NBA Playoffs: A Tuesday Night Viewer’s Guide [NBA Playoffs]
Ah, sweet Tuesday…still 20 percent better than Monday. Basketbawful is here to help you celebrate that fact and disentagle all those thoughts you thought you had about tonight’s Cavs-Celtics game.
Cleveland versus Boston: Game 1
LeBron James. The King shut up his critics — which consisted mostly of DeShawn Stevenson and the rest of the Wizards — by prevention his first-round foes under his royal boot. The Wiz did their best to rough him up and beat him down, but he still averaged a near triple-double (29.8 PPG, 9.5 RPG, 7.7 APG). Can LeBron pull the sword from the stone against Boston? (Yeah, probably.)
The Boston defense. The league’s best regular season accumulation struggled, at times, to include Joe President and Josh Smith. Now they have to try and include LeBron. Yeah. Good phenomenon with that, guys. My suggestion would be stop everybody but LeBron. Even if he goes off for 50, the Celtics would still win, like, 98-57.
The LeBronnaires. Look, no man, no two men, no army of men or the undead can stop LeBron James. The question is…who else is feat to step up for the Cavs? Zydrunas Ilgauskas? sap Szczerbiak? Delonte West? Boobie? It’s gotta be one of those guys or nobody. My best guess? Nobody. But then again, Kendrick Perkins may be the only center in the NBA who moves more slowly than Ilgauskas, so you never know…
Kevin Garnett. He’s filling up with so much kinetic energy that he has officially become the first player since Alonzo Mourning in 2006 that I think might actually explode during a game. It’s called spontaneous human combustion, people, and it happens, okay? That’s science fact. Personally, I hope KG survives his own personal Chernobyl. Barring that, I can only hope one of the Boston fans saves me a piece.
Cockiness. The poorest alteration inflicted on the Celtics by the Hawks was Boston’s newfound vulnerability…be it real or perceived. As Cleveland’s Devin Brown put it: “They category of had that arrogance about them all season by success so some games that you were category of not wanting to face them. But after seeing what we saw, I think we’re ready to go.” Unless I’m criminal - and I’m never criminal - that quote is on a bulletin board in the Boston compartment room right now. Right next to a post-it note asking the question “Now who’s Devin Brown again?”
Paul Pierce versus LeBron. With all due respect to DeShawn Stevenson, the King’s first-round rival didn’t really stand much of a chance. He can take on a fancy nickname and acquire a worn beard, but that doesn’t attain him not DeShawn Stevenson, you know? But LeBron’s second-round rival…now, he’s on a lowercase more equal footing. What? You didn’t undergo the Pierce and saint were rivals? Oh hells to the yes. There’s some serious history there. Now let’s hope that Truth can do more than meet have hard fouls and trash talk.
Lookin’ over the shoulder. Barring the unforseen, the Pistons are feat to attain relatively short impact of the Magic. (How’s that for a reverse stat curse?) So, in theory, whoever is mitt standing after the Cavs-Celts series would be at a tactical separate if it went six or seven games, right? Both teams are feat to poverty to finish this soon. And you undergo Cleveland is feat to go balls-out to steal this first game in Boston.
Anderson Varejao. What can I say? Stuff like this cracks me up. I think it’s the hair.
The Buzz Bissinger Affair, In Song (And I Feel Fine) [Everybody Sing]
Of instruction you knew that this full Buzz Bissinger/Deadspin saga would not be rank until it was presented in ballad form by Ryan Parker. It’s The End Of Sports News As We Know It. Enjoy. And don’t be frightened by the dinosaurs, or the drill typewriter!
It’s The End Of Sports News As We Know It [YouTube]
NBA Ads *Synchronized Blink* Haunt My Dreams *Synchronized Blink*
This weekend, the wildly anticipated NBA playoffs began. And patch there were some enthusiastic games, for me, the daylong ikon is half-Kobe-half-Shaq pedagogy me on fear. Though the commercials have been around for a patch now, they’ve received heavy rotation during the playoffs. I actually thought the commercials were pretty neat, if a bit unsettling. […]
This weekend, the wildly anticipated NBA playoffs began. And patch there were some enthusiastic games, for me, the daylong ikon is half-Kobe-half-Shaq pedagogy me on fear. Though the commercials have been around for a patch now, they’ve received heavy rotation during the playoffs. I actually thought the commercials were pretty neat, if a bit unsettling. I was especially impressed how they managed to sync up the speech from each player to create an odd stereo effect. I was noting this when my friend brought their eyes to my attention. They blink at the same time! Ahhhhhh! Don’t believe me, check for yourself.
Now, some unanswered questions. Firstly, ground didn’t you believe me? And were these blinks choreographed? Was there some sort of blinking coach on set, outcry “Blink,” at designated intervals? If these blinks weren’t scripted, then is there some sort of natural blink response during pauses?
The rest of the ads in the series feature more alarming synchronized blinking. Also, be on the countenance out for the amalgamated word “Bordan” in the LeBron/KG commercial.
Tags: Chris Paul, Dwight Howard, Jason Kidd, Kevin Garnett, Kobe Bryant, Lebron James, NBA Playoffs, Shaquille O’Neal, Steve Nash
Mike Tyson’s House is Elaborate, Sparsely Furnished, Tacky
Yaowza! That is a fugly-ass rug, isn’t it? And what about those reddened fixtures? All that’s missing is the cork because this place is TACK CITY! Whoever lived here must’ve been blind and possibly insane. I mean, anyone who thinks this is a nice artefact to organisation a house must also think tattooing your face […]
Yaowza! That is a fugly-ass rug, isn’t it? And what about those reddened fixtures? All that’s missing is the cork because this place is TACK CITY! Whoever lived here must’ve been blind and possibly insane. I mean, anyone who thinks this is a nice artefact to organisation a house must also think tattooing your face is a beatific idea.
Oh. Of course.
These are the pictures of Mike Tyson’s former house. As you can see, it’s been abandoned for quite some time. So long, in fact, that I’d think twice about actuation in that pool. Strike that, I wouldn’t think twice about it. I would never once think about it. That ish is gross.
(Photo manner of Wacky Archives. Credit: illicitohio.com)
Tags: just as funny as MC Hammer’s old crib, mike tyson’s cards is ugly, was this guy punch-drunk when he fashioned it?
White Sox Locker Room Is Not A Safe Environment For Women, Real Or Inflatable [You’ve Got To Push]
Ozzie Guillen and the White Sox are now in the midst of being criticized (again) by some sports writers and the Association For Women In Sports Media for their fictive blow-up doll, slump-busting shrine. The Association said said the shrine creates an “uncomfortable” environment for female sports writers in the compartment room. Via the National Post, comes this statement of the shrine which featured two female blow-up dolls:
On Sunday, the bats were circled around the two naked female dolls, one of whom had a bat inserted in its backside to prop it up. Each wore a sign over her breasts, one saying “Let’s Go White Sox” and the other reading “You’ve Got to Push,” the National Post in Toronto reported.
Guillen, of course, defended the shrine, saying “I’m sure it wasn’t finished to substance anyone. . . A aggregation of worsened things happen in the clubhouse. . . If people got their feelings hurt because of that . . . they don’t really undergo much about baseball.”
Duly noted. He is right about that. There was a time when struggling baseball teams used real springy women in the compartment room as slump-busting shrines. You’ve got to push…
White Sox Doll Blow Up [Chicago Sun-Times]
Jake Long at the Lumber Yard
At around 3 this afternoon, Jake Long’s name module be called as the first pick in the NFL Draft. His already negotiated lessen makes him the highest paid tackle before he even plays a down. And one time he helped alluviation drywall into my Dodge Intrepid. My roommate Joe and I were at Fingerle lumber, an […]
At around 3 this afternoon, Jake Long’s name module be called as the first pick in the NFL Draft. His already negotiated lessen makes him the highest paid tackle before he even plays a down. And one time he helped alluviation drywall into my Dodge Intrepid.
My roommate Joe and I were at Fingerle lumber, an Ann Arbor hospital and unceasing source of filthy puns. We had to replace some drywall and a entranceway at our house before our upcoming city inspection. The relative urgency of our scrutiny kept us from procuring a truck, and we were mitt with only my sedan to transport a full sheet of drywall and a pre-fab entranceway to our house. This is where Jake Long came to our rescue. He was our assigned depot employee, and helped us strap the entranceway to the top of my car and stomped the drywall in half so it would fit into the trunk. And now he’s the first overall pick in the NFL draft, and I’m composition about it for a blog. So, basically, what I’m saying is, “Can I borrow some money?”
Tags: Jake Long, Miami Dolphins
On Race, Message Boards And Shutting The Hell Up [On Race]
Of all the panels on “Costas Now” the other night, the one we thought was most effective at tickling the cerebral endocrine was the terminal one, about race, featuring Cris Carter, Michael Wilbon and Jason Whitlock. (It was so absorbing that “Costas Now” is doing a full 90-minute segment meet on race downbound the line.) The most telling section, however, was from the recording piece beforehand, which featured Kellen colonist Sr. talking about the differences between media news of Ben Roethlisberger’s motorcycle accident, and his son’s. His point was that media news called his son “dumb” and “a thug,” patch the Roethlisberger accident was mostly treated with anxiety as to Big Ben’s well-being. Maybe Winslow’s right, and maybe he isn’t. But it definitely got us to thinking. How did we counterbalance that?
So, we took a look. From the original Roethlisberger post:
A serious story reaching out of Pittsburgh: It appears Super Bowl hero Steelers quarterback Ben Roethlisberger was participating in a motorcycle accident about 45 minutes ago (11:30 a.m. ET) in Pittsburgh. The picture on KDKA’s site is rather scary, and there’s no word as of still on his condition. We module ready you updated, and, of course, module be ownership beatific thoughts.
We, of course, weren’t around still when Winslow’s wheel crashed — that was May 2005, and Deadspin wasn’t born until September 2005 — but we did, when composition about Winslow’s famous “I’m a SOLDIER!’ rant, say this: “Interestingly, this was the exact same take Winslow’s motorcycle had after his accident, about him.” Now, to be fair to ourselves, we wrote about Big Ben when his health was still in question, and colonist a assemblage later, when it was clear he was fine, but the point is that the fact that the two incidents might have been awninged differently because Roethlisberger was albescent and colonist was black hadn’t even occurred to us. Some might use that as some sort of cover, a “see, we don’t even THINK about race!” But this is stupid. The fact that someone did not consciously think about something does not mean that it is not there.
In Jason Whitlock’s article terminal hebdomad , he touched on the Bissinger insanity but also bought up a critique of our book that we’ve never quite addressed. NPR’s Scott Simon had it first, but Whitlock has probably brought it to the maximal audience. (Though this is Fox Sports.) Namely, the “jokes” in the Media Glossary section about black sportscasters talking “white.”
When Scott Simon mentioned this in an discourse with us months ago, we stammered and stumbled and mostly sounded same a moron. This is because we were taken aback by it; it lawfully didn’t occur to us that someone could take the notion from the book that we had some sort of problem with race. That does not mean that someone that who might derive that is somehow deluded, or meet trying to cause trouble. It means they’re not us, and that they can see something much clearer than we can.
Whitlock’s article takes these Simon criticisms to the next level. We are not sure the book spends an “an unreasonable amount of time telling prominent, successful, well-spoken African-Americans that they’re not really black,” but this does not mean this critique of the book is not valid. Because, well, it is. The references in the book, to (and we don’t have the book in front of us, so we may be off) the Gumbels and Ahmad Rashad, are cheap, lazy and not particularly funny. The jape we were trying to attain was a mockery of the “Ohio accent,” the slightly nasal, straight forward flat accent that every broadcaster has to twist himself/herself into. But it didn’t read that way. It was lazy writing, rather than a pointed insult. (And why, you might ask, did we bring Tony Dungy into it? An excellent question that we do not have an answer for.)
But that’s not really the point. Who cares what we meant? Nothing is worsened than the apology that “we didn’t mean to offend anyone.” Well, of instruction not; the fact that you didn’t think you were offending anyone is the reason that it’s offensive. The point is that meet because something was not semiconscious does not mean it’s not there. An easy jape comes from somewhere, and it was one that was even repeated. We did not do it to mock black sportscasters. But there it is, regardless.
We were talking to Bomani Jones, who’s very beatific at this composition business, the other period about the racist comments that needs pop up on any open forum, message board or interpret thread. The most memorable happening of this, around these parts, was when Stephen A. Smith’s site’s launched, though, honestly, we think if you put a picture of a puppy as a blog post on a generalized AOL or character site, the n-word would become out by interpret 20. Bomani was afraid it was mood of a ontogeny “angry albescent man” movement in the culture, reflected by the Web. We weren’t so sure; we think it’s more the nasty fringe element, bigots empowered by anonymity.
But we would think that, wouldn’t we? We easily modify such comments as idiotic, the unfortunate byproduct of open forums, and move about our day. But that’s our perspective. And that perspective, same all perspectives, as criminal as the next person’s. It’s easy for us to say that.
This is all to say: As we’ve said repeatedly, blogs are not a movement, or a single-minded entity. All blogs take on the personality of the author. Right now, the vast eld of those sports blogs are cursive by albescent guys. Bomani implored us: “You have to say something about this, because they won’t center to it from me.” And he’s right. If Scoop politician writes a article about race, well, there he goes again. This happened with Whitlock’s article too. A nationally recognized sports columnist, on a widely read national Web site, calls us out, and we received a total of one email about it. Why? Because we think most people read the first few paragraphs about Bissinger, and then when they got to the part where Whitlock started composition about race, their eyes vitrified over, and Whitlock turned into the vocalise of the teacher in “Peanuts.” There he goes again, with the race stuff. There’s a surround there that we, and most sports bloggers, don’t have, due entirely to the audience. And Whitlock, and Jackson, and Bomani Jones, do. We might not mean this. It might be subconscious. But it’s there.
So, friend, here it is: If you think those fateful racist comments are meet the ugly detritus of the Web and modify them with a gesture of your hand … you’re probably a albescent guy. And If you hear us ever talking about what black people think, or how they should act, or whatever, completely cut us, because we don’t have the slightest fucking intent what we’re talking about.
The Bengals have embraced bloggers of all …
The Bengals have embraced bloggers of all different, uh, stripes. [StripeHype]
Tags: pro football schedule, pricing baseball cards, hockey hits, hockey stick, baseball bat, mini golf, basketball shoes, hockey skates