SHOETOPIA

Anyway, Ohonme talked about how he was given a pair of shoes when he was a child in Africa and how it gave him hope. He explained that that by walking barefoot children are exposed to much more disease and infection, and that these are boys and girls who live in conditions where medical help is not readily available. Shoes are not accessories in such conditions; they can be lifesavers. Think about that the next time you go buy a pair of Crocs just because you like the color.

Ohonme's idea is both terrific and contagious. As is his spirit. Listening him talk about Samaritan's Feet with the three TNTers was more uplifting than most sermons you could have heard yesterday. It's no surprise that when the segment wrapped, Barkley extended a hand to Ohonme and said, "You're a good man."

That he is. If you want to make a donation to Samaritan's Feet, click here.

The Strangers

If you have yet to see the trailer for "The Strangers", a horror flick that opens on May 30th, well, whoa. Watching it is like channeling a nightmare. I don't even know how the movie, starring Liv Tyler and Scott Speedman, can be any spookier. This may be the most primally scary flick since "Blair Witch Project", and like that film this one purports to be "inspired by true events" (which does not mean that what you are watching ever actually happened) and has a well-crafted web site. On the site you are told the names of the victims, the night of the incident (February 11, 2005) and even the address of the house where they stayed, though no state or town is ever provided.

If you get a chance--and if it is daytime--take a look at the trailer and the "Experience" link as well.

This film could very well be the sleeper hit of the summer. It acts on a premise you're familiar with from the very first time you were afraid to open the closet door in your bedroom late at night because you wondered what was on the other side. Basically, the idea is that some things that go bump in the night really are out to get you.

A few more observations, added here late at night:

1) This is not new territory. Truman Capote's "In Cold Blood" revolves around the true story of the Clutter family, a Kansas farming family who were all killed in their own home on an otherwise peaceful Saturday evening in the autumn. That the story is true always made it more terrifying. I've always thought the first 40 or so pages of that book, even though the murders themselves are not described until the end of the book, were not to be read if you're alone at night. "Helter Skelter", based on the Manson family murders, is another example of real-life home invasion murders that are terrifying.

And if you spend some time reading message boards about this film, you'll see that there's a lot of interest among creepo types (I guess I cannot exclude myself) about a real-life unsolved series of murders from 1981, the Keddie Resort murders. Google it if you wish.

2) Halloween. Scream. The Strangers. Horror-flick killers are always scarier if you cannot see their faces. That's what made the Blair Witch so uber-scary: you never even saw any part of her. So how come we are not more scared of mascots?

3) This is going to sound stupid, but there's an episode of "The Dick Van Dyke Show" that scared me out of my wits once. In the episode Rob and Laura Petrie go to a cabin in the woods with two other couples. Then, one by one during the evening, various members of the party mysteriously vanish until only Rob is left. Turns out that it was supposed to be part of a "Candid Camera"-style (or, if you're below 35 years old, "Punk'd") gag at Rob's expense, but until the "gotcha" moment, it was honestly creepy.

Fast Times at Heritage Hall

Let me be blunt. Why does Mike Garrett still have his athletic director job at Southern Cal? In June Reggie Bush, who as a Trojan tailback became the school's most recent Heisman Trophy winner exactly 40 years after Garrett was its first playing the same position, must provide a deposition regarding the lawsuit he is facing. Lloyd Lake, a sports marketer, is suing Bush for $291,000 that he claims he gave Bush while he was a "student" at USC.

Exactly how dirty is all of this? In February Lake was scheduled to give a deposition, but he and his attorney, Brian Watkins, walked out after encountering Bush's attorney, David Cornwell. An unidentified man accompanying Cornwell opened up his jacket to reveal a gun.

And then there's O.J. Mayo, the details of whose story will eventually come out and be every bit as seamy as Bush's.

But Bush and Mayo are just pawns of avarice. How do you explain the video of Pete Carroll's son, Brennan Carroll, overseeing a recent Trojan walk-on tryout. I wish that I could show this to you, but it has been pulled. When I first saw it, I thought it must be a spoof. It looked like something Mad TV would have sponsored, not PeteCarroll.TV (which is where it first ran).

Highlights of the video were 1) Brennan finding three different ways to wear his visor, 2) Brennan dissing former USC walk-on Ben Malcolmson, who made the team in 2005 while trying out as a first-person piece for "The Daily Trojan", and 3) Brennan ordering prospects to run the 40 two men at a time, but then being reminded by a fellow Trojan assistant that he doesn't have a stopwatch. "That's alright," says the younger Carroll, "I'll keep the times in my head."

Sometimes the apple, it seems, is rocket-launched away from the tree.

Isn't anyone at Troy embarrassed by all of this? Or does it not matter as long as Pete Carroll can still put five guys into the first round of the NFL draft?

Tumbleweed Recreation Center

I'm in Chandler, Ariz., for a few days, visiting family. Today my two septuagenarian parents and I went for a workout together (!) at a beautiful new city-operatied facility with the desert-ready name of "Tumbleweed Recreation Center". I love that.

My gym in Manhattan has half the size and facilities of this place, and costs $165 per month. The Tumbleweed Recreation Center costs $300 per year. Then again, at my NYC gym there's always the chance that Barney from "How I Melt Your Mother" will be in the locker room, which would be legend--wait for it--ary.

And how does this relate to Mike D'Antoni, you ask? Or even if you did not ask. This afternoon I visited a gym in suburban Phoenix, a state-of-the-art facility in a decent area (Leinart throws his hot tub parties not two miles away), that costs a member $25 per month. And then I rented an economy car down the road for the most economical price of $29 per day.

In New York City, where I live, that gym would cost me $165 per month and the car never less than $65. So, Coach, you may have bristled under owner Robert Sarver and somewhat meddling GM Steve Kerr (who, you must be remember, was only a rookie in this GM game this past season). But you've traded them in for James Dolan, who must be the worst owner in sports, and Donnie Walsh, a terrific GM.

In terms of players, you've gone from an A-minus to an F-plus (the "plus" due to David Lee and Jamal Crawford).

Financially, you'll be going from about $4.2 million per year to $6 million per year, but if my two examples of cost-of-living are worth extrapolating, New York is at least 50-75% more expensive than Phoenix. And then there are the number of sunny days. And the matter of landing at Sky Harbor as opposed to the Westchester Airport. Oh, and New York's state and city income tax.

It's not that, as a Suns fan, I'm bitter to see D'Antoni go. I'm really not ("he does sound bitter, though, doesn't he, Martha?"). I've resigned myself to the "Setting Suns" aspect of this current era of the franchise, as Bill Simmons wrote so encyclopedically about a week or two ago. With Chris Paul ascending and the Lakers being the Lakers, Phoenix wasn't about to sniff an NBA Finals in the next five years. And maybe that is why D'Antoni left. It's a lot easier to get to the Finals out of the East and coaching in the league's most vital market.

Still, from a financial standpoint D'Antoni did himself no favors this weekend.

By the way, for future trivia, it is worth noting that in his last home game as Suns coach, D'Antoni got himself tossed from a game in which Phoenix was up by 20 points at the time.

Tally Ho to the Valley Ho!

Once a year six or seven of my high school buddies (a.k.a. "The Gang") and I get together to insult one another and play "Flippy Cup". (Insult example: Our friend Chob, for reasons unbeknownst to us but we assume it to have something to do with his fleet of hair-care products, checked a bag on his flight from San Francisco to Phoenix for a two-day stay. Of course the airline lost his bags, and so Chob and our friend Zach, it is rumored, waited for his bag at one of the many fine gentleman's establishments that envelop Sky Harbor Airport. All of which led to this exchange between two others from our group:

"Chob and Zach went to a strip club."

"So that's the second time today he's had his bag checked."

"And mishandled."

This past weekend we did the trip in our hometown of Scottsdale. As we all grew up here, we know the area fairly well. Still, we were pleasantly surprised by the hotel we picked. When we were teenagers the Valley Ho, which opened in 1956, was a derelict dump, way past its prime, on the western fringe of downtown Scottsdale.

In the past five years or so, though, the owners have poured millions and millions of dollars into a renovation, turning it into a Rat Pack-wannabe hangout. The gift shop sells only CDs by Sinatra and Dean Martin, for example, and the cocktail lounge, ZuZu, looks like something out of The Jetsons. You walk through the lobby and you feel as if the theme song from "I Dream of Jeannie" should be playing in the background.

The Valley Ho is the scene, in short, and we were totally out of our league there--but loving it (and if you have a drink at ZuZu, you can only hope that the fabulous Patty will be your cocktail waitress). First, the sign out front drew no shortage of young lovelies to stand next to it and pose for photographs. Specifically, the lassies stand next to the latter word and hike up the skirt to expose a lot of leg. It's as if everyone wants to have the sluttiest Facebook homepage these days, isn't it?

Then there's the pool area, where you have to show your room key just to be let in. On Saturday afternoon it was something right out of "Entourage", with a deejay and a bar and, no kidding, a drug dealer who was blatantly unconcerned about sticking out like a sore thumb, which he was (then again, so were we five 41 year-old men). You couldn't miss this dude. Had to have weighed 350 pounds, all tatted up, walking around with a huge black backpack and talking up his homeys. And when he was finished working, he even took a dip in the pool. You have to admire that kind of spunk.

(I know, I know. I am literally a buzzkill.) 

Anyway, the Valley Ho almost makes visiting Phoenix between Memorial Day and Labor Day worthwhile. Almost.

P.S. On Sunday morning my parents, Bill and Phyl, drove up to Scottsdale to pick me up at the Ho. In order to make it easier for them, I phoned and told them that I'd be standing on the corner of the intersection just outside the hotel waiting for them. So I'd be easier to find. And my mom, whom I love, asks, "What are you wearing?"