So my hometown Philadelphia Phillies may be eating their Wheaties, but they are apparently still hungry, as they are absolutely FEASTING on their opponent's pitching this week. In the last 23 innings, they have scored, as of this writing, FORTY TWO RUNS. 15 against Houston on Sunday, 20 against God's Team, Your National League Champion Colorado Rockies last night, and now seven in five innings against those same Rockies.
The 20-run game is especially sweet, as we had to suffer through the Phils being swept out of the playoffs at the hands of the Rockies due to some particularly lifeless bats and inconsistent pitching on the part of Los Philadelphia Phillies of Philadelphia. Sure, we could have used some of these runs back in October, but revenge is a dish best served cold, I suppose.
The Philadelphia-based bitches could not let last night pass without pointing out that Chase Utley, he of the dreamy eyes and dreamier dimples, had six RBI all on his lonesome last night. This fact sent this bitch dancing around her basement last night, despite the fact that he's not on my fantasy team, because anytime the Good Lord gives your favorite position player a six RBI night, it's cause for celebration.
Phear the Phightin's, y'all. They're coming after you. (Florida? You should probably look out. I wouldn't want to get in the way of this juggernaut.)
So it's a week later, the Chicago Bulls apparently held a knife to someone's throat during the NBA lottery drawing and now hold the magical rights to the one and only Derrick Rose choking on game winning FTs in the national championship game (WHICH NEVER GETS OLD TO WATCH!) in the 2008 NBA Draft. For them to say they plan to evaluate Michael Beasley and others is absurd. For one, Rose is the hometown kid. Duh, that's why I'm 99.9% sure that this was fixed. Someone needs to pump inspiration into the Bulls fans, who have had rough times since being spoiled in the 90s with MJ. They've been coming oh-so-close the last few years to regaining a half-ass form of that 90s magic with the Baby Bulls, but then you do something intelligent and draft Bozo the Clown and his marijuana plants, and sign 4'11" power forward who has never shown any remote ability to get a ball INSIDE a basket to a $6 billion deal, and you know, things don't really work out. It's getting REALLY bad when the Knicks win out on the hiring battle for coaches.
David Stern knew it would be a bit fishy to rig the lottery once again for the Knicks, so the Bulls are the next best bet. It didn't seem TOO weird to anyone, until you think about what the Bulls once meant to the NBA and Chicago (obviously, one of the largest markets), and how they haven't QUITE YET alienated their fans, but they're on the brink of doing so. The NBA has learned not to let its star ships sink too much, so they're trying to fix the Bulls while they're still salvageable.
Anyways, in basketball-terms, I am an extreme endorser in drafting proven point guards first. Derrick Rose is that. We know he can work on a team full of good/great players and people who need the ball a lot. We know he can lead a team and only cracks on the free throw line under pressure (See: final minutes against Kansas and Tennessee). We know he's quick, smart, enjoys a fine meal of gummy bears and honey buns, has a debilitating fear of needles (so no need to worry that he'll ever become a heroin junkie), and is the great Poohdini. And really, what more could you ask from the #1 pick and future of your franchise?
So all of this has Dwyane Wade depressed. Dwyane has stated outright that if the Heat were to get the #1 pick (as they laughably didn't), he would want Rose over Beasley any day of the week. Understandable. And if you didn't know, franchise players pretty much run the team. GMs and such are just there for job titles. Dwyane Wade is of the same vain as players like Kobe Bryant, LeBron James, etc. The Heat would be nothing without Wade, and to keep him there, he must be happy.
Wade is spending his off-season working off the 400 lbs he probably gained hanging out with his lover Star Jones while not actually playing this last season with Tim Grover in the Chi. Grover is coincidentally also preparing several clients for the upcoming NBA Draft. One of them just so happens to be the one and only Ovinton J'Anthony Mayo, better known to the world as Orange Juice Mayonnaise/OJ Mayo/The Latest Guy from USC to Get Illegally Paid.
OJ has always been a combo guard, and Grover has been working with him to particularly refine his point guard skills to raise his stock by making him a well-rounded NBA guard. His PG skills were seen by few in college. He had the ball in his hands plenty, and was hot and cold on making smart decisions with it. One of OJ's admirable basketball qualities is that he's one of the few guards who shoots a LOT of shots, but not too many 3s. As his freshman year wore on, he knew to be careful about forcing that risky shot, and subsequently was nearly a 41% 3pt shooter. But otherwise, he was susceptable to turnovers (which you expect with younger players who handle the ball a lot), and wasn't getting his teammates involved like a true point guard does. He was a combo guard. The end.
But Dwyane has been there while Tim Grover has been working on OJ. And as all reports indicate, he's becoming a swell PG. They have him going through drills that force him to make quick decisions, and he's earning As. Dwyane likes what he sees. And because he knows he can't have Rose, he now supposedly wants OJ.
I understand why Wade wants a point guard. They're the fundamental basis of a team, the difference-makers, etc. Look at CP3, Tony Parker, Deron Williams, etc. But why is he so seemingly opposed to Lil' Mike? And why is he getting obsessed with a guy who ISN'T a natural point guard?
Wade needs to remember that his championship was due in large part to Shaq. Now, Lil' Mike ain't no Shaq, even in his waning years of dominance. But big men CAN make a difference, if they play aggressive enough. See: KG in Boston on the nights he cares to own everyone. The East is still the East, and even the West has lost its big man dominance as the oldies (Chris Webber, Tim Duncan, Kevin Garnett, Elton Brand) have fallen and aged. Wade wants a guy down low who can compliment him and open up some space for him when he drives. Nobody is caring what Udonis Haslem does. But they'll care about Beasley.
Oh, but Wade wants a guy who can hit some outside shots and extend the D. Was I the only one who watched Mike hit 38% from 3? And how many guards or forwards are going to be able to consistently guard a 6'9" man's outside shot?
I am tired of the unproven upside being more valuable than proven commodities. Yes, OJ Mayo will probably be awesome. But we already know Lil' Mike is awesome, and nobody is asking him to do anything we DIDN'T already see him do in college. Bonus is, he has the pressure off him to lead the Heat and make them better, because that is Wade's job. Or maybe he's just sending the message that he doesn't want that responsibility anymore because he wants to get fat with his new girlfriend.
It is not lost on me that in my time on earth I have been smitten by two large Texas-bred pitchers on the Boston Red Sox, twenty years apart. In the mid-eighties I was enthralled by Roger Clemens, now it is Josh Beckett. When you have been a baseball fan as long as I have you see similarities, glimpse ghosts of legends. When I watch Beckett pitch I see a young Rocket, dominating, fiery, fist-pumping and hitter-taunting. On the surface, yes, they are alike. But how they handle their notoriety? Quite, quite different.
Pat Jordan, a former Sports Illustrated staffer, wrote an eye-opening piece on Clemens in 2001. This year, he writes about trying to get an interview with Beckett for Slate and getting shot down. For comparison, an excerpt from the Clemens piece:
A French dilettante once said, ''I am such an egotist that if I were to write about a chair I'd find some way to write about myself.'' Clemens's egotism is more childlike and innocent. He doesn't realize that he sees himself as the center of his small universe, at the center of every story he tells. The man having the heart attack becomes a bit player; the point of the story is the interruption of Clemens's "good run."
From the Beckett article:
But, still, I thought it was a shame Josh wouldn't let me profile him in the Times. I had a long lunch with him a few years ago, when he was with the Florida Marlins, and came away thinking he was an interesting young man. At the time, and even now, Beckett had a reputation for being a surly, hard-ass, rednecked, Texas country boy in the way of old-timey ballplayers. But the Josh I met over lunch was smart, caustic, funny, sophisticated, and a much deeper and more nuanced man than his public gave him credit for. I would have loved to have burnished his image, to have shown his fans that side of him in a profile. But it wasn't to be. His fans then lost an opportunity to know the real Josh Beckett.
As a long-ago camera commercial once proclaimed, image is everything. On the surface, it's easy to say that Clemens and Beckett are cut from the same mold, but in reading these articles it's plain that they are not. Since everything has broken about Clemens many have asked me--how do you defend him? How can you still like him? They're not easy questions to answer, but I think I can say this--Clemens was after the brass ring, wanting to be mentioned in the same breath as Nolan Ryan, Tom Seaver, Steve Carlton. When he was younger Beckett said the same things, but as he matured he's become quieter, tougher on himself. Clemens merely looked at stuff like bad games as roadbumps on his way to the Hall of Fame.
I don't think Roger Clemens is a bad person. I think he got caught up in his own hype. I also think Josh Beckett, who has claimed Clemens as a hero numerous times, is watching Clemens and making notes to himself--"don't end up like that."
Bah. Whatever. Congratulations, you bunch of douchebags. Now go cry on the field a little more, Cristiano.
PS: As an Arsenal fan, it gives me no small measure of glee to note that Didier Drogba and his red-carded ass was a complete nonentity in the second half. SUCK ON THAT.
For all my practiced bitterness and devil-may-care attitude, that was a fucking RIDICULOUS game. Seriously, two extra fifteens, and it still went to penalty kicks to decide the entire league, and this is after Drogba was sent off with a red card for slapping(!)Vidic aross the face in the middle of a last minute almost-brawl. (It should be noted that Tevez, the jackass who started the whole fucking fracas, got a yellow card.) Oh, and did I mention that the guy who missed the crucial kick that would have given his side the championship was one John Terry? Who just happens to be the captain of the fucking team?
I'm no Chelsea fan, but if I was, I might consider catatonia a blessing right about now. That must have been painful.
God, fuck the Champions League. Is it Euro time yet?
I refuse to put up a picture of Man U celebrating. Instead, have a picture of Drogba getting his incredibly well-timed red card while backed up by that traitorous bastard Ashley Cole.
Diversion of the Day: Don't be shocked when the Spurs and Pistons meet in a couple weeks in the NBA Finals. Consistency is key to winning. The end. Plus, I'm just NOT sold in particular on the Celtics. Besides Jesus Shuttleworth's amazing disappearing act, Tayshaun Prince's ridiculously long arms will bother the hell out of Paul Pierce, so don't expect too many more 40 point explosions. The ex-factor is Billups vs. Rondo. Billups has the size to outplay him, but the hurting hammy may slow him down and let Rondo speed around him. I can't figure out the Spurs, but the Lakers are their easiest matchup this playoffs since the only concern is pretty much Kobe, and even Bruce Bowen can curb that a bit. Ruben Patterson will be smiling from some jail cell.
Anyways, about a month ago, my dear friend Dylan and I discussed purchasing the Memphis Grizzlies. Cheap buy with potential to grow into something huge, as long as you fool people into thinking they're attending the REAL Memphis basketball team's games. That's an easy one though - we've devised a plan to pass out watered down whiskey shots while Mike Miller and John Calipari sing "It's Hard Out Here For a Pimp", and by the time the fans enter Fed-Ex Forum, they'll be so dazed and confused that they won't realize the basketball players aren't wearing blue and white uniforms.
All kidding aside, the Grizz have potential. They have a solid young core that doesn't really seem to be on the verge of a meltdown or drug bust. They've adopted the Suns run-and-gun offense thanks to Coach Iavaroni, and it's worked out to their advantage as they outscored teams down the stretch of the season, getting 8 of their 22 wins in the final month of a half. They just need to learn some defense tactics, stay healthy, and figure out what to do with their front line.
The Grizz have a strong shot at getting the #1 or #2 picks in the NBA Draft Lottery tonight, which is normally a wonderful thing if your GM is intelligent enough to not draft Kwame Brown (ironically, currently on the Grizz's roster). With Derrick Rose and Michael Beasley being the stars of this draft class, busts are unlikely to happen in the first two picks. But what happens when you have the top 2 picks, and both of these people would cause issues for your team?
Obviously, Derrick Rose going from a Tiger to a Grizzly would make little sense when Mike Conley Junior already has the PG spot locked up, and my Philly boy Kyle Lowry as a fine backup. Conley was injured for a chunk of his rookie season, but considering that he had a solid year - low turnover rates, steadily rising numbers shooting and assist-wise, having to learn a new offense in a new league with your shoulder falling off, that sort of thing. I'm impressed alone with him averaging 10 points and over 5 assists in his first semi-full month of playing in January. Point is though, why do you need another point guard, and would Derrick Rose be that drastic of an improvement over Mike Conley? No. Duh. And the Atlanta Hawks and New York Knicks have proved that stockpiling 15 guys who play the same position doesn't help build that good of a basketball team.
So the answer is clearly Lil' Mike, right? Who DOESN'T want a guy who can throw up a floater in traffic, miss, sky for his own offensive rebound, and put the shot back on a fadeaway in even MORE traffic (Yes, that moment actually happened)?
Well...maybe the Grizzlies. See, there's this guy named Rudy Gay on the Grizz. Maybe you've heard of him. Just 2 years ago, just like Lil' Mike, supposedly the most talented guy in college basketball. He didn't put up Mike's jaw-dropping numbers at UConn, but he had that same ridiculous "potential" tag on him - and similar to Mike, everyone questioned whether or not he truly wanted to be great and could lead a team to win. Unlike Mike, Rudy played on a team full of great talent (Emeka Okafor, Josh Boone, Marcus Williams, and about 75 other guys currently in jail or on NBA rosters), which explains why he didn't really NEED to be third in the nation in scoring for UConn to be good.
He had a yawn-inducing rookie season in the NBA, but doubled his scoring average this year to 20 ppg, and actually started becoming a well-rounded player. I got used to reading Rudy Gay stat lines along the lines of: 22 pts, 6-35 FG, 1 reb, 0 assts, 6 TOs, and then he started caring and averaged about 6 boards a game, and even began consistently racking up assists and steals. So Rudy Gay is becoming the star everyone thought he would be someday. That's good. Great teams need a star to win. Period.
But Rudy Gay is like Michael Beasley - he's a star only when the ball runs through him most of the time. And if you put them on a team together, what will happen? Most likely, you'll get the Antoine Walker/Paul Pierce-led Celtics - 2 guys putting up ridiculous numbers while their team put up mediocre performances.
Look at all the recent college and NBA champions. With the exception of the Lakers of this early decade (which had the most dominant, unstoppable player in recent memory with Shaq-in-his-prime, who put up 40 and 20 like he was Wilt Chamberlain), they were all your prototypical well-rounded team, with fairly even shot distribution. They all had at least one consistent star, with several other guys who could step it up when it mattered. One and Two man shows just DON'T get it done, unless they have a Shaq. Lil' Mike is pretty amazing, but he's not Shaq. Nobody is.
So do you risk imploding your team because Lil' Mike and Rudy will average over 40 shot attempts per game between them? They would make an excellent front court tandem, and also often risk never getting into a flow together because they both NEED their shots to get comfortable. If you think that's not true for Mike, look at K-State's first round victory against USC, where Mike didn't get it going until late because he spent the first half in foul trouble.
The Grizz COULD use a true big man - Hakim Warrick played excellent offensively after the Gasol trade, but he's not the dominant 4 man you need to win in the West. They could also use a new 2 guard - Mike Miller is alright, but an upgrade wouldn't hurt.
So aren't they better off falling in the 3-6 range? Getting a chance to draft DeAndre Jordan or Eric Gordon may be the best thing for this team. They'd probably make an impact, and DON'T need the ball in their hand at every moment. Gordon is much more polished than Jordan, but 1 in every 10 7-footers HAVE to work out. I think we're due since Dwight Howard, right?
So, I'm gonna pray the lottery is rigged and the Knicks get the #1 pick and the Sonics #2 (D. Stern needs to ensure the Sonics find a new fan base), and the Grizzlies don't ever have to think about destroying their team with the 2 best players in the Draft. Although getting Lil' Mike to join Miller and Calipari for a rendition of "It's Hard Out Here For a Pimp" would be pretty awesome.
The Bitches would be remiss if we didn't extend a hearty and heartfelt congratulations to Jon Lester on this, the occasion of his no-hitter at Fenway.
Seriously, I don't think you could script a better story than Lester's. He goes out with cancer, beats that, comes back to pitch and win Game Four of the 2007 World Series, and then the next season hurls a no-hitter (the first Sox lefty to do so since Mel Parnell's no-hitter in NINETEEN FIFTY GODDAMN SIX).
I'm a little bit choked up and a whole lot proud of the boy.
I'd also fail at life did I not extend congratulations to Jason Varitek, who tonight became the second catcher in history to catch four no-hitters. The last one? Chicago's Ray Schalk. IN NINETEEN FOURTEEN.
Okay, so it is ridiculously late at night, but this East Coast Bitch just had to suffer through some ridiculous fucking Phillies baseball (seriously, why does Adam Eaton/Tom Gordon/the fact that Rod Barajas can suddenly put the wood on the ball hate me?) and then I got stuck in traffic trying to get home from the city because the Schuylkill is fucking ricockulous, no matter what, and I may be rambling.
Anyway, Nobody Cares But Maggie, but Portsmouth won the FA Cup earlier today. Over Cardiff. I figured I should mention it.
I'm paralyzed by not caring, as the match itself was horrifically boring, by all accounts, and Cardiff is the fifth second tier team to face Portsmouth this season's FA Cup schedule, which is akin to letting the Mets get away with playing the Nationals and the Orioles to get to the World Series, only to beat the Tigers in four. Basically? Lame.
Really, the match was only notable because Aaron Ramsay became the youngest player to EVER play in an FA Cup match at SEVENTEEN, which makes me feel both out of shape and old, simultaneously.
The sad thing is that Comcast Cable actually tried to charge me $25 to watch the game on Pay-Per-View. Y'all, that is why it sucks to be a stateside soccer fan- we get shit scheduling from Fox Soccer Channel and then we have to pay to watch the semi-important matches.
They are, however, broadcasting the Chelsea/Manchester United European Cup Final match on Wednesday, which means I'm going to have to do some creative juggling with my schedule.
Look, people, Euro 2008 is coming. That means exactly two things. 1) That means ALL KINDS OF SOCCER UPDATES from yours truly, and 2) EUROVISION.
People, if I can teach you nothing, it is that Eurovision is the most COMPLETELY FUCKNG CRACKED OUT THING YOU WILL EVER SEE IN YOUR ENTIRE EXISTENCE ON THIS EARTH, and you will ADORE IT FOREVER, if you give it a shot. Seriously, it makes the only fun part of American Idol (the part where all the terrible singers embarrass themselves trainwreck-style) look tame.
Across much of the Mid-Atlantic region where a chunk of the Real Bitches reside, it's dreary, cold, and rainy. What better to do than curl up with the following cuties for another edition of Fangirl Friday (the mindless day when we pretend to not know what a cover 2 defense or full court press is).
First up, a left out participant from last week, Laser Rocket Arm:
He is not the greatest quarterback, although he's better than a lot of people give him credit for being. You don't need a ... um ... laser rocket arm to be a good quarterback; ask Joe Montana about that. He's been remarkably unlucky in terms of injuries. But James Chadwick Pennington, known affectionately as the Chad, perseveres through brains and sheer guts. He came back from not one, but TWO major shoulder surgeries. He had his salary embarrassingly slashed to just about nothing, but earned it back in incentives. Last season he was benched because it's always the quarterback that takes the hit when the team is sucking. Come training camp in July he will have to prove himself yet again, and somehow I think he will. He has class and grace, very rare traits among pro athletes.
Oh--and he's also smoking hot and has a Tennessee accent to die for, so he's got that going for him too.
Secondly, another non-traditional submission, courtesy of Lisa's teenage soul:
This pick on this particular FANGIRL FRIDAY is especially significant because this Friday? Today? Fangirl Friday? IS THE DAY THE NEW KIDS ON THE BLOCK PERFORM FOR THE FIRST TIME IN 15 YEARS ZOOOOOOOOOMG THE HOTNESS MY GOD THE HOTNESS:
The New Kids fucking RULE. I don't care what you say, and I don't care if you make fun of me. Make fun of THEM, and I will kick your fucking ass! DON'T TEST ME! I mean, LOOK AT THIS! IT SETS MY GIRL PARTS ALL A-TWITTER!!!
Oh, 1990. I miss you. And your hairstyles.
And finally, me me me:
So my pick for this week is a surprise to myself. I was doing something inane and useless late Sunday night (99% chance it involved internet stalking Lil' Mike), when I stumbled upon this YouTube video of Rashad McCants, former nutty, slightly inconsistent, and ACC-pwning North Carolina Tarheel guard (and current Minnesota Timberwolves guard, but that whole 2005 CHAMPIONSHIP TEAM died in my mind when they went to the NBA, since I think they're played a combined 6 total games in 3 years).
I was amazed to find out that in the 3 years I abandoned him, Rashad became incredibly sexy. Facial hair and huge arms and tats can do that for a brother, I guess...because seriously, this was NOT happening during the Carolina days. Maybe him smiling a little helps too, considering he looked like a manic depressive during those days too (though I never bought into the criticism that he was some evil, bipolar dude...he was just misunderstood).
Anyways, aside from the physical, Rashad McCants ups his sexy factor by being one of the most intelligent, deep people I've ever heard speak/seen write. In turn with what Laser Rocket Arm mentioned about the Chad, these are rare qualities in ANYONE, but particularly athletes. Peep this madness he wrote about fear:
A man with a thought is a man with a vision. A man with an opinion is a man with a plan. A man with a vision is a man of the people.
People need guidance to the place they have never been. To walk in the dark is to be blind in the steps toward our future.
The voice of a man with a vision is the light to all shadows. How can we be blind to find that we know everything but can't see anything. You knew it was coming but you just couldn't see it.
I hear women talk all the time about being scared of relationships. Being afraid of being hurt like they were before. And they put their whole life on hold because of fear.
Fear of nothing that will actually kill you. Love doesn't kill you. You can only kill love. Fear cannot kill you. You are the one that kills fear. Feeding fear only makes your fear stronger.
Bravery has no importance in today's society. We have lost our sense of courage. Maybe because there isn't a reward for it. If a man or woman got rewarded for standing up for one's self, then there would be less fear.
But the reward for being fearless is honor. A fearless man is a man with a vision. Capable of sharing his courage with others. One man's courage is another man's fear.
Most envy those who have the guts to do what they would never attempt. The man that would swallow his pride to step aside in line for an elderly lady. A patient man is a man with unlimited pride and honor. A real man…
Listen to my vision. I am here to speak as a man with a plan for the people. A fearless courage with endless honor. Listen to my testimony and my confession as a man of sin. Listen to my cry...
He also writes decent poetry, is a bidnezz man at 23 years young, is finally starting to play like UNC Rashad after 2 years of injuries, pretty much defines the nerdy yet rugged athlete that is my dream man, and, well, yeah...muscles covered in tats.
1) Senator Arlen Specter wants an independent investigation of Spygate.
Now, I'm not that familiar with the specifics of the whole thing, but I do know this (and I'm kinda echoing the beginning of Queen's last post): Specter needs to shut up and do things that would, I don't know, help his constituency. Is investigating the Patriots gonna lower gas prices, keep jobs from going overseas, or keep the polar ice caps from melting? Didn't think so.
2) The perjury charges against Barry Bonds were re-filed.
Blah, now ESPN can continue to parade Pedro Gomez around. I hate that guy. And I'm not gonna bother getting into the case itself, or Bonds, or anything like that. I will reveal this one little bit of info: I am distantly related to Bonds' lead attorney.
Wow, I'm bitchier than usual. Here's a picture of Monta Ellis to cheer everyone up:
What is this, the year of ridiculous non-scandal scandals? Ever since our dear American Congress decided that addressing our nation's economy and crime issues and anything else was FAR less important than steroids in baseball, it's like we've taken it as a signal to get more ridiculous every day and just make up news to make others look worse than what they actually are, to deflect blame from the truly evil people in this nation (I.E. Most of the American government).
OJ Mayo being exposed for accepting gifts/paychecks/hookers is not news. It's not a scandal. It's further exploitation of a kid who has been exploited most of his basketball-playing life. It's the reported story that's happening to most talented men, particularly talented black men from poor backgrounds, playing NCAA DI football or basketball. It's a continuation of the enslavement of young black men that has existed in America since the country was founded.
Michael Wilbon wrote an excellent piece comparing Rodney Guillory and those who operate like him to "Suga Daddies". I often joke that I could use my own suga daddy...particularly just to chauffeur me around while I don't have a car. Thing is, in real life, in my sane mind, I would never dare. Suga daddies give and give and give...but eventually, something is expected in return. I was brought up to know to never accept too many favors, unless I'm willing to sacrifice on my own.
I wouldn't call Guillory and company suga daddies. I group them with shoe execs, pro-sport team owners, the NCAA, etc, as plantation owners and managers. Obviously (or I HOPE obviously), Guillory never expected literal sexual gratification in return for all he did for Mayo, but he enslaved Mayo. He provided a sort-of foreplay that was all about Mayo, a poor West Virginia kid that started receiving enough national pub in 8th grade that pretty much guaranteed his NBA career, but would eventually be flipped once that NBA career became a reality and Mayo would owe him back. Now, the story is pretty much he'd just owe him back in terms of signing with the sports agency Guillory was associated with, but the agent controls a large chunk of an athlete's career. Star power is created through endorsements, which the agent negotiates and acquires. The agent has every right to rape the athlete of their endorsement earnings, which in the long run, would cause the athlete to LOSE money for accepting some clothes, a TV, NBA tickets, etc that amounted up to a couple thousand while they were a broke ass kid. They give them freedom, but at a price.
And this is what America does - it preys on young, talented black men from poor backgrounds because they don't know any better. It's bad enough America has historically painted a picture to these men that they were put on the planet to run and jump and nothing more, and that's their only way to a better life. In turn with that notion and the existence of poverty, nobody is in their lives at a young age teaching them to be aware of people, financial management, etc. They're too young to understand past athletes who have been burned, and too cocky to think it can happen to them. They're vulnerable. And how many poor kids being handed a cell phone, some shirts, a couple hundred in cash, with just a smile from the giving hand and nothing more, wouldn't take it? Shoe companies send teen phenoms hundreds of pairs a year, which isn't any sort of violation, and most kids understand that it's just the company trying to hook them for later endorsements. The kids generally choose their shoe based on what they wore in AAU/college (which is another long, troubled socio-economical-political game in sports), and that's that. Nobody is really victimized in these shoe matters, and the youngins never pay for a thing to put on their feet. Yet they can't recognize that these gifts they're being given by boosters and agents and such are in the same vain. And if they're blind to it, they fall victim.
Growing up poor creates a desire for more which I can't classify as greed, knowing I come from similar meager-finance situations. When you see others (I.E. the privileged) easily gaining small things you wish you had, you don't get WHY they have those things. You don't fully get that it's a result of historical oppression of racial and social minorities. You just want the same. You don't understand why you can't have the same.
You don't understand limits because you have so little, and you define yourself by what you DON'T have.
What Mayo and these kids are wise enough to know is that they can exploit their talents to make gains for themselves before they're legally receiving their NBA/NFL paychecks. It's not done in the name of greed always, but bettering your situation quicker, for both yourself and your family, especially in case your career stops short of the promised land.
Look at OJ Mayo's former HS/AAU teammate/partner-in-crime, Kansas State forward Bill Walker. Walker was once a sure-short NBA lotto pick, expected by many to have a better pro career than Mayo. Two ACL tears and a somewhat average season in the shadow of Michael Beasley later, very few people in the NBA-world want anything to do with him. He can't work anymore. People won't profit off of him. The future that the world crafted for him to escape poverty may be dead.
I won't be shocked if Walker never gets exposed in this scandal. It's almost a sure thing that if OJ was being courted in HS, Walker was too. But likely, the sweet-talking for him was silenced in January 2007, when he tore the ACL a second time. People could investigate, but who cares? There's a chance nobody will ever hear his name again if he doesn't return to K-State.
You'd think the NCAA or Congress would investigate though, right? But if Walker isn't a big fish to reel in, like Mayo or Reggie Bush or others, do you think they care?
This is where the NCAA's enslavement comes in. They profit off these stories as much as ESPN and other news outlets do. It betters their policing image (which, in reality, sucks...the NCAA keeps their head up their asses so they can avoid being revealed as the fucked up, hopeless institute that they are), builds their ego when they get to hand down punishment, etc. Exposing Bill Walker does nothing for the NCAA. I doubt if you don't watch basketball that you even knew who Walker was before reading this. But chances are, you've heard of OJ Mayo in passing, even just to laugh at his name. He's a publicity star for everyone. He's the big fish to catch.
Chances are, Mayo's image will never really be tarnished enough to affect his career or endorsements. Tito Maddox, a former college bball star who also was kidnapped by Guillory, fell off the planet because he was small and not talented enough for the NBA, not because he accepted gifts. Reggie Bush is still the shining young star of the NFL...and also had the help of Pacman Jones and Mike Vick to overshadow his problems. The news will die, USC might get slapped, but Mayo's life will go on with a happy story until either he ruins it, or nature runs its course.
But, just like any problem situation, what happens in the future when some kid gets caught up and it does go too far and ruins his potential career? We have few institutions in this world focused on teaching social/character skills to budding athletes, a group that desperately needs this training at younger and younger ages as the predators begin hunting in middle schools these days. And that's simply because America is run by privileged people who enjoy profiting off of the naive and desperate. If these kids were informed, they might kill this profiting industry, so the powers-that-be hold their power high above their heads, while massaging them enough to make it feel good enough to not care. This is American oppression. This is why slavery isn't dead in 2008. This is the real scandal behind all of this.
So Friday is over across most of the planet Earth, but real life occasionally gets in the way of our weekly salivating sessions (and our blogging here in general). It was a rough week for many around here at Real Bitches, and the following fine men and I send particular love out to Maggie, Laser Rocket Arm, and Lisa.
This is a video heavy edition, so please to click on provided links!
1. Obnoxiously tall: check 2. Funny: check 3. Does awesome Stephen A. Smith impression: check 4. Self-deprecating: check 5. Hotness: check 6. Leaves long-winded voicemails about club footed women with Bell's Palsy: CHECK 7. Gives good commencement speech: CHECK 8. Loves a Five Guys burger: check 9. Extremely aero-dynamic dome looks slightly like Predator when viewing his profile: check 10. Kind of sappy whilst talking about terminally ill children: check 11. Hometown boy: check 12. Participates in mimed double dutch: check
Oh, van Peezy. Steer that chrome dome in my general direction.
From moi:
You know, originally, I was going to talk about how I stumbled upon numerous pics from the Tribeca premiere of Gunnin' For That #1 Spot (which is supposed to be a most excellent basketball documentary and I am pretty much counting down the days until I see it), and how the ones of Michael Beasley in a suit pretty much made me cry because I can't bear to see my baby grow up...so instead of crying (even though he looked DAMN FINE), we'll watch a video from a poorly done cover shoot for Dime Magazine, which only matters for the 30 or so seconds beginning at the 0:46 mark while Lil' Mike shirtlessly describes his tats and how he is God's son. Well, unless you're crazy like me and get giddy over every moment involving him, even the ones that showcase how bad his skin is. IT'S OKAY MIKE, YOU WERE ONLY 18 AND ARE STILL PROBABLY GOING THROUGH PUBERTY TODAY AND I LOVE YOU ANYWAYS PLEASE DON'T GROW UP JUST YET!
sigh...moving onwards...the next stuff is special made for these two individuals, whom we all love deeply.
For Maggie, who just wanted some Sid the Kid lovin' (and she's basically betraying her husband and the city of Philadelphia, but it's okay, she has the ties to the 'Burgh as well):
And for sleepysluggo, celebrating a most excellent burpday, and with love from an 18-year-old Monta Ellis:
The regular semi-intelligent ranting and raving will resume shortly, as soon as we all regain our sanity and order. Until then...just mock the Cavs with me, why don't you?
So right after I wrote that Zito rant, he went on to lose two more games. In that second game, he gave up six runs in the first inning. The Giants finally realized that something had to be done, and they banished his sorry emo-ass to the bullpen.
I should follow this with analysis on how the rotation will look now, or worrying about Matt Cain's hamstring, but all I can do is say... oh hell, I can't say anything. I'm too busy weeping in the corner.
Diversion of the Day: If you read my first post ever at this blog, then you know my feelings about Kobe winning the NBA MVP award. I just think the process is BS, and clearly has been a way to reward Kobe for finally having a winning season without Shaq, even though his individual feats other seasons were probably more impressive (and resulted in more L's). Never mind that the Laker's team success is largely due in part to the arrival of Pau Gasol, and Lamar Odom FINALLY playing a full season. The NBA tends to retroactively grant MVPs these days, so I guess CP3 will win it sometime in the next 27 years. He still owns your soul, and that goes double for the Spurs.
Also, though the Celtics/Cavs don't tip off for another couple hours, and the Pistons are already up 2-0 on the Magic, PLEASE drop the "ZOMG THE CELTS AND PISTONS STRUGGLED SO MUCH IN THE FIRST ROUND WTF" talk. I'd be bored and unmotivated to play too if sub-.500 teams were allowed in the playoffs. The Pistons are already proving the point that real playoff teams are worthy of a real effort, and if you don't think the Celtics are excited about stopping the Cleveland BronBron's, then you've probably never played and/or watched competitive athletics in your lifetime.
So, onto something else irrelevant. The NBA Draft Early Entry Deadline came and went while I was hauling my life across the Mason-Dixon Line, and now I'm waiting for June 16th, when I get to laugh at the mopes who foolishly lose their remaining eligibility for non-guaranteed contracts and the NBDL.
Now, what determines whether or not a kid should declare? If I had it my way, we'd go back to the 1960s and they'd play all 4 years - but I'm a biased college basketball lover who generally ignores the NBA until playoff time. But it's the real world, and everybody wants that paper. So what else can be used?
Well, for starters (and the focus of much of this upcoming "series")...coming off a fairly awesome year tends to help. I've written numerous papers and posts and bathroom wall writings as to why Michael Beasley should stay his fine red behind at K-State, but in all honesty, you don't get a season much more perfect than his was individually (besides that 5 point aberration against Xavier, but he left his shoes in Kansas...on second thought, if you can't keep track of your shoes, maybe the NBA isn't the best place to be). Same for Derrick Rose - though the fact that one of the defining moments of his college career was choking on game winning FTs in the National Championship game is a sour (yet HILARIOUS) note to end on, it's really hard to justify another year at Memphis.
But for MANY people in the draft, who are coming off questionable, disappointing, or just yawn-inducing years, you hope they get the message and enroll in summer classes ASAP. And until June 16th rolls around and some of these dudes file whatever paperwork they need to withdraw, I'm going to randomly dispense some advice to you individuals who have declared thus far (who probably aren't reading this unless you like to Google yourself as much as I Google Mike Beasley). And today, we're starting this thrilling series with the Texas Longhorns backcourt.
We're going to push aside the fact that Texas is the front-runner for national champs next year if the entire teams returns. We're also pushing aside the fact that Mr. Augustin claims he's only waiting to hire an agent in case he pulls a Brandon Rush. We're focusing on this: A.J. Abrams and D.J. Augustin combined to shoot 43% for the season (42 and 44 as individuals, respectively).
Now, who cares, right? They won 28 games, averaged a combined 35+ PPG (nearly half of the Longhorn's offense), and one half of the duo often picked up the slack for the other half when they were going through one of their customary slumps.
But in an offense like Texas', shooting percentage matters. Texas averages 60 shot attempts per game, and 21 3-pt attempts per game. It should be no shock to anyone who watched Kevin Durant at Texas as to why he averages 4 billion shots per game in the NBA. Because guards control these sorts of gunning offenses, guard production is obviously the most crucial to its success. And it can make them look like geniuses, or like fools...which both A.J. and D.J. experienced at numerous times throughout the season.
So to both of you:
A.J., YOU'RE THE SHOOTING GUARD...and you turned in so many 3-15 sort of performances that it's just laughable to justify you entering the draft. You're small, and you don't play like Allen Iverson (you know, taking 40 shots a game, but at least driving to the basket 20 times to create foul opportunities and such). Point is, if you're a shooting guard, and you ain't shooting it well...HA, good luck kid. At the same time, your averages haven't improved much in 3 years, so maybe what's the waste in seeing if you'll ever get better? So you hit 38% from 3 point range, big deal. Ronald Ramon and many others have too and they will only see the NBA if they watch it on TV. You do nothing else legitimately impressive, including not racking up assists despite being on a team that shoots 45% overall, not rebounding since you pretty much live on the perimeter, and not playing defense since, well, nobody does. And somehow, you forgot how to shoot free-throws this season. Don't hang out with Derrick Rose.
As for Mr. Augustin - yes, you have much going for you. I've often said I want your point guard babies - unlike A.J., you crash the lane like a pitbull, creating offensive opportunities for yourself and the team - easy lay-ins, finding Damion James cutting along the baseline, kicking back out to Abrams for open jumpers, etc. You're a GREAT point guard...you know how to create offense, find open men, pass well, etc etc. In fact, I agree with most that you're the second best PG in the draft class behind Rose (especially since half the projected PGs didn't play that position in college, like Russell Westbrook, and it's always ridiculous to attempt to project people out of position in the NBA), and I think your size matters little, as you clearly showed you have balls to play inside in the Big 12, which is a conference of NBA-bodies. However...you often get selfish, and at all the WRONG times, unlike other great scoring PGs like my MVP CP3, Steve Nash, etc. You define a streak shooter - you follow up your fiery 50+% shooting late in the Big 12 season with 34% shooting (20-58) in the NCAAs, including 4-18 in the Elite 8 loss to Memphis. My argument for all PGs is that they must know their role, and when it's time to score...and for someone like you, who has bluntly stated that you get out of shooting slumps by shooting more, you're not mature enough to get that yet. Even though you'll be a lotto pick, I'd hate to see you buried on an NBA bench when your coach gets pissed with you halfway through the season. You also need to work on your ball-handling - I mean, that kinda matters for a PG to you know, NOT turn the ball over.
And besides, pulling it back into the equation - you're championship contenders. Damion James was smart enough to come back. You have everything on your side Kansas did last year, and look how that turned out for them. This isn't UCLA, where people are coming in who WILL take your playing time (Sidenote: RUSSELL WESTBROOK AND DARREN COLLISION, RUN LIKE THE PLAGUE! MALCOLM LEE AND JRUE HOLIDAY HAVE ALREADY CLAIMED YOUR JOBS!) And besides, aren't you both from middle-class families? Yeah, no sob story excuses.
But if you take this all into consideration, I will definitely be leading the Texas-For-National-Champs bandwagon next season...especially because I love midgets like me.
In my first post here I wrote about how the Yankees/Red Sox rivalry seemed to have become kinder and gentler. Then this story hit the airwaves and the 'net and all I could do is groan and face-palm.
The worst thing that I, a Yankees fan, have ever done to a Red Sox fan was throw a beer on one--and that was in retaliation for him throwing one on me. I have exchanged more than my share of taunts and name-calling. However, I would never dream of laying a finger on a Red Sox fan, much less gunning my car in a parking lot and running one over. When I saw fistfights break out, my first thought was always "stupid assholes." No rivalry is worth beating up or getting beat up over and it certainly isn't worth killing someone over. And the worst part of this matter is that the woman who ran the guy over? 43 FUCKING YEARS OLD. If you're a young dumb drunk twenty-something that's one thing, but to be in your forties and go after someone IN YOUR CAR because they yelled "Yankees suck"? Jesus, you live in NEW HAMPSHIRE, you should be used to that by now.
This incident has brought out the asshattery on both sides. As Texas Gal, keeper of the most excellent Red Sox blog Center Field writes:
Rivalries are essential to the enjoyment of sport. Anyone who attended a college without a rabid athletic rival or roots for a pro team without a rival counterpart team knows that having someone to "hate" makes sports a lot more exciting and interesting. But rivalry carried to this extreme isn't really rivalry any more--it is pure hatred. That's not fun or exciting--it's ludicrous.
And why do I have a feeling some idiot Sox fan is going to go for payback? If that's the case, all I can offer is this:
Oh, it's okay. My husband knows about it. In fact, he's done nothing but encourage this whole sordid affair. It's kind of endearing.
I'm in love with contract year Pat Burrell. Oh, sure, I make jokes about his funny syphilis and his deeply questionable fashion sense, but the man is hitting like his ass is on fire. (Normally, I would say that his ass was on fire because of the clap, but this is a kinder, gentler Maggie talking.)
He's ranked second in the NL in home runs. (Behind only My Boyfriend Chase Utley, mind you.) He's ranked second in the NL in RBI, third in slugging percentage (an eye-popping .670), and fourth in both OBP and OPS. It's not just the hitting, either. He's working counts like it's his job- 24 BBs so far, and we're barely into May.
The hitting? Has been clutch, too. In other years, seeing him stroll up to the plate with two outs on the board in a tie game would have been met with the gnashing of teeth and the rending of various garments, as he would have inevitably struck out and launched us into extra innings. Not Contract Year Pat Burrell. Contract Year Pat Burrell worked the count full, and then turned and launched one into the stratosphere. Game over, Phils win, everybody goes home happy.
The whole season has been full of moments like that- big hits just when the team needed them, diving catches to get the team out of innings. Hell, the fact that he's actually hustling for the ball once in a while is a major improvement.
Which only makes me sad when I think about it too much. He's having an amazing year (and put together a solid season last year, mind you, putting the team on his back when Utley was out with a broken wrist and soldiering through) and is set to make a lot of money when his contract with the Phils expeires at the end of the season. And, let's face it, he's not making that money with the Phillies.
My husband keeps musing aloud that he wonders if the Yankees would sign Burrell. I've taken to just glaring at him and muttering darkly under my breath every time he does.
Pat's said that he wants to stay in Philadelphia when he's done. This has to be a total lie, as the poor man has taken absolute rafts of shit from the Boo Birds in the outfield.(Occasionally, I've booed him from my seat in center, but that's usually because he's been too busy staring at the ball girl to, you know, field.) I'd love to keep him around, if only because his manwhorishness makes me laugh. I'm not, however, holding my breath. He's going to make the single female population of another city very, very happy next year.
Ladies: Take care of him, and take care of his fine, fine ass. (What? I can't ogle? Bullshit. He does it all the time.)
So I've been in transit for the last 2 weeks, making the ridiculous move from the Burgh to Bmore, which has been nothing short of mostly awful (hence my lack of posting about the pretty wonderful NBA playoffs and the NBA Draft early entry deadline). But it's all irrelevant when placed next to a story like this one.
To lead off this edition of Fangirl Friday (where the knowledge gets displaced in favor of salivating like the Bitches we still are despite our smarts for a full 24 hours!), nobody deserves it more than Tennessee Vols senior guard Chris Lofton. He was the building block for the current Vols team, a team that, without a doubt, truly embodied the idea of playing with heart even before this story was released. If you ever get a chance, YouTube or catch the Memphis/Tennessee game on ESPN Classic, undoubtedly the best college game in all of 07-08. That game glorified what makes college basketball (and all college sports) so wonderful - all 10 men on the court playing like every second mattered (which it should in every athletic event, but that's a rant we won't discuss). Despite the Vols streaky shooting and inability to defend the 3 throughout the season, this was a team that was able to be a national championship contender simply because they seemed to care about winning every game, even when overmatched. When Bruce Pearl is your coach, you don't expect much else.
And then you find out weeks later that Chris Lofton played the entire season basically about 6-10 months removed from being diagnosed with cancer. I am guilty, like many others, of accusing Lofton of playing half-assed after winning the SEC POY award in 06-07, and not looking ANYTHING like his old 3pt dagger shooting self. And of course, now it's clear. His stubborn pride to never reveal his health issues are admirable, and the battle he overcame, from the cancer to the criticism, is something few could ever have the strength to do. We here at Real Bitches, particularly myself and Ms Lauren (We're both leaders of the Bruce Pearl fan club), hope nothing more than for Lofton to get a shot at the NBA. A 3 point shooter is one of the most valuable things a team can have!
And now, onto the others...
From Lisa:
This is Joey JoJo John Joseph Harrington:
You may be most accustomed to seeing him like this:
He is perfection. Well, unless you're talking about quarterbacking, because he pretty much sucks at that.
From Laser Rocket Arm:
Personality has almost always trumped looks in the Whom I Find Hot contest, which is why I adore Nick Swisher. Even though there's times I want to yell DEAR GOD WHERE IS YOUR OFF SWITCH he's obviously having so much fun it's contagious. He runs face-first into outfield walls after catching fly balls, takes childlike delight in playing himself in a video game, seems to believe that facial hair can be an artistic expression and can bring out the best in even the biggest clubhouse asshole. Come on, he got Milton Bradley to DANCE with him. That's no small feat. But as seen by this picture, don't bug him when he's playing Guitar Hero. As a wise woman once said, bitches love Swish.
From Maggie, who is also having a craptacular week and deserves the love of this:
Fangirl Fridays are for generalized fangirling, right? Well, the thing you really need to know about me is that deep down, I'm a 12 year old boy at heart, and nothing gets my inner fangirl all twitterpated than a good, blockbuster adaptation of a comic book. This should explain in no small part why I rushed home, grabbed my husband, and flew out of the house in order to sit on my ass in a freezing cold movie theatre for two hours watching an action movie about a guy who drinks too much flying around in a shiny suit.
In my defense, that action movie was Iron Man, and this fangirl loves her some Tony Stark. Okay, yeah, sure, in the comics now, Tony's kind of a fascist prick, but in general? He's awesomely snarky and sarcastic and holy God, kind of awesome.
And so was the movie. Explosions! Pretty cars! Fights! CGI! Robert Downey, Jr. becoming inexplicably sexy when covered with sweat and sneering and pouring molten metal! You should all go see it. And you should stay until the end of the credits.
Whatever, here's the trailer. The movie's awesome. Go see it.
Aaaaaand thus concludes another fun-filled edition of Fangirl Friday, where athletes that suck can be appreciated for something, at least. We will resume all normal bitching and bantering shortly, including an exciting post by moi mocking everyone who is an asshole for declaring for the NBA Draft, and also the Suns for ever thinking trading for Shaq was a brilliant idea. Stay tuned!
