lot in Madison, Wisconsin or bury a note and a beer in a box of crackers on a hill or politely walk a girl out of a bar so she could theoretically get on her bicycle and ride home but instead you both pause by the bike and stare at each other and make nonsense talk for like five minutes until it becomes comically awkward and she asks you if you are gonna kiss her or what and you say, no I don't think I can but maybe another time even though you want to more than anything and she shrugs and rides away on her broken down old bike and then like four years later she dies in a car accident and you hear they think it was a suicide. But you end up kissing her in between those two nights -- the night when you didn't kiss her and the night when she died -- on the night when the guy with the ponytail gives you a drunken ride home on his motorcycle the wrong way down a one-way at like 60 mph and she rides her bike and meets you there so you can all watch The Maltese Falcon. And then ponytail guy falls asleep watching the movie and you end up kissing her. He wanted to kiss her, wanted to kiss her even more than you did but he fell asleep and you snooze you lose and truthfully he never had a chance anyway. He's probably dead now too. Dead or like 42, either way it's bad news. But that's his problem.

That's not how you spent this weekend, I bet. But who cares about any of that, weekends are still pretty fucking sweet you ungrateful bitches. Just breathing weekend air and eating weekend food and doing weekend things, whatever they may be.

I played basketball for the third Saturday in a row. That's the plan now. We used a Brand Squeaking New NBA Game Ball, Classic Edition. I guess it needs to get broken in 'cause it felt terrible, like a plastic toy, slick and hard and difficult to control. I am wondering if maybe the New Non-Classic Game Ball might not have been an improvement after all if this is the alternative. What happened to the buttery leather Game Ball of my youth, the one Kissel bought at a Flea Market in Cape Cod and kept pristine for years before some joker dribbled it on concrete and ruined it?

Whatever the case my game is wack like Roberta Flack and I need to keep working at it or it's time for the glue factory. Maybe we need to get the whole crew back together for an over-the-hill VCS classic.

I drank some of the Guinness Draught cans this weekend, including tonight. Them are really not bad. Not the same as a real draft beer but smooth and satisfying nonetheless.

What did you do this weekend? Did anybody watch Steve Nash play? He's good. My dad refers to him as "my hero." We could go through a long discussion about why white basketball fans love white basketball players so much, but there's just no time right now. Instead, just marvel at Nash and remember, his career was on the scrap heap before he suddenly became an unlikely all-star in Dallas, and then he went back to the lab and figured out a way to get even better again. He's the two-time reigning MVP of the greatest basketball league on the planet. He is, in his own peculiar way, the best basketball player in the world. Hard to believe.

For 24 GP's, whodat?

Hey Chucky! Nice bald spot!

I played ball for an hour and a half yesterday. 4 on 4, same teams, lost like 8 out of 9 games. The other team was way better and they offered to switch it up after awhile, and I said no way. We battled and lost with dignity, and the one game we won was something like 15-2. That felt good. I would rather lose close ones all day than switch teams and win with the stacked squad. That's what separates me from Gary Payton. That and the fact that I still shout "Scrilla!" whenever I score, while he does not.

Exercise felt bad, then good. Now bad again. That's two weekends in a row, body is holding up OK. I would play basketball every day if I could. It's that much fun for me. It's kind of sad that I never got to be really awesome at it. I deserve to be. Oh well, I'm better than some people. If you're one of them, give me a call and we'll go play.

Remember when Nike ads used to be original and cool? They're just going through the motions (click "view the TV spot"). I mean, the production values are there, but it's totally uninspired. And it actually manages to make Steve Nash look like an annoying guy to play with.

OK, you asked for a little bit about Don Mattingly, so here is what I got.

Ten Things I Can Honestly Say About Don Mattingly

1) In their respective primes, he was better than Cal Ripken. His best year was better than Ripken's, and he had more great years than Ripken, even though his body collapsed when he was about 27. However, Ripken stuck it out and had a far better career. And he played a much tougher position. And won 2 MVP's to Mattingly's one. So there ya go. I love Ripken, btw. Just feel that for one at-bat in their peak year, a pitcher would much rather face Ripken than Mattingly. Mattingly seemed to hit the ball hard almost every time up.
2) It actually took me a few years to completely warm up to Mattingly. When he came up for good in 1983, he was an outfielder and he took some PT away from my favorite player, the cosmically doomed Steve Kemp. So I ended up resenting him until like 1985 or 1986, and I never formed a truly jizzmatic bond with him the way BJL and Joe M. did. By the time I forgave him and realized I had to treasure him, he was already on the decline, which still sorta bums me out.
3) No way should dude be in the HOF. Not that I want to start talking about the HOF.
4) He may have looked better playing baseball than anyone who's played over the last 25 years. At least among first basemen. Ken Griffey Jr. in his prime was probably more perfect. But Mattingly definitely looked smooth.
5) He was good buddies with Rickey Henderson, which makes sense because they put a lot of money in each other's pockets over the few years Henderson was in NY.
6) With assistance from Tom Selleck, he made moustaches safe for white people again. For a little while, anyway. In light of this, maybe I need to rethink my stance on Mattingly and the HOF. Is there a moustache HOF? There fucking should be. Get that going.
7) He played third base and second base a couple of times. Not easy for a lefty. For twenty GP's, who was the last lefty thrower to play third in the majors (Mattingly aside)? Hint: I have no idea and you can probably bluff me on this one.
8) He's kinda religious and seemingly less humorous these days (not that those two necessarily go hand in hand), but he seemed like a good wise-cracker in his playing days. Remember this one?
9) I bet he is good at all sports.
10) From 2003-2005 he posted "interviews" on his website (more like people sent in questions and he answered them and some dude typed it up) and they are a source of consistent happiness. Here are two of my favorites:

-Michael wrote:

Mr. Mattingly:

I'm just finishing a book, that will be published this coming May, in which you make a brief appearance. You were the boyhood hero of Scott Hatteberg, now of the Oakland A's, and he is one of the central characters of the book. He modeled his swing after yours, snuck into your Spring training facility to watch you in the cage, drove three hours to watch you play every time you played in Seattle, etc. His first big league at bat came with the Red Sox in Yankee Stadium. He turned a double into a single against David Cone on Sept 8, 1995, just so he could stop at first base and meet you.

That's a longwinded way of getting to the question I'd like to ask you: who did YOU model your approach to hitting upon? My phone number is 510 540 7532 but you can answer here if you get this. Thank you in advance.

Regards

Michael

---

Michael,

I modeled my swing after Rod Carew. I tried to hit the ball to all fields like he did. Good luck with your book.

Don Mattingly

Do you think that was Michael Lewis of Moneyball fame writing in? I would think so. If so, you now have his digits.

And my favorite:

Reggie Wrote:

On the date the Yankees retired your number do you remember hearing a fan yell out "Hey, Chucky! Nice bald spot."? It happened while you were giving your acceptance speech during a pause. You did smile and I was wondering if you had heard it and what you were thinking. It was I that yelled it at a friend who was sitting about 10 rows in front of me.

Don Mattingly Wrote:

Reggie,

I definitely did not hear it. It is hard for me to remember anything about that day. It was such a busy, hectic, and overwhelming day. Sounds like it would have been very funny if I had heard it.

Sincerely,
Don Mattingly

Oh, Reggie. Incidentally, from reading the site I also learn that Mattingly is a not-straight-ticket-voting Republican, that his favorite book is the Bible, and that his favorite movie is National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation.

OK, on to some exciting other biz. Dan K. is blogging again! After an abandoned side project called "Control-X", he has returned to his old website DanKois.com and he has some fine content up there already. Please check it out right now and go back every day.

Seeing that Dan had used the Blogger software to publish his blog to his own site, I decided to try to do the same thing. So I switched to the New Blogger, fucked around for about an hour with some settings that I don't quite understand, and I got it to work! So from now on, you will access this blog at our old site, verbungle.com. Please re-update your bookmarks. The blogspot address should expire in a few days. Unless I screwed something up.

Expect a few errors over the next week or so while we hammer down some loose edges. After that, just expect a good time.

Good football games this weekend. Rex Grossman = worst QB ever to start a Super Bowl? Maybe David Woodley? Tony Eason? Stan Humphries? James Vanderbeek? Just checking to see if you're still paying attention.

I still haven't had a sugar soda in '07. I have had cheesecake, cookies, Doritos, cheese puffs, and one lonesome cheeseburger. PB made a good point about carnivorism the other day which pretty well summarizes my beliefs about eating animals:

Animals are intelligent and have feelings and emotions. We vastly underestimate their capacity for thought and feeling because we like to eat meat.

Yep. You've seen animals run for their lives. They want to fucking live, man. Especially the big ones like cows and pigs -- they ain't dumb. I think that within 600 years all developed nations will be more than 75% vegetarian. Give me a holler then. I remember talking to a guy I know once, let's call him Nuge, and his attitude towards meat was "We are biologically programmed to want to eat animals. It's in our DNA. And these animals, the cows and pigs, are just here on earth for us to live off their meat. Being a vegetarian is completely unnatural."

What a load of horseshit. There are lots of things that we are "biologically programmed" to want to do, like fuck every able-bodied partner in sight. But we don't do it because we have a capacity for reason. We are capable of being more than animals. We can make philosophical judgments of right and wrong, wise and unwise. And because we are more than animals, we should, and eventually will, stop eating them.

I am dreading Monday more than usual this week. An egg and cheese sandwich will get things off to a decent start.

I am getting baptized in a couple of weeks. Any tips?