Black Dynamite

I watched Black Dynamite last night.

I followed that up by shooting myself in the face.

If you didn't hear about it, don't worry...you're not missing much. It's a big screen hodgepodge, with your Crock Pot of black C-listers (Michael Jai White? John Salley?) combining their fading stardom to spoof the dead-ball blaxploitation era. It put up such paltry numbers in Europe that they couldn't even cover operating costs. And with the amount of failed black actors in tow, you could've easily mistaken the movie for a Living Color demo reel.

Who's the idiot that came up with this idea?

Oh, that's right, it was Quentin Tarantino...almost 15 years ago (Jackie Brown). We saw a rack of minor league talent (Chris Tucker, Tiny Lister) emerge alongside a loaded deck of legends (Sam Jackson, Robert DeNiro, Michael Keaton). He even got Pam Grier prominently involved, even though by then her breasts hung lower than Flava Flav's neck clock.

I don't know why I did a random viewing of this movie yesterday. I also don't know why peacocks can't fly, or how Arsenio Hall lost his show even though most of his memes (fist-pumping the studio audience) were comedy GOLD.

But, at the same time, I HAD to check this movie out. I had to see my dark horse candidate for the over-40 club (Salli Richardson) in 70s gear. I had to figure out how Tommy Davidson went from rock star to has-been, now forced to yell incessantly from Fallon's couch late into the cold, dank night. (And I had to find a way to escape the non-Tiger PGA Championship. Guhh.)

And here, P.O.T. fans, is where I add in the transition sentence about Tracy McGrady.

How does T-Mac fit here? Well, Tracy has decided to "finish up his career" (read: prove he's not washed up) by gunning hard for Joe D's oddly constructed Detroit Pistons team. There's not one person on this roster that makes me want to buy season tickets, not one guy that compels me to watch a single game on NBA TV, and not one dude that is worth my compensation. This is a team destined to win 32 games in the most excruciatingly boring way possible.

Detroit is Black Dynamite, and Tracy McGrady has become the unwanted.

I wish T-Mac had chosen a glorious ride out into the sunset, waving his towel from the pine as more competent men traverse the parquet in clutch time. Maybe his affable traits could be the lynch pin to a greater good. But some superstars can't play that cameo bull$***. T-Mac needs another bite of the apple, another taste of the glory days. He feels for the spotlight like a moth to the flame. But he has to do it his way. One contested fadeaway jay at a time. It's not in his DNA to ring-chase and dribble out the clock for a winner he played no part in constructing (Mitch Richmond, 2002).

But why Detroit? The city's a vacant parking lot, serving as honorable mention to the glory days of American capitalism. Just like Tracy, Meat Loaf's ciudad has seen better days. Can T-Mac's resurrection dually lead to a Motown resurgence? I doubt it. T-Mac's career, like the auto industry and the era of blaxploitation, has come and gone.

Alas. T-Mac's play is coming to a tragic, but fitting, denouement.

M.B., II

Burn Notice

Be quick to hear, slow to speak, and slow to anger.

I'm trying to live by words like these.

I caught this one from a wise man I know, and added it to my personal repetoire. Don't cry over spilled milk. What's in the past, is in the past. The heart of a fool proclaims foolishness. That sorta stuff.

I watched The Decision from my job. The white walled interior reflected my visage as the self-proclaimed King made his announcement. My initial reaction was to snap a chair over my knee like Bam Bam Bigelow, but I wanted to remain gainfully employed. Kind of a big deal.
Instead, I traveled to a comedy show and laughed LOUDLY. I was miserable.

People have been asking/txting/postal mailing me since Thursday, begging me to give commentary about the LeBacle. But as Jigga Man once said...what more can I say? Lebron treated Cleveland like the townspeople in Friday Night Lights treated Jason Street after he broke his vertebrae. I had to hold off the writing for 48 hours to avoid mutating into Dan Gilbert and breaking out the Comic Sans font.

(Friday Night Lights is a GREAT show, for the record. And it's on Netflix's Instant Watch! Hooray! #companyman)

My rant is going to be quick and painless (at least for the non-Cleveland fans). After I write this, I'm done with the Lebron talk. I'm going to try my hardest to avoid mentioning the word Lebron for ANOTHER 48 hours. Bienvenido a Miami, jerk.

Whenever you can shoehorn Will Smith into a post, you've got to do it.

1. Joe Johnson ended up winning of the LeBron sweepstakes.
Funny how the highest-paid player in the National Basketball Association is a guy that couldn't even get his team out of the second round. That deal's going to be a bigger albatross than Gilbert's contract in two years. Maybe I should've just skipped SAT prep classes to work on my handle after all.

The seventeen Hawks fans have got to be PISSED that he got this much cheese. Welp. Enjoy your second round exits.
2. Lebron can never be the G.O.A.T.
When LeBron made his choice at 8:00am EST on Thursday as he claimed (yeah right), he was choosing between the Red Pill or the Blue Pill:

Red Pill: Establish myself as a global icon, in a brand-new city of my choice (New York, Chicago, Los Angeles), while dually making a legit case for the G.O.A.T. Shoot for the moon, young LeBron. If I miss, big deal. I'll be loved by that city, revered and probably get my jersey retired once I'm done playing.

Blue Pill: Live the Vincent Chase (Entourage) life. Take an easy supporting cast role alongside Dwayne Wade (Aquaman), party and carouse with muchas chicas and my brosephs during the season, live tax-free, and play hard about 65% of the regular season (which is about 10-15 games too long, anyway). However, I'll live in Wade's shadow, never get a crack at the G.O.A.T. argument, and get lumped into the annals of time with guys like Adrian Dantley and David Robinson.

I'm surprised he took the Miami route. I'm even more suprised he dissed his state, thinking he'd be able to live there in the offseason. Yeah right. Prepare for bags of fecal matter on your porch, dude.

Plus, if he cares so much about his brand...why would he squash the only thing that will hold weight once he hangs up the jock strap? The reason Jordan's still HUGE is because his legacy and merchandise reach far beyond his game. We see images of MJ in the red Chicago #23, we wear his matching Air sneakers, and make him relevant as time whizzes past. Who's going to be wearing a #23 or #6 jersey in twenty years?
3. Kobe is about to win The Argument.
My dude Carrington (Kobe fan) brought up a great point on my Facebook "wall" yesterday, and he's right. What happens if the Video Game Dream Team smacks Kobe in the mouth next year to take the title? Kinda ruins Kobe's run, right? WRONG.

Think about it the other way. Kobe's playing with house money. Suddenly, the defending champs are expected to lose. (When has that ever happened?) If Kobe beats the VGDT...he enters rarified air. Instant Top Five All Time. Suddenly, he's making a case for the G.O.A.T., and everyone's rooting for him because of this fresh Lebron hate. Perfect scenario for the Mamba, and he didn't even do anything. While Lebron and Wade are taking pictures with wannabes on South Beach, I'd bet MONEY Kobe's lifting weights with guys as big as Guile at Ft. Hood or something. And come with real money.

4. D-Wade enters the Argument.
I set you up with the Street Fighter reference in the last sentence, and I'm about to go deep into the anime universe. Stay with me for a second. I promise it'll make sense. As long as you don't make me pinkie swear.

Remember Street Fighter II, the Animated Movie? Came out back when Street Fighter was all the rage in the mid 90s? Of course you do. Anyway, Bison (the crime syndicate overlord) is wreaking havoc throughout the entire movie in his plan to brainwash the strongest fighters in the world. In the final fight sequence, he is beating the crap out of Ryu and Ken with his psycho power. However, for no apparent reason, he rips off his chain (source of his power) and shouts at Ryu and Ken, "Come on! I’ll fight you on your level now!" Bad idea jeans.

Of course, he gets waxed by our heroes. The day is saved. God bless his soul.
Low-key, me thinks that's part of the reason why Wade (Ryu) lured Lebron to South Beach rather than the other way around. As Simmons alluded to in his piece this week, Wade wasn't leaving. He needs the cash for his alimony checks. Even though Bosh (Ken) put this formiable alliance in motion, Wade knew that the tag-team wasn't going to get them over the edge. Bosh is great, but he's no superstar. He's not worth max money. He's an All-Star, not a franchise player. He's the Fredo to Wade's Michael.

Wade pulled Lebron into his sphere so that he could usurp the throne. All Lebron (Bison) wanted was respect and allegiance...Wade will give him that. In return, Lebron has given up something far more valuable...his G.O.A.T. birthright. While LeBron waltzes around south Florida like a kid in a candy store, Wade can realistically make a play for the MVP. Plus, he's not the villain.

Check the celebration video. Wade parades around the arena, gets the microphone first, and embraces the cheers for his successful swipe of Bron and Bosh...but the "King" remains silent. He gets the microphone once Wade is done. He gets to talk once Wade is finished talking. The King is being led by the Prince, not the other way around.

Wade owns Miami. Lebron's just paying rent.

5. Lebron has gone from mogul to merecenary.
We'll revisit this point once LBJ's knees give way, but it's worth bringing up for a second. If Miami belongs to Dwayne Wade, where will the King rest his head? Well, he won't. I see Lebron taking the Shaq route -- burning bridges, signing with sub-par teams, trying to relive the good life. He's going to be on so many teams that his HOF plaque is going to look like a Color By Number coloring book.

I'm sorry to be that guy, but it's time to move past. There are HUGE issues we've got to tackle that are bigger than the Lebron crap. Cliff Lee got traded to the Texas Rangers. The cop who wasted Oscar Grant got off with involuntary manslaughter. And BP's still banging that oil drum slowly in the Gulf. In short, we've got bigger fish to fry.

LeBron, we're done with you now. Go away. Don't let the door hit you on the way out.

M.B., II

Legend Begat Legend

Michael Jackson died this day last year, and I was stuck in an awful Richmond airport.

I'd just finished another interview for a job that couldn't even promise me I'd make rent, and I was wiped out. I sat at that dreadful Applebee's 2 go and ordered an appetizer sampler. Yup, I was ready to take my anger out on my body.

I sat at the barstool talking shop with the local vendor, a gal who kept her steady nod constant to improve her chances at a sweet tip. No dice. The NBA Draft was about to start and here I was, trapped in this airport pub, talking to some disinterested Virginia-hot bar girl.

What a life to live.

Suddenly, his face just flooded the screen. I mean, out of nowhere, I saw butchered angioplasty in my tater tots. I spun around in my swivel chair, only to feel sweaty palms and huge melons on my back. Apparently, I wasn't the only one interested in the news.

The King of Pop was dead. And I had saggy breasts pressed on my back. MJ always had a way with the ladies.

To honor Michael on his one-year, I'm going to invoke his memory in this draft analysis. Each draftee can vibe with one of the King's songs. Now it's my job to rip that Michael Jackson love right out of their chest. Literally. I'm all about spilling blood on the dance floor.

I thought about going through the entire lottery, but why bother? This draft is uglier than Mia Farrow's varicose veins. Or the Chimp Lady's face. (Plus, it gives me an excuse to skip Cole Aldrich.) So, here you go, from one to ten, for my massive celebration of the life of THE star.

(Also, shout out to Large Professor. For no reason, really.)
1. John Wall - "You Rock My World"
Michael's last #1 single and swan song goes out to the top pick in the draft, a guy who's already got the vacant Phone Booth in the District filed on potential alone. Wall's probably the only guy with legit superstar skill, and probably the only bright spot in this super dull draft. Hopefully, he'll move Gil over to the position he was born to play (SG) and run fast break hoops with Flip and Wale on deck.

2. Evan Turner - "Rock With You"
Not a bad consolation prize for the 76ers, who get a Renaissance player with more uses than a Swiss Army Knife. He makes me a tad nervous, only because of his disappearance in the NCAA's and his skill set that screams "BACKUP!" in a normal draft. He's got a lot of good skills, but he's not great at anything. He's a Renaissance Guy.

The Sixers need help. They need fans. They need something to propel them past the Iverson years. Maybe Evan Turner can help that. Maybe he turns into Marvin Williams. Eeesh.

3. Derrick Favors - "Billie Jean"

Damnit. I was thisclose to getting cheap tickets (got Rondo/Brook Lopez courtside for $40 last year!) to see the best player in the draft dance in the Death Dome (Newark, NJ). Now? Here comes the first of many project big men, a guy we couldn't see at optimum efficiency because his guards were so crappy at Georgia Tech.

Russian Mark Cuban...do New Jersey a favor and trade Favors. We are NOT in love with him, I promise. You can't goad me into season tickets with his picture on the cover. I don't wanna dream Derrick Coleman dreams tonight.

Couple him with Avery Johnson's annoying accent, and I might as well be dead.

4. Wes Johnson - "Dangerous"

Quick story: At every summer science camp dance, we used to always spot this girl who had these amazing twirking abilities. Nay, we didn't want her dance out of lust (OK, sometimes), but rather because her moves were like something out of a Darren's Dance Grooves infomercial. It was sultry, vivacious, and downright sensual. Dancing with her was like riding a mechanical bull. Fear gripped our teenage hearts, as we desperately tried to hang in for dear life. Because she always wore a fitted Yankee cap, that became her name. Fitted. It was primal, immature, and always a tad dangerous.

Then, the music would stop, the party would end...and we'd see her face. Always made us wish we'd left before the lights came on just to seal the illusion.

Wes Johnson's this draft's Fitted. Physically, he's a lab geek's dream...a fusion of the good parts of Shawn Marion and Lamar Odom. He performs feats on the court that make you bite your lip. He's got the college pedigree (Syracuse). But he's an entirely different guy when the lights are on. The kid is sooooo dangerous. Which makes him perfect fodder for Kahn to destroy. Gulp.

5. DeMarcus Cousins - "Wanna Be Starting Something"
Hey you. Yeah, YOU. You WANNA BE STARTING SOMETHING.

Even though MJ's words here were written as one of his many latent gestures, I can see Cousins spinning this phrase and using it to frighten opposing men. He seems so hungry, almost as if someone forced to eat Bush's Baked Beans for a week and he will no longer take the abuse. I could see him being addicted to coke; and in the same breath, swearing off drugs altogether. He'll curse you out in a heartbeat, but then shed bigger crocodile tears than Glenn Beck. He could emerge as one of the NBA's greatest hype men, but at the same time, totally dismiss the league.

One thing's for sure. If D.C. is hunting for a seat on a crowded train, mine's totally up for grabs. I'm not gonna even front.

6. Ekpe Udoh - "Who Is It?"
This mysterious, introspective song goes out to probably the most enigmatic lottery pick. Don't know what to expect from Udoh. I want to find more ways to reference him that quoting lines from The Air Up There. Make us proud son.

(Side Note: I always believed this song to be a self-examination of Michael Jackson's career, almost like a running commentary. It's a picture of his mental state, frantically hoping that he hasn't lost his edge and his skills to a now historic decade. While on the surface (and music video), we see Michael referencing a woman he once loved as a cold cheater, I feel this simple analysis sullies his vivid imagination. This is MJ, not Jagged Edge.

I've heard arguments that "Who Is It?" exists as a continuation of the "Billie Jean" diatribe, but why would The Gloved One waste words on a forgotten floozy? I mean, this song came out nine years later. Pulleaze. Why would Michael Jackson even bother to relive the "Billie Jean" scenario? What do you guys think? Do you even care?)

Something to think about. (On to the next one...)

7. Greg Monroe - "Liberian Girl"

Greg Monroe's game and career compare best to this music video for the song. Like the disjointed nature of the "Girl" video, Georgetown was probably a bad fit for him (stresses team game over individual talent). Like the video, there's some talent to be harvested from this eclectic but talented teen. Like the video, we need to see more from him than a highlight reel.

8. Al Farouq-Aminu - "Off the Wall"

I really don't know what to make of this dude. He's either a rotation player here or in Europe. And since he's on the Clippers, I'd bet the house on the latter. Good luck.

Coincidentally, this song describes Big Al's game (athletic, wiry finisher) and the entire Clippers franchise. Yup, those stories about owner Donald Sterling ordering Asian prostitutes and agreeing to continue housing discrimination are TRUE.

Plus, he's still too cheap to buy his team their own building. How someone can be a Clippers fan in 2010 is beyond me. Geez.

9. Gordon Heyward - Forever Michael (entire CD)

Hey, if you see a guy that become a marginal Matt Harpring, you've got to do it! Right? I already rue the day that I'll hear Jazz fans extend the vowel "E" in Heyward's name for dramatic effect. (Heeeeeeeeeeeeyward!)

This was Michael's last album before he fled for CBS Records. It screams disjointedness and chaos. Bringing up Forever, Michael in polite conversation might leave you cruising for a bruising. I'd buy an ice cream sandwich for anyone who can name a song from this album without using Wikipedia or AOL First Listen.

As for our Butler buddy...way to pander to your constituents, Jazz ownership. Gordon Heyward is as useless to the Jazz as their team nickname. (Really? They play Jazz music in Utah?) Heyward almost completely vindicates the stupid Eddy Curry trade. Almost. I actually might finally be able to relax like the guy from the ADT Home Security commercials.

Now...I'M FINALLY ABLE TO RELAX!!!!

10. Paul George - "Jam"
"Jam" was one of CBS Records' kooky inventions - a fusion of funk, new jack swing, and hip hop. The Michael-vs-Michael hoop battle was classic, and I could never hate on the guy that gave us this, but this song just seemed like a throw away to what was a superb album (Dangerous). The song sounds almost as if CBS wanted to capitalize on the new jack swing/jazz groove theme that was the early 90s standard (hence, the incorporation of Teddy Riley).

That's Paul George in a nutshell. He's pretty freaking athletic. He may or may not pan out. But he's a swing for the fences, an All-Star pitcher minus the off speed pitch, a mix tape rapper. He may become HUGE, or remain an urban legend from the rough Fresno State streets. Who knows. Might as well check him out...

Michael Jackson was the greatest artist of our time. He revolutionized the industry, made it cool to wear red leather jackets in the heat of summer, and still gets burn on the wheels of steel if a party's going South. He's the man. RIP.

Enough said. See me in the comments.
Mike Benjamin, II

What???

Everybody needs something to inspire them.

Jesus had our sins and hate from all sides. Ron Artest had the Malice at the Palace. Garfield has lasagna. Travis Henry has his alimony payments. Eddy Curry has his dream concept of a drive-thru Denny's. We all need some inspiration to kick our lives into overdrive.

For me, good music inspires me to write. No, not YOU, Justin Bieber. I went back to my roots, back to my tribe, A Tribe Called Quest's "What?" from The Low End Theory, and decided to take down the big hoops questions entering Summer 2010. (LeBron...please DON'T stay.)

(Brought to you by James Harden's beard and the letter J.)


What's the impact of marrying a Kardashian?
Uhh, that's easy. Genital warts. (I kid, I kid!)

So, Lamar won another title, this time with the ugliest of the Kardashian trio on his arm. If I'm Liza Morales...I'd be pissed if Lamar decided to leave me for that downgrade. It's like Bill Gates using an IPod and immediately putting out a press release declaring Zune's better. Come ON.

However, the Kardashians are all about results, not excuses. They get their men in the end (Kim/Reggie) and win titles (Super Bowl, NBA Finals). Half the time, they even get face time. (Yup, I didn't see Khloe's face either at the NBA Finals...thank God.) So, Kourtney...it's time for you to go ahead and start dating Phil Hughes. Or Joba Chamberlain. I think he could use the pick-me-up.

What will the Nets do with the #3 Pick?

Ooh, what glee! Rod Thorn, Russian Mark Cuban, and Kiki Vandeweghe's corpse get to choose from the tattered remains of DeMarcus Cousins, Wes Johnson, and Derrick Favors! Whoopee!

So, if you're the Nets...what do you do? Draft a player that you don't need (with Brook Lopez beginning to show signs of All-Stardom) or trade out of a bad draft for a player you can use. I think that Rod Thorn's playing it EXACTLY as he should:

As usual, Thorn offered no guarantees that he won't trade one of the team's top two players. There have been rumors that the Nets might pursue point guard Chris Paul through a trade. Since they don't seem to be all that high on any of the players they are likely to get with the No. 3 pick, such as Georgia Tech's Derrick Favors, Kentucky's DeMarcus Cousins or Syracuse's Wes Johnson, they could trade the pick to get an established player.

Sounds good to me. NO gets cap relief, and Nets get a dude to get BL jams. Too bad Monty Williams would be SCREWED.What has become of Ron Artest's legacy since June 17, 2010?
If William Shakespeare were alive in 2010, I love to see him go on a meth-induced rampage, decking those losers that perform plays in his name in local American parks, cursing the women who play the women roles in his plays, and hugging guys like Ron Artest. Because you see, Ron Artest is the epitome of Hamlet. Is Ron crazy, or is he acting crazy?

I love him because while Kobe represents what we want to be, Ron-Ron represents us. He's a character in a forsaken movie treatment, flaws and all. I'd talk more here, but I don't want to spoil the surprises I've got up my sleeve in a few.

As for his legacy, I bet nothing's changed since the 'ship. Heck, the kid gloves are off now. He's got free reign to become the "craziest" NBA player since Rodman. I fully expect to see him sitting on Dr. Drew's couch next to Big Bad Voodoo Daddy in seven years.

What does Kobe's hand look like with one on the thumb?

Pigs in a blanket. Not as good as Jordan's. Not as bad as fat Star Jones's. Is that enough?(Excuse me...just thinking about fat Star Jones made me want to barf. Gross.)

Now that that's settled, where do we place Kobe in the Canyon of Heroes now that he's secured Ring #5? He's clearly in the Top-10 (and a 1st ballot HOF, but so was Jerry Sloan and C. Vivian Stringer). Kobe probably needs another regular season MVP (1 to Jordan's 5), Finals MVP (2 to 6), and finish over MJ on the all-time scoring list (+8,000 points to go). And I think he's still got a-ways to go. Mike Jordan did his damage in 15 years (12 minus the #45 half season and the Wizards years). Kobe's gonna need at least 17 NBA seasons to pull that off. Ouch.

Young Kobe was eager to squelch the Kobe-McGrady debate (successful), and Old Kobe is still trying to define himself as the G.O.A.T. (still unsuccessful). We'll see how this turns out.

What's the deal with airplane food?
Sorry, too much Seinfeld. Reruns on FOX at 11:30!

What would the 2009 draft lottery look like one year later?
Evans-Curry-Young Money-Lawson-D. Collison-Beaubois-Rubio-Harden-Williams-DeRozan-Flynn-Hill-Clark-James Johnson-Casspi. Whew. Last year was really a bumper crop as far as PG's go. If you didn't get one in that '09 draft, you're pretty much sunk. After John Wall...here comes the pu-pu platter.
What would have happened in the '10 NBA Finals if Boston had Stephen Curry instead of Rondo?

Boston would have won, hands down. I wasn't initially sold on the premise, but a long conversation with the Sports Yoga (my boy JL) forced my hand.

Here's the situation: Stephen Curry can shoot. Rajon Rondo can't. Sure, Rondo's super exciting with his thefts and speed layup drills, but that's null and void once we get into crunch time. He's a liability at the line (shot 29% in the Finals) to the point where the C's played 4-on-5 offense down the stretch. With Steph Curry, Kobe's extending his defense out to the three. This keeps Kobe from feeding on those cheap rebounds (which became new fodder for the "Kobe Lover" argument Ratchet Set: See! He can even rebound!)

Check out their splits from last year (2010):
Curry (80 games): 18-5-6, 46% FG, 44% 3FG, 88% FT
Rondo (81 games): 14-4-10, 51% FG, 21% 3FG, 62% FT

The numbers are nearly identical. Remember, Curry was playing with half the D-League last year, so you'd expect those assist numbers to balloon. Rondo was playing next to three future HOFers and a solid center. Danny Ainge, if Golden State calls your personal line with a Rondo-Curry trade, you'd at least have to pick up, right?

Example: Rondo's that amazing 4'11'' girl that you dated for a while but dropped for good reason. Sure, she's hot and generally not a bother to hang with, but eventually...the questions WILL start to surface. What happens when you need to take a family photo? Will you kids be unequivocally short? Can you even bring her to Six Flags without feeling like a rube? Can you resist the urge to use her head as an soft drink surface? You can't. No matter how great she might be at other things, common sense tells you that you've GOT to trade up for a taller babe. Right?

Man, I am such a jerk.

What's the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen?
Faith, or the lack thereof in Dwight Howard.

When the Magic were making noise as the pesky #7 seed that got to lose to Detroit, I penciled him in as a more physical/less cerebral David Robinson, or an upgraded model of Bill Russell. Now? He's fast becoming an weird amalgam of Darrell Dawkins and young Dike Mutumbo, minus the gusto in traditionally static celebratory expressions. And that's if he stays in shape. One knee injury turns him into both Darvin Ham and an obscure Jeopardy question:

For 400: He led the league in scoring for a decade, but never led his team to the playoffs during that span.
Who is Mitch Richmond?
CORRECT! (Applause...)

What did Shaq's ex-wife do to keep Basketball Wives from ending up on BET?
I don't even wanna know.

What's wrong with Mike Di Antoni?
Nothing and everything. He has the ability to draw oodles of talent from retreads like Eddie House, but is notorious for trapping bench players in warmups. He coaches offense like Norman Dale but defense like Shooter. Like Batman, Mike D plays the role of hero and villain perfectly. That's why most New Yorkers'll never realize how terrible he actually is.

I'm in the anti-DiAntoni camp. I think the league's fully implemented Seven Seconds or Less (SSOL) technology, and that any new wrinkles he's added while in the Big Apple have already been debunked and shredded. Unfortunately, I also think LeBron's in this camp with me, which is why he'll won't dare show his face in New York unless he's hosting another episode of SNL.
What can I do to end this piece?
Awwwwwww, here it goes. Out.

M. Benj, II

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.

Myron’s Rolle’s Dilemma: Books or Ball?

I can’t believe they were saying those things about Myron Rolle.

Somehow, they skipped over his stellar resume. Myron graduated college in half the time, finishing all of his pre-medical school requirements and boasting a 3.75 grade point average…all while playing football at a top-flight school that expects excellence and demands success.

Perhaps they frowned upon Myron’s affiliation with Bobby Bowden, one of the greatest coaches in college football history, a man who finished his coaching career second on the all-time Wins list. He had a track record with defensive backs, refining the skills of veterans like Terrell Buckley and future Hall of Famers like Deion Sanders. Myron Rolle went to Bowden because he wanted to be trained by the best, a man most decorated in the amateur athletic realm, honored by many with the liberal distinction of G.O.A.T.

Maybe they forgot to look at his background, a young man reared by two capable parents, taught to love books and love sports, people whom he praised for his tremendous success.

No matter the reason, Myron Rolle remained in football purgatory late into that Saturday afternoon, wondering when his name would be called. Meanwhile, the experts kept using those damned words to question his motive.

Focus. Resolve. Commitment. Or lack thereof.

And I don’t understand why.

Apparently, neither could Myron Rolle.

“I had a lot of options, to go to medical school, to get (another degree) at Oxford, to enter politics now or keep my foundation going strong. There are so many different avenues I can take right now. The fact that I choose football, something that academics and people in the education realm, can’t really understand, I think shows my testament. I gave up a lot, I sacrificed a lot in my Rhodes Scholarship experience, to stay in shape, to make sure I was ready for this moment right here.”

All-American athlete. Medical anthropologist. Rhodes scholar. Isn’t this the type of story the NFL wants to promote?

But teams were still shook. The word on Rolle heading into the NFL draft centered around his dedication to the sport. Teams balked at his master’s degree and athletic honors. Endorsements from Bill Bradley and Pat Haden did little to bolster his stock. Finally, after 206 players came and went, the Tennessee Titans selected the Florida State graduate.

To the NFL gurus, the choice is clear: Sports over science.

Even when the percentage of talented individuals gaining access is lower for the league than med school. Even when the talent pool begs for folks to choose other professions. Even when the individual in question is an athlete and scholar…and holds a degree from one of the most prestigious universities in the world.

Oh well. Perhaps I’ll never understand.

I Am Legend

He was confused.

This team, HIS team, had dominated the competition throughout the tournament. He was ready to make a true ascension to the throne. His marketing team had peppered the country with advertisement all but declaring his greatness, a campaign that he rode to the doorstep of decadence.

And then, the unthinkable happened. An unnoticed trio of magicians (Dwight Howard, Rashard Lewis, Hedo Turkoglu) pulled the throne out from under the young king. An entire state watched in disbelief as the prince’s quest for NBA kingship was wrecked by this legion of raiders.

And he was stunned.

That night in June, Lebron James walked off the court without exchanging pleasantries. He changed into his civilian clothes, gave the media short shrift, and departed for the offseason.

And on that night, the King’s quest for transcendence had ended. For the moment.

This year, the self-proclaimed king has returned with a vengeance. Once again, Lebron’s team holds the best record in the league. Once again, Lebron’s cemented his status as the best player in the game. Once again, he’s expected to carry his loaded but flawed cast of characters to the red carpet. And as always, comparisons to “His Airness” (Michael Jordan) loom large in the background.

No matter how creative Scott Brooks becomes with Oklahoma City or how impressive Rajon Rondo is as the playoffs roll along, one subplot will remain paramount as the NBA playoffs move into the summer months. Heck, it’s actually become THE plot.

Lebron James: King or Prince?

There’s great expectations piled on the shoulders of this young superstar. And so far, he’s silenced the critics. In Game 4 of his opening round Bulls series, he more than answered the bell, putting together a vintage playoff performance we hadn’t seen since his Malice at the Palace (2007) or his Game 7 semis duel with Paul Pierce (2008).

Yawn. We've seen this movie before.

But in order for the virtuoso masterpiece to reach its alternate ending, in order to Lebron to separate himself from the Karl Malone’s and Adrian Dantley’s of NBA history…he’s got to finish what he started. The signet ring’s got to be on his finger. It’s time for the King to issue his decree to the NBA.

I. AM. LEGEND.

Then, and only then, will King James begin his authoritative rule.