Celtics Pride?

I realized something last night: I like the Lakers team. I hate Lakers fans.

You've met them before. They appear in your congregations and water coolers, looking like fans of the home team before going rogue. They open up sports converations with blaspheme like "Kobe's the best player of all time." They rock fedoras and Ed Hardy shirts (at least that's what they wear in my nightmares) , and have a smug sense of entitlement that we dually despise and crave.

These are Lakers fans.

They laugh at your team's ineptitude. They make you answer "Kobe as defender" questions, even though that idea is so 2005. They pour gin and juice on everything when Kobe hits a gamewinner because they can afford it. They think they are the coolest fans in the world. And they tell the rest of the NBA to stay thirsty, my friends.

So...for everything that is holy and right about the NBA, I'm rooting for the Celtics. The green and gold know the feeling of sucking for an entire decade (90s). Los Angeles has only been under .500 three times since the 1974-75 season. Plus, I think this Wesley Snipes-level black Boston team totally subverts the archaic Celtics imagery of the 1980s.

Yes, I know...I'm a Knicks fan. But don't get mad at me yet. I've got my reasons.
1. Nate Robinson
As Knicks fans, we LOVE to count the amount of guys that make it to the NBA Finals...without the Knicks. Since the Ewing-era, we've had suckers like Nazi Mohammed and Trevor Ariza touch the ugly gold trophy without us. (We also had a penchant for grabbing garbage players off winning teams. I'm looking at YOU, Howard Eisley.) Nate, welcome to the wish list.

Nate's only been the only reason to watch Knicks games over the past five years as Isiah wrecked the salary cap (Jerome James, et al). He gave us street cred at All-Star weekend (even though Iggy deserved to win). He, along with Jamal Crawford, laughed at the concept of shot selection. Seeing him in a Celtics uniform makes me feel like Jennifer Aniston as she watches Brad Pitt make out with Angelina Jolie Voight on Access Hollywood, only now she's two years removed. You know, in an "at least he's happy now" moment.

(You know what sucks? If Jen, Brad, and Angelina were black, this would've been par for the course. Heck, the whole thing sounded like a director's cut episode of Girlfriends. Damn it all.)
2. The Celtics and Knicks aren't real "rivals".
People seem to think that the Celtics/Knicks have a rivalry akin to that of Yankees/Sawx or Jets/Pats...but that's not true. There hasn't been a time in NBA history where both teams were great at the same time. When Russell reigned, the Knicks were meandering through the East. The fusion of Clyde and Black Jesus was drowned out by the NBA/ABA showdown. Bernie King was a role player to the Bird protagonist. And we watched idly by as the rejuvenation machine powered the 2008 model to a championship.

Yeah, I don't love the Celtics. I envy their success. But at least they've never made me bleed my own blood before. I have Michael and Reggie to thank for that.

3. The death and resurrection of Rajon Rondo.
Remember when the Pittsburgh/Seattle Super Bowl when the Steelers won even though Ben Roethlisberger only completed nine passes? I do. That's kinda how the last C's/Lake Show Finals played out. Rajon Rondo played like garbage, Kobe defended him by crouching down in the paint...and the C's won anyway. Unfortunately, Rondo caught the "in spite of" disease from Tony Parker (see: '03 Finals) and was almost traded off before the 2008 Draft.

No longer. Rondo's a beast. He powers this new-look Celtics machine, and is totally responsible for this team's desire to snag Ring #2. Another W would vindicate his standing in the eyes of everyone who hasn't watched a lick of hoops all season. (Just so you know...he's here for good.)
So you see, I have to root for the C's this time. History (and annoying Laker fans) have forced my hand. Let's just hope the Celtics can throttle the Lakers quickly, because I have a feeling this Cinderella carriage is about to turn back into a pumpkin.

Enjoy the best Finals in recent memory, people.

When "Doing the Most" Goes Wrong...

This “Bucket List” idea has to be one of the greatest ideas ever conceived by my brain.

God, you are the man for this one.

If you didn’t already know or haven't see me for the last two weeks, I’ve been tinkering with this idea of a “Bucket List”. No, I don’t plan on dying anytime soon. Instead, this “bucket list” contains a litany of events that I want to complete and ideas that I want to flesh out before graduation.

Even though the movie starring Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman served as inspiration for the title, I’ve actually been thinking about maximizing these two weeks for the past two years since my boy Ray Bignall graduated. Instead of playing the waiting game before graduation, Ray literally went to every single Smithsonian, did everything fun that he’s ever wanted to do in D.C., and graduated with a slew of Facebook pictures and fond memories. In short, Ray became a tourist.

Of course…as a New Yorker, I didn’t want to be THAT GUY. In New York, we always make sport of trying to find the misplaced tourist as they traverse Manhattan. Humungous camera? CHECK. Hawaiian shirt even though it’s New York in April? CHECK. Geeked expression on face when staring at random street performer? CHECK. Wearing socks with sandals? Ewwww.

However, there’s no shame in being a tourist. Actually, after missing out on a ton of cool stuff in Washington because I was trying to be cool…I realized that it’s necessary to cross into the tourist trap, er…zone. How else can you properly maximize the experience? When will you ever have this much time to frequent D.C. on the cheap?

So, as a self-proclaimed tourist, I have been taking out things on my itemized list. Last Saturday, I joined my friends on the National Mall for our annual Spring Thing. On Sunday, I played basketball at Pentagon City with my buddies from Grace Covenant DC and actually dunked the rock during our pickup game. (And by “dunk”, I mean…I Wally Szczerbiak’d that bad boy to the rim. Sweet.) On Monday, I went swimming at the local pool, enjoyed dinner at the home of one of my funniest friends to date, and went duck-hunting…on the old-school Nintendo.

On Tuesday, my sister and I went to the Senate office and happened to be in Senator Chuck Schumer (D-NY) office when MSNBC announced that Arlen Specter would switch political parties. Yes, we DID hear audible screams of joy.

On Wednesday, I visited the set of ESPN’s “Pardon the Interruption”. Later, I watched my friend Obehi Janice blow the audience away with her solo play over at Georgetown. After that, we snagged an ice cream dinner at Baskin Robbins, who was basically giving the sugary goodness away at 31¢ a scoop. But since the deal was limited to three scoops per customer, we then drove to another BR near Georgetown to get our fill.

On Thursday, I rolled out with my boy Rich and our crew to an all-you-can-eat wings place in Virginia and proceeded to eat 27 wings and 2 chicken fingers. Then, it was off to the Honors Banquet and Royal Affair for more eats. I love having high metabolism.

On Friday, we had a cool forty people (read that again, FORTY) join me on an excursion to witness Wolverine eviscerate bad guys in X-Men Origins. Trust me, there’s nothing more soothing after a tiresome semester than watching Hugh Jackson tear bad guys to shreds. Plus, with all the people…I was geeked. I didn’t know people ACTUALLY followed through after clicking “Attending” on Facebook. As we were all walking to the theater, I felt like Ice Cube in “Straight Outta Compton.” Or, better yet, Heavy D in the “Now That We Found Love” music video. (By the way, wasn’t this song extremely underrated? “Now that WHEEEEE found love…what are WHEEEEE gonna DOOOOO…WITH IT?” Great.)

However, some negative side-effects have begun to present themselves due to my infatuation with redeeming the time. First, I’ve destroyed my internal clock to the point where I end up waking up at like 6:30am for no apparent reason. Second, and more importantly…I’ve been missing NBA playoff basketball.

At first, it was no big deal. I figured that David Stern had probably handpicked we’d probably see the Black Mamba take on the Lebrons in the NBA Finals, and that these other series would just be meaningless battles for second-place. Instead of regurgitating information from other sources…why not sit back and enjoy life for a change? Why not live for the wonder of it all?

So I decided to go to Royal Affair 2009. Royal Affair is the night where the religious organizations on campus are honored for their service, and is usually a night that does a good job of covering the three F’s…food, folks, and fun. Since I’d never been to a Royal Affair ceremony, the night was marked on my calendar as a “bucket list” event. But there was only one problem.

The Chicago Bulls ended up taking the Boston Celtics to Game 6.

I arrived at the event wearing my tailored black suit with red tie…looking rather dapper if I do say so myself. Like Waldbaums, I stay fresh obsessed. However, while I looked smooth on the exterior, I was getting more anxious by the second. I looked at my phone. Tip-off in five minutes. I looked around the event and remembered that we were at the National Council for Negro Women office building on Connecticut Avenue. In other words, there were no televisions in sight.

I walked into the dining area and spotted my boy Ade at a far table. Knowing that Ade would be searching for game updates throughout the night, I plopped down in the seat to his left. After a brief conversation, we then began to strategize…agreeing that we’d take turns begging the security guard to refresh ESPN.com on a thirty-minute clip. It was desperate, it was selfish, but it HAD to be done. We would not be denied.

Unfortunately, when one feasts on ill-fated Internet updates…you’re bound to miss the ebb and flow of actual game action. When we checked the score at about the 3:00 mark of the fourth quarter and saw Boston up 7…I loudly declared the series OVER.

Three overtimes later, I was kicking myself. How could I miss the best game of the playoffs? Could I still call myself a true basketball fan?

When wielded with tact, the “Bucket List” can be considered one of the greatest single innovations released to the modern world. However, when this list causes a sportswriter to miss one of the greatest basketball games of all-time…perhaps the list should head back to the drawing board.

We don’t need this idea causing more harm than good.

Until I’m officially done with college, go over and check out Tillman’s blog, or FreeDarko.com, or somebody else who’s writing solid features about sports. But for now, I’ll take a hiatus from sports talk. I’ll go ahead and take a few plays off. I’m going to continue to maximize this on-campus vacation and enjoy this last week of restoration. But I'm not missing any more important playoff basketball, that's for sure.

Rest assured…I’ll be back in no time. Heck, maybe even sooner than you think.

Mike Benjamin, II

P.S. If you want to see more pictures from the Bucket Week, here's the link. Yes, I DID take these photos with my Kodak disposable camera. Go ahead...get your laughs in now.

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