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Another week, another DimeBag. We’re a little downtrodden this week â€“ okay, let’s be honest – depressingly terrified of the owners’ “take it or leave it” demands, or, the day basketball blew up in a puff of immature bargaining smoke. It’s a sad state of affairs, especially when the owners can roll around in their leverage and hurl ridiculous ultimatums wrapped in extended middle fingers. Alright, enough lockout talk. Let’s get to the mindless minutae that will carry us through.
NBA Fight of the Week: Derek Fisher vs. Steve Blake
6-1, 210 pounds of chizzled glory vs. 6-3, 172 pounds of frail baldness. But Blake’s pesky, and motivated. He recently concocted a movement against the union, pushing to accept the latest deal and just play ball. That, in essence, is Steve Blake. Annoyingly effective and deceptively intelligent. The physicality of a 15-year-old JV football player doesn’t get you too far in the NBA â€“ so Blake adapted, poked, prodded, whatever. And he’s still in the league. But Fisher isn’t any old slouch. He’s been around a while too, although we can probably attribute that to the greatest stroke of teammate/coaching luck, possibly of all time.
I’d imagine Blake hopping around Fisher, who stands there half-heartedly waiting for the battle to begin. Blake, meanwhile, steps in for .02 seconds, throws a jab at the mid-section and scurries away. Eventually, Fisher loses his patience and chases after Blake. But the quick point guard is evasive, and Fisher’s aggressiveness opens up the possibility of some serious body shots. Of course it only takes Fisher one hard swipe to raise Blake over his head and chuck him through a wall. In my estimation, Blake wins the war of attrition simply because Fisher tags out due to pure boredom as Billy Hunter steps in and gets immediately clocked in the face.
Have I crossed the “lazy-college-student-who-wakes-up-five-minutes-before-class-and-puts-on-anything-within-an-arms-reach-not-matter-what-it-looks-or-smells-like” line and entered the utterly shameless “homeless-man-living-in a-cardboard-box-under-the-bridge” stratosphere by more often than not wearing either basketball shorts or nothing under my sweats when I go to class? I understand the disgustingness of a one layer buffer between my you-know-what’s and the outside world, but you also have to admit, it’s pretty comfortable, and extremely convenient. So what do you think? Am I despicable, or simply a visionary?
Congratulations, you managed to crush the “hyphens in a sentence” world record with 33. Although it should have been 34, as you missed one between “in” and “a.” Don’t worry, you’re forgiven.
Your statement suffers from one common misconception: The “line” you reference is nonexistent. College dorms are essentially a box, and, at 21, you could probably fit all your worldly possessions in a shopping cart. So dressing the part is not only acceptable, but also required. Also, no one likes the perfectly shaved kid who wears a sweater vest over a button down shirt to a 9 a.m. class. And of course he’s the one that’s most perky and scooping up those pesky participation points. The worst part is that he must have gotten up by at least eight to arrange the outfit and comb his hair sideways in a style eerily similar older men who sincerely believe that combs solve baldness. Don’t be like him. If that means going commando once in a while for a reciprocal, slap in the face, do it.
Here’s why I really hate the anti-commando movement. If you saw me wearing basketball shorts, you would assume I’m wearing underwear. If, then, I told you I wasn’t wearing underwear, you might recoil a bit and reanalyze your perception of me. But am I really that different? Who determined that two layers of clothing is the necessary barrier? The only explanation I can conceive of is the irrational fear factor. That is, if you knew I was only wearing shorts, you’d have nonsensical but pervasive fears that my shorts would rip or someone would pants me, or something of that nature. Because it’s really just you, cloth, me. So underwear, by my estimation, is just a backup goaltender. Because if your starter gets hurt, at least you have a minimally effective insurance plan. But if you enter the game with no backup, you’re playing with fire.
German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche famously said, “God is dead,” because God exists in the minds of believers. Therefore those who proclaim a belief in God yet demonstrate hypocrisy and immoral activity, which is apparently subjective, are in control of the fading authority of a perceived deity. Nietzsche believed that the human being “no longer possesses ideals and absolute goals toward which to strive.” However, he also saw the potential for a positive future for the species, referencing an “open sea” as a “new dawn” where humans can explore themselves inwardly and outwardly, without the constrictions of a supernatural force. So my question is: What are chances the Knicks eventually land Chris Paul?
If you’ve attempted to discern the meaning of these labor negotiations through a preposterous metaphor, success! Your reference touches on a permeating belief that continues to pop up on occasion â€“ that the NBA will lose popularity due to a lockout. It won’t. Would you seriously, out of spite, refuse to watch the NBA ever again? I’m not that old, so I can’t imagine holding a grudge that long. What’s the larger point that I’m making? Take some time to think about it. Actually, don’t, because your devil’s advocate argument is putrid, abhorrent and causing me to avoid curse words in favor of fancy schmancy terms.
If someone took all the ice cream in the world away for a year, I’d be pissed as hell. But when it came back, I’d run to Ben & Jerry’s and steamroll anyone in the way of my Cookies ‘N Cream in a waffle cone. With multi-colored sprinkles, because, well, colors are fun, right? (This is where you agree so I don’t feel awkward.) No grudge is getting in the way of me and ice cream. That’s just a fact. Same with the lockout. I’ll stop watching re-runs of the ’94 Knicks season when the real thing returns. Oh, and, the Knicks will never get Chris Paul. Why? Because that whole salary cap thing, I hear it’s like, going to be less, or something.
For those of you paying attention, this question had nothing to do with what I just went on a mini tirade about. His “reference” touches on exactly nothing I addressed. Moral of the story: don’t trust writers, people.