June 2007 Archives
The Utah Jazz drafted 6-6 guard Morris Almond out of Rice. He's another one of those "so-underrated-he's-overrated" dudes.
Let's face it. It's yawn time of the NBA draft. Unless someone picks Ann Meyer again just for kicks, the drama's over.
But there was some good drama. We had the best one-two picks since I don't know when? 1984?
Good News: Arash Markazi of SI just stopped by. Love Markazi. He's always in a good mood. We just watched Aaron Afflalo get chosen and Arash had a good observation: In the NBA draft, you can just show up (as a lower-round pick). So when you get chosen as a late first-round pick, or 2nd-rounder, you may just be out sitting in the peanut gallery, and you have to kind of stand up and wave your arms ("I'm here! I'm here!") or else they'll just give your draft position to someone else.
Oh, and Arash and I were talking about the Yankees (currently desperately hoping to avoid going 1-8 for this roadtrip). Here's one more difference between this year's Yankees and those of the previous five seasons. Home runs.
Take a look. This year, despite having baseball's most prolific home-run hitter, Alex Rodriguez (28 home runs), New York has just 77 home runs as a team. And they're only four games shy of the halfway point of the season. A-Rod has more than one-third of the team's home runs. So project that out, and the Yankees are looking at about 161, 162 homers this year.
Now let's look at the past five seasons:
2006......210 HR (2nd in AL)
2005.....229 HR (2nd in AL)
2004.....242 HR (T-1 in AL)
2003.....230 HR (3rd in AL)
2002....223 HR (2nd in AL)
So far, at 79 homers, New York is 8th in the AL in that category. This isn't an argument that New York would have a much better record if Giambi were in the lineup. Because he's not hitting taters that much any more, either, even when he is in the lineup. No, this is just an argument saying that 1) there was a certain something that made all teams, not just the Yankees, hit more homers in the first half of this decade and 2) those home runs that the Yankees clouted blotted out a lot of fundamental mistakes the Yanks made during the regular season. In the postseason, when they faced premier pitchers and sound ballclubs, they were exposed for who they are: a beer-league softball team. This Yankee club cannot escape jams with the three-run clout the way the teams of recent vintage have. Just one more reason why they're struggling.
That, and Bernie Williams' absence has robbed them of their mojo.
Phoenix is up again (they don't say "on the clock" in the NBA draft; yet another reason to like it). They took cash the last time. This time I think they're going to pick an IRA. Or a government bond. No. They select Alando Tucker of Wisconsin, the Big Ten Player of the Year.
Oh, and one pick earlier, the San Antonio Spurs selected Brazilian seven-footer Tiago Splitter. Nice to see San Antonio finally overcoming its chronic xenophobia.
Okay, first round is done. David Satan has just informed us that he will not be conducting the second round, so I'm outta here, too. How can I expect to accost and berate him if I'm seated here?
Oh. Last thing. I'm not making this up. I think I just saw two NBA stage crew dudes raise the height of the podium...now that Stern's gone. Seriously.
The Phoenix Suns have two of the next six picks, and they have been forewarned by Stu Jackson not to have their draft pick leave the waiting area until David Satan calls their name, or else they'll have to forfeit their season opener.
And the Suns select....Rudy Fernandez, a 6-5 Spanish guard. Phoenix is hiring a non-American citizen whose native tongue is Spanish. Wow, they really are plugged in to their community.
Supposedly, the Suns are going to send Fernandez's rights to Portland in exchange for cash. They're drafting cash! The Suns! They're making it rain on draft night!
Spike Lee is here. I think I'll go over and tell him how much I love "Do The Right Thing", right before the guards lead me out of here in shackles. Lisa Salters is interviewing him. No, we're not related. We're not even spelled the same.
ESPN just posted an Isiah Thomas tale of the tape:
25 players traded
5 coaches
one sexual harassment suit (I added that one myself, but then, with Mike Tirico hosting tonight, you can't expect them to have posted that).
The Knicks just chose Wilson Chandler of DePaul, giving their cornerstone, Eddy Curry, the second big Chandler he will have had to play alongside in his career. Wilson Chandler: he's no Renaldo Backman. I've yet to decide if that's a good or bad thing.
On Must Improve, ESPN listed: Maturity. Nice. Maybe he can hang out with Sean Williams of the Nets.
As you may have noticed, I've developed quite a crush on Joakim Noah. Maybe it was the oversized bow-tie. No, it's the attitude. I wish you could read all the quotes he just gave us.
For example, when someone asked him about Chicago being a big market and whether he felt marketable, Joakim replied (tongue in cheek):
"Oh, I feel so marketable, you have no idea. That's exactly why I wanted to go to Chicago; to be marketable."
Then, turning serious, he said, "You guys look at is as a market and it's always about money and this and, oh, if I would have went last year, then would I have been a higher pick and it's money and money and you're talking about money.
"But to me, I feel like it's happiness. It's about being happy and winning makes me happy. I feel like I have an opportunity to win a lot of games in Chicago."
Three reactions:
1. If he means that, then I love him.
2. It is easier to feel that way when you grow up the son of a pro tennis star and a Swedish uber-model.
3. I hope he still feels that way when his first free agency year arrives.
But, like I said, I'm a Noah guy. I'm jumping on his....arkwagon.
The Miami Heat took seven-footer Jason Smith of Colorado State. And Philadelphia took Ohio State guard Daequan Cook, making him the sixth player who started April's national championship game who's already been selected this evening.
Oh, and now we hear Miami and Philly will swap those picks.
But here's what I wonder: If Ohio State loses to Xavier in the 2nd round of the NCAAs last March, how is tonight's draft different? Does Conley come out? Cook? Does Oden even come out? I hope those three Buckeyes use their signing bonus to purchase a very nice gift for their teammate, Ron Lewis, the dude who buried the stone-cold three with two seconds left in regulation to send the game into overtime.
Yes, to acknowledge a G.A. comment, Darren Rovell is here. There's a separate seat for his hair goop. Sorry to sound so catty, but I just keep thinking, "Rece Davis' li'l bro" whenever I see him. He's a good guy--I've met him--but ease up on the goop. And don't get sassy with Liz Clayman. That's a recipe for disaster. Liz don't brook no sass from a newbie.
Meanwhile, back at the draft, the Golden State Warriors, who already had a plethora, a glut, of athletic Euro types, just added another in 6-5 Italian Marco Belinelli. The woman seated next to me, Stephanie, remarked, "Oooh, he's cute."
Of course he is. He's Italian. Marco was wearing an all-black suit, black shirt, black tie. I think he got the outfit straight from Silvio Dante.
Meanwhile, the Lakers, picking next, took Javaris Crittendon, the point guard from Georgia Tech, operating under the principle that "anything's better than Smush Parker". And they're right.
One thing that sticks out about this draft: By my unofficial count, five of the top eleven picks are related themselves to former pro/Olympic athletes:
No. 3 pick Al Horford's dad, Tito, played in the NBA for three seasons.
No. 4 pick Mike Conley's dad, Mike, was an Olympic gold medalist triple jumper.
No. 9 pick Joakim Noah is the son of former tennis pro Yannick Noah.
No. 10 pick Spencer Hawes' uncle, Steve, played ten seasons in the NBA (his dad played at U-Dub).
No. 11 pick Acie Law IV is the great nephew of Hall of Famer Ernie Banks.
As the generations pass, and the pro athletes keep marrying superdupermodels and Miss Universe runner-ups, well, it's as if there will be a new super breed of humans. It's only marriages such as Kurt Warner's that can give the rest of us any hope.
The picks, since we left:
No. 12....Philly takes Thaddeus Young, giving the Ga. Tech the opportunity to be the best Thaddeus the NBA's ever seen.
No. 13...New Orleans selects Julian Wright of Kansas. Athletic player, but I wonder how assertive he'll be.
No. 14. ...L.A. Clippers take Al Thornton of Florida State, everyone's No. 1 all-underrated dude. The Clippers made a smart pick?
No. 15....Detroit takes the first small school player of the draft, Rodney Stuckey of Eastern Washington. You think a player is coming out of eastern Washington, you guess it's gonna be from Gonzaga. But no. Stuart Scott asks him, "Who's Rodney Stuckey?" and he answers, "It's me." I like this guy already.
No. 16....Washington selects Nick Young of USC
The Knicks just traded Stevie Franchise and Channing Frye to Portland for Fred Jones, Dan Dickau and, oh, Zach Randolph. Don't let anyone tell you different: this was all about the Knicks bringing a player of Dan Dickau's star power to the Big Apple.
Great move for the Blazers. That frees up the middle for Greg Oden and they get an athletic young four in Channing Frye, who's going to be happier out west anyway.
Meanwhile, the Knicks get another toxic malcontent. Dickau, I mean.
The New Jersey Nets, not to be outdone, have just selected Sean Williams of Cheech & Chong State. Williams is the dude who, well, you remember former NBA guard Dave Bing? Williams is Dave Bong.
I cannot believe that's the best weed joke I can come up with. But I do hear that Williams is stoked about playing at a place that's known as "The Meadowlands".
The Sacramento Monarchs just selected Spencer Hawes, a seven-footer out of U-Dub. Oh, wait, it was the Sacramento Kings. So, just seconds after Hawes is selected, all of us inside the theater are treated to hearing Jay Bilas' analysis of Hawes. Bilas says that Hawes is not a great rebounder, not a shot-blocker, needs to be more aggressive. And then they cut immediately to Stu Scott, who has Hawes seated right next to him. And they're both seated no more than fifteen feet away from Bilas.
And you have to imagine Hawes is thinking, "(Bleep) you very much, Jay."
And his next thought is, How'd that NBA career work out for you, Mr. Bilas? (he played overseas professionally).
Now Screamin' A. Smith is bellowing that the Bulls messed up by selecting Noah instead of Hawes. I disagree. Yes, Hawes is more of a low-post player, and Chicago allegedly needs that, but does anyone really need another big white stiff who's just going to get his shot blocked by any athletic center he goes against? The last truly dominant white seven footer was, well, George Mikan. Think of all the great white post players since then. Great. Not Zydrunas Ilgauskaus. Exactly. Arvydas Sabonis. And who else?
Spencer Hawes will be an okay player, but he's more likely to be another Mattt Geiger/Tom Boerwinkle/Bryant Reeves than he will the next George Mikan. If you tell me my team has Kirk Hinrichmaneuver, Luol Deng, Ben gordon, Tyrus Thomas, Andres Nocioni and Joakim Noah, I'll just roll the ball out on the floor and tell 'em to run.
I'm not sure why, but there's a yellow labrador retriever lying about 20 feet in front of the ESPN set. Let's hope he's the only dog in this draft.
The Hawks just selected Acie Law IV with the XIth pick (see how I did that, getting all Roman on you?). Good pick. I live Law better than Georgia Tech's Javaris Crittendon, even though he's home-grown and the Hawks probably felt a little pressure to take him. Law, like Noah, has the one quality that no GM in any sport never values enough: he's a gamer. The essence of gamer, by the way, the patron saint of gamers, is Joe Montana. In the NBA, you'd have to say it was Magic, Larry and Michael. The antithesis of gamer? Michael Olawakandi.
Just to my left, no more than a dozen feet away, is the ESPN set. In fact, Stephen A. Smith could toss me a Cheezy Doodle. In case you forgot, last year the crowd here at the Madison Square Garden Theater got on Smith's case because they caught him sneaking Cheez Doodles during commercial breaks. The price of fame.
The Minnesota Timberwolves just chose Corey Brewer, which:
A. just put a huge smile on Kevin Garnett's face.
B. is causing Joakim Noah to cry. He was arguably the No. 1 pick overall last year if he had come out, all he does is help lead the Gators to a second national title, and what happens? Two of his teammates are chosen ahead of him. Allow me to reiterate: The team that picks Noah, alias "Joakim Almighty", is gonna be sooooo pleased that they did. Now, they not only get his athletic talent and enthusiasm, but he's got a huge chip on his shoulder. He's the BQQB of the NBA Draft.
It's not your fault, Joakim. Everyone else is just jealous of your hair.
And Charlotte just took Brandan Wright No. 8 (the Carolina connection: Jordan: Tar Heels: Charlotte: Wright) and the Bulls, the best young team in the NBA, just took Noah. This couldn't have worked out any better for Chicago nor for Noah. And it never hurts to have a former runner-up in the Miss Universe pageant throw her arms around you and hug you when you get selected. Even if it is your mom.
Joakim Noah: he's the Sanjaya of the NBA.
For the second time in the past three years, the Milwaukee Bucks used their first pick to select a seven-footer from the Pacific rim. The Bucks took 7'0" (or 6'11") center Yi Jianlian, thereby doubling the city's Chinese population. Meanwhile, Andrew Bogut, the team's incumbent Aussie center, who was the first overall pick in 2005, must be wondering how this is all going to work out.
"Jianlian. It's Australian for 'You need to upgrade your game'."
There's a large contingent of University of Florida fans here this evening--certainly more than there are Atlanta Hawk fans-- and so a big cheer went up when the Hawks took the Gators' Al Horford No. 1. But then there was dismay when Horford took the microphone and announced that he had had a change of heart, and was returning to college. "I don't what came over me," Horford said, "but deep down, I realize that I'm a college player and I belong in Gainesville."
Meanwhile, Al's father, Tito, is standing proudly and waving a flag from the Dominican Republic, the Horford's homeland. Somewhere, you just know it, Gary Sheffield is pissed. Which reminds me, do you think the Yankees will score a run tonight? What's the score in Baltimore?
The Memphis Grizzlies just selected Mike Conley, Jr., No. 4. Smart pick. It's retro night at the NBA draft. The top four overall picks are college basketball players. Three of the four (Horford's the exception) were born in the U.S. and three of the four played in the naitonal championship game (Durant's the exception). This is the first time since 2000 that the top two picks were American-born college players.
Another trend I'm noticing: much more conservative suits on the draft picks. So far, grays and blues amongst the top five picks---Boston just selected Jeff Green of Georgetown No. 5, and I can't think Bill Simmons is thrilled about that; Green is solid, but not someone that speeds up your pulse. Anyway, everyone is dressing like a banker, and I believe it's the players' attempt to distance themselves from Craig Sager.
That Greg Auman has me addicted to the acronyms now.
So Greg Oden goes No. 1, which is neither a surprise nor folly. You look at him and all of his 84 inches (that's more than five inches per year of his life) up on the stage and he's very impressive. In fact, Portland should consider changing their uniforms to pinstriped jerseys.
Let me tell you something about the hoops journalism elite I currently find myself amongst: a nice young man with an accent just asked another person in our row, as he looked at Oden, "Where's he from?"
And Seattle selects Kevin Durant--again, no shock and the smart pick-- second overall. The Oden vs. Durant rivalry is going to make the Pacific Northwest interesting, suddenly. I-5 will be abuzz for years--or at least until the Sonics move to Las Vegas--and the folks in Fords Prairie, nearly midway along the route, won't quite know whom to root for. If you're interested, it's about 175 miles between the two cities.
So who's going to be No. 3? My guess is that Atlanta will select Al Horford. Mike Conley, Jr., is who they should pick, though.
1. Each team gets five minutes per first-round selection; as opposed to 15. But then, the NBA is compelled to hurry it up, because they have all those rounds they must get through (2) as opposed to the NFL, which only has seven. If that logic didn't quite make sense to you...exactly.
The NFL has too much fat everywhere, not just on its offensive and defensive lines.
David Satan, um, Stern, is standing no more than 30 feet in front of me now. I did consider wearing my "Free Amare" T-shirt to the draft, but what with all the international types here, and with "amare" meaning "to love" in Latin, well, I was afraid people would mistake me for Shawn Kemp (the physical resemblance being what it is)
Just arrived. Actually, arrived about half an hour ago but the NBA folks don't have a seat for me. So I had to bogart someone else's. If you see the dude from Eurobasket asking where his seat is, keep it on the DL, okay?
Ran into an old friend and one of the friendliest, if not the friendliest, sportswriter, there is: Jack McCallum. First thing he said to me: "Isn't it funny how nobody cares about the NBA Finals, but everyone is excited about the draft?"
To which I can only reply, "I miss Magic and Bird." Those were Finals that mattered.
Earlier today Greg Auman suggested the first naughty lottery pick anagram: Greg Oden= Engorged.
Not to be outdone (even though Auman, alias G.A., outdoes me daily), here's my first attempt with Kevin Durant:
Kevin Durant=Naked Runt IV
I don't have the energy to attempt Petteri Koponen yet.
Quick thoughts before the first overall selection:
1. You know who won't regret this draft night? The team that selects Joakim Noah . Honestly, I know she's a diva and all, but Noah is built to play an up-tempo game. I pary for his sake that he gets selected by a team that likes to run and has a point guard who knows how to lead a break. And that's not Minnesota, which the USA Today has him going to at No. 6.
2. If you ask me--and you didn't, but it's my blog, so the point is moot--the best pure outside shooter not already in the NBA is also not in this draft. That would be Michigan State guard Drew Neitzel . He's only six foot, though. If I were him I'd go underground for a year, reinvent myself as Boris Kokapokapaloka, claim to be Armenian, and get a lot more buzz for being a Euro.
3. Ernie Banks is Acie Law's uncle? Really? Where was I during the NCAA tournament? Oh yeah, following the Arizona State women's basketball team.
4. CNBC's Darren Rovell is here, just in case anyone from the WWE wants me to perform a citizen's arrest.
5. Mike Conley, Jr. He's my other "You'll never be sorry you drafted him" guy.
6. I'm already beginning to hear whispers that Brady Quinn will not be selected in the first round.
Wow.
Woman was NOT about to let some Paris Hilton story lead her news. Mmmmmmkkkkkkk.
Watch as she spends three minutes trying to burn, rip and toss the script on Paris.
Hilarious.
Noooo, not Bayside High School from Saved By the Bell. Put your Zack Morris phone away!
I'm talking Bayside High School in Virginia. Where the number two QB in the nation attends high school.
E.J. Manuel: "I've come to the conclusion... that for the next four years... I will be attending ________________."
Cheers!
Applause!
Chills!
Smiles!
Click here to find out where oh where this star will be going to school.
I was watching "John Tucker Must Die" the other night--I was just flipping, people! "Scrubs" was on a commercial break--and I came across this lay-up line scene in which Tucker and his teammates discover the magical bouncy qualities that women's thongs provide. They're all wearing thong underwear and leaping as if it's a "Slam Ball" All-Star Game. And I'm wondering, Why don't films hire sports consultants? Or at least hire sports consultants who'll tell a director how he's just nuked the suspension of disbelief amongst his audience.
Sure, the director was going for a little hyperbole, but at that extreme he might as well have just given Tucker body hair and called it "Teen Wolf 3". On the other hand, if John Tucker seriousy has those hops, I'm totally picking him ahead of Josh McRoberts, whose my choice to be "Most Posterized Rookie" in the class of 2007.
Admit it: Wouldn't you love it if Portland chose Kevin Durant, now that Rick Bucher of ESPN has reported that they've notified Greg Oden's agent that he'll be the top overall pick? Wouldn't you love it if the Trail Blazers selected Durant number one overall and when Geoff Petrie was asked how come, he simply replied, "Out of spite."
Bucher may have a legitimate source, but what risk does he take by "reporting" this? Everyone already assumes Oden will go number one, and when he does, what's Bucher going to say? "See, I told you I was right," he'll boast. I might as well brag that I have an unidentified source who tells me that Joe Girardi will become the next manager of the Yankees.
I'll be live-blogging the draft tonight, from the draft itself. Bill Simmons is the acknowledged and deserving master of the NBA draft live-blog, and I don't profess to know or care as much about salary cap issues, "Roadhouse" or The Bravery as he does. All I can offer is that I'll be there and he'll be on his couch. When Stephen A. Smith breaks out the cheezy doodles, I'll have it for you first.
Meg, Claire and To Catch a Predator
Did anyone else see Claire Danes on Letterman last night? I have three words to say about her appearance.
Oh.
My.
God.
If I were Ralph Malph, I'd be biting my open palm. Jordan Catalano must be wincing. Claire wore a form-fitting white dress, a dark tan and golden blonde hair. She looked more like a Wimbledon semi-finalist than an actress. This is Angela Chase??? The transformation she's undergone from her "My So-Called Life" days to now--a span of just 13 years--is, well, Bondsian. And it's been twenty years since she first hit it big with her single, "Tell It To My Heart". What a career.
Tangentially, I asked my actor friend Tom if there's a thespian equivalent to being on steroids ("Look at how he's emoting lately") and he replied that he wasn't sure, but that there may be a literal version of actors-on-roids. I looked at him curiously, and replied, "Did you see Hank Azaria in Along Came Polly ?"
Good point.
Anyway, Miss Danes was absolutely stunning. I give Hugh Dancy about three weeks. I see Timberlake, Jeter and Clooney all moving in on her.
The breakout TV star of the young summer, as far as I'm concerned, is Mel (Kristen Schaal) on Flight of the Conchords . Meg represnts the band's "fan base", and plays the stalker part completely over the top and to great effect. She's so talented, I bet she even makes Ricky Gervais laugh. Mel gets one or two scenes per show, but it's always the most inspired moment in the show. Last Sunday she was riding in the back seat of the car between her idols, Bret and Jemaine, as her husband drove them home from a gig. Forget how funny her lines were; just the sight gag of her squeezed in the back seat between the two Conchords--both of them wearing seatbelts and looking highly uncomfortable--as the front seat of the car was empty (which made it easier to shoot, by the way) was hilarious.
I love Tina Fey, too, but right now Kristen Schaal is the funniest woman on television.
--And, finally, for now, I've always considered G.A. (Greg Auman) to be the fifth Beatle of NBCSports.com. Or perhaps even the George Martin. Once again, today, G.A. provides an invaluable service by pointing out this seemingly innocuous arrest in his Sunshine State netherworld. Check out the name of the accused. Then check out why he was arrested. This needs to be its own hour-long sweeps week worthy To Catch A Predator :
http://www.hcso.tampa.fl.us/pub/default.asp?/Online/qdisp/bn=07041323
Last week I was all "I love New York in June/How about you? I love a Gershwin tune/How about you?" The weather here was perfecto. Gorgeous. The kind of weather that even people from San Francisco couldn't turn their noses up at (or point out to me that I just ended a sentence with a pair of prepositions, though now I haven't due to this parenthetical....love you, parenthetical!).
This week: Awful. Hot and humid. You can feel the weather gathering for a thunderstorm all day, as it becomes muggier and cloudier and yuckier, and you just wish "Damnit, why won't it rain already?" so that the temperature will drop ten degrees and you'll get some reprieve. But, Nooooo! It won't rain until the evening, when you're hoping to go outside and watch a free philharmonic or Shakespeare in Central Park or even just have a beer outside at the White Horse Tavern. Why can't God make the world work the way I want it to?
And the weather (as you can see) makes people bitchy. My mood was not improved by having waited until 11 a.m. to go out for a run today. What was I thinking? Well, first, being that my office is in my home, I skip that rush hour thing altogether by sleeping. And then, at 9 a.m., I feel the scalding reproach of Erin Brunette if I don't tune in to "Squawk On The Street" on CNBC. And then all of a sudden it's 10 a.m., time for morning ablutions and well, someone needs a little more discipline in his life.
On to sports...Here is the best photo of the week. The backstory is that Eastern Illinois University (EIU) has canceled its men's wrestling program due to poor academic performance and, likely, pressure to meet Title IX requirements. So the men's wrestlers had a little demonstration, but this grappler seems to have put a sleeper hold on his own agenda:
http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1275/633630381_e92f1f30c3.jpg
Meanwhile, as I was dying while doing the Central Park loop this a.m., the term "global warming" did enter my mind. And I'm remembering what Sir Take-Your-Pick Attenborough said in the opening moments of the Planet Earth series about how there were 1.6 billion people on the planet a century ago, and now there are four billion (I blame the rock and roll music for that) and I'm wondering if the planet wouldn't be a more liveable place with, oh, about half as many people...and think how much less time you'd have to wait to ride Space Mountain. But anyway, I'm not misanthropic (I'm totally pro-anthropic!) but how many more humans do we need? It's not as if I'd want to boot any specific people (Mel Hall) or groups (Cincinnati Bengals) off the planet, but what if there actually were a lottery (like the short story, "The Lottery") to determine who stays or who goes? Or better yet, Mark Burnett can produce a real-life "Survivor" series. Who wouldn't watch that?
Thought for the day: If the 1970s were the "Me" decade, are the 00's the "iDecade"? Sorry, but theyr'e not quite the Wii Decade.
Also, let's say you've got some time and some money and have a backpackin' jones to head to Europe in the next two months. Where do you go? Let me give you two words of advice for one of the best-kept secrets I've ever experienced: "Scottish Highlands". Seriously. Check it out on the web. Truly magical place.
Just check out these photos of Glencoe, which I find far more picturesque than its Chicago suburban namesake:
http://www.buyimage.co.uk/photonet/highlands/highlands.html
And if you get bored, you can always do a Trainspotting reality tour.
I fear that I'm beginning to ramble. G.A., save me.
For NYC to get any hotter.
Disgusting does not even begin to describe what it feels like today. It is beyond miserable here. After running errands outside, I came home to see why I was on the verge of suffering from a heat stroke.
Right as I turn on the TV, I hear a peppy voice say this: "And at times today, it will feel as hot as 104 or 105 degrees outside. Whew, it's a hot one!"
Thank you Captain Obvious.
This city needs more pools. Ice. Cold. Pools. EVERYWHERE.
This article was sent to me today by a friend.
The email was titled: WOW. A Must Read.
From the article: "The four, including the son of a Disney manager and the son of a Philadelphia civil-rights lawyer, were banned for life from Disney World property late Friday."
So what could these high school soon to be seniors have been doing to get them banned for life from Disney? Apparently they violated the "No Loitering Policy." A policy that has been used to ban people from the area.
"Orange County deputy sheriffs have issued at least 48 trespass warnings at Downtown Disney during the past two weekends since the push against loitering began. Records of those cases provided to the Orlando Sentinel show that 45 of the 46 people banned from Disney for life during the past two weekends were blacks or Hispanics."
The football players had been introduced at a BBQ "as a way for the recruits to form bonds they hoped would last through their college years."
I think after reading the article you can come to your own conclusion. These boys certainly have bonded in a way they probably never expected.
What in the name of Eddie Van Halen is happening? I turn on the CNBC this morning--actually, first I turned to ESPN2 to listen to Mike & Mike, but they are being pre-empted by Wimbledon coverage. So that the first thing I heard this morning when I flipped on the tube was Mary Carillo (THE BEST!) say, "He's getting more and more metrosexual."
I don't even know who she was talking about, but it almost felt as if she were talking to me.
Anyway, here's what I cannot figure. Somehow, before the NYSE (New York Stock Exchange) opens this morning, a share of stock from The Guitar Center (GTCR) (although, if I were the CEO of The Guitar Center, I'd insist that our stock symbol be ROCK....I mean, wouldn't you?) has risen $10, from $50 to $60. That's just insane.
I mean, did every teenager just wake up yesterday and say, "Damn, I DO wanna be Jack White!" You and I can surely recall the early Eighties, when the run-up on synthesizers went bonkers and if you were a lucky shareholder in Synths-R-Us you'd have made a fortune. Of course, hopefully you got out before the first playing of "Smells Like Teen Spirit", which was literally the death knell of that company.
So, if you owned Guitar Center stock before yesterday, congratulations. I don't know how it happened (I'm guessing that they just released an earnings report), but me, I'm staying with the small-business guitar stores on 48th Street here in Manhattan. And, someday, hopefully before I die, I'll be able to play an F chord. For now, I'm still solid on G and C, while e minor is my favorite (and easiest).
( Update: Just learned that some private equity firm purchased The Guitar Center and that's why the stock price is shooting up. I wish I understood how one event influenced the other, but I don't. I just do what Cramer tells me to do.)
Yanks A Lot
In the last eight days the New York Yankees have been redefining low-light with almost every game. There was the three-game sweep at Colorado, who, let's face it, is good. Matt Holliday deserves your All-Star vote. Then the Saturday meltdown in San Fran, when the Bronx Bumblers (thanks, Joe) could not protect Chien Ming-Wang's three-run lead. And only A-Rod seemed to remember how to hit.
Last night, in Baltimore, was a new nadir. The Orioles scored two runs basically because Miguel Cabrera forgot that centerfielders need to be aggressive. With the score tied 2-2 in the 9th, New York brought in Scott Proctor (my vote for the most--if not only--underpaid athlete in pro sports), who proceeded to walk three of the five batters he faced, including the winning run. And it didn't have to be that way, but Proctor, who made a nice diving catch of a sacrifice bunt attempt, lacked the sense to turn and look toward second base, where the lead runner (Corey Patterson) was almost at 3rd base. Proctor could have doubled him up easily and then been in much, much better shape.
New York is 36-38 now. My boss, Joe, like me an inveterate Yankee fan, reminds me that the Red Sox played .500 ball for about three months in 2004, when they won the World Series. So there's that. Me, if I see another Yankee batter hit a weak ground ball to second base (and it's always a lefty....Cano, Cabrera, Abreu) because they're trying to pull a pitch they should be taking the other way, I will scream.
As of yesterday, 16 of the 30 teams in the bigs had a better record than the Yankees. None of them have a bigger payroll. None of them have a worse record (4-13) in one-run games. New York has five players, total, who can pat themselves on the back this season: A-Rod, Jeter, Posada, Wang and Andy Pettite. Everyone else should have to take the subway to work.
As for the draft....I like Durant myself, but I saw Oden on PTI the other day and he was such a likeable, what's the word?, Nerd, that I love him. You cannot go wrong pickind Oden, simply because he's such a solid person: and he's only, what, 18, 19?
On the other hand, for as much as I (and many others) love this up-and-down game as popularized by Phoenix and Dallas and now, Golden State, the past few years, look who's won the last two NBA championships. Two teams with the two most dominant big men in the game: Miami (with weight-loss martinet Shaq) and San Antonio (with Mr. Quotable, Tim Duncan). So the conservative move, and the one Portland is likely to make, is Oden.
By the way, I'll be covering the NBA draft tomorrow. Earlier in the day, I will head to the gym and attempt to bench-press 190 pounds. Hopefully someone will snap a photo of it, and I can show Durant.
In what was an absolute blur, the first stop of the AST Dew Tour was this past weekend in Baltimore, MD.
(You are welcome for the heads up.)
Actually I would've loved to blog all about it. I gladly would've given you up to the minute recaps on all the competitions, the inside deets on superstar Ryan Sheckler, and talked all day long about Shaun White dominating the Skate Vert ramp. However, my home for a week, that would be the Sheraton on Fayette Street, had about as much internet access as one would have on a stranded island. Picture Tom Hanks and Wilson in Cast Away. My man was never going to be able to send an email. And room 1701 was no different, hence no blog.
The shows were great and we covered everything... In spite of having a few rough patches here and there, overall this season is going to be amazing. You are really going to see the progression of the sport, new talent emerge and a strong battle for the Dew Cup among all of the riders.
My thoughts and prayers to Stephen Murray and his family. He had a rough week but he is a strong guy and will pull through. The entire action sports community is behind you... 
And so the next stop is Cleveland, OH. We roll in on July 19th for Prelims and the competition will air on NBC the 21st and 22nd. The USA Network will have shows on at midnight that Friday and Saturday.
*This picture was sent to me by my sister and her boyfriend. They strolled up to a sports bar in Miami and got the guy to turn on the show. She was a little excited to see her sis' mug on the big screen. haha...
Take a moment and go back two Saturday's ago...
Gorgeous summer day.
Hanging out at PANYC- the place I go to you know, touch up my natural blonde.
Reading the paper and come across an article about AIRPORTS. Especially AIRPORTS in New York City.
As I sit with tin foil coming out of my head, I read out loud to all in the salon, that NYC is notorious for delays, cancellations, and carries a huge amount of responsibility if/when the rest of the country feels the affects of flight changes. I then state: "Hmph, I mean I have had some of this stuff but nothing ever that bad."
I might as well have stapled a huge target to my head that read: "JINXED."
Tuesday I pack and hop in the car and head to Newark. I arrive with plenty of time and because I travel often, jump in the Elite Access line, throw my bag on the scale and scan my credit card to get my ticket. At that moment, the jinx put its nasty little hold on my travel plans.
"Miss Simons, your 3:30 flight has been cancelled. The next one available is at 7:30. Have a good day."
Umm... did anyone think to tell me? No. So now, I've got a solid five hours to fill chilling in the airport. Don't know when the last time you got the joy of roaming around an airport for five hours, but you quickly realize your options of entertainment are few and far between.
I eat.
I buy gum.
I buy water.
I sit and wait.
In an effort to not drag you through the torturous delay, my flight wound up actually boarding at 11 pm that night. We took off at midnight. We landed around 1 am. We waited on the runway for another thirty minutes. To top it off, it is raining. Because of some fire marshal order, there is nothing connecting our plane to the gate. We then had to walk through the rain. Sweet.
So 12 and a half hours later, I am in my hotel room ready to go to sleep. All that just to get to Baltimore, MD. I could've taken the train and arrived in under an hour. Wow.
Things I learned:
Airports are freaking loud. The PA system goes non-stop. Try listening to that for 8 and a half hours.
The chairs at the gate are the single most uncomfortable things to sit in. No one sits that straight up and that forward naturally.
It costs a dollar to make a long distance call on the pay phones. I also have no clue on how to use one. Seriously. I tried to help this kid from Norway call his brother, the phone ate my change.
Marianne Pearl is one of the bravest women alive and her husband should be a symbol of all things good in this world. I picked up the book "A Mighty Heart" hoping to get some reading in while waiting. What a story. It hurts your heart and you feel such pain for this woman who in a foreign country and pregnant must hold on to any small glimmer of hope that her husband might come out of the darkest situation imaginable alive.
It is a great great read. I know the movie is out and I've heard wonderful things, but I always like the book versions better. And so in a weird way, I'm thankful for being stuck in the airport and getting the chance to be touched by such a powerful yet tragic story.
(*but I really hope that the jinx is over*)
--Before we begin, am considering a new tagline, but soliciting your advice as to which works better. Do you prefer:
"JDub, putting the 'can' in cantankerous?"
or
"JDub, putting the cant in cantankerous?"
I'm befuddled myself.
So it's late June. The Yankees have lost more games than they've won, we all know that the Trail Blazers are going to pick Oden (Oden, an acronym of "Done", as in deal) who, if Norse mythology were only a little more popular, we'd all be making comparisons to him and his homonymnic equivalent, Odin , the chief god of the Norse deities. According to Wikipedia, Odin...
is also a god of war, appearing throughout Norse myth as the bringer of victory. In the Norse sagas, Odin sometimes acts as the instigator of wars, and is said to have been able to start wars by simply throwing down his javelin Gungnir, and/or sending his valkyries, to influence the battle toward the end that he desires. Valkyries are Odin's beautiful battle maidens that went out to the fields of war to select and collect the worthy men who died in battle to come and sit at Odin's table in Valhalla, feasting and battling until they had to fight in the final battle, Ragnarök. Odin would also appear on the battle-field, sitting upon the leader of the Norse as two ravens on each shoulder, Hugin (Thought) and Munin (Memory), and two wolves (Geri and Freki) on each side.
Mmmm, valkyries. Because back in the days of yore (and myne) the term "BlazerDancers" had not yet been discovered. The Blazers will select Oden because they want to be the Spurs and they've noticed there's this dude named Tim Duncan in the middle. It's a little too early to say if Oden can approach Duncan's talent--Duncan did stay all four years at Wake Forest, I believe--but you can't fault Portland for being seduced by that model. Even though I think Durant may be someone they truly wish they had taken.
Anywhy, the point of all this preamble is to say that we don't need to discuss sports today. Nothing's really happening. Even the last NCAA championship has been claimed (it's an all-Oregon [State] entry today, apparently), meaning there's at least five or six months before the NCAA will even have the opportunity to boot me from a press box for live-bloging.
So what do we discuss? Two men, Jobs and Jacobs.
Steve Jobs I just read the cover story on him by John Heilemanin New York magazine, entitled iGod . As you know, the iPhone comes out this Friday, and I'm only telling you this so that we can discuss stock price. Here's an honest personal anecdote for you: About five years ago I came into some decent cash, thanks to a book I'd written and self-published. Anyway, the thought occurred to me to sink all the loot into Apple (AAPL) stock, since the iPod was just beginning to explode. The stock price of Apple at that time, and this was before the recent 2-for-1 stock split, was around $16.
Prudently (but as you'll see, idiotically), I did not put all my eggs into one AAPL cart. Instead, I bought a few hundred shares at $16 per. And when the stock more than doubled to $36, I happily sold. Fellow Cramericans, repeat after me: "Bulls make money, bears make money, hogs get slaughtered."
However, if only I'd have been more, well, piggish, I'd be a millionaire right now. The stock is now the equivalent of $246 per share from what I bought it at, which is a jump of fifteen times. So, in the inimitable words of my buddy Ruth, "Bob's your uncle."
But I sold. And that's life. And we all have similar stories, right? Anyway, the point is, AAPL stock is currently trading at $123 per share as, on CNBC this very moment, I watch a commercial for the iPhone. And the question is, If you were to throw all the available capital you have into AAPL stock today, four days before the launch date, whether you have $200 or $200,000, what would be your fate a year from now?
Would you consider it the smartest move you've ever made? Or would you be all aboard the S.S. Jobs-tanic, as the Apple wizard's monument to megalomania and excess, the iPhone, becomes known as the huge dud some fear it to be? And, by the way, can we add "Steve Jobs" to the All-Aptly Named Team? I mean, how many jobs has Jobs created in his lifetime, since he and Steve Wozniak began building computers in his garage? Altogether now: "Yea, Capitalism!"
Me, I went back and repurchased AAPL less than two months ago--at $98--and it's already up 25% since then....due mostly to the iPhone hype. I'm not going to throw everything I have into it. But if it comes down to betting on or against Steve Jobs, well, you know what they say about an apple a day. It's good for you.
Feel free to chime in with any of your own personal "I coulda been a portfolio contender, instead of a securiites bum, which is what I am" anecdotes, or your own opinions on whether you should be sitting underneath the AAPL tree this week.
And, finally, here's my favorite quote from Heilemann's piece. It's from Business 2.0 editor Josh Quittner, describing the day that the iPhone was unveiled for the media and their euphoric response to the product: "It was as if we were all participating in a shared consensual hallucination...All these supposedly hard-bitten tech reporters wandering around like they were getting laid for the first time."
Considering they were tech reporters, and that this was a convention of sorts, that probably wasn't far from the truth.
Radical Honesty
There's a terrific piece by A.J. Jacobs in this month's issue of Esquire entitled "I Think You're Fat" (great, provocative title, as well). Jacobs does, as he himself refers to it, a "superficial dipshit job" on a fringe movement called Radical Honesty . The concept, as championed by 66 year-old Brad Blanton, is to tell the truth all the time--not just when confronted with a question, but just whenever a thought occurs to you. As Jacobs writes, "we should toss out the filters between our brains and our mouths."
Jacobs makes himself a lab-rat of radical honesty, walking around and speaking his mind to his wife, his mother-in-law, friends, his nanny ("If my wife left me, I would ask you out on a date, because I think you're stunning"), and even his boss ('I'm annoyed that you didn't respond to our memo earlier," he writes in an email. "But at the same time, I'm relieved, because then if we don't nail one of the things you want, we can blame any delays on your lack of response."). It's hilarious, and it's liberating.
And what you find, as Jacobs did, is that when you are radically honest with people, they will respond in one of two ways. Either they'll come back at you with more candor than they're used to providing--these are people you should become friends with, because they're comfortable in their own skin-- or they'll turn you completely off. Those are people you should avoid. Truth worries them.
Wasn't this always the beauty of Kramer (and, Cramer, by the way) on Seinfeld ? He was so guilelessly honest that it was hard to be offended by anything he said. When he told George's girlfriend that her nose was too big, or when he told the Miss America contestant that she needed a lot more practice, what was the result? Each of them fell for him.
Most of us are Jerrys: we're polite enough and we seek to avoid any conflict. For a month or so Jacobs became a Kramer. And what he discovered is that he was actually communicating with people. Great read.
By the way, AAPL has risen $1.25 per share since I began typing this.
Sorry I've been out of touch the last few days. My flabber was gasted, and I think we all know how painful that can be.
I was feeling fine up until CBS' airing of AFI's 100 Years...100 Movies--10th Anniversary Edition on Wednesday night. And people complain about the BCS polls?!?
Somehow, in ten years, the American Film Voters have decided that The General , a Buster Keaton silent film, has improved from having not made the list in 1997 to being the 18th best film of all time. The Searchers moved up 84 places to No. 12, and City Lights , a Charlie Chaplin classic, another silent movie, jumped 65 places to No. 11.
The African Queen ran aground, dropping 48 spots to No. 65. and Ben Hur was exiled down to the No. 100 spot. What in the name of Casey Kasem was going on?
There were some satisfying moments. Do The Right Thing , which only a week ago received MBP (Major Blog Props), was accorded the No. 96 position, while the movie that beat it for Best Picture Oscar in 1989, Rainman , failed to make the list. But how p.o.'d must Quentin Tarantino have been that his Pulp Fiction , which M. Night I'm-No-Hitchcock-Shammalammadingdong referred to in the show as the "greatest film of my generation", was slotted 18 spots (at 94) lower than Forced Gump , which is one of the more overrated films of all time?
Me, I was just hoping to see at least one of these films make the list: A Few Good Men, Good Will Hunting, either one of these two comedies, Animal House or Caddyshack, and of course, Pants Labryinth. Or Grizzly Man. E.T. made the list, at 24, eight places higher than The Godfather 2. When the AFI major domos saw that, they should have just revoked everyone's voting privileges and told CBS to just air a few more episodes of "C.S.I."
And don't even get me started on how The Sting failed to crack this list. Okay, I'm out.
New Blossary Term
If you're like me, you derive more pleasure out of reading the blogger comments than my actual blog. And so, you couldn't have failed to enjoy when loyal commenter "Anonymoose" self-imploded by 1) making a spelling error on her comment and 2) posting a second comment, acknowledging said mistake, which only served to add to the number of comments, which is the last thing she'd ever want to do.
Anyway, Moose, who does pride herself on being grammatically correct, is prone to a spelling error or two when she works herself into a lather (not unlike me). And since it happens more than infrequently (long-time readers may recall her hailing of John Knowles novel, "A Separate Piece"), we've come up with a term for this phenomenon, one to add to the Blossary--Is anyone compiling the Blossary, I should ask? Maybe I should.
The term: Moosespellings
Who knew that running a marathon, and not particularly well, would invite so many comments? And, as one friend deftly pointed out, I only had to run less than two miles per comment, which is completely worth it.
And, naturally, it got me to musing: What would it take to get an honest reader tally of triple-digit comments (I mean, besides being witty, provocative and amusing, a trifecta I've given up on attempting to achieve). Here are some elements, related to this blog's history, that could work:
1. Run a marathon.
2. Stop in middle of marathon to engage in MMA match against...
3. David Stern, or....
4. Howard Stern, but not...
5. Daniel Stern
6. Run race flanked by Lauren Graham and Helen Mirren
7. Engage in a dance-off with ultimate wedding guest BQQB
8. Write blog topless (wait, I'm doing that right now) in hopes to get early jump on People magazine's "Sexiest Bachelor Alive, '08" nomination.
9. Write frothy compare-and-contrast column on the merits of fledgling surf dramas "John From Cincinnati" (HBO) and "Curl Girls" (LOGO) in which I exhaust every last surfing metaphor from "riding the crest of dramatic series" to "now this is what we mean by channel surfing" to "a pipeline of surfing shows" to "caught in the undertow of summer re-runs" to "that Kate Bosworth sure knew how to wear a bikini".
10. Preemptively announce either that 1) Junior Jabbie is my darkhorse to win the Heisman or 2) Notre Dame is sooooo not worthy of appearing in the Rose Bowl next season...not even when they visit UCLA on Oct. 6.
10. Weep openly about having to serve my three-day court-mandated sentence for aggravated loitering.
A girl can only ask for so much. But you, Dad, are more then I could ever hope for.
Wish I could've been at home, heard the steaks were real good! haha...
Happy Father's Day.
be loving you,
Tiff
It was the best of climes, it was the worst of times.
I'm talking about Saturday's Grandma's Marathon ("World Class Event, Small Town Charm") in Duluth, Minn., in which I and 9,700 or so others took part. It was a perfect day--if you were taking your boat out on Lake Superior, the north shore of which abuts the Grandma's course. But if you were running a marathon...well, as I said, approximately 9,700 runners entered the race but only 6,898 finished. That's nearly 3,000 runners who dropped out, about a 30% attrition rate.
And I was nearly one of them. Simply put, I ran the slowest race of my life, and I probably was not the only one. But I also ran the best marathon I've ever run. I've never actually wanted to quit a marathon before--maybe for a 30-second span or so, but like that lascivious feeling I get whenever I see Helen Mirren appear on a red carpet, it quickly subsides--but this morning I wanted to quit for more than half the race. Remember Mr. T's prediction for his bout with Balboa? He could have predicted the same thing for me this morning. But somehow I kept on going. And (here's the wrap-it-all-up-in-a-neat-little-bo-peep part) that's the lesson of the marathon, after all: it's about the journey and that no matter what befalls you, you have to keep moving forward. You cannot quit.
Damn, was it warm. It was not a PR day, it was a CPR day. It was a day when, by the 20-mile mark, you realize why they call this marathon Grandma's: because most of us were running as fast as one.
Me? I'd run seven previous marathons, all of which I'd done between 2:59 and 3:12. Today: 3:30 on the button. And I'm not even (that) disappointed. Because, when all you want to do for the final thirteen miles, which took me nearly two hours to run, is to quit and you don't, you can feel good about that.
It really was an awesome day, minus the 80-degree heat. Grandma's is a point-to-point course, so you take a school bus out 26 miles east of Duluth to the starting line. I sat next to Pete Hulke, a 52 year-old 3rd grade teacher from Marshfield, Wisconsin, who was a delightful fellow. That's another great thing about marathons. How would I have ever crossed paths with a Pete Hulke, were it not for this race? On eHarmony? And why would Pete and I be matched up? He's married and I'm straight...REALLY!
Anyway, Pete was a seven-time veteran of Grandma's so he immediately showed me to the section of Port-a-Johns that aren't too heavily trafficked. Then he introduced me to four of his running buddies. "Guys, this is John Walker."
'JOHN RUNNER' TO YOU, PETE! (And what is it with "Walker"? Everyone thinks I'm a New Zealand miler.)
Anyway, the race started.The course is gaw-geous! You run along a two-lane highway lined by evergreen pines the first few miles, then you've got Lake Superior on your left for about seven or eight miles. If I were a moose, I'd live here.
I started out strong. 6:24 first mile, 6:31 second. Then it went downhill faster than Chase Wright's outing at Fenway Park (my new standard for sudden and unforeseen disaster, replacing the previous standard, my blind date with Jenny Duick in the summer of '86). By Mile 11 I really thought about quitting. Really. I crossed the half-marathon mark in 1:32, which is respectable, not great, but by then I was being passed more often than a joint at a snowboarders' bonfire. Am I going backward? Am I hallucinating? I must be: I thought I just saw Al Franken cheering us on at about Mile 9 (wait, that really was him).
At more than a few moments between Miles 10 and 18 I felt as if I were toast. Hit the wall? The way Wile E. Coyote runs into rock formations. And yet, at every point where I desperately wanted to take not another step, where I'd hit my Moment of Duluth, well, something kept me going. And it wasn't friends or family cheering me on. Or cute signs. Or even the site of the two muscle-bound, shirtless Hans and Franz types mooning the crowd as if they were God's gift to steroids.
No. It was the realization that some times in life, too many times, in fact, the only thing you can count on is yourself. And you cannot let yourself down.
Certain moments keep you motivated. Every time I'd spot a "Medical Station Drop Out, 200 Feet" sign, an open invitation to succumb to self-indulgence (some might say self-preservation), I'd whisper to myself, "Fork that!" And then I spotted a bedsheet-sized sign that read, "Way To Go (An Ex-Girlfriend's Name), You're No. 1". And that motivated me, too. Maybe there was a lesson or two to be gleaned, as well. A lesson such as, When one reaches a certain age, they cannot expect to be a Flippy Cup champion one Saturday and a marathoner deluxe the next.
As slowly as I was running--as so many of us were running--I felt a sense of release. Time, or a good time, no longer mattered. Survival did. My marathon mantra became that of the Winter Warlock: "Put one foot in front of the other."
It was liberating. I'd never run a marathon with the regular joes. No elite runner, I, but finishing had never been the issue. Beating my previous time had. But now I was with the runners for whom the latter half of the marathon begins to feel acutely like you're reliving the Stations of the Cross. At one point I came across a female runner, about my age, in a yellow tank-top. She had been running well, but now was walking. And, unfortunately for her, she was walking on the opposite side of the street from the water station (the Grandma's volunteers at the water stations are the best, by the way). So I grabbed two waters and brought one over to her (what a nice boy). I felt like Simon of Judea. Or is it Mary Magdalene. One of the two.
For the next few miles I killed time (as well as my quadriceps muscles) by composing thoughts about this blog in my head (surely, somewhere G.A. was mind-melding with me and counter-composing comments). I tried to come up with funny lines, but the fatigue set in and I decided that should I finish the race, funnier quips would come (sadly, no).
By Mile 22, right before Lemon Drop Hill (whose reputation is much worse than its actual slope), I realized that I was going to make it. The lady in the yellow top, who had been walking-then-running with me for about five miles, began to fall back. I ran as slowly as I ever have, but I ran. I never stopped running.
With the help of a great woman from Des Moines, Kathy Hale, I was able to finish exactly at 3:30. Kathy reached me right at Mile 26 and urged me to pick it up so that I could come in under 3:30. The last-fifth of a mile was fast, or fast for me at this point, and though I missed the goal by one second, it was a good feeling to finish strong.
Mostly, though, it was a good feeling just to finish. And to experience a marathon from an entirely different perspective. Hey, nobody forces you to run a marathon, so you deserve no one's pity for attempting one. But if you do, and you feel yourself feeling as many of us did today, the battle becomes taking that next step, knowing that you have five, or ten, or even fifteen miles of next steps ahead of you before you will be able to relax again. That's a long time to have someone's elbow up against your throat. But if you can overcome the pain, if you can keep going when all you want to do is quit, a fantastic reward awaits you.
Free beer.
For Breakfast with Jets Stars Thomas Jones and Andre Wadsworth
For some Fantasy Football dish
And ... if you consider yourself any kind of RED SOX fan.. then
What is a Friday without this weeks Fantasy Baseball...
Goooo to it!
Twelve Moments I'll Remember From Watching the Fourth Quarter (I Could Not Stomach More Than One Quarter Per Game) Of Game 4 of The NBA Finals
1. "Filet O' Fish"
2. Jeff Van Gundy, after Cleveland's Anderson Verajao--the same dude who chose to attempt a finger-roll with the Cavs down 2 in the waning seconds of Game 3-- converts a breakaway dunk, saying, "That's your shot, Andy." It was even better because Van Gundy didn't preface the line by explaining what moment it referred back to. Even Tony Parker's rep hasn't risen as highly in the last month as Van Gundy's. Did you know he was this funny?
3. My buddy Mike's nine year-old son, Finbar, who is obsessed with hoops (and who, by the way, already has his black belt in karate...me no mess with Finbar), asking me if I really think that Ginobili is the third-best player on San Antonio moments before Manu's split-the-defense-lefty-layup-and-a-foul. God, if someone would just tell Manu 1) to stop flopping and 2) about the Hair Club for Men, he'd be one of the most popular players in the NBA.
4. Cleveland's two--not one, but two--unforced turnovers in their own backcourt in the game's final six minutes. I'd get on my 5th & 6th grade team for that.
5. Wondering if Eva Longoria was sitting/standing all by herself.
6. Again, marveling at the fact that in a crucial moment of the deciding game of an NBA Finals, four of the five players that San Antonio had on the court (Duncan, Parker, Ginobili and Oberto) were born outside the United States (Bowen was the fifth Spur on the court). Fourteen years ago I fact-checked a piece by Alex Wolff in S.I. about Toni Kukoc, and the sub-text of the piece was whether a foreign-born player could fit in and help a championship-caliber team. Today I wonder if a team can win an NBA championship without a foreign-born player in the rotation.
7. Watching San Antonio's "time-consuming drive" from about the 4-minute to 2-minute mark and thinking, If they score after all this, it's over. And then Oberto hits the layup.
8. Thinking that, great as he is and as personable and mature as he's come off in this postseason, LeBron seriously needs to work on his jump-shooting form this summer.
9. Wondering if Brent Barry will start reading for the same roles that Viggo Mortensen is up for in the coming months.
10. Watching a moment in the background, that the announcers never commented on, when the game was still very much up in the air. Coming out of a timeout, Verajao spotted the Spurs' Bowen and sort of put his paw on Bowen's bald bean. Was it friendly or was it taunting? Couldn't tell.
11. Wondering whether there was any series in all of the Western Conference playoffs that was as aesthetically displeasing as this one.
12. Realizing that the reaction from the Spurs when the buzzer sounded was more subdued than the one Finbar had after beating me 10-8 in one-on-one an hour earlier on the McCollow's backyard hoops court. Not that Finny's victory was an upset, either, but at least I didn't need a bailout call from the refs on a stuffed three-pointer in the final moments to even make it interesting.
This week I am fully cloaking myself in the blogger lifestyle. Step 1: Live in the basement of someone else's home.
Step 2: Freeload, which includes eating their food.
Step 3: Don't shave.
Step 4: tay up too late watching terrific time-capsule films from your youth after everyone else has gone to bed.
I'm in Minnesota, cherry-picking the generosity of my friends Mike & Katie, becoming in essence their fourth (and least mature) child. Their "What About Bob?" single friend who's baby-stepping toward conquering his fears of intimacy, maturity and just plain getting on a bus to Lake Winnipesaukee. Mike & Katie are like every married couple you know, except way cooler and much, much funnier. And too generous. If It's possible to be adopted by a couple that's younger than you are, I hope we can make it happen.
We're in the Twin Cities, as opposed to New Hampshire. There's nothing as whole-heartedly American as the Midwest in the summertime. This morning, for example, we found an injured bunny (lame right back paw) in the backyard and are desperately attempting to nurse it back to health. By the way, in case this situation should ever befall you: Animal Control will put the bunny down; Humane Society will do rehab...that is, if their vet is one of the bunny's primary caregivers.
(Update: The HC is going to give the bunny two days, pumping it full of steroids--and one hopes, greenies--in an attempt to nurse it back to health. We are relieved.)
Excuse me, by the way, but can we strike "care-giver" from the English language? Does that make my mom a "domestic lifetime care-giver"?
Anyway, about the late-night screenings. The first was on Tuesday night/Wednesday morning: Say Anything . The second was last night/this morning: Do The Right Thing .
A friend of mine recently asked me what's my favorite New York City movie: I have five, appearing in no particular order:
1. Annie Hall : Because it's as well-written and creative as a film can be, and it captures the essential fear-of-commitment/narcissism that so many of us New Yorkers unfortunately have.
2. Metropolitan : It's talky, but also very funny and sweet. And because I used to teach at an Upper East Side prep school and these characters remind me of a lot of my former students.
3. After Hours Adroitly captures the unlimited potential for thrills (and catastrophe) that any night in New York City can offer for a single guy.
4. Warriors Is this where Spike Lee got his idea for the deejay as narrator?
5. Do The Right Thing See below.
I wrote "in no particular order", but "Annie Hall" and "Do The Right Thing" are in a class by themselves. If you haven't seen DTRT in awhile--and I'd never seen it since its summer release in 1989, just weeks before I initially moved to New York--you forget what an outstanding job Spike Lee did as a director...and he wasn't even a half-bad actor.
DTRT could have been adapted from a Broadway play--the entire film takes place on Stuyvesant Ave. in Brooklyn-- and the characters are unbelievably rich: The Mayor, Radio Rahim, Buggin' Out, and my personal favorite, Sweet Dick Willie, who is as real as anyone I've ever come across in New York.
Everything about this movie is memorable: the building tension of the racial riffs, broken up by the hilarity of such scenes as when the white dude in the "Bird" T-shirt (magnificent touch) accidentally steps on Buggin Out's Air Jordans. There's topics way ahead of their time--one of the two men who sit under an umbrella with Sweet Dick Willie talks about the polar ice caps melting, for example.
And some of the actors whom were virtual unknowns at the time: Samuel L. Jackson, Martin Lawrence, John Turturro. The script is outstanding, as are the insights and the creative flourishes (the cathartic scene in which different characters look into the camera and spew racial epithets, or even the opening that pulsates with "Fight The Power" and Rosie Perez's dancing).
And here's one more nugget for you: The Eye-talian dude who drives his Chevy convertible down the street and has it doused by the dudes who've uncapped the fire hydrant? That's Frank Vincent, better known to you and I as Phil Leotardo from "The Sopranos". So, yeah, it's been a bad vehicular week for Frank Vincent characters in the borough of Brooklyn.
Looking back at what won "Best Picture" in 1989, I see that it was Rain Man . It's a terrific movie. But after watching "Do The Right Thing" again last night, I think Spike Lee's flick is the better film. And that's the double truth, Ruth!
A Quick Word On San Antonio's NBA Championship
If I had a vote for NBA Finals MVP, it would be for Robert Horry. And if you have to ask, you must not read this blog very often.
What you should know: My Grandfather is the biggest Houston Astros fan out there. (As well as a fan of the Cubs -growing up his hometown team - and the Cardinals. Poor guy is having a rough season.)
When this took place: Last night, on the phone, discussing Roger Clemens return to NY.
What was said:
Tiff: "Grandpa, were people mad that Roger came back to NY?"
Gramps: "Ohh no. He's not really that well liked around these parts."
Tiff: "Really?"
Gramps: "No. He kind of did whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. New York can have him!"
And that's that.
Sunday marked the one year wedding anniversary of a couple I went to high school with. They live here in NYC, (small Vero Beach, FL is slowly taking over the Big Apple.) They invited a few friends to hang out, grill, and celebrate 365 days of matrimonial bliss. Which sounded great... 
Suddenly a bird flies over our heads and gives a nice 'how-do-you-do?' onto one of the guys hanging out with us. Everyone got a good laugh, and I said: "Hey, that means good luck!" Where I come from, this is a widely known and often believed saying. And it happens to everyone.
*Mom-remember at Disney World? Your hair? While we were on Dumbo? Total blessing in disguise right?
Moving on... only a mere ten minutes later a scene from Hitchcock's THE BIRDS erupted and all 500 of those suckers came at us. Guess who got bombed on next?
Yours. Truly. Everywhere, thank you very much. Of course the obvious (and way to easy joke) was: "Who has all the luck now?"
So as I read this article today, my instant thought was: "Now here's someone who could really use a little 'extra' in the lucky category."
I mean you lose your job and THEN you get into an accident and hurt your hand, possibly your throwing hand at that? Help a guy out and lets send some birds down to Miami...