Monday, May 4, 2009

My Almost Entirely Non-Basketball Thoughts About Game 1 of the Mavs-Nuggets Series

Bullet Point Uno - When it comes to Nenes, I will always take this one:

over the one that killed us on the court yesterday. Does the Brazilian, basketball playing Nene have a gay best friend named Dwight who regularly calls people out for being “awful” at fashion shows? No. Does Brazilian, basketball playing Nene get trashed in stretch limos and sing catty songs about frenemies? Nope. Does the Brazilian, basketball-playing Nene have a foundation called Twisted Hearts that vaguely might have something to do with helping abused women by having wine parties where everyone wears fancy church hats? Nuh-uh. Most importantly, does the Brazilian, basketball playing have a past that includes exotic dancing? You see where I am going with this. And you see why every time that big, dumb Brazilian scored each one of his career playoff high 18 points, I just thought, “What would Dwight do?” right now. Clearly this extended comparison between a person on The Real Housewives of Atlanta (way to rep the 404?) and a member of the Denver Nuggets has bored, confused or annoyed most anyone who reads my blog. On to Thought #2.

Bullet Point Dos - The Birdman:

I sent my friend Danny a text during the first quarter asking him to serve as my alibi when I can no longer contain my urge to do something painful and or causing great embarrassment to Chris Andersen. I suggested that he tell the authorities that we were at Bible study and he has absolutely no idea how Chris Andersen ended up wandering the streets of East Dallas in a daze with the words “Love Hole” tattooed across his forehead along with an arrow pointing down the bridge of his nose, stopping neatly at the tip.

Listen, I get that he had it rough. And I do actually mean this with all sincerity: I feel for him in that respect. I respect his athleticism and the fact that he wasn’t Luke Walton-grandfathered into the league. But three things:

a) Buy your mom a house, you fuckbag. I have read the articles and sure, there’s probably more to the story than what we have read but jeeeeez. Really? I’m not saying buy her a Gulfstream and a gold and diamond Jesus-on-a-spinner chain or anything. But seriously? I’m pretty sure 60 or 70 grand could buy you a decent place in Iola, Texas. But whatever, I digress

b) I hate birds and I don’t like the stupid faces you make when you block shots so you put those two things together and I become nearly apoplectic when you block a shot. Not because you blocked one of our shots (though that IS rather annoying) but because you act like you just did some crazy Space Jam shit and the entire ABC broadcasting crew gets paid by the “Birdman” apparently.

c) This is the most important one. This is the one that I feel like needs to be said. Despite all your hardships, Chris Andersen. Despite your struggles with substance abuse, Chris Andersen. Despite going undrafted and playing in places like China and Sheboygan or wherever else you played before Denver and New Orleans, Chris Andersen. Despite all of that….you simply MUST look in a mirror. Right now.
You always had all the elements of total tooldom inside you but you kept them in complete balance so as not to overpower the senses. Bad tattoos but loveably shaggy hair. Soul patch, sure. But always something to counterbalance. Now, you’ve let the douche go unchecked and all those awful attributes have aligned and come together to form you circa right now. I have seen guys walking through the West Village on “All-Drinks-Totally-Free-if-You-Throw-the-Sideways-Peace-Sign” Night with more self-respect and looking far less ridiculous than you do. Seriously, I almost want to like you. I almost want to think that you are out there on the court every night, looking like you do in some Andy Kaufman-level test of just how gullible and easily-riled we all are. Instead, I think you probably hang out with a bunch of guys that act like, look like or actually are Jeremy Piven when not blocking shots and making pterodactyl faces.

Bullet Point Tres – Why did the Mavs squad look like Kent State, 1970?

Seriously, every time I diverted my eyes from the screen for a few seconds (which was often considering how many times the Mavs were turning it over and missing shots), I would look up to see a Mavs player sprawled out on the floor like Basketball Jonestown was starting to happen. First Dampier went down. Then Howard. Then Dirk. I’m pretty sure at one point I saw Rick Carlisle out cold in front of the scorer’s table. So the Mavs are taking their cues from those fainting goats who warn sheep herds about approaching predators? Neat! This is a hyper-violent and contact-heavy series so far and I understand that explains at least part of what I saw. And I also understand the Mavs trying to get the call. But seriously, it was like a squad of Eduardo Najeras and Manu Ginoblis (minus Ginobli’s ability to hold onto the ball and/or shoot it). STOP FALLING DOWN, DALLAS MAVERICKS. Get one of those candles that gets excess wax out of your ears or whatever you must to do reset your internal sense of balance. Just stop being horizontal so fucking much. Nothing says “we came here to fight” like “I think I see someone’s keys under Section 102”.

I will be attending Game 3 in person. If you lose Game 2, I will bring a Wood Block with me to the game on Saturday. Apparently, Gitmo-level aural torture is a turn-on for the Mavs.


GW said...

Why does it seem Pete Maravich would have bored you? No soul patch. Flaccid socks.

Kelli said...

Hi ya, thought I'd check in from SF and see whats new on the blog. For the record the ONLY thing I understood on this was the part about NeNe (ATL/Exotic Dancer version) - oh and the Dom. Miss ya, K