49 Years Of Ambition

Some cocksucker decided to make a right turn from the far left lane and smashed into me on November 19th. I was driving to work, but my mind was on my task upcoming the next day: my first time as clock operator for the NBA G-League Memphis Hustle. I was so nervous. I had been trained to operate the clock one time, and I was told that due to staff shortages, I would be the man in charge of the clock by myself the next time I came to Southaven, MS, where the Hustle play. It was thrilling but a little stressful that I would have such a responsibility so early in my newest sports occupation on the stat crew of the NBA Memphis Grizzlies. That worry and stress got slammed out of me by the Mexican kid who sideswiped me. I mean, he didn't even slow down when I hit my horn, just kept turning as if no one was there and hit me so hard that I had a bump on my head. I let out a loud "Fuck!", pulled over to the side of the intersection that the moron presumably was trying to turn down. He had to U-turn and come back, and when he did, he and some young girl, maybe his sister, got out of the car. The girl was in tears, probably scared shitless because she was in the passenger seat and got the brunt of the crash. I asked them for insurance information, and the girl showed me her cell phone and a man's name texted out, which is not what I asked for. Finally, their parents or whoever arrived and showed me insurance information, which had three names listed under insured drivers, none of which were the name that the girl showed me on her phone. So I kind of knew I was fucked. The father had the nerve to try to laugh it off, saying to me, "Ay man, I'm sorry about what happened. But hey, stuff happens, right?" I had been doing well holding my tongue, but at that comment, I had to say to him, "Tell him to watch out." He's lucky I'm a different cat, because someone else may have had a different reaction.

The accident situation is still in limbo. I filed a claim through their insurance, but it's been almost a month and they don't want to continue the investigation until they communicate with the guy who hit me, and it appears that family isn't interested in talking. So I went ahead and got my car into a repair shop, which I didn't want to do because I have to pay a $500 deductible to get the repairs done through my insurance. I wanted that guy's insurance to pay for everything because I wasn't at fault, but if they're going to drag forever, then I had to go forward getting my ride fixed because my wife and I spent a week using only her car, and it was very, very, very difficult on both of us. I'm going to wind up paying for that deductible and also for the difference between the actual repairs and what my insurance company quoted, and while that completely sucks, it wasn't realistic that I thought I would come away not paying anything. This was my first accident, so I didn't know the other company would screw me around so much. Lesson learned.

Now that I got that nightmare out of the way, I can proudly report that, yes, I am now an employee of the NBA in addition to Major League Baseball. The Grizzlies put a lot of job listings out there before this season began, but none of them pertained to my specialty, which is statkeeping. So I went on the Grizzlies official website to look under their job listings, and lo and behold, there was an opening for stat crew that they had not made public on Indeed.com, but there it was, right there with all the other jobs they had listed such as maintenance and security and usher and food court. I can't believe this is my life, but the day they called to set up an interview, it was my first day in Montego Bay, Jamaica, on vacation with my wife, so I had to set it up for a week later. But we finally talked, and they explained to me that the stat crew job wasn't something they publicized because they had a lot of people come in who thought they could work on stat crew but were mostly just fans who wanted a job with the Grizzlies and weren't really qualified to do what it takes. That explanation made perfect sense. It's why I take such pride in my scorekeeping duties with baseball and with the company that hires me to work college football. I know how difficult it is to be still and pay attention and do those jobs efficiently, and my experience (along with having someone already on the Grizzlies stat crew vouch for me because they also work in the Redbirds press box with me) made the right impression, and I was hired. Look at me, kinda sorta networking!

This being my rookie season, I have not worked any actual Grizzlies games yet. I was told that I would work G-League Hustle games almost exclusively in my first year until I proved that I knew what I was doing. I had no problem working my way up. I was only supposed to be clock operator for one game after being trained, and afterwards, I would start training to be a stat inputter, which can be hectic and difficult but presents a challenge I want to conquer. But someone on the scorer's desk got sick, and in all of the scrambling and moving people around to replace her, they gave me three more games to work the clock, which I took as a good thing because if I wasn't doing it right, they wouldn't give me more games. I actually love working the clock because there's a sense of controlling the game that appeals to me, and once you know the timekeeping rules to which you have to adhere, it's a pretty easy gig. It's a lot less stressful than stat inputting. The morning that I worked my first game, they kept asking me if I was nervous, and I kept telling them, hey, some doofus just hit me yesterday morning, so whatever happens today won't be anymore horrifying than that. The accident really did knock the stress out of my first day as timekeeper. It was a morning game, so there were lots of schoolkids in attendance on class field trips. My favorite part of the day was sounding the horn indicating the end of halftime and the start of the second half, which the kids clearly were anticipating because the shrieks they let out were piercing. I was like, wow, I've never had this much power in my entire life.

I feel like I am finding ambition now that I have worked my way into positions in all three of my favorite sports. I recently saw a clip of President Obama discussing how unimpressive some people are who have very high status in society. He got to meet all of the heads of state, very powerful people, very rich people, highly educated people, and some of them made the impression that they're not all that intelligent or talented, but got placed in positions of prestige due to connections. And I felt that. It reminded me of my days in junior high school on the Gold Coast of Chicago, rubbing elbows with kids whose parents were very rich and powerful. Some of those kids were really bright, some of them were not the sharpest bulbs. But when you have a leg up socially, you feel like you're entitled to anything. I have felt very not entitled to anything in my life, and I was feeling especially low a couple years ago when I tried to find other work and got scammed. But then the college football gig came along, then the baseball, and now the basketball, and it doesn't stop there: there's a new data company hiring for college basketball, and their compensation is about as high as one could imagine, and they desperately want someone for Memphis Tigers games. You damn right I applied for that as well. I don't know where my limit is as far as how much side work is too much, but I feel like I might shortchange myself if I don't go for every opportunity that I can. And I have passed on some potential gigs because the timing didn't feel right or the pay. But I don't think it would be too much to work some pro basketball games and mix in some college games, and then when those seasons end in April, it will be time for baseball again. Some people who work these gigs do way more games than that, because they also do college and youth sports. I really don't feel like I'm biting off more than I can chew. If anything, I'm making up for the previous 49 years in which I didn't feel good enough to try for any of these hustles. I am motivated, I am determined, and most of all, I am grateful as hell to have these chances in sports. My uncle texted me: "So proud of you. You're living your dream!" And he's right. That fat black boy from the West side of Chicago could never have seen these opportunities in his future because he didn't have the connections of the rich and powerful or any other connections. Took a minute, but I'm finally making it happen.

The Closest I've Ever Come To Being A Member Of An Athlete's Entourage

The story's not very exciting, but I want to tell it anyway because it's funny.  It's more of another example of the kind of people my father co-mingles with, and why I have always tried to avoid him and them.

First, some basketball information that's germane to the whole deal:  Here in Memphis, the Grizzlies have made it to the NBA Western Conference Finals, where they play the San Antonio Spurs.  The winner of the seven-game series gets to play in the NBA Finals, most likely against LeBron James and the World champion Miami Heat.  Game 1 of the Memphis-San Antonio series was Sunday afternoon.  Being a moderate basketball fan and having a wife who's a big Griz fan, I knew of the Grizzlies when I moved down here, but they've found a higher realm of success ever since I arrived, which has to be correlative, of course.  This is the farthest the franchise has ever gone, and two years ago, they beat the Spurs in the playoffs, so the city is quite hyped, anticipating more success and a possible meeting with LeBron and company.  But I have heard of most of the players, and I guess that makes me more knowledgeable about the team than the average person.

So my dad left a voice mail Sunday while I'm working, and there's a female on the line with him.  "I got someone here who wants to ask you about someone on the basketball team down there," my dad growled, and then the woman, who sounded cheery and middle aged, started in.  "Hi there!" she said.  "My nephew's son is Tony Allen, and he plays basketball for the Memphis...uh...Grizzly?"  I was already rolling my eyes at the fact that she could barely spit out the correct team name, meaning she probably doesn't know Allen all that well.  But I believed she was a relative because I know enough about Allen to know that he's indeed from a rough Chicago neighborhood.  She went on to say, well, a bunch of stuff thinly connected to each other, intoning that she believes she'll be invited to Allen's upcoming wedding and that she might want to visit Memphis before then.  My dad chimed in, "Yeah son, we might come down there."  I honestly don't know how I was supposed to react to this or what I was supposed to do about it, but I went back to work with the intention of calling my dad back later to explain to him that just because I'm from Chicago and live in Memphis and Allen's from Chicago and plays for Memphis doesn't mean that we have ever met or that I could add any insight about him.

I called my dad Sunday evening, and told him just that, and he seemed to understand that I have nothing in terms of information about Allen or his wedding, which I had heard nothing about before this woman's voice mail.  Then, right as it sounded like my dad was going to hang up, he got the idea to three-way call this woman so that she could get the straight dope from me.  I thought this was not a good idea because I anticipated doing nothing but disappointing this woman, who seemed very eager to find an "in" to Allen, something I didn't have.  But I hung in there while my dad rang her up, and she was very happy to hear from me, as if an appliance of hers broke down and she called a repairman on voice mail and the repairman was actually calling her back with all the answers.  She repeated her story about her nephew's son being Tony Allen and playing for the "Grizzly," then she showed her hand by breathlessly stating, "And I heard he's a millionaire!"  I told her that I'm sure he is, since he's been playing in the NBA for about eight years, and while he's not a big star, he's a solid role player who probably makes about two or three million dollars per year.  She then kept adding layers to the narrative that showed how distant she really is from Allen, such as she's not close with her nephew's part of the family, and she hasn't talked to Allen in years, and the speculation that she's going to be invited to Allen's wedding is just that.  She then asked about the price of flying to Memphis, which is a high price due to the ban on discount airlines in Memphis because Memphis is a Delta hub (a ban which will be lifted this summer when Southwest Airlines comes in), then she went to an even lower level when she wondered if a different family member who works at O'Hare Airport as a government travel safety agent could get her some kind of discount.  At that point I realized that I was dealing with a loser who latched on to my dad when she found out that his son lives in Memphis, thinking that this son could facilitate a connection to a rich pro athlete to whom she happens to be related.  "Maybe we'll come in for like a weekend vacation!" she chirped.  "How much are hotels?"

I got a good laugh out of the whole conversation once we hung up, but then I realized how many talks just like that must occur on a given day for an athlete.  This is Tony Allen we're talking about, someone 99% of the world's never heard of.  How many calls does LeBron field?  Or Kobe Bryant, who's in court because just a couple of weeks ago his own damn mother tried to sell some of his memorabilia?  How many North Carolina gap-toothed hilljacks have tried to contact Michael Jordan throughout the years?  Some poor teenager tried to put out a YouTube video last year claiming that he's an illegitimate son of Jordan and that he didn't want money, just a father to care for him.  Since no one puts out a YouTube video claiming to be a rich man's son without wanting money, the scheme quickly unraveled and it became clear that he wasn't Jordan's kid.  But it was interesting to be on the receiving end of one of those calls.  There was a sense of desperation in that woman's voice when she spoke to me, as if she was searching for some piece of glory that was way out of her reach, and that she was thrilled to think that I could provide a road map to that piece.  It made me feel a little put upon, but nothing like what poor athletes who find themselves instantly rich must feel every single day.  No wonder so many of them wind up broke, even after making tens of millions of dollars during their careers.  There's a corollary in there about how many of us lined up at the Powerball windows this past weekend looking a piece of glory despite the unbelievable odds, and how it connects to some blonde chick on CNN tsk-tsking us for buying lottery tickets because her father taught her that the lottery is just "a tax on the poor."  But I'm not intelligent enough to figure it all out.  I bought lottery tickets too.  So did my wife.  We're still looking for that piece of glory.

We're All Eternally Saved Because LeBron Lost The Finals, Or Something

I'm chilling here at home, enjoying my three days off in a row that I get thanks to my new job. It gets boring, just like it would any time I had a three-day weekend where I didn't go anywhere. But I have to admit, the adjustment to squeezing a 40-hour work week into four days instead of five has been quite enjoyable. When Sunday evening comes and I know I'm off work for the next three days, it's a tremendous feeling. Those four work days seem to fly by. I couldn't do it without my iPod and the sports talk shows that I listen to every day. If not for that, I would lose my shit counting checks ten hours a day.

And what have I been hearing on those talk shows all week? How can LeBron James choke so bad? What's wrong with him? Why can't he perform in the 4th quarter of games? Was he shrinking under the pressure? It's really starting to piss me off.

For you non-sports fans, LeBron and the Miami Heat made it to the NBA Finals a couple of weeks ago, but thanks to their poor play in close games, they just lost the Finals to Dallas this past Sunday. They did not look like the same team that made it to the Finals. James, Dwyane Wade, and the rest of the Heat used smothering defense and seemingly unstoppable offense to dispose of their three prior playoff opponents in five games for each series. They played tight with the Mavericks in Game 1 of the Finals before disposing of them, then they wiped the floor for all of Game 2 except the last five minutes, when Dallas mounted a big comeback and stole the game late. Miami went to Dallas and promptly took Game 3, but the Mavs were able to win a very tight contest in Game 4 before opening up the tempo and getting as hot shooting the ball as I've ever seen a team in the Finals and beating the Heat in Games 5 and 6. If I were assessing blame for losing the Finals, and by the way, I actually watched each game, I'd put LeBron's share at about 8-10%. He certainly could have forced his way into the lane more using his size, and he could have stayed a little tighter with his man on D, usually Jason Terry, who just lit it up from 3-point land. But by no means was it mostly his fault that Miami didn't win. It was mostly Dallas was hotter than the sun shooting the ball, and no team maybe in the history of the game would have beaten them.

The criticism that LeBron has received in this series, and all season in fact, is unfair. I have to say that it's incredible how much hate and venom he's gotten for making his Decision to leave Cleveland last year and go to Miami via free agency. Let's assess what LeBron did in the simplest terms possible: He played seven years for the Cavaliers, attained free agency, and left to go to a team in a better position, in his opinion, to win the NBA title. He left via free agency, an act done by dozens of guys every single fucking year. He went to a better team! That's it! This became a crime of the highest order when, exactly? Oh, sure, his hour-long ESPN special covering his Decision live was tasteless. His term of "taking my talents to South Beach" was very arrogant. His public persona has been that of a man who seems to think that he owns the world. But he has. He has been The King in his own world since he was in his mid-teens. It would be shangri-la if someone who was a prodigy at an early age was humble and self-effacing so that we could feel a little less small when we see him. But that's not reality. The fact is, almost every single athlete at the top of his profession feels and acts more than a little entitled on a daily basis. I don't have a problem with LeBron's behavior or attitude at all. His ego and arrogance has been covered and dissected in public nonstop only because he's the best of the best. Most of his peers in the NBA are just as much a prick. But we don't know that because we don't cover them as closely because they're not as good as this guy is. In fact, think of the ballers in the modern era of "sports journalism" who have been covered as much as LeBron. Shaq. Kobe. Michael. Magic. Bird. Dr. J. Barkley. Maybe Rodman, who wasn't the player those other guys were but got an enormous amount of press because he's certifiably batshit. Tell me what they have in common. That's right, we can go through each and every one of their personal lives and find public shaming and shortcomings and instances of ego and extreme arrogance. All of them. This applies to the other sports and their "heroes" too, but I don't feel like going through the list. LeBron's no different. He doesn't even seem (admittedly from this very far distance) any more arrogant than anyone else, especially the guy he's constantly compared to, Michael Jordan, possibly the biggest dick in the history of team sports. He is just being covered as the best baller in the game today, which he is, and the expectations of the best baller in the game is that he should take out his cock and whip everyone with it anytime he wants and win games by himself. But that's just not his style. So, to recap--he's hated because people perceive him as selfish and uncaring about anyone else, then his game is hated because he's not selfish enough. Makes my head spin.

Oh, and the criticism of his actual game is weak. Again, he's not dominating the way his physical dimensions and basketball skills suggest he should. But everyone invokes the name of Michael Jordan when they criticize LeBron. "He's not mentally tough. Jordan woulda taken over those games. Jordan wouldn't let his teams lose without taking a bunch of shots." THAT'S NOT LEBRON'S GAME DUMBASSES!!! Sheesh. LeBron's obviously been learning a different way to play ball all his life. You know, passing, rebounding, doing things to help his team win other than trying to shoot every single time he touches the orange. In other words, he ain't Jordan. He's pretty fucking far away from being Jordan. And the media and other observers have no idea how to handle the concept of the best player in the NBA not being a guy who takes 30 or 40 shots in a game. The other wing players who have been as talented as him--Jordan, Kobe, and the others who aren't quite as talented but think they are--all loved to jack up shots whenever they could. He's a different player, period, more Magic or Scottie Pippen than Mike or Black Mamba. And that's not a bad thing. That's not a lack of killer instinct necessarily either. I get the feeling that LeBron wants to win just about as bad as the other greats, outside of Jordan, who in addition to being the biggest dick in the history of team sports was also the most determined winner in the history of team sports. LeBron just wants to win differently than people expect him to win. And because he shouldn't get to be the player he wants to be, people just throw it into the same "He's arrogant, he's selfish" pile as they throw his attitude, or perceived attitude. And one more observation from me about James's game, and again, I'm just an outside observer like everybody else--man, he needs to learn a post game fast. He seems to be hugely reluctant to play with his back to the basket and post up his defender. There was a point in Game 6 where the Dallas defense got caught switching, and Jose Juan Barea, a point guard who gives up almost a foot of height and 100 pounds of muscle to LeBron, wound up guarding him. I'm sure everyone thought the same thing I did, which was Oh shit, LeBron's about to take this midget right to the bucket! And what happened? LeBron couldn't figure out how to post him up without shoving him down, and he picked up an offensive foul. No excuse for that. I'm not pounding him and calling him weak and saying he's a fraud. I'm giving a legit critique of one aspect of his game. Can he win a title without developing his post game and his midrange game? Maybe, maybe not. But he's still the most gifted athlete I've ever seen, and I don't think he's going to be held without a title his whole career. Hell, they'll probably win the thing next year because Miami should be able to sign better players to surround James, Wade, and Chris Bosh.

I'm just baffled at all the hate and vitriol this guy and his team got all season long. How it became the worst thing in the world to band together with other great players and try to create a dynasty via free agency is a mystery to me. How it became acceptable for the entire city of Cleveland to act as immature as it did in the wake of LeBron's Decision is a mystery. How LeBron became the poster child for arrogance and entitlement, more so than the other professional athletes running around raping women and driving drunk and acting much more entitled than LeBron, is a mystery. There's something bigger at play. LeBron is filling a need for a national villain, a bad guy we can root against and feel good when he fails. Maybe this happens to the best player in a given league all the time. I lived in Chicago all my life when Jordan ruled the world, so I can't speak to how much others wanted to see him lose. We loved him to pieces in Chi-Town, but he was hated in some areas of the country, for sure. But I can't imagine it was like this. The only other "Best In His Sport" athlete I can think of that changed teams via free agency is Alex Rodriguez, and he got hated on as well, but not quite to this level. And for those who say that Mike wouldn't have left via free agency and try to take a "shortcut," I say: How the fuck do you know? Mike didn't choose to become a free agent before the Bulls were able to win their first title. If they had not put together the right combo to get Jordan a ring, who's to say that he wouldn't have bolted for greener pastures? I'd actually be willing to bet that he would have left because he's so damn competitive. He only stayed because the Bulls happened to get it right and surround him with the right pieces. Don't blame LeBron for trying to find an organization that knew how to put together a winner. Blame the Goddamn Cleveland Cavaliers.

Sound And Fury Signifying Unnamed Sources

I had to post about the hype and silliness surrounding the whole LeBron James saga the last month or so, despite the drama coming to an end with his TV show "The Decision" this past Thursday. It's a fascinating look into the frenzy that surrounds a lot of media coverage in sports nowadays, and it shines a light on how hard writers and broadcasters are working to try to stay relevant, all while they appear to be less and less relevant.

As everyone knows, LeBron James has been the subject of endless speculation and rumor for the past year or so, because everyone knew that when this most recent NBA season ended, he would be a free agent, and which team he would choose was a great mystery. This speculation played itself out in the media in the form of endless writers and talking heads on TV and radio putting out their hot and heavy predictions and reports from their "sources." You name the journalist, he had a source that was telling him where LeBron was headed. Never mind that none of these people were talking to LeBron himself, since LeBron had announced early in the season that he wouldn't discuss his plans in the media. They all just knew that they had the inside track on his decision. Now, I was in the unique position of having the time to listen to talk shows daily from the top two speculated destinations for LeBron, here in Chicago and down in Miami. I listen to next-day podcasts of the Boers and Bernstein Show in Chicago and the Dan Le Batard Show from Miami while I work. They both happen to air at the exact same time, from 3 to 7 Eastern. (Boers and Bernstein's show is 5 hours long, so they start at 2 Eastern, or 1 Central.) This set up an almost unbelievable sequence of events that occurred live during their shows, linking them to each other in a way that neither could have imagined at the beginning of their broadcast day.

I don't remember the exact date, but I was listening to Boers and Bernstein's podcast, which was a show similar to all of their shows of the previous two weeks in that it was heavy on reports of various journalists writing or blogging or tweeting about their newest LeBron speculation. Bernstein breaks in rather breathily, if that's a word, about 3 hours into the show with word that Dan Le Betard of the Miami Herald had just "reported" that LeBron James was definitely not coming to Miami next season. Bernsie spent the next hour excitedly saying that it jibes with his reports from his "sources" that LeBron to Chicago is the most likely scenario. I was curious about this report from Le Batard because it was coming to Bernstein as if Le Batard had just wrote it, even though I knew that Le Batard normally would be on the air doing his radio show at that time of day. The next hour, Bernstein interrupts a thought and says, "Is this right? This can't be right. Dan Le Batard is now reporting that he was misquoted, that when he said James is not coming to Miami next year, he didn't mean LeBron James, he meant James Jones." Jones was a scrub for the Miami Heat last season, and his contract expired, so indeed, James Jones was not coming back to the Heat. But I felt bad for Le Batard because that would be a huge mistake to make if he wasn't clear which James he was talking about. And indeed, Bernsie savaged him for the remainder of the show for either confusing the Jameses or getting a bad report from a source and trying to backtrack by lying and claiming that he was never talking about LeBron. I was confused as to what kind of reporting Le Batard was up to, and I was very anxious to get home and download his show and hear if he was in the field calling in these reports to his show, or if this would be addressed on his show at all.

Imagine my surprise when I started Le Batard's show on my iPod the next day and heard him yapping away like always. I didn't know what to think at this point. Was Le Batard completely misquoted from the get-go? Were the reports Bernstein referenced from a Le Batard story he wrote earlier in the day? Would Le Batard talk about it in any way, shape or form? I listened very intently to the first 2 hours, and despite a ton of LeBron talk, there was no mention of any reporting being done by Le Batard. Then it unfolded very slowly, and everything became crystal clear. Just after two hours, which would put it in the exact same time frame as when Bernstein first mentioned Le Batard's report on his show, Le Batard and his co-host and producer start talking on the air about receiving phone calls from Canada because of a harmless, sourceless prediction Le Batard sent out on his Twitter that Chris Bosh, another highly sought-after free agent, would be coming to Miami after signing with his current team the Toronto Raptors and then agreeing to a trade to Miami. (The prediction was right on the money, BTW.) Le Batard and his cohorts were genuinely amazed that people in Canada were taking his tweet as gospel and were trying to contact him to follow up on it, as if it were a legitimate news item. They started batting around different shocking things they could write on Le Batard's Twitter account to see what kind of reaction they could get. After rejecting the headline of Pat Riley, Miami Heat top honcho and former coach, flying to Cleveland to discuss becoming their new coach because that would be too incendiary as well as a flat lie, they agree to posting a line about James definitely not coming to play for the Miami Heat next year. My mouth dropped as I realized that Bernstein, and maybe many other media outlets, had been duped into taking Le Batard's silly tweet as a serious piece of news and decided to relay it as a "report." The producer wondered how long he should wait until he posts the clarification that it's James Jones being referred to and not LeBron. But after a five minute break, they come back and realize that it's already out of control because the item had been re-tweeted 50 times in 10 minutes. The re-tweets were from all sorts of people--regular, earnest media folk as well as fans adding their own one-liners such as "No King LeBron in Miami, haha!" and "Suck it Miami!" The producer finally sent out the "clarification" maybe 30 or 40 minutes later as Le Batard half-jokingly chuckled, "My hard-earned credibility is going down the toilet!"

I'm still not completely sure why I found the whole episode so hilarious and brilliant. Maybe it was just because I was in on an inside joke that most people wouldn't ever understand because they won't know all the details. Or maybe it's because I got so sick and tired a long, long time ago of all these "insider" reports with these unnamed "sources" claiming that they have the latest scoop on LeBron when none of them knew any more than me. Maybe it was the fact that Dan Bernstein got pantsed on a Le Batard tweet, acting as if it was some sort of real report that backed up his bullshit claim that he somehow had the scoop that LeBron was likely coming here. As much as I love the Boers and Bernstein Show for the way that they rip anything dumb in sports and society, Bernstein gets off on being an insufferable prick, and he was actually trying to use this tweet to justify his claim that he had some knowledge of LeBron's decision. He knew NOTHING, just like everybody else. But this whole LeBron thing has been a real eye opener for me, as someone who hopes to be part of the media someday soon. (I even tried out last month for an open mike contest for a local sports station in which the winner gets a weekend talk show. Fingers crossed.) I hope and pray that I am never in a position where I have to rely on unnamed "sources," who could be anybody from a team exec to a member of a player's posse to the stadium janitor, to relay news to my listeners. I hate that shit so much. If my source turns out to be full of shit, my name and reputation take the hit, and the source gets no flak because he was unidentified. I'd rather find a way to fill my airtime in an entertaining manner talking sports and whatever else my listeners want to talk about. I don't want to have to step into the sewage that is reporting and journalism in a society where reporters are more and more unnecessary and uninformed. After all the speculation and punditry, LeBron's decision was announced by LeBron live on ESPN with more people watching than those who watched him actually play the game of basketball in the NBA Finals two years ago. That rendered all the Stephen A. Smiths and Ric Buchers and Chris Broussards and all the other jokers who claimed to have inside knowledge completely useless, and it pointed out how desperate those writers are to continue to matter in today's world, where the athletes or celebrities can take to their blogs or Twitter to break whatever news about themselves without the assistance of journalists. Chuck D. wasn't talking about them when he rapped about folks "talkin' loud, ain't sayin' nothin'." But he might as well have been.

Catching Up

I'm chilling at home watching some Law & Order: CI, and I finally did the dishes last night, so I have an opportunity to write a blog post and catch up on some events in my life and outside of it that I haven't commented on. Not a whole hell of a lot is happening in my life. There's a shift of lifestyle that I've had to adjust to, now that my credit card balances spiraled so far out of control that I had to enter a debt consolidation program and cut out my credit cards entirely. My lunches are consisting of homemade sandwiches almost every day, and if I don't find a part-time job soon I'll be forced to really start cutting some luxuries out of my life. But I strangely don't see the whole situation as that big of a deal. Lots of people are trying to get by daily on a lot less money than me, due to car payments and trying to raise children and other expenses that I don't have to worry about. So I'll be fine. I've survived much worse shit than this.

Here are some current event topics that I wanted to make blog posts about but never got around to it:

The Psycho-Pussy Phenomenon. Within a couple of weeks of each other, former NFL QB Steve McNair and boxer Arturo Gatti were murdered by their respective lovers. (McNair's wasn't his wife, and Gatti's death by purse strap strangulation was ruled a suicide by the cops in Brazil where he was murdered, just for the record.) But I pause one second to gather my thoughts on why men who can get any piece of ass they want instead go for young and mentally instable ass, and next thing I know Jason Whitlock has a column out saying the exact same thing (via Deadspin, although I'm not writing an article here, so I don't know why the fuck I'm bothering giving credit for where I saw the column). Whitlock says basically what I was thinking when I first heard about both cases, which is, why in hell would an athlete with money and some fame choose to shack up with young women who don't know what they want in life because they haven't lived long enough, not to mention might be psycho? Having sex with hot, young chicks, that's understandable (although it would have been nice for McNair to decide he wanted a divorce before having sex with hot, young chicks, but in a way that's none of our business). But McNair had an entirely separate life away from his home living with the nut that shot him, going on vacations with her and everything, as if she's mature enough to make your second wife at the age of 20, and Gatti made some 23-year-old stripper his wife. Both men were in their late 30s, and mark my words, both were going to throw the girls aside in ten or fifteen years once they got too old for their tastes. I don't have a problem with that. But you never make one of those young girls your life partner. You're asking for nothing for trouble when you take a hot flame and try to mold her into a housewife. And I can't even get into the press coverage of the McNair story because it was so ridiculous. He was painted as this warrior and great family man who had this tragic thing happen to him. You know who doesn't have tragic things happen to them? Guys who don't fuck little girls and then cheat on them while sleeping in the same house with them and guns are lying around. Try to avoid those loosely connected situations, and still be alive today. See how easy that works?

RIP, Freak. Speaking of sexually confused people, the world's most famous pedophile, Michael Jackson, passed on, and honestly, my second reaction (the first, like everyone else, was "OMFG!1!! MICHAEL JACKSON DIED!!!1!!") was, "I hope he's happy wherever he is." Talk about a guy who didn't like the skin he was in from a very early age. It's hard for me to imagine what being Michael Jackson must have felt like. I like to think I'm the foremost authority on not liking yourself very much, but I've never tried to go from a black man to a white woman, I've never tried to get my nose surgically reduced so much that it looks like a cheese wedge, and I've never desired to fuck little white boys as a way to reclaim my lost childhood. This guy was in so much pain, I can't even fathom it. Only those closest to him could possibly know what went through that guy's skull on a daily basis, and we'll have to wait a year or two for the tell-all books to start coming out. And for what it's worth, I don't think there's a valid reason for fucking little white boys, and it's despicable any way you slice it, but I'm just guessing he did it because it was a way for him to live out his lost childhood; perhaps little white boys were the purest, most innocent form of humanity to him, moreso than little girls or grown humans. But I really hope more than anything that his spirit finds a way to be happy now that it's freed from his body. Someone making as much money as he did, showing his talent as effortlessly as he did should have had so much more fun during his time on Earth, yet no one seemed more tortured in his own skin than Michael Jackson. It was time for him to get off this planet, when you think about it. He didn't die too soon. If anything he died too late, before his desires and psychological issues led him to suck off little boys and ruin their lives forever. Oh, and I've been told that Michael's daddy is a damn fool, but since I've never once paid attention to anything he's said, I can't confirm that.

Support Your Local Indy Fed. About six weeks ago, while walking home from the Metra train on the last Saturday night that I had to work before I started my new shift of M-F, I noticed a small white cardboard sign shoved into the ground that said "Pro Wrestling Tonight," with an arrow pointing across the street at a lonely-looking truck company office. I was thrilled and confused at the same time, thrilled because who knew there was a venue in my neighborhood large enough to hold wrestling matches, and confused because, well, where could this venue possibly be?? I'm telling you, that truck company office is a one-flat storefront, so I knew it couldn't be in there...could it? I went home and decided to search around the internet for any wrestling events on the West Side of Chicago, and thanks to the upcoming events tab at this website, I was able to locate the address and next event of an indy league called the UWC. The address was exactly where that truck company office is. The next show was the very next Saturday after I saw that sign. The cost was $5. I decided to attend. It wasn't worth the $5. First, finding the venue was a trip because as I said, that innocent little office didn't appear to be where the event could be taking place. Well, if you walk along the side wall of that little office, you have to go back about two city blocks to where most of the trucks are parked, but eventually you come upon a building with a row of offices lined up in a way so that it resembles a row of trailers in a trailer park. I frightened the shit out of this 40-year-old white woman who clutched her purse as I approached her and asked was there a wrestling match taking place around here somewhere. "OH, yes," she cheerfully answered, relieved that I wasn't there to rape her, "right through that door." This trailer-park looking place was also a one-flat, so I was still wondering how there was a wrestling match happening here. "Is this the way to the wrestling?" I asked a fat white girl in black jeans. "Yeah," she answered sarcastically, "did my t-shirt give it away?" She turned to show me the UWC t-shirt she was wearing, which was impossible for me to see since I was walking behind her, so yes, cumbucket, the t-shirt that I couldn't see gave it away. Through a corridor, I came upon a small room that had a front wall with framed wrestling magazine covers and pictures of guys that you've heard of and therefore wouldn't be in attendance this evening. Then, around the wall, the rest of the room was empty except for a concession area to the left with food that I wouldn't be ordering and t-shirts and lucha masks that I wouldn't be purchasing. A middle-aged Latina woman took my money at the door at the front of the room, and I stepped through into a larger room resembling a section of a warehouse with about 50 or 60 flimsy folding chairs set up in rows and a rickety ring against the far wall that looked like it would fall apart if someone breathed on it. One wall had a small opening at the bottom resembling a mouse hole. The smell was strong, like people had been sweating and grunting in there for many days before I ever showed up. Less than half the chairs were occupied. I was the only brotha in attendance, although there was a black guy doing very annoying play-by-play over the house mike, and there were a couple of black guys wrestling during the show, and the one and only referee they had was black. I had to sit on two of the chairs at once because I didn't trust just one of them to support my weight. One single small camera on a tripod stood to the right of the ring filming the night's activities. Of the first three matches, one of them featured a wrestler in wrestler's gear--you know, trunks and pads and wrestling boots. Everyone else seemed to be in their street clothes or workout pants with no shirt on. The 350-lb. brotha who came out in a camouflage hoodie almost lost his gym shorts during his match, but thankfully for all of us he had shiny red trunks underneath covering everything up. All five matches were as painfully amateurish as you'd expect, with lots of blown spots and moments that left you wondering why some of these guys were even being allowed in the ring. During intermission, I asked the referee, who was outside on his smoke break, how often they have shows. "Every three weeks," he replied, then looked me up and down like a piece of meat and added, "But we do have training every Saturday!" Hell to the naw, I replied, or something resembling that. For the main event, the champ, a large white dude in a mask, stood in the middle of the ring while his manager and white-trash skank valet issued an open challenge, meaning they charged $5 for a show in which the title match had no advertised challenger. Five minutes before this, two heavy Latina women showed up and sat right behind me, and when the champ came out for the open challenge, they both immediately started booing him and shouting him down, so based on nothing more than this, I assumed that the man answering the challenge would be Hispanic, and he probably just showed up to the "arena" and dropped those two women off in his 1984 Chevy Caprice. I was right. Some fat dude named Will E. Bling ran out and fought with the champ for about five minutes before the champ's manager and entourage jumped into the ring and attacked Will, laying him and some other Latino who charged into the ring out with chairshots. The women howled in anger and shouted words too salty even for this blog, as if this were an actual mugging in the street. They were as entertaining as any wrestlers on the show. The next show after that, according to that Chicago wrestling website, was going to have nine matches but was going to cost $7 for admission. I almost swallowed my tongue when I read that. I didn't go back. That's not to say that I wouldn't someday check it out again just for the cheesy atmosphere, and also because I feel good supporting an indy fed that clearly needs the support, and also because if I ever got the guts to ask if they need an extra announcer or something, I may wind up breaking into the wrestling business after spending my entire life fantasizing about it. But I can't ever see myself in the ring despite my size. Too many bad things can happen trusting an amateur to protect you while you try moves that you're just not coordinated enough to do.

Chicago Sports In The Spotlight. It's fun to see our major league pro sports teams step up and go for the jugular instead of always waiting back and hoping things turn around on their own. The Bulls, despite their horrible draft picks a couple of months ago (Taj Gibson? What, we don't have enough mentally challenged spazzes loitering underneath the basket?), still have a chance to clear salary off their books and jump into the free agent pool after next season. That's the only way they're ever going to get Derrick Rose a supporting cast that can contend for a title, and they know it. Drafting turds every year isn't going to cut it. It may not look like it, but they are putting themselves in the best position to succeed. The Bears are about to fire up their first season with Jay Cutler as their quarterback, and I still can't believe they had the balls to pull off that trade. Cutler is without question one of the seven best QBs in the damn game, and we went out and got him. I'm not perfect with predictions, but I'm not always wrong, either. Prediction: Cutler will throw for 3,500 yards and 25 TDs. Prediction: WR Earl Bennett, who couldn't do much of anything last year for the Bears with Kyle Orton at QB but set records playing with Cutler in college at Vanderbilt, will go for 1,000 yards receiving. Prediction: The Bears will win the NFC Central and will have a really good run through the playoffs, falling just short of the Super Bowl. Prediction: The Denver Broncos, who traded Cutler here for Orton and some draft picks, will suck. Hard. And how about the White Sox going after former Cy Young Award winning pitcher Jake Peavy? I never would have thought the Sox would move that far forward to get an ace for their rotation, but giving up four pitching prospects was not too stiff for GM Ken Williams. Good for him. They don't trade aces every day in baseball, so huzzah for going after one and getting him. It's a strange deal considering Peavy is on the disabled list, and I didn't know you could trade guys on the DL, but I guess when you want someone that bad, you don't care if he's temporarily sidelined. Around the same time the Bears will be gearing up to start the season a month from now, Peavy should be getting set to lead the Sox into the last month and go after a pennant. I'm really, really looking forward to September. Makes me wish I was a sports columnist, because there would be no shortage of topics right now.

And Speaking Of Writing...While looking for part-time jobs, I came across a website called Examiner.com that was looking for columnists, but they wouldn't say how much they would pay. I applied anyway because I hoped that I could write for them and make some extra money, but I never expected that it would pay a lot because if it did, they would say upfront what kind of money they were offering. Well, I got the gig, and I am now the Chicago Long Distance Relationships Examiner. Sure enough, the pay is virtually nothing. They appear to give me a whole penny every time my page is viewed. There's no actual salary for my labor, so page views is the only way I will make any cash. Plus, they won't send me any money until my account grows past $25. At this rate, that will happen around 2013. Oh well. At least I will have a catalogue of writing that I can send a future employer if I want to get into freelance writing, and that catalogue won't have profanity or diatribes about wanting to murder ex-lovers.

Finally, How's The Missus? My fiancee is still searching for work, although she's having success doing volunteer work for nonprofit organizations, which could easily lead into paid labor if she impresses the right people. She visited here twice this summer, and the second time she was able to attend my dinner at ESPNZone that I won at the Sports Spelling Bee. We did it on Saturday, July 4, because I wanted my whole family there with me, and they agreed to be there with me on that day. I was very proud to have everyone there, including my fiancee. I looked over the scene a couple times--all nine of us, including my aunt's family and my uncle's family, except for my uncle's oldest son--and I imagined that this is what it will look like if all of them come down to Memphis for the wedding. It was a little emotional. It sounds strange, but I miss being the center of my family's attention. This happened all the time when I was a child. I'd have a play at school, or a part in some sort of assembly, or they would take me to dinner for some sort of academic achievement. And it was an occasion for my folks to tell me how proud they were of me and how much joy they took in my accomplishments. And the fact is, I ain't accomplished much since I grew up. I still don't want a celebratory dinner for getting my Associates degree because that's something that I shouldn't have done when I was fucking 33 years old. That should have been taken care of twelve years ago, but I was so immature that I avoided college at all costs. I don't think I should be celebrated for something that I put off so damn long. Anyway, my fiancee also went with me to the Sox game that I won tickets for, and that was really fun. They weren't just regular old tickets, they were tickets to something called the Jim Beam Club, and that got us free food, free drinks, free dessert, and a seat one level up from the ground right behind home plate. At one point I got up from all the food and headed out the door to go down to field level because I assumed that I had to go into the actual stands to buy a scorecard. (I like to keep score of the game.) The lady at the door informed me that no, I don't have to leave the Jim Beam Club to get a scorecard, they have them right there at the door. I gladly whipped out a dollar to pay for the scorecard, delighted that I didn't have to go searching for one. She told me the scorecards were complimentary. I then started wondering how I could break the news to my fiancee that I wasn't EVER LEAVING THIS PLACE. To top it off, it was Fireworks Night, and the Sox won, so you couldn't have made it a better night. The only down part about my fiancee's second visit was that I used most of my vacation time on her first visit, so I was going to work, coming home, eating the supper she prepared, and promptly falling asleep. So yeah, we didn't mess around a whole lot. We're both still getting used to each other on some levels. We're shy people by nature, so it's a battle to make that first move. I believe she thinks it's incumbent on me to be more forward since I have more experience, but I'm just not that guy. And she's definitely not that gal. I have a feeling we'll get more comfortable once she moves up here permanently. But after three and a half years of long-distance dating, we still are getting to know each other.

But hey, no excuses. I'll just have to get it together and do better next time. After all, I am the Chicago Long Distance Relationships Examiner. I'm a fucking expert! Right?

Hello? Anybody home??

Say Anything, No Matter How Moronic

Just a couple of tidbits I heard while listening to sports talking heads the past couple of days, which just reinforce how much I want to become a sports broadcaster if only to raise the intellect of the everyday banter:

First, during the NBA Draft coverage on ESPN Thursday evening, main booyah Stu Scott and the Seven Dwarfs doing running commentary next to him were yapping about the #3 pick about to be made by the Seattle, er, uh, Oklahoma City Thunder. Since the Clippers took Blake Griffin #1, and the Grizzlies took Hasheem Thabeet #2, Stu and the boyz assumed that Spanish PG flash-in-the-pan Ricky Rubio would certainly be the next pick due to all the hype around him. For a solid minute, which is a long time with gasbags like these, they did not mention the possibility of anything happening other than the Thunder drafting Rubio any second now. So NBA Commissioner David Stern sidles up to the mic and announces, "With the 3rd pick in the 2009 NBA Draft, the Oklahoma City Thunder select...James Harden from Arizona State." To which Stu immediately responds: "The Thunder liked James Harden all along." WHAT?!? You imbeciles just spent the last minute or two telling everyone how good Ricky Rubio will fit with the young talent of Oklahoma City, and three seconds later, they liked Harden all along? Stu, STFU, you retarded Cyclops. You know NOTHING. None of you know ANYTHING.

Then, just this morning, I woke up to some golf show on WSCR-AM, which I guess is what I fell asleep listening to last night, and I had the pleasure of hearing this exchange between two twits talking about great sports owners, specifically Bill Veeck:

Twit 1: "Is Veeck in the Hall of Fame or no? He should be."

Twit 2: "Charlie Finley is not in the Hall of Fame. Veeck died in '86 but was inducted in '91. That's a shame. I'd have loved to hear that induction speech."

Twit 1: "You can YouTube it, right? Everything's posted on the internet nowadays."

Signs O' The Times

A possible conversation taking place somewhere in Great Britain...

Chap 1: "I say old chap, of all the reasons David Beckham could have chosen to go to America, what do you think could have been going through his old bean?"

Chap 2: "I'm as befuddled as you are, my good man. Of course, he could become a bigger star perhaps if he were playing overseas. They need a star footballer over there."

1: "Oh, hogwash. The sport will never be big over there because they're too low-class to appreciate it. Their three most popular sports are all way bigger than football, or soccer, which is what they call it. And it's disgusting the filth that permeates their sports culture."

2: "Well, sure, there's all the hippity-hop and bling-blung and whatever, but maybe it's not so bad for footballers. Besides, it's not like all the sports stars in America are thugs and bad blokes, just a bloody few."

1: "Oh yeah? Tell me, what do you think is the big story in the major sports over there? What's the first thing you think of when you think of baseball news?"

2: "I don't know."

1: "I'll tell you, it's that gargoyle Barry Bonds about to break the all-time home run record. I mean, never mind the fact that the most home runs hit were by Sadaharu Oh in the Japanese leagues. I understand they only want to acknowledge the major league record. That's their style, you see, ignore the rest of the world and only point out your own achievements. But fine, let's say Hank Aaron is the home run leader. This Bonds guy is obviously unnatural, you can just look at him and tell he uses some sort of supplement that no one else uses because no one else looks like him! His hat size grew about 3 full sizes in 8 years! He's a walking pharmacy, I tell you, but their commissioner just throws his hands in the air and says nothing. And Bonds even testified to a grand jury that he used a steroid, but he says he didn't know what it was. Come on, you think anyone, much less a world-class athlete, puts something in his body and doesn't bloody well know what it is?"

2: "That doesn't sound very bright, no."

1: "And what's the first thing in your mind when I mention basketball?"

2: "Why, Michael Jordan, of course. Is he still playing?"

1: "No, he finally retired years ago for the 7th time. You haven't heard what happened with the basketball officials?"

2: "No I haven't."

1: "They're on the bloody take! They found a guy who was an NBA official for I believe 13 years, and they say he was involved in the Mafia and had gambling debts, and agreed to lower his debts by calling a boatload of fouls and making his games tilt over the over-under number. Can you imagine? Their commissioner had all these silly rules for the players like a dress code and such, trying to control them like he was headmaster, and meanwhile his officials are fixing the games! You wonder how many other things they will find when they investigate. I mean, what's stopping other officials from getting in on the action, or even players? Hell, the commissioner wouldn't know. He's busy keeping an eye on whether Shaquille O'Neal is wearing a bloody sportcoat!"

2: "That is indeed scandalous."

1: "And what about American football? What do you think is the biggest story there?"

2: "Oh, I know this one. It's that one guy who was 'making it rain' throwing money in the gentleman's club, and then one of his buddies shot a man and paralyzed him. Pity."

1: "That's old news, pal. One of their star quarterbacks was just indicted because there was a house he owned but never lived in, and they found it was a house where he and his friends raised dogs to fight for money. And when there were dogs that wouldn't make good fighters, they would just kill them as if they didn't deserve to live. I'm talking electrocuting them, shooting them, firing them down to the ground until they stopped moving--vile, disgusting things."

2: "Fancy that. I've never heard of such a thing. They would make the dogs fight for money, you say? There were prizes for this?"

1: "No, no, folks would bet on which dog would win. It wasn't like a league where there was a champion--this was all underground stuff."

2: "That's sickening."

1: "Now what do you think about Beckham going to the United States?"

2: "That he's entering the gates of Hades?"

1: "Exactly."

The NBA's New Slogan: Ride Or Die

Just a tremendous column by AOL's Jason Whitlock today concerning the thug element in Las Vegas this past weekend at the NBA All-Star festivities. I don't have much to add myself. Vegas from what I understand is lawless anyway, especially the Strip, and tossing the hundreds of sycophants and groupies that always hover around the NBA into the mix made for what I'm sure was a truly frightening weekend. I can only imagine what that town smelled like Monday morning. I actually don't blame the stars for having thick entourages surrounding them at all times--the more bodies between them and potential bullets, the better.