Stylish and Versatile

Stylish and versatile.

I've been called many things in my life, but usually stylish AND versatile aren't included. Stylish? Only on the day I wore my Allan Houston jersey to a Javits Center car show. Versatile? I guess. I'm as versatile as an ottoman in a beauty salon.

OK, enough jokes. Currently there's a movement afoot by bloggers far and wide to name their favorite writers who they feel are "stylish and versatile" on their blogs. My blogger buddy that nominated me has probably never seen my treasure trove of Aeropostale cargo pants and rugby shirts. Chain letter? Possibly. But who am I to forgo an opportunity to talk about myself?

As promised, here are seven things about me and some bloggers who's game I respect...but I'm gonna spice it up POT-style.

I promise...I'll write about hoops again soon.

M.B.'s SEVEN THINGS
1. I'm a die hard Knicks fan, and I really like the way Raymond Felton's playing ball.

Ray Felton reminds me of a young Chauncey Billups, back when Billups was Boston's 1997 consolation prize (they were gunning/tanking for Tim Duncan, if you remember), got a ton of money (no rookie scale yet), failed at handling the Boston atmosphere (black athlete + Boston = WE GET IT) and was shipped out 50 games into his rookie season to his Denver hometown. Similarly, Felton was the sucker's pick after Paul/Williams were off the board, a NCAA champion with an average UNC game that was meh in comparison to those studs. Yes, this was before the days of Larry Drew II. Eeek.

Like most guys, he played hard under Larry Brown, worked off the baby weight, and got a new deal. Unlike most guys, he carried this HUGE Paul/Williams shoulder chip to the Big Apple, learning the Amare P&R in a month and carrying a new playoff noise on broad shoulders.

A few months ago, Felton was our consolation prize in the LBJ sweepstakes. Now I can't wait to name my pit bull after him. (Wait, wha?)
2. I love laughing out loud and criticizing a movie while I'm watching it.

If this makes me similar to 99.9999999999% of African-American movie-goers, so be it. DON'T GO IN THERE!

3. I appreciate (and kinda dig) it when ladies (note the noun used here) can comfortably pull off the "Candace Parker".

After spending some glorious years at black college (Howard!), I've run across my share of weaves (yes, I've literally run across tracks of hair on the sidewalk), strewn stiletto heels, and bad makeup jobs. A friend of mine once said that a girl we knew wore SO much makeup that "you could butter your bread with it." Gross but revealing.
What is the "Candace Parker"? Simply put, it's wearing clothes that fit the occasion but don't impede your ability to have fun. If you're going to the gym, skip the makeup. If you're going to a picnic at a state park, wear sneakers and jeans. If you're going to a gala, wear a dress. If you're going to the beach, wear sunscreen. If you're going to a Super Bowl party, DON'T wear a pink jersey. Very important.

To me, the "Candace Parker" screams confidence and exudes beauty in a simple yet elegant way. It says, "You guys are going to have a volleyball net at your BBQ? SWEET! Of COURSE I'm going to wear sneakers!" (Aside: These girls almost ALWAYS pass the Mom Test.)

4. I love to encourage others by laughing at their jokes, even when they dive bomb.

The opposite of this would be doing what Reggie Miller does during a TNT hoops game or Mike Francesa used to do when he rode shotgun with Chris "Mad Dog" Russo: leaving your sidekick hanging. Francesa wold rather leave an awkward 10 seconds of dead air than give Chris ANY credit for tossing up a half-decent joke. I give him credit for being a complete jerk.

5. I'd love to play 3-on-3 hoops with Obama on the White House lawn.

People always talk about shooting hoops on the POTUS basketball court, but how is that different than shooting jumpers in an empty park? BORING. It's like beating the first Ninja Gaiden for NES with no one watching. Ultimately, it only counts if there's a witness.

So, why be stingy with my imagination? I'd say we go all-out, a 3-on-3 tournament where I'd get to play alongside Kobe Bryant (hyper-competitive, wouldn't let us lose) and Obama (who's status at POTUS along with a tricky left-hand release would rattle the bejeesus out of our competition). Or, we get a crazy game of Knock-Out going, with the Knock-Out line stretching all the way across the National Mall for the illest all-day tourney. If Obama was in front of you in line, would you DARE knock him out? I wouldn't.

6. I have a twin sister. OK, so we're not twins, but my sister and I are really close. I taught her about sports and how important it is to love the Knicks, and she taught me how to dress, to jump on a hotel bed as soon as you arrive, and to love God above all. I love our relationship, from the looks we give each other to make the other one laugh uncontrollably to the gifts we send to each other just because we'd know the other one would like it. She's super protective of me and vice-versa. We're a better bro-sis combo than the Wonder Twins.

7. I think Jesus Christ is a pretty awesome dude. Not a bad guy to be best friends with.

As far as my top bloggers go, here's the list. Don't blink, or you might miss it:

T.G.I.F.T. (Brenton Harrison), Eights and Weights (Suzanne Brume), The Big Lead (Jason McIntyre), Club Trillion (Mark Titus), Fundamentally Unsound (Johnathan Tillman), True Hoop (Henry Abbott), NBA Playbook (Sebastian Pruiti), Forever Chasing After You (A.B.).

Thanks for letting me indulge. Back to hoops, after these messages.

M.B., II

Jackson Has His Phil as Allen Burns Sas-usage in Kobe's Kitchen

"Dagger!" my dad yelled at the TV while my kid brother and I sat staring at the increasingly annoying Yukon Denali commercial in disbelief.

"Ray Allen just put the Vu-Ya-Shake on Sasha Vujacic."

Indeed, after Kobe had taken the ball to the rack and gotten fouled, after Derek Fisher had drained another clutch jumper to cut the Celtic lead down to 3, we saw what I can only classify as the Sa-sha Shake.

"Ray Allen did a tappity-tap, shake-and-back on Sasha from SLOW-venia!" my dad exclaimed as I watched Eddie House sink two dagger free throws to end the Lakers' hopes for a comeback.

And that pretty much ends the Lakers' chances at grabbing the championship this year. Wow, and wow.

Folks, you have just missed the "wow" game of this year's NBA playoffs.

For those of you on the East Coast that decided to hit the sack last night after seeing the Lake Show jump out to a 24 point lead in the second quarter, you probably made the biggest mistake of your NBA lives. Two hours ago, I was pumping my fist harder than O.J. was after he got the "not-guilty" call from the jury in his murder trial back in 1995. After the Jewish sensation that is Jordan Farmar hit a NBA JAM three-pointer to stretch the lead at the buzzer ending the first-half, I was certain that the Lakers were on their way to tying up the series.

But then, Pierce hit an unusual jumper. Then KG...POSTED UP...and scored. Eddie House (the guy who ESPN's Bill Simmons' has been screaming should get playing time) knocks down a shot, P.J. Brown caps off the run with a ferocious dunk and suddenly...Boston is only down 2 at the end of the third quarter.

It's game time.

From that point at the end of the third quarter, the Lakers just looked nervous. Though Phil coolly responded that Lady Momentum was going to swing back in his team's favor in his mid-half interview with Michelle Tafoya, I wasn't sold. I could already see the backs of some chairs in the Staples Center, probably left vacant by some fair-weather actor trying to promote his new movie (Hancock), or some well-versed white singer. Justin, in the NBA Finals...that just isn't justified.

Meanwhile on the court, the Lakers began to panic. The rhythmic sounds of swishing nets in the forum was replaced by a chorus of clangs, gasps, and my absolute favorite, doinks. The artistic five-on-five display that I'd grown accustomed to seeing from the Lakers was usurped by an anarchist rebel (Kobe) that attempted to snatch victory from the rejuvenated Celtic bunch. Unfortunately for the city of Los Angeles, Fake M.J. was unable to avoid becoming a footnote in the Celtics' greatest comeback performance in NBA history.

(Shhh...that sound you hear is the plethora of bandwagon fans jumping ship)

Uh, Sasha...you left your ankles at the free-throw line.
Might want to go pick 'em up patna.

Mike Benjamin, II