We Dance Together

As I type this, the Phoenix Suns are losing by 19 points to the San Antonio Spurs.  It looks like they are going to go down 0-3 in this first round best of 7 playoff series, and in all likelihood, they’re season is, in the immortal words of some unspecified girl on either Laguna Beach, or the Hills; “Dunzo”.  A Greg Norman syndrome of sorts.

It’s inherently sad for me to see these Suns struggle.  They represent all that is good and noble in the NBA.  They embody fun, seemingly effortless basketball.  They try and score as much and as fast as possible, and they deal with the consequences later, a veritable college student drinking heavily on Cinco de Mayo.  They’ve had all kinds of regular season success, and even moderate to strong postseason success, but can’t seem to grab that championship.

Their qualities alone are enough to make my heart frown when the Suns struggle, but even moreso, the rise and fall of the Suns parallels my college career, and to witness their last stand brings to the forefront the fact that I’m graduating in about 3 weeks.  Appropriately, my college years will die with these Suns.

Let’s hope in our DeLoreans and drive* back to July 14th, 2004.  An 18 year old version of myself had just graduated high school and was enjoying the rest of the summer before falling down the coast to college.  The Phoenix Suns, coming off a 29-53 season, signed Steve Nash when the Mavericks weren’t all that interested in trying to bring him back.  Both of our futures were bright.

The next four years saw the Suns win 62, 54, 61, and 55 games, arguably the most successful run in their history.  The same could be said for me, I learned a lot, had a few drinks and laughs with friends, enjoyed the company of probably a few more beautiful women than I deserved, traveled around the world, and even fell in love once.  The Suns and I both inhabited a charmed, higher level of existence.

This season, faced with their inability to get to the NBA Finals, the Suns made a bold, borderline reckless, trade.  They traded Shawn Marion, a swiss army knife of a basketball player, and backup point guard Marcus Banks, to the Miami Heat for Shaquille O’Neal.  It was unclear at the time whether or not Shaq was still alive.  (Like I said, it was a bold trade.)  The trade meant the end of the Suns as we knew them.  Suddenly decision making was needed, sobriety was required.  There were some half court sets, and definitely more throwing the ball into the post than anybody was comfortable with.  The Suns were growing up.

So was I.  I knew this was my last year.  I did stuff solely for the sake of my resume. I added the extra internship and classed up the wardrobe.  I had one foot on the next step and one foot still on the ground floor.  I still would run and play, but always washed my hands afterwards.  Suddenly decision making was needed, sobriety was required.

Now the Suns are crashing and burning, and if Game 1 was any indication, quite spectacularly.  Steve Nash is getting old, Grant Hill is held together by scotch tape and Elmer’s glue at this point, we now know that Shaq is alive, but he’s certainly staring his own mortality right in the eyes.  I wouldn’t be surprised to see some big changes for them this summer.  The prevailing sentiment seems to be to make some trades and build around Amare Stoudemire and Leandro Barbosa.  I like to think I’m not crashing and burning, but my college years certainly are.  They’re just about over, it’s sad solely for that reason, but also because, like I said, their story played out a lot like the Suns did.  Plenty of success, but ultimately their potential was never reached.

I don’t regret anything, but I know I could have stood out a bit more, really made my mark.  Sometimes I was too content to do well enough, the equivalent of lots of regular season success and less post season success.  I didn’t fail by any means, but I didn’t necessarily come through in the clutch.  I imagine the Suns feel the same way, in no way do they regret anything, but they’ve got to feel a bit whistful about what could have been.

Both the Suns and I face uncertain times this summer and on.  We’ll both be ending a really great chapter and hoping to write an even better one.  I imagine J.K. Rowling felt like this after she wrote Half Blood Prince and felt Deathly Hallows looming.  The pressure is formidable, and I hope I am too.

-Zanramon
zanramon@addictedtowords.com

*Or fly, I’m not really sure.

Posted in Magical Things, All, NBA, Sports, Books | 8 Comments »

Redemption vs. Masturbation

In an effort to get as little accomplished as is possible for a human of my mental prowess, I’m watching my eighth NBA game this weekend right now. And by this weekend, I don’t mean the vast undefined span of “weekend” which always includes Fridays, often includes Thursdays, and frankly can sometimes include any day other than Tuesday. No, I’m using the traditional definition of weekend, which is simply Saturday and Sunday. In two (2) days I have watched eight (8) NBA games. Admittedly not all of each one, but certainly more than 79% of all of them.

I guess the reason I’m explaining all of this is sort of to trick myself into finishing the weekend off with a bit of homework or pontificating or whatever else productive, but mostly because I wanted to share some ideas about redemption and masturbation.

As stated, I’m watching my eighth (8th) out of eight (8) possible NBA games this weekend. Currently, the Boston Celtics are playing the Atlanta Hawks. More than most teams in the NBA, these two teams embody the theme of redemption. The Celtics were awful last year, and after trading for Ray Allen and Kevin Garnett to join Paul Pierce this last offseason, have been rolling up wins like Del Taco workers roll up burritos, quickly, efficiently, and fairly easily. Vegas has them as the favorite to win the NBA title this year, which would almost certainly mean redemption for Allen and Garnett and Pierce, who are three (3) of the NBA’s best players yet have never had much postseason success.

The redemption theme with the Celtics doesn’t stop with the players either. Their coach, Doc Rivers, was considered a very poor coach last year, despite the fact that his nickname would suggest a rather high level of competency. It was painfully apparent that he wasn’t a real doctor. He’s done a markedly better job this year, surely garnering some votes for Coach of the Year. Danny Ainge, the Celtics’ general manager is cruising happily on the fresh asphalt of Redemption Road as well after having what can gently be called rather limited success as a GM, not to mention being fleeced by Kevin Pritchard to take Bassy Telfair for what became Brandon Roy.

The Hawks on the other hand, managed to end the NBA’s longest current playoff drought this year. Atlanta has not qualified for the playoffs since 1999, where they lost to the Knicks and promptly traded Steve Smith for Isaiah Rider, a man who once kicked the female manager of a sports bar. I can only speculate to what type of kick Rider prefers. A dragon kick? A two footed jump kick to the chest? A Ryu/Ken sweep kick straight out of Street Fighter II? I digress. As a rule of thumb in life I like to avoid kicking managers in general, much less managers who are women. I don’t think anybody would disagree with me classifying that trade as a mistake. Thus, even though the Hawks finished 8 games below .500, at 37-45, qualifying for the playoffs at all has to be considered redemption.

This raises the question though, with all these obvious redemption themes weaving like a drunk driver all over this playoff series, why did I just hear “Dancing With Myself” over the PA system during a timeout? Isn’t that just about the least logical song to play during a playoff series like this?

Dancing With Myself is a song by Billy Idol that is ostensibly about masturbation, possibly while looking at yourself in the mirror. I fully understand that playoff series’ don’t have official themes, and the PA DJ’s probably aren’t really concerned about that type of thing anyway, but let’s put that aside for the sake of this essay. Dancing With Myself doesn’t fit the theme of redemption at all, and might even be the worst choice possible.

Masturbation is what one resorts to when they do not have an actual other human available for sexual pleasure, redemption is all about redeeming yourself. Maybe if Dancing With Myself was played a lot during timeouts last year, and I have to assume it was because it’s far too random of a song to just casually throw on the playlist this season, an appropriate song this year might be “Cradle of Love” (if we are sticking with Billy Idol) which not only was as high as number two (#2) on the charts, but is also blatantly and boldly about hooking up with a hot chick. Thus redeeming yourself if you spent all of last night masturbating.

With a little bit of forethought, Boston’s PA DJ’s could have firmly entrenched themselves in the upper echelon of PA DJ’s, but they squandered the opportunity. They certainly deserve credit for involving Billy Idol at all, and not sticking to such drivel as the Baja Men, but I just can’t ignore the magnitude of the opportunity. This redemption theme, so obvious it might even embarrass that rat at the end of “The Departed, should have continued to have been built upon. It wasn’t, and we’re left with a two (2) story split level rather than a Pearl Tower, a tragedy indeed.

-Zanramon

zanramon@addictedtowords.com

Posted in All, NBA, Sports, Music, TV | No Comments »

The Lycanthrope Protocol

I watched Teen Wolf the other day for the first time since I was probably about eleven (11). I had forgotten both how awesome this movie is, but also how almost nothing in it makes any sense as far as werewolf, or more correctly, lycanthrope, lore goes. I’m absolutely willing to concede that I need to suspend my disbelief on some level in order to make most movies work, and I’m going to go ahead and concede the existence of werewolves. Problem is, this movie cuts down all standards we have established for werewolves. Teen Wolf knocks down all expectations we have of how a werewolf should be. As I said, it’s a deliciously awesome movie, but I want some effort on the believability scale. I know I should embrace pioneers, or we would have no George Washingtons, no Amelia Earharts, No Ansel Adams, not even any Krangs in our world, but for whatever reason, this perturbs me.

WEREWOLF STANDARD BROKEN #1: Werewolves can’t control when they change from human into human-wolf.
Other than the first time it happens to him, Michael J. Fox’s character, Scott Howard can change into the wolf whenever he pleases. Everybody knows that werewolves can’t control when they change into wolves, the moon controls it. Unless they are in Harry Potter, and that’s only because of a potion. Presumably, Howard didn’t have access to potions because there doesn’t seem to be any magic in his world. Except werewolves, which makes this weird quandary. How is this possible that werewolfery is the only magic in Howard’s world? I have no explanations, and to be frank I can’t think about this for too long because it’s far too confusing.

WEREWOLF STANDARD BROKEN #2: When werewolves are not in their human form, they are totally out of control.
When Howard turns into a werewolf he doesn’t go on any killing or maiming rampages. He doesn’t really hurt anybody at all, except for arguably Boof, but that has nothing to do with his wolfery, but rather his penchant for hot blondes. In fact, Howard’s only discernible difference, personality wise, when he becomes a werewolf is that he is far more confident than when he is a human. This really makes no sense to me either because if I were to become covered in hair and sharp teeth and claws it would not boost my confidence. It would most likely lower it. I doubt I would be comfortable in my own skin, as it were, anymore.

WEREWOLF STANDARD BROKEN #3: Werewolves dress poorly.
In almost every case of werewolves throughout history, they either wear no clothes, or just throw on some tattered rags and call it a day. The werewolves in Underworld sometimes have ripped pants (the Incredible Hulk look), but usually have nothing. Professor Lupin skips clothes all together. Animals generally skip clothes, lest they be considered whimsical. Disney is the gold standard for animals wearing clothes, and I highly doubt most animals want to be pigeonholed into the Disney stereotype, thus, they don’t wear clothes.

When Howard is a wolf he either wears his regular clothes, his basketball jersey, or an awesome Vanilla Ice Cream pimp suit. The suit needs no further explanation, as it is plainly and obviously awesome.* But even when wolf Howard rocks his basketball jersey, he does it in style with a headband, presumably as a tribute to one of my top ten (10) favorite NBA players of all time: Clifford “Uncle Cliffy” Robinson.

WEREWOLF STANDARD BROKEN #4: Werewolves can’t play basketball.
I’m not sure if this is a standard or not, but it should be. Werewolves basically just maul stuff and bite people, which is not conducive to holding a basketball, much less dribbling like Zeke, dunking like ‘Nique, and shooting like Thunder Dan Majerle.** It’s inconceivable that Howard turning into a werewolf would actually make him better at basketball. I could see if it would make him faster and able to jump higher, and maybe he’d even have quicker reactions. I just can’t see a werewolf putting it all together to become the best prospect since Harold Miner. And we all know how well that turned out.

I guess what I’m saying is that we really need some sort of standard set of rules when it comes to magical creatures. A veritable Montreal Protocol of the fantastical. Especially if we want them to ever have a chance of being accepted as something that sort of seems real, but ultimately isn’t. Like the abominable snowman, or of course, the chupacabra. Werewolves just want a chance, which takes us full circle, as that is sort of the underlying message of Teen Wolf. Give werewolves a chance, even though they are different. Give Boof a chance. She isn’t like a werewolf, yet she is still different. It’s the theme, it’s ok to compare girls to wolves. Just this once.

-Zanramon
zanramon@addictedtowords.com

*Maybe it does need a bit more explanation, he is not a pimp when he wears the suit. I apologize if I portrayed that Teen Wolf somehow involves prostitution and pimping.
**Sorry for not continuing that rhyme, but I couldn’t resist the chance to drop a Dan Majerle reference. I had a folder with him on it in 3rd grade.

Posted in Magical Things, All, NBA, Sports, Movies | 2 Comments »

Wasted potential in a drink.

Those who know me well know that I’m somewhat of a diet soda connoisseur. The title may be self given, but that does not imply that it is false. (You’d have to know my quite well, as I tend to be quite elusive during meals, retiring to my quarters to catch up on NBA news.) Quibbles aside, I drink more than my fair share of diet soda. I fear I may be in the midst of an ill fated ride towards some sort of heinous cancer, but someday we will all meet our demise. Fake sugar is my White Album. I consume it on stolen time.

For years, it was always Diet Coke or Diet Pepsi. They were the de facto standards for diet soda. There may have been the occasional Tab or Fresca or something else outrageous, but anything beyond Diet Coke or Diet Pepsi tended to be more rare than the company that birthed Donkey Kong Country. The lack of choices meant business was good, there was no reason to change. And they didn’t, for a long time.

In the last 2 or so years however, we’ve seen somewhat of an explosion of new choices in the diet soda category. Never has the industry seen this kind of breadth of choice. A veritable Dot Com boom of zero calorie drinks, if you will. Diet Dr. Pepper, Diet Mountain Dew, Sprite Zero, some variety of diet orange things. They all boldly claimed their moment in my refrigerator only to be one upped by new drinks that tended to be wordier than a Fall Out Boy song: Cherry Vanilla Diet Dr. Pepper, Code Red Cherry Diet Mountain Dew or Jazz Caramel Cream Diet Pepsi.

Unfortunately, the inevitable happened and the super-saturated point was reached. The choices couldn’t continue to be good forever. It all came crashing down with Cherry Chocolate Diet Dr. Pepper. (Henceforth referred to as CCDDP. That title is just begging to dole out carpal tunnel.) Which sounds pretty great, if not fucking fantastic. The sad reality though: it’s terrible.

Somehow in my OCD riddled mind I’ve come to the point where I must smuggle provisions into any movie I see at the cinema. Generally you can count me in for my flavor of the week diet soda and some delicious beef jerky. Before I went to see the excellent Be Kind Rewind I partook in a quest to find this new drink. My hopes were unrealistic in retrospect. (And possibly skewed by the limited-edition status of CCDDP.) I wanted the ultimate experience in zero calorie freedom. A sense of nirvana about my cola. I had visions of myself stockpiling the drink, making the already regulated supplies of CCDDP even more difficult to obtain. I would sit in my ivory tower and laugh at the rabble as they frantically tried to locate this resonant drink. I planned to possibly store my stores in an underground bunker.

As previously stated, it wasn’t to be. Cherry Chocolate Diet Dr. Pepper is a false prophet. The faint taste of some sort of poor excuse for chocolate is deeply masked by whatever Dr. Pepper actually tastes like. The cherry flavor is nonexistent, an afterthought. It is a mismatched jigsaw puzzle, one where you’ve dropped the last puzzle piece down the heater vent. It will never be retrieved.

CCDDP falls apart all together with the odd, medicine like aftertaste. The tragedy of this drink is unrivaled in, not just the diet soda, but flavored drink world all together. Yes, including the unrealized genius of Orbitz. CCDDP had tremendous upside. There was no ceiling for it, none whatsoever. Unfortunately, it turned out to be more Qyntel Woods than Josh Smith.

The hope is that CCDDP fades away quietly, slipping out of our minds in the peaceful ebb and flow of our conscience coast. A poor effort is disappointing, but wasted potential is simply sad.

-Zanramon

zanramon@addictedtowords.com

Posted in Video Games, All, NBA, Sports | 5 Comments »

Pondering Taurean Green for Von Wafer

Kevin Pritchard is undoubtedly a man who knows what he is doing. He grabbed Paul Allen’s hand and led him safely through the forest of rebuilding in about 3 short (yet long) years. He makes an entire city smile with each win the Blazers get. I have an unyielding faith in Kevin Pritchard that I may not have in many people I know on a personal basis.

That said, whispers of KP wheeling and dealing Travis Outlaw, Martell Webster, Channing Frye, or even all three at once, right out of town had me on the nervous edge of that unyielding faith I so boldly claim to have. Travis Outlaw is an athletic spectacle to behold. His fourth quarter prowess only adds to that legend. Martell Webster and Channing Frye are more enigmatic, but are their athleticism and not-yet-discovered ceiling is certainly muse worthy. I didn’t want to see any of that trio go, not for Devin Harris, not even for Danny Granger. Had KP moved one or all of that bench trio, I would have eventually come to terms with it and seen the positives, but it was not a transition period I wanted, needed, or even have time for at the moment.

The NBA trade deadline passed with the Blazer’s roster staying relatively intact. KP liked our team enough to let it grow and blossom, Nate McMillan happily nodded in agreement. There was however, one casualty of the trade deadline, Taurean Green. Along with most other vociferous Blazer fans, I like Taurean Green enough, he had high praises from coaches and teammates, and his enormous success in college tells me he’ll stick somewhere in the NBA. The man knows how to play basketball. Yet I know Rudy Fernandez will pull on his pinwheel emblazoned jersey soon and he needed a roster spot. I know we’ll have a draft pick or two that need roster spots this summer. I’m an idealist, but can see the realism when there is no way of looking around it. Rules are rules.

So Taurean Green packs his bags for Denver in exchange for something called a Von Wafer and his expiring contract. It’s easy to write it off as simply a way to clear a roster spot, but why not just cut Green this summer? Paul Allen won’t miss the $200,000 or so he’d lose in the deal (he really won’t) and in the meantime Taurean continues to help make the Blazer locker room a happy place to be. Some have said Von Wafer’s precision distance shooting will help offset the precision distance shooting we are missing while James Jones finds his balance and repairs his knee. No, Jones has said he is coming back next week, effectively relegating Wafer to the seat next to Josh McRobert’s that Green used to occupy. Wouldn’t we rather have a scrappy playmaker as a last ditch insurance plan than a precision shooter? Does it matter? All signs point to this trade being a trade just to pass the time. (Despite the fact that Von Wafer is an exponentially cooler name than almost anything else.) It doesn’t seem to mean anything or serve any purpose. But I know KP, and I know he is too shrewd to not benefit from a trade. My heart tells me that there is a deeper meaning to this trade that I fear I will never find out.

-John

john@addictedtowords.com

Posted in All, NBA, Sports | No Comments »

Wherein I’m over-stressed by fictional games.

I’m merging into the left lane of my last semester and I’ve been much busier than I had expected (which you may be able to tell by my significantly slower pace of posts on here). I even felt a twinge here and there of something I vehemently try to avoid, and that is stress. (I’m no Jack Johnson, but I often just let things happen and don’t worry about them, a tried and true way to avoid the dreaded stress.) While some has come from the usual places, homework, (lack of) money, etc. But the strangest thing is my main source of stress, that being fantasy basketball. That’s correct, something completely fictional (albeit based in reality) has me stressed out.

I play fantasy basketball on SportingNews.com and I am in a league based out of Portland with around 200 people in it. Since about 3 weeks into the season I have been no lower than 5th place, usually hovering around 3rd. Believe it or not, the pressure to keep my seat at the adult table is unbelievable. I spend hours pouring over players per game production for the season, the last 30 days, the last 14 days, and even the last week. I spend hours agonizing over every trade I’m considering making. I compulsively check ESPN.com to see the box scores for the day’s games as they unfold, moreso even than I was checking MySpace circa March 2004. My general temperament can often be directly linked to Dwight Howard’s level of effort on any given night. Laugh, I know it’s ridiculous, but it is incredibly time consuming and incredibly stressful. Certainly fun, but lord is it stressful.

Season 1 of Sporting News’ fantasy basketball ended Thursday, as the All Star Weekend was this weekend, which marks the unofficial midpoint of the season. Season 2 started yesterday. In Season 1, I made a late push behind Lebron’s usual brilliance and some Disturbia level over-achieving on the part of on Brad Miller and Jose Calderon, to pull into second for the last 2 days. I was pretty damn proud of myself.

See visual proof: (I’m the Cobra Kai Dojo at #2, well ahead of my brother, the Portland Hens, at #15).

That said, I’m going to take my season ending success as a sign to dial back the stress and sit Season 2 of fantasy basketball out. That’s right, sit it out completely. I’ll still follow the NBA like I’m married to it, but I want to take the time and enjoy the NBA and all of it’s beauty and grace. I want to live and die by Blazers’ wins and losses, not individual performances. I don’t want to equate it with stress, lest I get burned out on pro basketball. It’s my favorite sport, and it’s time I start treating it that way.

-John

john@addictedtowords.com

Posted in All, NBA, Sports | 5 Comments »

The Birthday Cake

I just watched the NBA Dunk Contest and it boggled the mind.  I’m a rather fit, rather healthy 22 year old male.  I consider myself decently athletic, I’m quick and marginally strong.  The flying men of the dunk contest however, make me look like the Hunchback of Notre Dame.  The grace, power, and athleticism of these guys appears God like.  The Superman costume Dwight Howard donned on his second dunk was an epic redundancy.  Profession aside, he is the closest thing to Superman the human race has.

Which isn’t even mentioning the showmanship and creativity these enigmatic humans posses.  This is where Gerald Green and Dwight Howard set themselves apart.  See Green take off his shoes, autograph them, and leave them on the judges table as he dunks in his socks.  See Dwight Howard do Clark Kent proud as he takes his jersey off revealing the aforementioned Superman costume.  (As much as Howard tried to say it was a homage to Soulja Boy, this was all Christopher Reeves heroism.)

Most of all, see the Birthday Cake.  Green’s teammate Rashad McCants brought out a ladder, placed a cupcake with a birthday candle on the back of the rim, lit it, and then bounced the ball to Green who blew it out as he dunked.  He blew his birthday candle out levitating 10 feet in the air.  It was beyond my wildest dreams.

While not the most athletically impressive, that honor goes to Howard’s dunk from behind the backboard, the Birthday Cake was, albeit certainly kitschy, the most creative and entertaining, which is exactly what I want from the dunk contest.  Such a shame that Green did it first, allowing it to become somewhat overlooked.  Had this been last, up against Howard’s less than spectacular small rim-to-big rim, it would have brought the crowd to it’s knees and delivered Green his second consecutive victory.  The fact that he did it first assured the Birthday Cake of becoming this year’s version of the sticker dunk that Howard did last year.  It’s majestic nature will stick with you and only grow as time passes.

While I lament this travesty, and wonder what could have been, this dunk contest was undeniably the best since Vince Carter ate the souls of anybody watching in 2000.  I only hope evolution can be applied to the dunk contest, with progressively more absurd feats each year.  Next year, I want a homage to Teen Wolf.  Off the top of my head, somebody (Travis Outlaw perhaps) dunking in a Teen Wolf suit is the only thing that can top the pure unadulterated joy I feel about the Birthday Cake.  Gerald Green, you’re a winner in my heart.

-John

john@addictedtowords.com

Posted in All, NBA, Sports, TV | 1 Comment »

In Defense of the Vest.

For my birthday in November, my roommates threw me a middle school dance/90’s themed party. No trimmings were spared, right down to the authentic EZ Bake Oven and a thoughtfully worded Ricky Martin book in Spanish on one side and English on the other. The party, as it were, was a god damn epic success, a Puff Daddy party on our scaled-down scale to measure parties. People had fun and would fondly look back on it as one of the most successful parties in our quickly dwindling college career. It was so much fun, in fact, that the decision came down from the house patriarch to have a 90’s Party Part Duh. Duh obviously being an ever so “90’s” catch phrase, and an ever so clever play on Deux. (One of my many contributions, although I fear I may have stolen that joke from some VH1 show that is even more wistful and nostalgic than I am.)

To the first 90’s party I rocked a pretty excellent vest over my 1990 Western Conference Champions Trail Blazers t-shirt. (Yes, I’m fiercely proud.) I felt I walked the fine line between being festive and trying too hard quite well. It was a subtle statement, yet one I hope resonated. When the time came for me to drudge up a new outfit in the style of the 1990’s, my mind immediately filled with visions of a vest sequel. The fashion gods conferred with the thrift store gods and they decided to smile upon me. Not only did I find a vest of amazing build and design, it came with matching shorts to boot, all for the low low price of $2.99. Ignoring the fact that this was a women’s getup proved to be easy as well. The fact of the matter is, this thing was bright yellow with a vegetable print. I would wear almost anything that has a vegetable print, be it for women, or babies, or transvestites, or whatever. If it has a vegetable print, odds are good I will wear it.

My joy was tempered only slightly, I’d say I was 3% less excited, when I returned home and found that the shorts don’t come close to fitting, unless I wear them at dangerously high levels, which in turn leaves my, um, manhood dangerously close to a reveal that almost nobody wants. Nevertheless I wore the vest proudly and loudly, sans matching shorts. Again, I felt like I walked that elusive line between still participating and screaming my 90’s-ness. Accessorize, don’t revolutionize. The vest went over well at the party. The vegetable print delighted people, as a vegetable print tends to.

The thing is, since the party, I have been taking heavy criticism about my choice of 90’s costume. People don’t see the connection to the 90’s and some even have the gall to accuse me of not putting effort into my weapon of choice. Quite frankly, these accusations are unfounded and unfair.

First of all, like I said, this was not some outfit I just had laying on my bedroom floor. No, the thrift store stars had to align for me to find this certifiable treasure of a vest. And as I’ve explained twice now, it takes lots of thinking to be subtle and still festive. I could have easily bought the pink one piece ski suit at the very same thrift store I bought the vest. Ignoring the fact that it is more 80’s than 90’s, a pink one piece ski suit is fairly awesome, but that would have been the lazy route. Any asshole can be outrageous, as the saying goes subtly is godly.*

I don’t know what it is about them, but I feel that vests are an integral part of the quintessential 90’s experience. Admittedly, I have no data to back this up, but I would almost certainly bet that vests were worn more in the years of 1990-99 than any other 10 years in the history of our world. Vests are ubiquitous in the unofficial official television shows of the 1990’s, Friends and Seinfeld. Matthew Perry and the ever melancholic David Schwimmer embraced the vest, the great Jerry Seinfeld loved the vest. These three men are powerful symbols of the 90’s. We looked to them for guidance as well as a good joke. How can a vest not go hand in hand with the 90’s? How this would not be immediately apparent to somebody is beyond me.

And as for the vegetable print, well that is just undeniably awesome.

-John

john@addictedtowords.com

*The saying that I just made up.

Posted in All, NBA, TV, Portland | 3 Comments »

Mike Rice’s Senile Comment of the Game: 1/9

***Disclaimer: In all honesty, I do not actually think that Mike Rice is senile. He is certainly smarter than I am, and may in fact be a genius for slipping such subtle innuendo completely uncensored into NBA broadcasts.***

Once again, this is probably lost on regular people, but those of us afflicted with Blazermania should know exactly what I’m talking about.

The Blazers beat the Warriors emphatically tonight. And when I say emphatically I mean it, Taurean Green actually got some playing time. Presumably, Stephen Jackson’s tattoo of praying hands holding a gun didn’t catch the ear of any almighty being, nor was it’s aim true. (If I were God, I’d ignore any prayers coming from hands holding a gun, despite the risk of getting shot but those very same hands.) Jackson could have at least done a little better, as he is on my fantasy team. 4 points isn’t cutting the mustard, I’m trading him tonight, but that’s another story.

Tonight’s gem by Mike Rice was particularly excellent, and was certainly helped by Mike Barrett, who sometimes seems to agree with me about Mike Rice’s possible senility and certain awesomeness. The exchange went like this:

MIKE RICE: “How do you like my sporty look?” (He points to his plaid shirt that consists of a variety of shades of brown.)

MIKE BARRETT: “It’s nice, I think you get a free bowl of soup with that.”

Unfortunately, the shot cut back to the game before it occurred to Mike Rice that Mike Barrett was saying that that shirt makes him look akin to a hobo, but that moment had to have strained their friendship. And then that’s where homelessness ends and professionalism begins.

As I never got around to writing Mike Rice’s Senile Comment of the Game last game, you get a bonus Senile Comment tonight. Senile Comment of the Game #2 came later after Mike Rice kept referring to some inside joke between him and whoever might be lucky enough to have inside jokes with Mike Rice and just kept taking it further and further, really where most men wouldn’t dare to go, before he had nothing left to say except:

“It looks like his elbow is sore, but does a camera guy need an elbow?”

The answer to that is yes, absolutely yes. I would argue that camera guys need elbows more so than anyone else, with the possible exception of surgeons.

Don’t change Mike Rice, don’t ever change.

-John

john@addictedtowords.com

Posted in All, NBA, Sports, TV | No Comments »

Mike Rice’s Senile Comment of the Game: 12/31

***Disclaimer: In all honesty, I do not actually think that Mike Rice is senile. He is certainly smarter than I am, and may in fact be a genius for slipping such subtle innuendo completely uncensored into NBA broadcasts.***

This is probably lost on most of the people reading this, but you Portland Trail Blazer fans out there will appreciate it.

Mike Rice has been a Blazer commentator for as long as I remember, this is his 18th year in fact. His voice was always synonymous with televised Blazer games as I watched them growing up. He still calls the games but may possibly be losing his mind. Don’t get me wrong, he’s a fantastic broadcaster and I love listening to him call the games, but some things he says make me pause and wonder what in holy hell he is talking about.

Thus, here’s a new feature of this here blog: Mike Rice’s Senile Comment of the Game. I unofficially began the other night when Mike Rice was talking about how “Al Jefferson wants to bang the Blazers tonight.” Granted, I can’t watch Blazer telecasts when I am at school, so this could be a very short feature, lasting only as long as I’m in Portland this winter break. (Unless we make the playoffs and are still in it when I come back!) Anyway, I enjoyed the Blazer game against Utah on TV last night before my night of New Year’s carousing. We lost and our 13 game win streak was snapped, but that was almost redeemed by this Mike Rice gem (say it out loud with me):

“Big loose balls.”

Granted, it was in the context of the Blazers are not coming up with the big loose balls they need to win this game, but I’m pretty sure, no matter the context, the phrase “big loose balls” should never ever be muttered at a sports event.

Mike Rice, I applaud your possible senility and certain awesomeness.

-John

john@addictedtowords.com

Posted in All, NBA, Sports, TV | 1 Comment »