A slight departure from our regularly scheduled programming.
After stumbling upon the blog of Tim Ferriss one day a few weeks ago, I quickly found a Friday morning evaporate in front of my eyes. His stuff was downright interesting. I polished off article after article like a frat boy does crappy light beer. Chock-full of challenges, his site provides insight and tips for enhancing, improving, and liberating your life.
Some articles include why gluten is bad for you and how to eliminate it from your diet (to be tried), how to go on a media fast (will definitely be tried), and how to gain 30lbs of muscle in 30 days (would love to be tried, but color me skeptical).
However, one of the articles that struck me concerned itself with complaints. In the post, Ferriss provides a link to a Website called A Complaint Free World. Between his article and this site, I learned quite a bit, including one very startling statistic: around 40% of all conversations revolve around complaining.
Let me restate that: nearly half of all spoken interactions are predicated upon whining, nagging, and, for lack of a better word, bitching.
I didn't believe it until I started monitoring it in my day to day interactions. Shit, son, it be true. From the mundane ("It's so God-dammed hot!") to the more intense ("My car got broken into! Fuck this."), everyone complained around me.
And I came to a sad realization--I was very much a member of this un-illustrious club.
No matter the topic, I found ways to complain about it. Traffic? Yup. The Weather? Yup yup. The annoying person in front of me at the grocery store? Triple yup.
Now, I understand complaining is inherent to the human condition; we all have a need to distinguish ourselves, and trying to show that you were handed a raw deal confers its benefits. Not only does it garner pity--it creates room for excuse.
For me, I'd had enough of this so I decided to bite: I'd undertake the 3 week no-complaint challenge. I subscribed to Ferriss' version of the challenge, not the Website's. The Website's seemed to stringent (gossiping and pointing out the complaining of others qualified as a violation under its rule-set), whereas Tim's was more practical.
His went so -- you could complain if and 0nly if you provided a solution to the complaint. If you complained and didn't go about finding a way to remedy the problem, you'd be penalized, and have to start all over. Both sites recommended wearing something on your wrist to serve as a reminder. When you did slip you'd swap the bracelet. The goal's to go 21 days without complaining. Easy to understand, difficult to do.
Now, this isn't to be cute or funny. It's supposed to counter-act negative thinking that plagues us all. Complaining gets you nowhere. That's no way to go about things.
I've been doing it for three weeks now. And the longest I've gone without complaining? Two whole days. I refuse to cheat, so if I suspect I complained, if I have even a shred of doubt, I count it as a complaint and move the band to my other wrist. It has been a very incremental and slow process.
And while success has assuredly been mixed, methinks it's working. My thinking is shifting. The desired effect (to promote positive and pro-active thinking) is happening. The stuff that I can't control I let slide. Nothing I can do about that stuff--why complain? And the thingsI can do something about I take steps to remedy.
It's simple and beautiful. Wanna join me? Let me know.
(Editor's Note: Turns out this has everything to do with basketball. When this was written last week, I failed to realized that the NBA had drafted new rules regulating complaining during games. Players who whine and complain excessively will be handed technicals like they are beads at Mardi Gras. Dwight Howard should probably give this no complaint thing a try.)
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Ode to Jon Brockman
I first knew I liked Jon Brockman when we shook hands. Eye contact. Solid grip. A "how's it going?" It was a man's handshake. If a handshake said something about a person, then Jon's said plenty. Tough guy. Hard-worker. Genuine dude. It was the kind of handshake I wished I had. When we met (at Kings sanctioned meet-and-greet), he was sitting behind a propped up table at a Raley's in Fair Oaks, a stack of stationary stamped with the Kings logo to his left, a black sharpie for signing them to his right. He was flanked by Kings representatives who ushered us through the line one-by-one. While he may have been genuine when we met, the set-up was assuredly not.
Brockman caught my (and the rest of Sacramento's) eye early last season with his work on the court. Lacking finesse and jump-out-of-gym athleticism, Jon Brockman made up for it with his work-horse style of play. Lunging for errant balls, corralling rebounds, bodying up on guys five inches taller and forty five pounds heavier than him, Brockman did all he could with the few minutes a game that coach Paul Westphal gave him. He stretched his time on the court to the absolute limit, and when you saw Spencer Hawes or Jason Thompson run to the scorer's table to check in for him, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of sadness.
After the miraculous comeback over the Bulls, where Brockman notched an astounding (and team best) +26 in only 17 minutes of play, his cult status among Kings fans was forever solidified. During that game he became my favorite player on the Kings. This may be the largest cliche I'll ever type, but I can't think of a better way to put it--Jon Brockman's raw energy during that second half galvanized the Kings. He was the catalyst, bar none, that put into motion one of the largest comebacks in NBA history. In a Kings season marred with disappointment and heartbreak, this was the arguably the brightest moment. And it was all possible because of Jon Brockman.
While the media fawned over Tyreke Evans and his run for the vaunted 20-5-5 statline as the season drew to a close (and rightly so, I suppose), I grew to respect Brockman more and more. He kept his head down and plugged along, doing all he possibly could, never causing trouble or making waves.
Nicknames were thrown his way. Brocknasty. Brocktopus. The Brockness Monster. My IM team loved that last one so much we used it to name our team. The autograph I got from him at the meet-and-greet found its way onto my wall. The photo of us became my profile picture on Facebook.
It's safe to say I idolized him. And that handshake had a lot to do with that. The handshake said it all; he was interested in getting to know you. He didn't take anything for granted. Every game for him was an opportunity--just a normal guy trying to prove he had the moxie to hang in the Association. That's all. Sitting at a supermarket signing autographs for fans was starkly foreign to him and likely something he never expected to do. You could tell he was surprised, and perhaps excited, that people had lined up to see him.
And that type of humility, that type of enthusiasm is exactly what the NBA needs more of. With super stars wearing shirts proclaiming their greatness or giving uninspired quips to reporters in post-game interviews, Brockman eschewed that culture. Opting instead to sport a camouflage hat as part of his off-court attire, he tried to blend in rather than obnoxiously stand out. Brockman wasn't (and isn't) about the fanfare, even if he is appreciative of it.
In the off-season, Brockman was traded to the Milwaukee Bucks. I understand that's the nature of the league, that players are treated as commodities to be traded, bought, and sold. Being a fan favorite doesn't get you too far if management deems you an unnecessary piece of their puzzle. That's too bad, because it means he won't be donning a Kings uniform anymore. But I'm happy for him regardless. It means he'll still grace the league with his work ethic. And no matter what jersey he sports (even if it is purple and gold), I'll root for him. Because guys like Jon Brockman make the game worth watching. The league needs more people like him--duck hunter, country music enthusiast, working man.
Look past the entitled superstars. Look past the labor disputes. Jon Brockman is a reason to be excited about this league.
Brockman caught my (and the rest of Sacramento's) eye early last season with his work on the court. Lacking finesse and jump-out-of-gym athleticism, Jon Brockman made up for it with his work-horse style of play. Lunging for errant balls, corralling rebounds, bodying up on guys five inches taller and forty five pounds heavier than him, Brockman did all he could with the few minutes a game that coach Paul Westphal gave him. He stretched his time on the court to the absolute limit, and when you saw Spencer Hawes or Jason Thompson run to the scorer's table to check in for him, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of sadness.
After the miraculous comeback over the Bulls, where Brockman notched an astounding (and team best) +26 in only 17 minutes of play, his cult status among Kings fans was forever solidified. During that game he became my favorite player on the Kings. This may be the largest cliche I'll ever type, but I can't think of a better way to put it--Jon Brockman's raw energy during that second half galvanized the Kings. He was the catalyst, bar none, that put into motion one of the largest comebacks in NBA history. In a Kings season marred with disappointment and heartbreak, this was the arguably the brightest moment. And it was all possible because of Jon Brockman.
While the media fawned over Tyreke Evans and his run for the vaunted 20-5-5 statline as the season drew to a close (and rightly so, I suppose), I grew to respect Brockman more and more. He kept his head down and plugged along, doing all he possibly could, never causing trouble or making waves.
Nicknames were thrown his way. Brocknasty. Brocktopus. The Brockness Monster. My IM team loved that last one so much we used it to name our team. The autograph I got from him at the meet-and-greet found its way onto my wall. The photo of us became my profile picture on Facebook.It's safe to say I idolized him. And that handshake had a lot to do with that. The handshake said it all; he was interested in getting to know you. He didn't take anything for granted. Every game for him was an opportunity--just a normal guy trying to prove he had the moxie to hang in the Association. That's all. Sitting at a supermarket signing autographs for fans was starkly foreign to him and likely something he never expected to do. You could tell he was surprised, and perhaps excited, that people had lined up to see him.
And that type of humility, that type of enthusiasm is exactly what the NBA needs more of. With super stars wearing shirts proclaiming their greatness or giving uninspired quips to reporters in post-game interviews, Brockman eschewed that culture. Opting instead to sport a camouflage hat as part of his off-court attire, he tried to blend in rather than obnoxiously stand out. Brockman wasn't (and isn't) about the fanfare, even if he is appreciative of it.
In the off-season, Brockman was traded to the Milwaukee Bucks. I understand that's the nature of the league, that players are treated as commodities to be traded, bought, and sold. Being a fan favorite doesn't get you too far if management deems you an unnecessary piece of their puzzle. That's too bad, because it means he won't be donning a Kings uniform anymore. But I'm happy for him regardless. It means he'll still grace the league with his work ethic. And no matter what jersey he sports (even if it is purple and gold), I'll root for him. Because guys like Jon Brockman make the game worth watching. The league needs more people like him--duck hunter, country music enthusiast, working man.
Look past the entitled superstars. Look past the labor disputes. Jon Brockman is a reason to be excited about this league.
Friday, September 24, 2010
"Hey, you guys need one more?" Part 3
ESPN Page 2's Patrick Hruby wrote a pair of great articles detailing some of the different types of ballers that lace it up and take it to the blacktop for pick-up games. You can find both of them here and here. While both articles were super excellent, I felt they were a tad incomplete. So, like any good writer, I blatantly ripped off the idea and wrote my own piece about it. I'll detail all the guys I've met in my time playing and identify their closest NBA equivalent. Hopefully, after reading this, the next time someone asks you, "hey, you guys need one more?" you'll know exactly what you are getting into if you let him play.
Here's Part 1 and Part 2.
13. The Girlfriend
Playing with the girlfriend represents a special case. You'll never run into her by herself. She'll never show up to the court in gear ready to ball. Instead, a certain set of circumstances must be in place for The Girlfriend to play. Anyone who's played even a small amount of pick-up just nodded their head knowingly. You know exactly what I'm talking about, the exact circumstances I'm referring to.
I'll paint the picture. You invite your guy friend to come play ball and he obliges. You figure that when he shows up, he'll just bring himself to play. But instead, he has a surprise for everyone. He arrives at the court with the lady-friend in tow. She ends up sitting on the sideline to watch her beau play, cheer at the wrong times, and text her friends. No big deal. Her sitting quietly on the sideline shouldn't impact the game.
But then something unexpected happens. One of the guys you are playing with has to take off. Maybe he has work, maybe he has class, or maybe he rolled his ankle. For whatever reason, he's gone. Now you have uneven numbers. What do you do? No one wants to sit out. No one else is around to play. You are forced to do the unthinkable. You are forced to do the unimaginable. You are forced to ask your buddy if his girlfriend wants to play.
This is the equivalent of placing the kiss of death on your afternoon of basketball. Not only is The Girlfriend totally unfamiliar with the game and totally unwilling to actually try to learn (she's too busy trying to stay pretty), the boyfriend will instantly stop caring as well. The happy couple will obviously guard each other and whenever The Girlfriend touches the ball, the boyfriend will play an "aggressive" brand of defense on her. Everyone else will stand around awkwardly and watch this unsettling act of PDA.
Closest NBA equivalent: Sasha Vujacic
14. The Kid
The Kid comes in two flavors. The first is the type that lingers awkwardly around the court, mimicking moves of the older kids and meekly asking to play. I have no problem with this version of The Kid because we've all been there; playing with older kids is not an easy undertaking. It's a tough place we've all been. You need to hand it to The Kid for having the stones to ask to play.
The second type is that same kid, 6 months later. He's kept at it, working on his jumper, his handles, his no-look pass. Standing not an inch over 4'8" and not an ounce over 85 pounds, The Kid is tiny. When he puts up that 25 foot heave, every bit of his strength goes into it. Of course, he won't make a living off his jumper; rather, his greatest asset will be his quickness. And damn is that quickness filthy. The Kid has the nastiest crossover you've ever seen. The defense will be on skates the entire time. Wanna feel like Jaque Vaughn out there? Then be a man and volunteer to guard The Kid.
Closest NBA equivalent: Early Boykins
Giving short guys hope everywhere.
.
15. Only Offense
For lack of a better term, Only Offense is a dick. He thinks he's the man. No, scratch that, he knows he's the man. In his mind, Only Offense has the complete offensive game. He possesses the perfect toolbox, the perfect treasure chest of moves to put any defender on a poster. Never meeting a look at the basket he didn't immediately fall in love with, Only Offense will put up a shot as soon as he touches the ball. Two defenders? More like too easy. Three defenders? More like three-point play. Teammates? He's never heard of the word.
In fact, Only Offense believes he has such a perfect offensive game that this will excuse him from exerting any effort on the defensive end. Expect walking up and down the court. Expect cherry-picking. Expect the calling of phantom fouls every time he misses. After all, Only Offense would never miss a bucket unless he got hacked, right? If you never want to see the ball again, pass it to this guy.
Closest NBA equivalent: Ben Gordon
16. The Passer
Wanna feel inadequate? Wanna feel like the weak link on a team? Play with The Passer. He has superior court vision, commendable quickness, and a high enough basketball IQ to know exactly when to dump the rock off on a penetrate and dish. Can you set a pick for The Passser, seal his defender, and roll to the hoop? Then expect a perfect one-handed bounce pass a second later.
And therein lies the problem. The Passer is almost too good at setting up his teammates. No one can keep up with this guy's ability to distribute. Without fail, he'll use his quickness to draw the defenders to him. Then when the moment is perfect, he'll hit you with a pass so beautiful Magic Johnson would weep. You'll get the ball a foot from the hoop with the closest defender seven feet away. All you have to do is make an uncontested lay-up. Easy, right? Nope. What do you do instead? Put up a big fat brick. It's goddamn embarrassing and there's nothing you can say or do to explain away your suckage. With confidence forever rocked and a part of you secretly despising The Passer for making you look a fool, fully recovering from this embarrassment will take months.
Closest NBA equivalent: Chris Paul
Here's Part 1 and Part 2.
13. The Girlfriend
Playing with the girlfriend represents a special case. You'll never run into her by herself. She'll never show up to the court in gear ready to ball. Instead, a certain set of circumstances must be in place for The Girlfriend to play. Anyone who's played even a small amount of pick-up just nodded their head knowingly. You know exactly what I'm talking about, the exact circumstances I'm referring to.
I'll paint the picture. You invite your guy friend to come play ball and he obliges. You figure that when he shows up, he'll just bring himself to play. But instead, he has a surprise for everyone. He arrives at the court with the lady-friend in tow. She ends up sitting on the sideline to watch her beau play, cheer at the wrong times, and text her friends. No big deal. Her sitting quietly on the sideline shouldn't impact the game.
But then something unexpected happens. One of the guys you are playing with has to take off. Maybe he has work, maybe he has class, or maybe he rolled his ankle. For whatever reason, he's gone. Now you have uneven numbers. What do you do? No one wants to sit out. No one else is around to play. You are forced to do the unthinkable. You are forced to do the unimaginable. You are forced to ask your buddy if his girlfriend wants to play.
This is the equivalent of placing the kiss of death on your afternoon of basketball. Not only is The Girlfriend totally unfamiliar with the game and totally unwilling to actually try to learn (she's too busy trying to stay pretty), the boyfriend will instantly stop caring as well. The happy couple will obviously guard each other and whenever The Girlfriend touches the ball, the boyfriend will play an "aggressive" brand of defense on her. Everyone else will stand around awkwardly and watch this unsettling act of PDA.
Closest NBA equivalent: Sasha Vujacic
Definitely the little spoon.
14. The Kid
The Kid comes in two flavors. The first is the type that lingers awkwardly around the court, mimicking moves of the older kids and meekly asking to play. I have no problem with this version of The Kid because we've all been there; playing with older kids is not an easy undertaking. It's a tough place we've all been. You need to hand it to The Kid for having the stones to ask to play.
The second type is that same kid, 6 months later. He's kept at it, working on his jumper, his handles, his no-look pass. Standing not an inch over 4'8" and not an ounce over 85 pounds, The Kid is tiny. When he puts up that 25 foot heave, every bit of his strength goes into it. Of course, he won't make a living off his jumper; rather, his greatest asset will be his quickness. And damn is that quickness filthy. The Kid has the nastiest crossover you've ever seen. The defense will be on skates the entire time. Wanna feel like Jaque Vaughn out there? Then be a man and volunteer to guard The Kid.
Closest NBA equivalent: Early Boykins
Giving short guys hope everywhere..
15. Only Offense
For lack of a better term, Only Offense is a dick. He thinks he's the man. No, scratch that, he knows he's the man. In his mind, Only Offense has the complete offensive game. He possesses the perfect toolbox, the perfect treasure chest of moves to put any defender on a poster. Never meeting a look at the basket he didn't immediately fall in love with, Only Offense will put up a shot as soon as he touches the ball. Two defenders? More like too easy. Three defenders? More like three-point play. Teammates? He's never heard of the word.
In fact, Only Offense believes he has such a perfect offensive game that this will excuse him from exerting any effort on the defensive end. Expect walking up and down the court. Expect cherry-picking. Expect the calling of phantom fouls every time he misses. After all, Only Offense would never miss a bucket unless he got hacked, right? If you never want to see the ball again, pass it to this guy.
Closest NBA equivalent: Ben Gordon
"Hey Tayshaun, catch!"
"Really?!?"
"Nah."
"Really?!?"
"Nah."
16. The Passer
Wanna feel inadequate? Wanna feel like the weak link on a team? Play with The Passer. He has superior court vision, commendable quickness, and a high enough basketball IQ to know exactly when to dump the rock off on a penetrate and dish. Can you set a pick for The Passser, seal his defender, and roll to the hoop? Then expect a perfect one-handed bounce pass a second later.
And therein lies the problem. The Passer is almost too good at setting up his teammates. No one can keep up with this guy's ability to distribute. Without fail, he'll use his quickness to draw the defenders to him. Then when the moment is perfect, he'll hit you with a pass so beautiful Magic Johnson would weep. You'll get the ball a foot from the hoop with the closest defender seven feet away. All you have to do is make an uncontested lay-up. Easy, right? Nope. What do you do instead? Put up a big fat brick. It's goddamn embarrassing and there's nothing you can say or do to explain away your suckage. With confidence forever rocked and a part of you secretly despising The Passer for making you look a fool, fully recovering from this embarrassment will take months.
Closest NBA equivalent: Chris Paul
"Yo Chris, I won't airball my next lay-up. Promise."
"There's no place like unrestricted free agency... there's no place like unrestricted free agency..."
"There's no place like unrestricted free agency... there's no place like unrestricted free agency..."
Thursday, September 23, 2010
The Return (for real this time)
I'm back! And I intend for it to stay that way. I'll spare you the pain and keep the contrived "I've gotten busy with life so I didn't have time to write blah blah blah" bullshit to a minimum. An excuse is like an asshole; everyone has one and they all stink. So this will be short. I'll drop the three main reasons I took a break, how I intend to go forward from here, and then let you carry on with your day.
If you don't know why I'd put a picture of Jordan sporting number 45 in a post about making a comeback, do yourself a favor and look it up. Get educated, son.
Reason Number 1: I moved. Yup, I relocated my entire life three hundred miles south. Moving from rural-ish Davis to Los Angeles has involved a lifestyle and culture adjustment, and it tended to create a large black hole that engulfed all time around it.
Reason Number 2: It's the NBA offseason. Shit be slow this time of year. Yes, the World Championships just wrapped up (I love you, Kevin "Captain America" Durant). Yes, there are talks about 'Melo leaving Denver for greener (and if the rumor mongers will have us believe, more urban) pastures. Yes, preseason is right around the corner, meaning the regular season looms closer than ever. But here's the thing: it's all talk. And talk is cheap. I might be in the minority here, but I don't give two shits about anything except the actual playing of basketball. Fluff pieces, trade speculation, player rankings, it's all a bunch of crock. With the exception of watching Durant go America all over the rest of the basketball world in Turkey this summer, there hasn't been any compelling basketball to write about in nearly 3 months.
With every throw-down, Durant cemented his place among the NBA elite. In an unrelated development, Seattle just doubled it's Prozac dosage.
Reason Number 3: I'm a God Dammed writing tutor. The last thing I want to do after I spend the whole day helping students with their papers is come home and write on my own time. Don't think for a second that I'm not fond of what I do--far from it. I have the best gig in the world. But writing fatigue does exist (even if WebMD doesn't recognize it yet) and recently I have experienced it in a big way.
However, all of this is changing. I've been in LA for nearly a month now, meaning I've developed a daily routine that allows for ample personal writing time. The NBA season is rapidly approaching; stuff to write about will start cropping up. And working with kids from Southern California has certainly given me a wealth of stories involving their sporting preferences.
So what does this mean, then? It means you can expect the usual basketball talk, anecdotes about living in the middle of Lakers country, and personal tales involving my attempts to help the misguided kids I tutor see the errors of their rooting ways.
This move has been exciting. I look forward to sharing it with you.
If you don't know why I'd put a picture of Jordan sporting number 45 in a post about making a comeback, do yourself a favor and look it up. Get educated, son.Reason Number 1: I moved. Yup, I relocated my entire life three hundred miles south. Moving from rural-ish Davis to Los Angeles has involved a lifestyle and culture adjustment, and it tended to create a large black hole that engulfed all time around it.
Reason Number 2: It's the NBA offseason. Shit be slow this time of year. Yes, the World Championships just wrapped up (I love you, Kevin "Captain America" Durant). Yes, there are talks about 'Melo leaving Denver for greener (and if the rumor mongers will have us believe, more urban) pastures. Yes, preseason is right around the corner, meaning the regular season looms closer than ever. But here's the thing: it's all talk. And talk is cheap. I might be in the minority here, but I don't give two shits about anything except the actual playing of basketball. Fluff pieces, trade speculation, player rankings, it's all a bunch of crock. With the exception of watching Durant go America all over the rest of the basketball world in Turkey this summer, there hasn't been any compelling basketball to write about in nearly 3 months.
With every throw-down, Durant cemented his place among the NBA elite. In an unrelated development, Seattle just doubled it's Prozac dosage.Reason Number 3: I'm a God Dammed writing tutor. The last thing I want to do after I spend the whole day helping students with their papers is come home and write on my own time. Don't think for a second that I'm not fond of what I do--far from it. I have the best gig in the world. But writing fatigue does exist (even if WebMD doesn't recognize it yet) and recently I have experienced it in a big way.
However, all of this is changing. I've been in LA for nearly a month now, meaning I've developed a daily routine that allows for ample personal writing time. The NBA season is rapidly approaching; stuff to write about will start cropping up. And working with kids from Southern California has certainly given me a wealth of stories involving their sporting preferences.
So what does this mean, then? It means you can expect the usual basketball talk, anecdotes about living in the middle of Lakers country, and personal tales involving my attempts to help the misguided kids I tutor see the errors of their rooting ways.
This move has been exciting. I look forward to sharing it with you.
Monday, August 9, 2010
I Love LA
OK well maybe I don't love LA. Honestly, I'm not sure. But that's a damn catchy (albeit oft played) song and since LA is the place I'll be calling home for the next trip around our humble little sun, it seemed to be fitting.
Just like taking a charge close to the restricted area in the paint, this move is not without its uncertainty. What will kill me first? The traffic? The smog? The California Gurls? I'm not sure, but I hope it's the last one. And I'm damned excited to find out.
Now, one of my major concerns, a concern that friends, family, and coworkers alike have expressed is that I'm moving directly into the heart of Lakers country (No joke--if you Google the address of my apartment, it's directly to the left of the 'L' of the 'Los' in 'Los Angeles'). I'm going right into the belly of the beast. Headlong into that proverbial oncoming train. True that, people of my life. It may suck being surrounded by Kobe Enthusiasts, but it could be worse. How it could be worse exactly, I'm not too sure. But hey, at least it'll be a good social experiment. I'm a glass half-full kind of guy like that.
Anyway, here are four thoughts, mostly basketball related, about Scott Zais taking his talents to South Bea- er Los Angeles.
1. Staying current with the Kings will be a challenge. Up in the Sacramento area, all Kings games are televised. But if you go outside that little radius, there isn't a Kings game to be seen. Hell, it's a small miracle to meet someone that has even heard of the Kings when you get out that far. Anyway, things are looking up for the young core (as I've fanboy ranted before) and I don't want to miss any of it. I want to see DeMarcus Cousins self-combust live on my screen. I want to see Tyreke knife into the lane over and over on his way to a 32-12-13 stat line. I want to hear Grant Napier's rusty baritone and Jerry Reynolds bumbling, yet insightful, perspective.
Watch that right hand, Grant.
Basically, if there's ever been time to cave and spring for that League Pass, it's now. I'll get all that Kings goodness (and those marquee Mid-January Wolves-Pacers showdowns, too) whenever I want it. The seed has been planted with the Mom and Dad; I hope they've picked up what I've put down.
2. I meet the perfect girl... who ends up being a Lakers fan. Now that may sound like a contradiction. "Perfect girl" and "Lakers fan" can't be in the same sentence. That would be like putting Chris Webber and Darko Milicic in the same sentence. Such a thought is ludicrously blasphemous. So, let me rephrase it --she's perfect except for that slight character flaw. I can see the conversation on our first date:
Me: So, do you follow basketball?
Her: Yeah! I love it!
Me: Oh sweet. Who's your team?
Her: Lake show, baby!
Me: Oh...
Her: And my favorite player is...
Me: Don't say it. Please don't say it.
Her: The Black Mamba, foo!
Me: Check please.
As my buddy Robbie put it, she has to be a perfect ten in all other categories for this to fly. I'll have to agree.
3. It'll finally be time to jump on the bandwagon. The Clippers bandwagon, that is. Look, I'm a basketball addict. It can't be helped; the need to watch, read, write, and play the game is ingrained in me. It runs in my veins. So there's no way I'm moving to a new city, a major city boasting two NBA franchises mind you, without following at least one of them. Obviously the Lakers are out (I dislike them just a bit). This leaves the lowly Clippers.
One could say I'm a glutton for punishment, willingly picking only the most terrible of teams to support. But you know what? That's fine with me. I'm used to it. And frankly, they have nowhere to go but up. Not to mention tickets will be dirt cheap, the fans will actually be fans, and I will have a slight chance of bumping into Bill Simmons in the concession line. Here's to me trying to buy him a beer, which will lead to us talking, which will lead to me impressing him with my biting wit, which will lead to me receiving my own column. That's how these things work I hear. Wish me luck.
4. Getting my runs in will be a challenge. Easily one of the most difficult parts of this move will be all the good basketball I will leave behind. The people I run with boast the perfect mix of fun and competition. It's lighthearted when it needs to be, but serious when it counts. Not to mention, I'm not the shortest guy out there (but it is close). Needless to say, I'll have to put out feelers down south.
So there you have it. Four quick thoughts on my move. Wish me luck!
Just like taking a charge close to the restricted area in the paint, this move is not without its uncertainty. What will kill me first? The traffic? The smog? The California Gurls? I'm not sure, but I hope it's the last one. And I'm damned excited to find out.
Now, one of my major concerns, a concern that friends, family, and coworkers alike have expressed is that I'm moving directly into the heart of Lakers country (No joke--if you Google the address of my apartment, it's directly to the left of the 'L' of the 'Los' in 'Los Angeles'). I'm going right into the belly of the beast. Headlong into that proverbial oncoming train. True that, people of my life. It may suck being surrounded by Kobe Enthusiasts, but it could be worse. How it could be worse exactly, I'm not too sure. But hey, at least it'll be a good social experiment. I'm a glass half-full kind of guy like that.
Anyway, here are four thoughts, mostly basketball related, about Scott Zais taking his talents to South Bea- er Los Angeles.
1. Staying current with the Kings will be a challenge. Up in the Sacramento area, all Kings games are televised. But if you go outside that little radius, there isn't a Kings game to be seen. Hell, it's a small miracle to meet someone that has even heard of the Kings when you get out that far. Anyway, things are looking up for the young core (as I've fanboy ranted before) and I don't want to miss any of it. I want to see DeMarcus Cousins self-combust live on my screen. I want to see Tyreke knife into the lane over and over on his way to a 32-12-13 stat line. I want to hear Grant Napier's rusty baritone and Jerry Reynolds bumbling, yet insightful, perspective.
Watch that right hand, Grant.Basically, if there's ever been time to cave and spring for that League Pass, it's now. I'll get all that Kings goodness (and those marquee Mid-January Wolves-Pacers showdowns, too) whenever I want it. The seed has been planted with the Mom and Dad; I hope they've picked up what I've put down.
2. I meet the perfect girl... who ends up being a Lakers fan. Now that may sound like a contradiction. "Perfect girl" and "Lakers fan" can't be in the same sentence. That would be like putting Chris Webber and Darko Milicic in the same sentence. Such a thought is ludicrously blasphemous. So, let me rephrase it --she's perfect except for that slight character flaw. I can see the conversation on our first date:
Me: So, do you follow basketball?
Her: Yeah! I love it!
Me: Oh sweet. Who's your team?
Her: Lake show, baby!
Me: Oh...
Her: And my favorite player is...
Me: Don't say it. Please don't say it.
Her: The Black Mamba, foo!
Me: Check please.
As my buddy Robbie put it, she has to be a perfect ten in all other categories for this to fly. I'll have to agree.
3. It'll finally be time to jump on the bandwagon. The Clippers bandwagon, that is. Look, I'm a basketball addict. It can't be helped; the need to watch, read, write, and play the game is ingrained in me. It runs in my veins. So there's no way I'm moving to a new city, a major city boasting two NBA franchises mind you, without following at least one of them. Obviously the Lakers are out (I dislike them just a bit). This leaves the lowly Clippers.
Clip show, bitches.
4. Getting my runs in will be a challenge. Easily one of the most difficult parts of this move will be all the good basketball I will leave behind. The people I run with boast the perfect mix of fun and competition. It's lighthearted when it needs to be, but serious when it counts. Not to mention, I'm not the shortest guy out there (but it is close). Needless to say, I'll have to put out feelers down south.
So there you have it. Four quick thoughts on my move. Wish me luck!
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Don't Quit Your Day Job
Now that the dust is finally settling from the Nuclear War that was the Free Agency bonanza, I'd like us to take one last look back into the past and examine the 2009-2010 season before it forever disappears in the rear-view mirror. Now, I'm not going to dispense any awards for anything that happened on the court. And I'm not even going to doll out accolades for anything player related; rather, I want us to not forgot some of the absolute terrible predictions so-called "experts" espoused at the beginning of the season.
Look, I understand that predicting anything in sports is like getting Mike Bibby to care on defense. It's really, really tough to do. But some of these predictions were so utterly atrocious that looking back from the future, we can easily laugh.
First up, ESPN's Western Conference Predictions. Ok, sure they got the Lakers at the first seed right. But my dog could've done that. After that? Total crap shoot. ESPN failed to get a single team right. San Antonio, at number 2? Yeah, that's a ludicrously dumb ceiling, guys (overrating the Spurs seemed to be a trend). Then the Hornets at seven!?! Maybe for their chances in the lottery. But by far the worst was the omission of the Thunder. The experts at Bristol had the electrifying Oklahoma City squad ranked below such outfits as the Clippers and Rockets, and placed them just one game better than the Warriors.
Next, their Eastern Conference Predictions. Once again, the incorrectness continues. Sure, they got the Cavaliers right at number 1, but if there's one thing that was established, it was that Cleveland boasted (we can say that in the past tense now, sadly) the best regular season team. They beat all the teams they are supposed to beat, did well on the road, and held serve at home. But when it came to good teams, they folded like a stack of cards. Granted, the experts did nail the top four seeds in the East, albeit in slightly varying orders. The bottom half, though? Not so much. Putting Philly in the playoffs was all kinds of adorable. And omitting the upstart Bucks from the post-season picture entirely was just plain offensive.
Their Rookie of the Year Predictions were also just as bad. See Tyreke Evans or Brandon Jennings in there? Yup, me neither. Moving along.
Then, for Free Agency predictions, ESPN once again swung and missed. Can't blame the panelists on this one, though. They forgot that LeBron James lacked a spine or any shred of decency.
Another pretty bad prediction.
Finally, the good stuff. The Championship predictions. Of all the experts polled, the most popular choice was the Lakers. But somehow, someway, a majority still thought a team other than the Lakers would take home the Larry O'Brien Trophy. The second most popular team was the Cavs. Here's one of the better quotes from one of the panelists:
Hilarously wrong. Now, ESPN wisely removed the name of the author of this quote to avoid embarrassment. Wise choice. But, whoever wrote this clearly had a love of stats and pretended to use them like he knew what he was talking about. The likely culprit? John Hollinger.
Next up, one about the Spurs:
Yeeee-ouch. Couldn't be more wrong.
And one about the Magic:
"Already had three All-stars"? Please tell me you aren't including Rashard Lewis in that. Please.
Now, these all have been as off the mark as a Dwight Howard free throw. But, I've saved the best for last, from one Mr. Bill Simmons.
Let's make one thing clear: I enjoy reading Bill Simmons. I used to love him until I realized that a) he thought Stephen Curry should be ROY over Tyreke Evans because he was "more fun to play with" and b) he gets a lot of mileage by overusing outdated pop-culture references in his writing. But he's an entertaining writer. However, after reading this paragraph, it becomes clear that entertaining is all he is:
Look, I understand that predicting anything in sports is like getting Mike Bibby to care on defense. It's really, really tough to do. But some of these predictions were so utterly atrocious that looking back from the future, we can easily laugh.
Bibby trying out this thing called "guarding his man."
First up, ESPN's Western Conference Predictions. Ok, sure they got the Lakers at the first seed right. But my dog could've done that. After that? Total crap shoot. ESPN failed to get a single team right. San Antonio, at number 2? Yeah, that's a ludicrously dumb ceiling, guys (overrating the Spurs seemed to be a trend). Then the Hornets at seven!?! Maybe for their chances in the lottery. But by far the worst was the omission of the Thunder. The experts at Bristol had the electrifying Oklahoma City squad ranked below such outfits as the Clippers and Rockets, and placed them just one game better than the Warriors.
Next, their Eastern Conference Predictions. Once again, the incorrectness continues. Sure, they got the Cavaliers right at number 1, but if there's one thing that was established, it was that Cleveland boasted (we can say that in the past tense now, sadly) the best regular season team. They beat all the teams they are supposed to beat, did well on the road, and held serve at home. But when it came to good teams, they folded like a stack of cards. Granted, the experts did nail the top four seeds in the East, albeit in slightly varying orders. The bottom half, though? Not so much. Putting Philly in the playoffs was all kinds of adorable. And omitting the upstart Bucks from the post-season picture entirely was just plain offensive.
Their Rookie of the Year Predictions were also just as bad. See Tyreke Evans or Brandon Jennings in there? Yup, me neither. Moving along.
Then, for Free Agency predictions, ESPN once again swung and missed. Can't blame the panelists on this one, though. They forgot that LeBron James lacked a spine or any shred of decency.
Another pretty bad prediction.Finally, the good stuff. The Championship predictions. Of all the experts polled, the most popular choice was the Lakers. But somehow, someway, a majority still thought a team other than the Lakers would take home the Larry O'Brien Trophy. The second most popular team was the Cavs. Here's one of the better quotes from one of the panelists:
- "The Cleveland Cavaliers were the league's most dominant team last season with a 10.0-point differential per 100 possessions. Their probable path to an NBA championship was pushed off course by an Orlando Magic team uniquely suited to exploit their vulnerabilities. Don't count on that happening two years in a row. With the additions of Shaquille O'Neal and some very effective wing defenders, the Cavs have insured that there isn't a system in the league that can hijack their championship hopes in 2009-10."
Next up, one about the Spurs:
- "Championship-caliber teams don't stick around for a decade anymore, but the Spurs keep surviving. I love the offseason additions for Tim Duncan's team, and trust they'll be a top West seed and go all the way."
Yeeee-ouch. Couldn't be more wrong.
And one about the Magic:
- "Orlando, of course. Take the league's best defense, subtract the overrated Hedo Turkoglu and add Vince Carter to a lineup that already had three All-Stars, and what do you have? A team that's ready to handle Boston (again) and Cleveland (again) and get past a somewhat aging Lakers team (to whom the Magic gave away two Finals games in June)."
"Already had three All-stars"? Please tell me you aren't including Rashard Lewis in that. Please.
Now, these all have been as off the mark as a Dwight Howard free throw. But, I've saved the best for last, from one Mr. Bill Simmons.
"Referencing Teen Wolf in every one of my columns? Now that's a lock."
Let's make one thing clear: I enjoy reading Bill Simmons. I used to love him until I realized that a) he thought Stephen Curry should be ROY over Tyreke Evans because he was "more fun to play with" and b) he gets a lot of mileage by overusing outdated pop-culture references in his writing. But he's an entertaining writer. However, after reading this paragraph, it becomes clear that entertaining is all he is:
- "This particular Spurs team has the right level of appropriate fear: fear of aging and complacency coupled with an appreciation for how fast things can fall apart (thanks to Manu's ankle the past two seasons), and beyond that, the reality that their best player might only have one great season left in him. I am a Spurs junkie. I love reading about them. I love the way they put their rosters together and value chemistry so deeply. I love the way they interact during games (as I've written many times). I just get a kick out of them. And the truth is, this might be their last chance for a dominant season with Tim Duncan leading the way. I think it happens. If only because great basketball players have a habit of somehow finding that one great team. They are my pick to win in 2010. Convincingly"
Sunday, July 11, 2010
State of the Blog
Dear Mid Range J faithful (hey mama!)
I apologize for the dearth of updates over the past few weeks. I want to let you know, however, that this drought is not for a lack of wanting to write; rather, it's because I've had a lack of time to write. OK, that's not exactly true--I do have time to write (notice how you tend to make time for the things you love?), it's just that I don't have the energy to write.
I've been mired in back-to-back-back (AAU!) 30+ hour work weeks at my new job. Since it's a gym, and I'm charged with opening it several times a week, my sleep schedule has been all kinds of messed up. Getting up at 3:30am a couple times a week does that to a person. I am but a man, and after all that work, writing is just not something I want to do.
Also, don't know if you noticed, but it's the off-season, and things tend to slow down a bit once basketball stops being played. Shocker I know. I mean, stuff is going on--apparently LeBron decided to sign with some team in Florida. I'm pretty sure it was with the Jacksonville Jaguars. But for the most part, there isn't anything super exciting going on.
In all seriousness, it's stuff like the free agent frenzy that makes it hard to write, at least for me. Sure, I could weigh in on the LeBron Debacle (Lebracle, if you will), or the new three headed monster that is the Miami Heat, or Dan Gilbert's open-letter to Cavs fans (The most shocking facet of the letter? He wrote it in Comic Sans. Really.), but what would that accomplish? Everyone, my grandmother included, has an opinin on it.
All I would be doing would be contributing to the noise. And if the World Cup has taught us anything, it's that we do not need anymore vuvuzelas.
It seems to me sports writing is synonymous with regurgitation. The powers that be (ESPN, Yahoo!, Sports Illustrated, etc) tend to set the agenda, create the talking points, and direct everyone's focus. After a while, everyone starts sounding the same. Watch Around The Horn, then PTI, then Sportscenter, and you'll start to see what I mean.
I don't want to sound the same as everyone else. I know that last sentence is the stuff of angsty teens, but it's true. If I came on here and wrote about how I disagreed with LeBron's handling of his free agency, what would that accomplish? Everyone's already said it. Doing so would be a waste of my time and an even bigger waste of yours.
What does all this mean, then? In a nutshell: it's tough coming up with fresh takes on things. And if I do find something unique to chime in on, it takes a fair amount of time to write it up and give it that nice coat of paint.
But I digress. My point is this:I'll definitely keep The Mid Range J updated, just not as regularly as I used to. But don't tune me out, por favor. I definitely have some ideas for posts, it's just they may not come as regularly as they used to.
Oh, and go Kings.
I apologize for the dearth of updates over the past few weeks. I want to let you know, however, that this drought is not for a lack of wanting to write; rather, it's because I've had a lack of time to write. OK, that's not exactly true--I do have time to write (notice how you tend to make time for the things you love?), it's just that I don't have the energy to write.
I've been mired in back-to-back-back (AAU!) 30+ hour work weeks at my new job. Since it's a gym, and I'm charged with opening it several times a week, my sleep schedule has been all kinds of messed up. Getting up at 3:30am a couple times a week does that to a person. I am but a man, and after all that work, writing is just not something I want to do.
Also, don't know if you noticed, but it's the off-season, and things tend to slow down a bit once basketball stops being played. Shocker I know. I mean, stuff is going on--apparently LeBron decided to sign with some team in Florida. I'm pretty sure it was with the Jacksonville Jaguars. But for the most part, there isn't anything super exciting going on.
In all seriousness, it's stuff like the free agent frenzy that makes it hard to write, at least for me. Sure, I could weigh in on the LeBron Debacle (Lebracle, if you will), or the new three headed monster that is the Miami Heat, or Dan Gilbert's open-letter to Cavs fans (The most shocking facet of the letter? He wrote it in Comic Sans. Really.), but what would that accomplish? Everyone, my grandmother included, has an opinin on it.
All I would be doing would be contributing to the noise. And if the World Cup has taught us anything, it's that we do not need anymore vuvuzelas.
Or Soccer fans.
It seems to me sports writing is synonymous with regurgitation. The powers that be (ESPN, Yahoo!, Sports Illustrated, etc) tend to set the agenda, create the talking points, and direct everyone's focus. After a while, everyone starts sounding the same. Watch Around The Horn, then PTI, then Sportscenter, and you'll start to see what I mean.
I don't want to sound the same as everyone else. I know that last sentence is the stuff of angsty teens, but it's true. If I came on here and wrote about how I disagreed with LeBron's handling of his free agency, what would that accomplish? Everyone's already said it. Doing so would be a waste of my time and an even bigger waste of yours.
What does all this mean, then? In a nutshell: it's tough coming up with fresh takes on things. And if I do find something unique to chime in on, it takes a fair amount of time to write it up and give it that nice coat of paint.
But I digress. My point is this:I'll definitely keep The Mid Range J updated, just not as regularly as I used to. But don't tune me out, por favor. I definitely have some ideas for posts, it's just they may not come as regularly as they used to.
Oh, and go Kings.
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