Heart and Sole

You Are Who You Are

2009-07-28T01:57:00.002+08:00

I was asked by a friend of mine last week what I thought of homosexuals. It seemed odd that he’d spring up the topic all of a sudden, considering that we were right in the middle of a heated argument as to who would win a street fight between Adolf Hitler and Saddam Hussein – more on this in a separate post.

In any case, I said that I have no problem with homosexuals, even pointing out to him that I spent a lot of my formative years in a school where it seemed like the gender lines were drawn at about an even keel between the straight and the not-so. I told him that I have a lot of gay friends that I speak highly of, not because of their philandering lifestyles, but because of what they’ve done for themselves, regardless of their sexual orientation. Right off the bat, I told him that most of my homosexual friends are doing quite well for themselves and that I’m extremely happy for them.

The conversation – strange as it was – ended up becoming a fleeting topic, but in the short time that it was brought up, I found myself defending homosexuals more than I did questioning their gender choice.

Why am I writing this all of a sudden? I have no idea. I have no clue as to how a conversation between the merits of Hitler and Hussein as street fighters led to this topic. But since it was broached, I felt compelled to think about it and give my two cents on the matter.

I’ve never believed in the concept of ‘fitting in’, which is what I believe a lot of homosexuals have resorted to out of fear that they’d be judged differently.

My problem with the whole notion of fitting in is that it prevents you from being who you are. I think that the moment you lose touch of what you bring to the table, then that’s the time you begin to lose your identity. Humans - whether you’re straight, gay, lesbian, or otherwise – are capable of great things. The only thing that holds people back is fear, fear of being mistreated and misjudged by those who feel that they’re more adequate than them.

But fear of being different is a misplaced fear.

Nobody wins when you think so little of yourself that you go out and hide inside the closet, afraid that the world would judge you for being so different. Playing the part of the oppressed and subjugated doesn’t serve the world. There’s nothing enlightening about being afraid of your true colors so that other people won’t feel insecure around you. When you let go of your inhibitions, cast away all your anxieties and be the person you were meant to be, that’s the time – at least as far as I’m concerned – when other people will do the same.

In as much as some people would argue on the shortcomings of being homosexual, there are also those that believe that sexual preference has nothing to do with making your mark in this world. The list of homosexuals that have made positive contributions runs long, and if you ask me, there’s absolutely no reason why it shouldn’t run longer.

Straight or not, you are who you are, and it’s what you do on your time here on Earth that counts.

Uninvited Guest

2009-07-26T03:57:00.001+08:00

A few years ago, I had - on more than one occasion – the displeasure of having to sleep in my own bed while a bat innocuously flew around my room. At first, I found it maddeningly annoying, not because I was scared of it, but because I was afraid that it would excrete its putrid excrement all over me while I was dozing off. Nobody wants to literally get shit on and I sure as hell didn’t want to wake up the next day having to explain to everyone how I managed to get bat dung all over my face while in the middle of a deep slumber.

Before I continue, let me explain first how bats can get inside my room. The thing is, my room is on the top floor of the house and being the closest room to our roof, it has an exhaust, which is then connected to a vent that can be found on the roof. When the weather becomes unbearably hot, I open the exhaust on my room to allow air – however little it may be - to pass through it. Makes sense, yes?

But, being the forgetful idiot that I am, I sometimes leave the exhaust open, which, in turn, gives these creatures of the night an unobtrusive access into my room.

The first time I saw a bat in my room has actually become a sort of folk legend between me and my mother. It was back in college and I vividly recall studying for a Philo exam for the next day. In the middle of my eyebrow-burning session, I noticed a shadow of something flying around in my room. At first, I ignored the seemingly harmless distraction and thought nothing of it. It wasn’t until the little creature plopped down beside me where I realized that it was, in fact, a bat. My girlish shrieks notwithstanding, I did try to get these blood-suckers out of my room - even resorting to throwing an orange, a broom, a dust pan, and my brother’s expensive Gucci shoe with the hopes of catching them square on the chin and knocking them down. But as you can imagine, I failed miserably and, after what seemed like hours of throwing whatever object-turned-projectile I could get my hands on at them, I mercifully resigned and accepted the fact that I was being evicted from my own room by – of all things – a bat.

Over the next few months, the same scenario repeated itself over and over again: I’m in my room, a bat unexpectedly appears, I shriek like a pubescent girl getting her first period, I vainly try to shoo them away, and I always end up sleeping in another room in the house. Over time, the fear began to dissipate and was instead replaced by general indifference. ‘Fly in my room all you want’, I said. ‘Just don’t bother me when I sleep and do not, under any circumstances, do your business on my face’.

I don’t know if these bats understood my attempt at a truce but whether they did or not, they sure as hell left me alone. So, in return, I did too. And just when it seemed like my room was beginning to become a vacation spot them, they stopped coming, which in hindsight, may have come as a result of us changing the exhausts in my room to one’s that actually closed when I wanted them to.

Nevertheless, they did stop coming and for the longest time, I never saw one of them in my room. That is, of course, until tonight.

For the life of me, I have no idea how this particular one ended up here. I checked the aforementioned exhausts and they’re all closed. The screens on our windows (another former entry point) remain perfectly intact – a striking achievement in its own right considering the wimpiest gust of wind always seem to be enough to tear them apart.

In any case, the bat is still here, although as of right now, its hanging on the ceiling next to my cabinet like a cocoon, without even the slightest glimpse of a twitch. Although it looks completely stoic right now, I’m pretty sure that when I turn off my lamp, it’s going to fly around again, just like old times.

That’s fine, so as long as it doesn’t decide to defecate on me while I sleep.

The Trek of a Lifetime

2009-06-04T01:25:00.005+08:00

If somebody gave me 5 pesos for every dumb-ass assumption I’ve ever made in my life, I’d probably have enough money by now to indulge on a brand-new car. The worst thing about trying to make sense of something you absolutely have no idea about is when you’re incessant postulations end up being completely different from what you experience. And if history has taught me anything, there haven’t been a lot of times that I’ve been proven right.

Take my recent trek to Mount Pinatubo as an example.

In the days leading up to that trip, I had conditioned my mind to believe that the adventure was nothing more than a stroll in the park. It’s my way of psyching myself to believe that this trek would be a cake walk when in fact, somewhere in the recesses of my consciousness, I was deathly afraid of having to explain to everybody how neurotically scared I was of taking the trek.

So I stuck with the image of bravado and went off to Pinatubo together with my sister, my aunt, and my 73 year old – yes, 73 – uncle.

The first part of the trek involved riding a 4x4 jeep for an hour on a vast and barren lahar field. It seemed easy at first, considering that it was pretty much like driving along mud; but as the ground started becoming uneven and the 4x4 began twisting and turning in directions any normal-moving vehicle as no business being in that’s when I knew that I had gotten myself into a situation that was evidently, more than what I bargained for.

After the hour long drive, the 4x4 mercifully stopped and the toothless driver gave us a nod as if to say, ‘you’re on your own from here’. At that point, I jumped out off the God-forsaken death ride, grateful that I was still in one piece. As I got out, I took a quick glance of the surroundings and began to think that this was really going to be was a stroll in the park – if this is what a park looks like in the moon.

It was an eerie feeling to be standing on a place that never in my life have I seen anywhere in this world. There were rocks as big as houses scattered all over the place, some were even stacked on top of each other. The surrounding mountains had enormous slabs that were so smooth it looked like a giant knife sliced through it. Really, you have to see it to believe it.

Truth be told, describing that three-hour trek leaves me at a loss for words. I’ve spent countless nights trying to come up with a reasonable – and believable – explanation of what you can expect when you do take that route and I’m still dumbfounded on what to say. So, in a blatant cop-out attempt at storytelling, I’m going to let the pictures do the storytelling for me because, well, it’s easier that way.

When you’ve walked in unimaginable terrain for three hours under the sweltering heat of the sun, you tend to get delusional, as I did. I tried configuring my mind to believe that the destination was around the next corner, but at about the 56^th ‘next corner’ I convinced myself was finally it, I gave up any attempts at figuring out how much further we’d still have to go to make it to the damned crater. It was a useless exercise that only sapped whatever remaining energy I had left, and if I was to make it to the top and subject myself to another three-hour stroll back to civilization, I’d need all the energy I could muster.

After what seemed like forever – and that seems like an overstatement – we finally made it to crater.

And if you’re going to ask me if that mind-numbing climb was worth it - which, by the way, included a snake crawling on my foot and a swarm of dragonflies trying to build a nest on my head – I'll take the easy way out again and let you be the judge.

Somebody asked me if, given a chance, I’d do this trek all over again. I thought about it for a while and said no. Make no mistake, this is one experience that I encourage everyone to do. The trek, murderous as it is, is pretty fun, and catching a glimpse of that lake for the first time after spending every ounce of energy in your body just to make it to that point is breathtaking.

But just like everything else, once you see it, there’s really no point seeing it again. You go there, bask in the moment, and move on to your next destination. No more going over rocks, crossing streams, and having snakes crawl on my foot. I’m done with that.

All I can do now is go back to the comforts of home and brag to anyone willing to listen that I conquered Mount Pinatubo - and lived to tell stories about it.

Self-Examination

2009-03-25T00:54:00.001+08:00

The wheezing sound of the fan can be heard in the background, drowning out the orchestra of crickets in the far distance. I lie on my stomach, staring at the monitor – which incidentally, is the only source of light in my room. As someone who has over 70 published works, the mere sound of fingers effortlessly punching keypads should be routine by now. The creative juices should be pumping, the mind should be racing with ideas, and the hands should be relaxed, effortlessly molding a piece of work worthy of acclaim.

But somehow, tonight, there’s a feeling of uneasiness. Whether it’s the seething heat of summer’s infancy or this deafening silence around me, there’s a palpable atmosphere of apprehension. My fingers are subdued, punch the keyboard aimlessly, almost as if it’s not used to it anymore. What was once considered bosom buddies have been reduced to mere acquaintances. Even worse, the words that come out are incoherent; a hodgepodge of nouns and adjectives that doesn’t make even the slightest sense. If someone had read this embarrassing attempt at prose, it wouldn’t too far off for them to think that it was the masterpiece of an infant with a lot of free time on his hands.

In an effort to restart this stalled engine, I went back to my past and dusted off my archives. Going back to read some of my previous works made me realize why I enjoyed writing so much. I was never forced to write something just so I can post it on my blog and wait for the comments to come pouring in. That would have been too self-indulgent. At the same time, I never wrote (or published) anything that I felt lacked merit and ingenuity. I wrote those articles because I was motivated and inspired. I wrote those articles because I enjoyed it. It’s surreal to think that I was capable of those works back then, yet be stumped and clueless on what to write now.

So after reading some of my past works, I took a deep breath and gave out an exasperated sigh.
I closed my eyes and I began to wonder where that writer had gone to.

Because if there’s one thing that’s obvious on this hot summer night; he sure as hell isn’t here.

Hey Knicks, I want that job!

2008-08-29T15:57:00.002+08:00

In yet another lame attempt in pre-occupying myself on another hot, lazy afternoon, I have decided to apply for jobs in the NBA.

Yep, the NBA. Ze National Basketball Association.

Now I know I’m more likely to get hired as an oversized child in a Combantrin commercial than being called up to become a PR guy for the New Orleans Hornets. But with nothing else to do and with resources dwindling by the day, I might as well shoot for the stars and hope that I get noticed.

Upon seeing the NBA’s careers website, I was floored to see that there are a ton of jobs available. ‘Great’, I thought. I’m going to have better odds of getting hired! As I scrolled down the list of open positions, I realized that I was neither qualified nor had any background experience on 90% of the said openings.

Deflated but not undaunted, I scoured for more openings and landed on a particular job description that piqued my curiosity:

http://nbateamjobs.teamworkonline.com/teamwork/jobs/jobs.cfm/Communications?supcat=166

As I read the job descriptions, my heartbeat started beating a few more times than I cared to know. This job is perfect for me! I have a place to stay in New Jersey, and that’s only a 15-minute bus ride away, I love sports and the NBA (duh!), and I’m going to be writing about them for a living. The only thing I need to work on is my support for the team - or whatever they're called these days.

But hell, if they give me this opportunity and pay me while doing it, I’m more than willing to elevate them as my second favorite team. I probably just shot down my chances right there but still, the Hornets are still number one.

Regardless, it’s an avenue worth exploring. Who knows, right? It’s far-fetched to think that the NEW YORK KNICKS will even give me the time of day, but with my current state of mind, nothing seems too unbelievable anymore.

In the meantime, while waiting for a response from my soon-to-be-I-hope-second-favorite-professional-sports-team, I’ll keep my fingers crossed, hope they notice me, and see how great an asset I can be to them.

Now, about that Combantrin commercial; are there any casting calls for that?

When Bandwagonning Goes Wrong

2008-08-29T14:49:00.003+08:00

I had a conversation with a good friend of mine recently and predictably, our dialogue ended up on basketball. Now this friend of mine, much like yours truly, is a die-hard fan of the game. He once called himself the greatest New York Knicks fan – a title I completely found unenviable.
We’ve spent countless hours debating about our favorite team, figuring out how to improve our team’s fortunes with otherworldly trade ideas and ridiculous free agent signings. Since our little game was devoid of any salary cap restrictions, all the ideas – ludicrous as they are – were fair game.

“I’ll trade for Chris Paul and Tyson Chandler for Stephon Marbury and a bag of peanuts,” he once said. I couldn’t blame for his attempt at the trade since CP3 and TC are two of the leagues up-an-coming stars whereas Stephon Marbury is most famous these days for his bizarre television interviews and a tattoo of his official logo on his head. “Hey, at least New York peanuts are delicious,” he retorted. Those were his trade ideas. Anything to improve the Knicks dreadful standing as league laughingstock, I thought.

Then, in one of our more recent conversations, he said something that completely caught me off guard.

KG: James Posey - New Orleans Hornet
KG: We’re going all the way, baby!
Air-nest: Hopefully, Pose can help the Hornets reach the 2009 Finals...
Air-nest:... and then get crushed by my Celtics!

Wait a second...your Celtics?! The BOSTON CELTICS?!

I vainly tried to wrestle an answer from him. In sports, it’s an unwritten rule that if you’re from New York, the last city you want winning a sports championship is Boston, and vice versa. There’s a detailed history of sports rivalries between those two cities that has transcended sports and has become a way of life.

“You don’t root for a Boston team if you live in New York!”

He smiled and said, “Well, the Knicks suck and the C’s are relevant again so might as well ‘lend my support them’ to them, right?”

Then it hit me. My friend – the man who once said Hubert Davis was his favorite player of all time – is a bandwagon fan.

“Nobody wants to root for losers”, he told me.

While I sympathized with his plight (the Knicks really do suck), it made his case as a bandwagon fan all the more convincing. The moment Kevin Garnett signed with Boston last year, that’s all he talked about. He even made a bet with another friend of ours – and a fellow New York Knicks fan – that the Celtics would win the championship.

I have nothing against bandwagon fans. They are free to choose which team to root for – even if they switch allegiances every few days, depending on how said teams are doing in the standings. I’m not even worried about offending him with this. We’ve thrown worse verbal lobs at each other that I’m confident that he’ll take this with a grain of salt and laugh about it. I venture a guess that he’ll even be the first to comment.

I just find it hard to believe that out of all the teams that he could’ve jumped on the bandwagon, out of all the teams he could’ve ‘lent his support’ to, it had to be a team from Boston.

A Right Kind of Buzz

2008-05-21T16:00:00.005+08:00

As one of the biggest New Orleans Hornets fans this side of the Pacific, you can imagine my delight with the success they had this season.

Sure, they didn’t exactly win the championship, but if one looks deeper inside their season-for-the ages then you’d understand why this year will go down as the most successful – and most memorable – season in the franchise’s history.

If you’ve been following this team for as long as I have – 16 years and counting – you know that the Hornets aren’t exactly a ‘storied’ franchise. They haven’t won a championship and the farthest they ever got was Game 7 of the Conference Semifinals. It’s easy to forget that out of the four teams that entered the league during the ’88 and ’89 expansion years, the Hornets are the only team that hasn’t reached the Conference Finals. The Miami Heat already has a championship banner hanging in their building after Dwyane Wade led them to a title. The Orlando Magic reached the Finals in 1995 and if it weren’t for Nick Anderson’s world-class choke job, the probably would have had one by now. Even the Minnesota Timberwolves – perennial underachievers that they are – reached the Conference Finals during the peak of KG’s reign in ‘Sota.

Sadly, the Hornets’ past reads like a laundry list of unfortunate, ill-fated events and circumstances. On the court, they’ve always been a good – not great – team. And when they were a great team, they were damned – as with all the other teams, anyway – to have played during Michael Jordan’s reign of terror in the league. They also couldn’t attract big-time free agents to join them, primarily because most players were turned off by North Carolina’s glowing reputation as the “Bible Belt”. Go figure.

It gets even worse when you consider what’s happened to this team off the court. From George’s Shinn unprecedented fall from grace in Charlotte (ironically, due to a sexual harassment case), to relocating in New Orleans in what was then known as a dead basketball town, to enduring the destruction of Hurricane Katrina, to relocating AGAIN - albeit temporarily - to Oklahoma City, and finally, moving back to New Orleans in a time where the effects of the hurricane was still fresh on everyone’s minds and hearts.

The adversity this team has gone through in the past couple of years is unheard of in sports. It’s absolutely ridiculous when people make such a big fuss about a ‘supposed’ franchise player’s trade demands on YouTube, or another team who, until recently, employed a coach responsible for single-handedly burning what was once a storied franchise to the ground.

Would you trade that for what the New Orleans Hornets have gone through?

Me thinks not.

Their biggest headaches are walks in the park on a sunny Saturday afternoon compared to what the Hornets have been through.

And that’s precisely why as a Hornets fan for three-fourths of my life, this season will go down as the best one in their history - both on and off the basketball court.

Before the year began, the New Orleans Hornets were actually considered an up-and-coming team, penciled in most mock play-off trees somewhere along the sixth to eight seed. If somebody actually said the Hornets would finish number two in the West, he would have been called a cocaine-sniffing, ecstacy swallowing delusional idiot. “The Hornets having a better record than the Spurs, Mavs, Suns, Jazz, and Rockets?! Please!”

Most had them rated, predictably, as a good – not great – team. Good enough to make the play-offs and be offered as a sacrificial lamb to any of the true contenders. It was the usual step for a franchise, people would say. From not making the play-offs the past three years, to getting a taste of it and eventually, be bounced out wanting more. That’s how everybody thought New Orleans’ season would go.

For my part, I actually had them as a sixth seed, but I didn’t think they’d go quietly into the night. I thought they had a great young nucleus of Chris Paul, David West, and Tyson Chandler, complemented by veteran guys like Peja Stojakovic and Mo Peterson. They were a good team that had tremendous upside.

But not even myself, die-hard New Orleans fan that I am, thought that they’d be one of the West’s elite teams for most of the season - spending the last month of the season as the conference’s number one seed (they ended up being the number two seed).

So imagine the number of jaws-dropping after every New Orleans win. With every blowout of San Antonio, with every trashing of the Suns, the Hornets were slowly earning recognition around the league. But most importantly, their success has spurned the city to finally support them.

Playing their home games in front of crowds that resembled a Saturday morning YMCA scrimmage, the Hornets’ success began drawing in more people. In the end, the half-filled arena became a hotbed for rabid and delirious fans that at the beginning was a complete afterthought.

And it wasn’t just at the New Orleans Arena. The Hornets, with the irrepressible Chris Paul leading the way, were doing their part in galvanizing the city.

Even after two years of rebuilding, New Orleans was still a shell of its former party-town self. There has been an increasingly absurd lack of progress, with various parts of town still looking more and more like a third-world country.

But in spite of that, the Hornets were determined to do more than their fare share. When their minds weren’t on basketball, they could be seen fixing homes, visiting children, and participating in community events.

That’s what makes this team different from all the other 29 teams in the league. They weren’t just playing for a championship; they were playing for a city that was left in tatters.

That mindset carried them throughout this season. Through all the win streaks, through all the bumps, they rode on that motivation and it led them to the play-offs were they manhandled the Dallas Mavericks and took the defending champion San Antonio Spurs to the brink of elimination (would you believe that the aggregate final score of that series was 645-645?).

After being eliminated by the Spurs, head coach Byron Scott said that the Hornets needed to learn from this experience to become better next year. “You don’t go from not making the playoffs to winning a championship. It just doesn’t work that way,” he said.

With apologies to Byron Scott, I believe the Hornets won more than just a championship. It’s easy to get caught up in that quest for the title because, after all, that is what everybody’s playing for.

But while everybody is focused on reaching the destination that is the “promised land”, they begin to lose touch of the journey that led them there.

And that’s where the success of the Hornets’ season lies. It’s not how far they made it into the play-offs, but how far they came from being a wandering vagabond of a franchise a little over three years ago to becoming a symbol of hope the city of New Orleans desperately needed.

I’ve been waiting a long time for the Hornets to hoist the NBA championship. And while they fell short in that task this year, I’m left with a lasting thought that while no trophy was won, this team still hoisted something far more important than championship hardware.

They hoisted their city, put them on their shoulders, and gave them what nobody up until then had given them – a reason to cheer and a sense of hope that one day, New Orleans will rise again.

Tainted legacy

2008-05-08T16:05:00.004+08:00

0 for 7.

For all of Tracy Mcgrady’s achievements, this is the one figure that might inevitably define his legacy.

The man has been in the play-offs seven times and for all his efforts, he has never gone past the first round. It’s an unsettling fact and surprising if you consider the caliber of player Mcgrady is.

That’s not to say that he hasn’t come close to advancing. Out of the seven first round series’ that he’s played in, three have been decided in Game 7’s. It happened against Detroit back in 2003 when T-Mac was with Orlando, and twice since he moved to Houston – in 2006 against Dallas and last year against Utah.

It’s beyond comprehension to think that somebody like Mcgrady would have lost three Game 7’s – let alone seven first round series’ - when everybody knows that these are the kind of games that define superstars and cement their legacies as one of the greats of this game. Hey, Lebron James did it in his first year in the play-offs. So did Dwyane Wade. T-Mac’s failures only magnify the long-held belief that he’s not superstar-material.

Some might argue that it’s unfair to put the onus on T-Mac’s failures all to himself; after all, most of those teams were better than his when they met in the play-offs. But isn’t it fair to say that the 2006 Cavs were no better than Mcgrady’s Rockets?

Besides, that shouldn’t be an excuse. Great players don’t use the ‘I-tried-my-best-but-they-were-a-better-team card’. Great players say “get the hell out of my way because I’m winning this game”.

Sadly, T-Mac doesn’t have the latter mentality. Too often he has differed to his teammates in key stretches of the game. You can look no further than Games 1 and 2 of their series against the Jazz this year. Those were two winnable games for Houston. In both games, Mcgrady scored a grand total of one point in the fourth quarter of both games. You think Lebron, Kobe, or D-Wade would have let that happen?

Tracy Mcgrady is an all-world basketball talent. His skill set is unmatched by all but a few. But while he does have all the talent in the world, he lacks an important trait that all other great players have: a bona fide killer instinct.

Even if he has shown flashes of brilliance, his biggest problem has been consistency. There are some nights where he scores 13 points in 30 seconds, but on the other nights, he literally becomes an offensive and defensive afterthought.

That’s the most important thing Mcgrady needs to develop a closer’s mentality; a killer instinct that says ‘I’m not losing this game’. All the greats have it and if he wants to be considered as one such, then he must learn to have it too.

But until he learns to have that mentality, his lasting mark as a player will invariably be defined as someone whose immense talents were devalued by a lack of results.

That’s the truth and unless he gets this immense gorilla of his back, that’s all we’ll remember him for.

It’s unfortunate considering T-Mac’s legacy deserves a happier ending.

Steve Kerr's Unnecessary Gamble

2008-05-07T13:05:00.002+08:00

If Steve Kerr wants to reap the fruits of his highly controversial trade for Shaquille O'Neal, letting go of Mike D'Antoni is a move he should not, under any circumstances, make.

While D'Antoni's flaws as a coach were exposed in the first round against San Antonio, the Suns were undone more by their silly mistakes. Those mental breakdowns and blown assignments at the end of Game 1 were inexcusable. As were those costly turnovers in the latter stages of Game 5. Let's say that Phoenix won Game 1, the whole complexion of this series would have been completely different.

But alas, small mistakes always add up to having bigger consequences, and as a reward for the Suns penchant for mental lapses, they were given the boot in Round 1 and left everybody questioning the state of the Suns for next year.

Now that they've been booted out of the play-offs, the onus is on Kerr to breathe life on this floundering team and the first thing he needs to address is the status of Mike D'Antoni as head coach.

We've all heard about the philosophical differences Kerr and D'Antoni have had with regards to the team's direction. D'Antoni prefers his run-and-fun style of play and believes that after averaging 57 wins over the past four years, his style of play can work. Kerr, meanwhile, wants more emphasis on defense and a sense of accountability and responsibility from his younger players. In Kerr's mind, imagine how good Stoudemire will be if he cared a little bit more about getting rebounds, or how dominant Boris Diaw can be if he paid more attention to defense than the number of croissants he's had.

That's where their philosophical difference lies. D'Antoni thinks Kerr is micromanaging while Kerr thinks D'Antoni is being too lenient on his players.

If you ask me, there's a way to reseolve this and Kerr has to understand that firing D'Antoni will only exacerbate his gamble of acquiring O'Neal and you don't chase a gamble by making an even bigger one.

Kerr needs to ‘know his personnel' - as he always put it when he was a TNT analyst - and understand that the Suns are built to win now, and not later.

Changing coaches and changing philosophy takes time but the Suns don't have that luxury. Nash and Shaq are both 34. Grant Hill is 30-something, and Raja Bell has clearly lost a step - or three. Those four, supposing the Suns don't make any roster changes during the summer, are almost half of their regular rotation. Putting in a new coach with a different philosophy is a coated way of saying that ‘they're starting over'. That's fine and good if you're a team like the Toronto Raptors, but not if you're a team who relies a great deal on two players that are clearly past their prime.

The Suns can't afford to have another coach come in and put in a different style from the one they've been running the past couple of years. It's more important for Nash because D'Antoni's system fits his style of play like a glove.

If Kerr does decide to make a change, he should do everything he can to make sure D'Antoni's job is secure, but also try to convince him of the simple "merits" of playing defense in a way that will not undermine Coach D'Antoni's position as coach.

But if Steve Kerr does let go of Coach D'Antoni, he - for all intents and purposes - is closing the curtain on the run-and-fun style of the Suns; a bad idea considering the majority of his team is best-suited in that style of play.

Keep Mike D'Antoni, Steve Kerr. You already made a big gamble on the Shaq trade and its best that you don't get coaxed into making a bigger gamble on this one.

Miami has entered the Matrix

2008-05-07T12:45:00.004+08:00

(This article was posted last February 23 shortly after the NBA trade deadline)

The American Airlines Arena didn't have a three-story billboard of himself. There weren't any balloons, water guns, and certainly no black SUV's with Superman-inspired rims.

What there was, however, was a long table with a requisite Miami Heat backdrop, a few chairs, and a couple of unopened bottled waters.

It was as inconspicuous as it could get.

Shawn Marion's introduction as the newest member of the Miami Heat fell way short to the extravagance and hoopla brought about by Shaq's introduction to Miami in 2004. But don't mistake this lack of confetti as an insignificant move for the Heat.

And while the world has made the Shaq-to-Phoenix move the `water cooler' topic of the week, Marion's move to Miami is equally - if not more - important to the Heat's fortunes.
It's true that Shaq was - and still is - a larger-than-life and revered figure in South Beach. After all, he did make good on his promise to deliver a championship parade down Biscayne Boulevard.
But that was two years ago, when O'Neal was still capable of being a dominant force in the paint. With father time catching up to him and his health breaking down every other week, Shaq has become a liability for the Heat, and as long as he was around, the Heat would be a marginal play-off team at best and a bottom-feeder at worst.

So if the Heat wanted to go back to being credible, cutting ties with Shaq was the most important thing to do.

So they did. And this move, ironically, could go down as the move that saved the Miami Heat.
With the Diesel under contract for two more years worth 20 mil per, his contract was - for all intents and purposes - a metaphorical handcuff for the Heat. Now that they've rid themselves of that, they now have enough flexibility to be a major player in the market - something they couldn't have done with O'Neal still in the line-up.

The indirect effect of this is that the Heat now wouldn't have to waste two years of D-Wade's prime just to wait until Shaq's contract ends. And with Shawn Marion, Wade and the Heat get a player that not only fits the style of play they want to run, but they get a proven stat-stuffer that's younger and cheaper - relatively - than the O'Neal.

It's premature to think that Marion's production will decline now that he won't be catching lob passes from Steve Nash. On the contrary, I believe Marion will take his game to a new level now that he's out of Nash and Amare's shadow. And while D-Wade is still Miami's top dog - for the self-conscious Marion, being number two is a whole lot rosier than being number three.If their first game was any indication, Wade and Marion will be a formidable duo for the Heat; not exactly in the league of Jordan and Pippen, as some have said in recent days, but good enough to make the Heat formidable again.

The next order of business is to surround these two with complimentary role players that will suit their style. The monetary relief brought about by Shaq's contract going West will allow the Heat to be a player in the free agent market this year. They don't need another marquee guy, just young role players that are tailor-made for Wade and Marion's skills. Add to that the expected high draft pick they'll be getting in the draft and it's looking like Miami's future is not as grim as it was a month ago.

Short-lived as it was, the Shaquille O'neal-era was a whole lot fun while it lasted. They became a contender in the league, a hot ticket among the fans, and they have a championship to show for it.

But in this day and age of the NBA, staying on top is harder than getting there. And just like what Shaq did for them a couple of years ago when they were nose-diving back down to the bottom of the mountain, the Miami Heat have brought in a new partner for Flash to help turn their franchise around.
Superman has left town and Miami has now entered the Matrix.

Striking Gold

2008-05-07T12:21:00.004+08:00

(This piece was written last February 3, shortly after the Lakers pulled of the Pau Gasol trade)

Mitch Kupchak learned a lot from his mentor Jerry West. With the trade of Pau Gasol from the Memphis Grizzlies to the Los Angeles Lakers, you can say that Kupchak also learned the art of fleecing other teams from Jerry West.

For us who weren't around when West dominated the NBA in the 60's, the only memory we have of him was his cunning guile and craftiness as the general manager of the Lakers during the late 90's. After all, he was the one who signed Shaquille O'Neal away from Orlando and duped the then-Charlotte Hornets to trade their 1996 first round draft pick - a tall, skinny high school kid from Philadelphia - for Vlade Divac.

Jerry West made the Lakers a championship contender with those moves. And now - after a history of questionable moves - the apprentice finally made the trade that would make his teacher proud.

For those who haven't heard, the Los Angeles Lakers acquired Pau Gasol from the Memphis Grizzlies for Kwame Brown, Javaris Crittenton, and two future first round draft picks.
The Lakers - especially Kupchak - clearly struck gold with this deal. They get a legitimate All-Star to join an already deep roster made up of Kobe Bryant, Lamar Odom, Andre Bynum, and Derek Fisher.

Kupchack knew that Gasol would fit in nicely with the Lakers because he's well-suited to play in Phil Jackson's triangle offense. Equally important - and something that plays to the Lakers advantage - is the fact that Gasol is one of the most unassuming stars of the league. Here's a guy who's not really too comfortable being the "main guy" on a team -like what he was in Memphis. In LA, he doesn't need to play that part anymore because it already falls on the lap of Kobe Bryant.

The Lakers also won't have to worry about any chemistry issues with Andrew Bynum and Lamar Odom because Bynum prefers to bang inside while Odom - being allergic to any semblance of physical contact - prefers to play in the perimeter. That's all fine and good for Gasol because he prefers to play in the high block - the ideal place for a good passing big man playing the triangle offense.

As for the Memphis Grizzlies, you can't help but scratch your head on what Chris Wallace is thinking. The best thing they can get for Pau Gasol is an underachieving big, an untested rookie, and two future first round picks? Really, that's it?It's not a reassuring deal, especially if you're a Grizzlies fan. It's especially depressing when Gasol's stock was still high enough that you still could've gotten a far better deal if they had made a trade with another team, say the Chicago Bulls - a team that could have offered better players to swap for Gasol.

The obvious conclusion here is that the Grizzlies have basically torpedoed their season and are looking towards the future. How else do you explain the acquisition of Brown to team-up with fellow underachiever Darko Milicic? If they think that they can compete in the West with these two overrated hobos anchoring the middle, then they're far more incompetent than I initially thought.

The Grizzlies are rebuilding, folks. And what's the first way to do that? Rid yourself of your highest paid player and get some expiring contracts and draft picks in return. Of course, tanking the season and getting a high draft pick is also a way to do it. The Grizziles - whether they admit it or not - accomplished all three with this trade.

Now the Grizzlies can set their paws on the future. They have two young studs in Mike Conley

Jr. and Rudy Gay to build the franchise around, and they rid themselves of a player who clearly didn't want to wait for these cubs to mature.

And with a plethora of high-caliber free agents available in the summer of 2008, Memphis at least has the cash to make a run at any of the superstars. But the question is; who would want to go to a rebuilding team, situated in the middle of nowhere?

The Lakers and Grizzlies will make you think that they both won in this trade. But if you know your basketball, you know that the only form of winning that really matters is hoisting that championship trophy in June.

With this trade, the Lakers have made themselves a legitimate championship threat again, while the Grizzlies have returned to reprising their role as cellar dwellers.

And after years of questionable wheeling and dealing, Mitch Kupchak has finally made a deal that makes the Lakers formidable again. How he was able to convince the Grizzlies to make this trade remains a mystery.

But let's not forget that he did learn from the very best. And sometimes, that's all we need to know.

Hide the Lighter

2007-11-22T18:01:00.001+08:00

ve made their way I am suffering from kleptomania. There, I said it.

But before you wonder where your hard-earned 500 peso bill went, I’ll be the first to tell you that I didn’t take it. Not that I didn’t want to, but I believe that I still have enough moral fiber in my body to stop me from considering such a dastardly deed.

My fascination – if you can even call it that – for lifting items ring true only for lighters.

Yes, lighters.

If you ask me to rack my brains for a month in order to explain, I could spend 12 months and still wont be able to find an answer to satisfy your curiosity.

It’s because I can’t explain it. I don’t steal lighters because I hold secret satanic rituals in my room. I don’t steal lighters because I don’t boast of any sword-forging skills. And I most certainly don’t steal lighters because I have no plans of setting myself on fire. I just can’t find any rhyme or reason for this fixation.

At first, I didn’t notice it. Nobody did. After all, it’s pretty normal to borrow something and “forget” to give them back. It all happens to us. We borrow, we forget, they remind, we remember, and we give back. Everybody, at some point, goes through it. But as weeks passed, and the complaints of missing lighters grew, the suspicions and the finger-pointing all went in my direction.

I swear it’s a reputation that I’m slowly building – and it’s something that I am neither pleased nor proud of. There are days when I’d go to work with matchsticks that I got (not stole!) from fine-dining restaurants only to come home that night and discover that I had two lighters in each of my front pockets.

If you happen to see my room, it wouldn’t surprise me if the first thing you notice is the proliferation of these lighters said lighters. As of my last count, there are 26 of them – some with an emblazoned ‘Fuma’ sign on the side, others with pictures of scantily-clad women, and even one with a profile photograph of a video game villain.

Even the colleagues at the workplace have noticed my irreparable obsession with lighters. What was once a selfless act of lending has turned into a begrudging experience for most of them. “Will I see my precious Crickets again or will it just be the latest in a long line of lighters that have made their way to his pockets?

Even newcomers in the office have been forewarned of my sticky-hands. It’s interesting to see how I am now introduced to new employees: “This is Kirby. He’s the writer. And if he’s not doing any press releases, he’s probably stealing your lighter.”

Melts your heart, doesn’t it?

Now if some of you don’t understand why I don’t just return the lighters I steal, believe me, I’ve tried. But I’ve discovered that it’s not something that I can just turn off and stop doing. On my best behavior, I still find myself picking out a lighter or two from my pockets.

So, as a solution, I have reconciled myself to just giving a warning of sorts to anyone concerned about losing their precious lighters.

Don’t let me borrow them. Because if you do, it’ll be probably end up in my room, along with the 26 other lighters I have – unintentionally - pick-pocketed.

The Next in Line

2007-11-07T01:15:00.000+08:00

Casual boxing fans may find him a relative unknown, but rest assured, the name Denver Cuello is about to become a household name in the world of boxing pretty soon.

The 20 year-old boxer fighting out of Binangonan, Rizal is slowly turning heads for his slick and elusive boxing style reminiscent of WBC minimumweight champion Ivan Calderon. While he’s still years away and from becoming as successful a fighter as the “Iron Boy”, Cuello has shown that he has the tools to do it.

It’s just a matter of putting in the work.

As a rail-thin kid from Iloilo, Cuello sought Aljoe Jaro and asked if he could train under the promoter’s famed Jaro Gym. Noticing the stunning work ethic and humility coming from the kid, Jaro agreed to take the young pugilist under his wing. As an astute judge of boxers, Jaro quickly realized that he had a gem in Cuello. “I’ve never seen a more dedicated boxer than Denver Cuello,” he says. “He eats, drinks, and breathes the sport. He doesn’t think of anything else except boxing.”

True enough, Cuello’s hard work and determination, together with Jaro’s guidance, paid off in the arena where it meant the most – the boxing ring. Since turning pro in September 2004, Cuello has evolved into a two-way fighter – great defense and surprising power, given his diminutive 5’2” size – on his way to amassing a 12-2-4 record. In the process, he has scored five knockouts, three of which came in his last five fights.

Cuello’s last fight with challenger Rollen Del Castillo again showcased the champion’s skill-set when he scored a second round knockdown on the challenger. The fight, however, was prematurely ended when a clash of heads drew a bad gash over Cuello’s right eye, prompting referee Ver Abienza to stop the fight after the head physician deemed Cuello’s cut to dangerous for the fight to continue. As a result, the champion retained his Philippines minimumweight championship via a technical draw.

Aljoe Jaro didn’t seem to be too disappointed after the fight, although he wished it would have lasted longer. “Accidents like that are normal in boxing,” he said. “I just wish that the people in attendance got a longer fight because it was turning out to be a really good one before the clash of heads happened.”

While Cuello has shown promising skills, he is still very much a diamond in the rough. “He must learn to channel his energy better, because he has so much of it that he becomes hyper sometimes,” Jaro said. “If he can control his energy and be more patient, I have no doubt that he can finish 12 rounds with the same level of energy.”

Nevertheless, Jaro has no doubts that he has a future world champion his hands. “He’s a different fighter from a lot that I’ve seen. He has a goal of one day becoming world champion and the way he works towards achieving that goal is amazing. He’s disciplined, trains non-stop and fights like a lion in the ring. He has all the qualities of a world champion.”

For his part, Jaro is bent on giving Cuello opportunities to break into the world boxing scene. After the Del Castillo fight, the promoter is looking to give his young protégé better fights against world-class opponents. One option the is a championship fight against the Oriental and Pacific Boxing Federation (OPBF) minimumweight crown currently held by Japan’s Toshikazu Waga.

Regardless of what fight is laid out on the table, Denver Cuello has been successful in rising out of his humble background and becoming a world-class boxer. He may not be physically imposing, but Denver Cuello is bent on proving that the measure of true greatness is not how big you are, but how big your heart is.

He already made a believer out of Aljoe Jaro. Soon enough, he’ll make believers out of all of us.

A Feature: We Don't Change

2007-10-22T16:28:00.000+08:00

(co-authored by sciolist Migs Bassig, in lieu of Oktoberfest)

Change.

Change pervades the world of the Filipino, and it has become, so to speak, a norm of life. It dictates the lives of our people. As such, Filipinos have been - for a lack of a better term - forced to go with it or be left behind. Eat or be eaten. Hunt or be hunted.

Such kind of life has, in turn, spawned an attitude of 'what-you-can-do-I-can-do-better', and conceived a behavioral exercise which may best be described as one-upsmanship. Indeed, Filipinos have always aspired to be at the head of the game.

But fads come and go, fashions roll through and pass, and today's trends will eventually dissipate into yesterday. Very few transcend the realm of vogue and, in the minds and hearts of Filipinos, even fewer enter the rare air of tradition.

At first glance, basketball and beer seem to have little connection. Maybe none at all. The first is a sport involving the fundamentally physical activity of putting inflated orange balls in a hoop despite a host of defenders. The other is an alcoholic beverage best enjoyed chilled, with a group of friends, in pursuit of relaxation. The disparity may seem obvious, but in confronting this seemingly stark contradiction, one will realize that basketball and beer are uniquely intertwined.

In the distinct consciousness of the Filipino, basketball and beer are traditions that share a familiar bond. And that bond is love.

As the undisputed leader in the industry, San Miguel Beer has not only carved for itself a dominant presence in the market of Filipino drinkers. It has also built a unique emotional attachment to local niches.

SMB, for more than a century now, has evolved into the beer of choice for metro-based Pinoys and provincial consumers alike. With its rich golden color -refined by a distinctly smooth and crisp taste - the drink is now a staple in parties, concerts, get-togethers, and your usual al fresco inuman sessions. Even foreigners have so declared their affinity for this beer that the "San Miguel Escudo" has become a universally-recognized seal - known and loved by people in countries from Australia to America, from Mexico to China. Yet despite having attained a truly global appeal, the San Miguel brand remains to enjoy a kind of phenomenal following amongst the Filipinos.

Right alongside San Miguel in the pantheon of Filipino traditions is the sport we call basketball. Born and raised overseas, the game has grown to acquire an astoundingly strong hold among Filipinos, and is second to none as the most widely played sport in the Philippines. At fabled gymnasiums, along street corners, under the roofs of plush villages, and even in the shadows of run-down city jails - these are places where one will always hear the unmistakable sound of a bouncing basketball.

To Filipinos, basketball is at once a simple diversion as well as the paramount battle - just a game yet at the same time life itself. Upon the hallowed ground of polished hardwood or skewed asphalt, people play either to settle serious scores or forget serious miseries. Within a 94 x 44 ft. boundary, Filipinos have found a refuge, a home, and a tradition that's shared agreeably with common society.

And this, in a way, is how basketball and San Miguel Beer are reconciled. When times are turbulent and the odds seem insurmountable, we take the time to go play. Or go drink. And for those few precious hours, there are neither worries nor inhibitions - simply Filipinos who've grown to enjoy two traditions near and dear to their hearts.

"Manalo, matalo - mag-San Miguel tayo."

Sundays are not supposed to be spent this way

2007-10-15T13:02:00.000+08:00

You see, God designed Sundays to be a day of relaxation. Ideally, He wanted it to be a day spent – if not with the family - in front of the television. I, for one, already had a plan on how to spend this particular Sunday. The Evander Holyfield fight would be shown on TV and - as part of my growing obsession of watching finely chiseled adults swap merciless haymakers at each other - I was excited to catch it.

Unfortunately, my anticipation of the Holyfield – Ibragimov fight would be left at just that: anticipation.

A few days ago, a client called the workplace and asked if I could cover an event at the PICC for an award ceremony for some supposedly intelligent children. Being a grossly obedient (for the most part) employee, I had no choice but to adhere to client’s wishes all the while resigning myself to the fact that not only would I not be able to watch the Holyfield fight, but I would also be doing something even the Lord never did: work on a Sunday.

(Forgive me, Lord, for my lame attempt at humor.)

I deliberately held off from going to the Philippine International Convention Center until 10 in the morning as a sign of utter defiance. ‘They make me work today, I’ll make them wait’, I thought. I even texted my colleague Ozmund about my deliberate act of delinquent behavior only to find out that he, too, would leave his home at a time much later than he should have. At least now I’m comforted by a workfellow harboring equal resentment of having to work on this day.

-0-

The PICC, for the uninitiated, is a labyrinth of stairs, corridors, stairs, gardens, and even more stairs. So, upon arriving (naturally), I got lost inside. A gracious janitor finally took pity at this wandering idiot and led the way to the Plenary Hall, which, as it turns out, was in the adjacent building from the one I spent an inordinate amount of time exploring. Now, I had planned to show up 10, two hours after the supposed meeting time. But the unexpected field trip of the PICC grounds pushed my arrival time by an hour.

In an effort to save face, I sneaked inside the Plenary Hall and sat at a dimly lit area of the room, pretending to have been there for a while and applauding the children whose names I don’t even know. Client, however, saw my devious deed of deception, sat next to me, and promptly informed me that it was 11 in the morning and I was, as a matter of fact, late.

I had, of course, anticipated such a reaction and came prepared with a heartfelt and remorseful excuse about how I had overslept, ate some questionable yoghurt, ran into heavy traffic, and got lost in the PICC. None of which – except for the last part – was true. Client still didn’t buy my “eventful morning” explanation and told me that, as punishment, myself and Ozmund, who showed up much later than I did, would have to sit and observe the entire ceremony.

-0-

Had it not been for separate incidents of juvenile fisticuffs and two children making out, the whole afternoon would have passed by without any meaningful episode.

So as one can expect, both of us were bored to extinction. To pass time, Ozmund commented and dissected the entire event, making recommendations on how he would have organized it. From improving the less than spectacular bubble-inspired stage to rearranging the sitting arrangements, nothing was spared from his keen observations.

As for me, in between listening to him and playing a Family Computer-inspired racing game on my week-old Nokia, I was, as expected, sleeping.

After an afternoon that dragged on longer than we had hoped for, we decided to plot our exit strategy. I would confess to client that I had to pick-up my brother at the airport at 3:30 p.m. and Ozmund would use an unexpected meeting with an ethnic dance group in the heart of Binondo as our tickets out of the conference.

With our game faces on, we took turns explaining our respective plights to the client, saying that we had other matters that need to be addressed. Fortunately, Ozmund was well adept in pitiful facial expressions as his batting eyelashes proved to be a formidable asset.

So after being excused, the two of us hastily made a run for the door, fearful that client would have a change of heart and hold us hostage for the rest of the day. When it became obvious that we had, indeed, been spared, we smoked our final cigarettes and went our separate ways.

If I may be excused, I would ask for forgiveness for not being captivated by young children - some bright enough to be potential future leaders of our country – receiving plastic trophies. It’s admirable, really; maybe even significant. But entertaining it was not.

And unfortunately, entertainment was what I was hoping for this Sunday. And I’m willing to stake a week’s worth of lunch and say that I would’ve been more entertained watching Evander Holyfield dance around the ring than I would’ve been watching young children accepting plastic trophies with blank stares on their faces.

My Supernatural "Kobe-rage"

2007-09-10T23:50:00.000+08:00

The night before I was set to meet Kobe Bryant, I scavenged through old Sports Illustrated magazines to look for whatever tattered poster I could find of Kobe. Fortunately, a late delivery of the July Slam Magazine arrived that morning and, as if through some kismet happenstance, Kobe Bryant was featured on the centerfold.

Victorious, I packed everything I needed for the big day and went of to bed; hopeful that I could beat my adrenaline to the punch and fall asleep before it kicks in.

Unfortunately, the extra five minutes I spent watching highlights of his previous tour here ten years ago proved to be disastrous as it only triggered my anticipation even more.

So after about an hour of sleep, I picked up fellow-writer Migs Bassig and photographer Nykko Santos – two of the biggest Kobe ‘nuthuggers’ this side of the Pacific – and set for Makati Shangri-la, the site of his press conference.

As the organizers began ushering the media to the Quezon ballroom, I immediately scampered my stocky frame towards the front of press row, determined to get as close as possible to Kobe. Even the sumptuous lunch buffet of Makati Shangri-la (which, by the way, serves the best buffet amongst all hotels in the Philippines) became an after-thought. Food be damned, I figured!

After the longer-than-expected two-hour wait for Mr. 81, the man finally showed up looking excited as can be over the several hundred people craning their necks to get a glimpse of his 6’7” frame. Fortunately, my two-hour hunger strike paid off as, from the front row; no obstructions were in sight to keep me from taking photos of him. I had a pretty clear shot. So with no limbs obstructing my view, I gleefully snapped as many photos of Mamba as my Sony digital camera could hold.

After the press conference, the Kobe circus made its way to the Fort for a charity event with Pampaga’s Eliseo-Belen Elementary School. Kobe donated two signed backboards to the school and, as a gesture of thanks, the students of the school gave Kobe what can only be described as a sort of collage-looking frame, made from drawings the children made of their beloved hero. Nykko, our resident photographer described it as aesthetically gawky. Hearing this, I ever so subtly reminded him that “They’re kids, you idiot! Anything looks good as long as kids make it.” Ok, maybe it wasn’t as subtle as I made it out to be, but you can paint a picture, right?

Anyway, as the festivities – which included Kobe taking a photo-op with a pimped up Kobe jeepney and throwing signed basketballs to the salivating crowd – came to a close, I sneakily made my way to the side entrance of the Nike store, a.k.a. Kobe’s exit point. I figured this would be the best time for my Slam centerfold to be signed. Unfortunately, about a hundred other people had similar ideas and, as Kobe came out - hopping and jumping like a kid that just came out of a candy store - he started high-fiving every hand he could see. ‘Perfect!’ I thought. If he saw that beautiful, glistening centerfold of himself throwing down a vicious reverse dunk on the Memphis Grizzlies, he’d stop, take out a Sharpie and put his John Hancock on it.

Alas, he did none of those things.

He did, however, slap my hand and, in the process, crumple up the said poster.

After the mob scene in the Fort dissipated, my two colleagues and I set out for Kobe’s free-clinic at the Ultra. Watching Kobe demonstrate his “Blackout” workout to a selection of Nike Elite Camp players made me realize how sadistically appropriate the name ‘Blackout’ was for that workout. He was giving these young studs the workout and they couldn’t keep up. I could just imagine if it was me who Kobe was giving the workout to, I’d be out of gas just after the stretching.

After the two-and-a-half hour session, and amidst the constant pleas of the 10,000 fans – it was more nagging than pleading, actually – Kobe finally treated the crowd to a dunking exhibition worthy of YouTube. Unfortunately, my camera’s battery was close to dying out on me and I had used up most of its memory on pictures of Kirk Long running after loose balls. Begrudgingly, I settled for my courtside seat and reveled in the atmosphere of Kobe jumping over two players on his way to a thunderous dunk.

On the way home, I kept thinking of the surreal day that had just passed.

I spent the day with Kobe Bryant.

And while I did fail in securing an autograph, I was happy knowing I was going home with over 1000 photos, a crumpled up centerfold, and a memory to last a lifetime.

A True Role Model

2007-06-24T11:01:00.000+08:00

To an avid basketball fan, the name “Stephon Marbury” usually generates responses along the lines of “he’s a selfish point guard who thinks it’s always about him” or “I wouldn’t want that overpaid bum on my team! All the team’s he got traded out of became contenders!”

It’s easy to sympathize with these unflattering and discourteous statements because to some extent, they possess grains of truth behind them. Marbury has never been known as a team-oriented point guard. He’s talented, no question about it. But while his skills on the hardwood cannot be doubted, it’s his leadership skill that always crumbles under the spotlight of scrutiny.

Under the glaring lights of arguably the biggest basketball market in the world, Marbury has choked on the pressure of being the so-called “savior” of the New York Knicks.

His hasn’t endeared himself to the Garden faithful with his style of play. While his stats may deceive a common fan (he’s only the second player in NBA history to average 20 points and eight assists in a career. The other one: Oscar Robertson) the basketball purists will shun at this statistic and invariably compare him to the two point guards (Jason Kidd and Steve Nash) who replaced him after his stints with the New Jersey Nets and the Phoenix Suns.

(Note: Marbury had little to no success with both teams and after he left, both the Nets and the Suns flourished under the leadership skills of both Jason Kidd and Steve Nash. The Nets made the Finals twice with Kidd at the helm and the Suns have been one of the leagues premier teams since Nash became their point guard)

In addition to his self-glorifying style of play, Marbury has also been known to engage in verbal, sometimes physical, spats with teammates and coaches. The most notable example of this boorish behavior was his “soap-opera-esque” saga with former Knicks coach Larry Brown.

After a promising start, his relationship with Brown went sour and deteriorated to the point that the coach jumped ship after only one year as the head man of the Knicks. After the whole saga played out, Marbury’s popularity plummeted faster than a Wall Street crash. He was called selfish, spoiled, and egotistic. Two columnists from the New York Daily News, Frank Isola and Michael O’Keefe, even went as far as calling him the “most reviled athlete in New York."

It‘s safe to say that after everything that has been said and written about him as a basketball player, Stephon Marbury probably heads the list of athletes you’d want your children to NOT emulate.

But then, judging his character solely on his basketball skills - as so many people seem to do nowadays - does not do justice to his entire personality.

If you go beyond his proclamation of being the “best point guard in the NBA”, you’ll realize that there’s so much more to Stephon Marbury than people give him credit for.

Much, much more.

What never gets brought up in conversations about the guy is the fact that while he continues to get maligned by the critics for his “selfishness” on the court, nobody seems to realize the fact that off the court, this guy, with the exception of Dikembe Mutombo, is one of the most charitable players the NBA has ever had.

A lot of people don’t know that Marbury donated 1 million dollars of his own money to aid the victims of Katrina - by far one of the biggest donations of any athlete for those affected by the deadly hurricane. In addition to that, he has also donated over 3 million dollars to help the NYPD, FDNY, EMT’s and New York City teachers.

Marbury also hasn’t forgotten to give back to his hometown of Coney Island. He hosts a summer basketball camp there at Surfside Gardens called the “Stephon Marbury Basketball Classic.” For this year, he is requiring each participant of his camp to read three books and write an essay. Apart from his basketball camp, Marbury has also built countless state-of-the-art basketball courts throughout Coney Island and regularly hires barbers to give free haircuts to neighborhood children.

Let’s also not forget about the “Starburys”. Marbury understood that a lot of inner-city kids today can’t afford the Nike’s and Adidas’ of the world. So, he teamed up with Steve and Barry’s to create and promote sneakers that sell for only $14.98. He’s not being paid to endorse the sneakers and whatever profit he makes out of them goes directly to charity. Marbury has also promised to give out a pair of these same sneakers to every high school varsity basketball player in New York City.

If only more people knew this side of the guy, then maybe they will come to grips with the reality that “selfish” is the last word you’d ever use to describe Stephon Marbury.

So how ironic is it that one of the most maligned basketball players in the NBA is also one of its best humanitarians?

Stephon Marbury may not make the best decisions on the basketball court, but his heart for the world is, without question, always in the right place.

Make it a series, Mike!

2007-06-11T17:42:00.000+08:00

For Mike Brown and the Cleveland Cavaliers, there are two ways to look at the reality of being down 2-0 in the NBA Finals to the San Antonio Spurs: they pack their tails between their legs and run away, or they make adjustments and take the fight to the Spurs.

For the fans of the NBA, and fans of quality basketball for that matter, we pray it's the latter.

Play-off basketball is the time when making proper adjustments on your team becomes the thin line between winning and losing a series. It's not the regular season anymore, where you can receive a grade-A pounding like the ones the Spurs laid on the Cavs in Game 2 and face a team like the Knicks the next night.

In the play-offs, teams don't have that luxury; which makes the need for adjustments so much more crucial.

Against a team as good as the Spurs, the Cavs coaching staff, especially its head coach, needs to understand that the they need to change their approach for them to have, at the very least, a fighting chance of even keeping this series a competitive one.

Unfortunately for us, the Cavs head coach seems to be either allergic or inept in understanding that rather simple logic.

-0-

Mike Brown has to realize that Larry Hughes has become a liability for his team. Sure, it's admirable that he's still playing his heart out even with an injured foot. But last time I checked, the NBA is still about the team scoring the most points and Larry Hughes has failed miserably for the Cavs in that department during the Finals. In the two games, he has scored a mouth-watering total of two (yes, two!) points on 1-for-10 shooting. When he injured his foot, it took away his slashing ability (his only offensive skill, for that matter) and he was reduced to a one-legged jump shooter - someone who never had a good stroke even when he had two good legs!

Compounding on his miseries is the utter abuse Tony "Don't call me Mr. Longoria" Parker has been laying down on him in the first two games of this series.

Put one-and-one together and you'd come to the conclusion that Larry Hughes has become Eric Snow with no defense! (Think about it, that's not an exaggeration)

The coach has to do the smart thing and take out Hughes out of the game and have Daniel Gibson start in his place. The man they call "Boobie" has been a god-send for the Cavs this play-offs, and after two games against San Antonio, he's more than held up his own by averaging 15.5 points while shooting 13-for-21 from the field. Gibson has shown that he has what it takes to limit Parker's forays to the basket, and at the same time, hit the open shot whenever he has one.

Come to your senses, Mike Brown. Take out Hughes and give us some Boobie!

-0-

As great a defensive team as San Antonio is, there's still a way for the Cavs to make this a series, shocking as it may sound now.

They should try to create as many transition opportunities as possible so they can exploit LeBron's open court, runaway train skills. There's no better finisher in this game apart from Kobe Bryant than LeBron James. The Cavs should defend like crazy, pray the Spurs don't make their shots, get the rebound, and RUNNNNNNNNNN!

(Easier said than done, I know. But to Brown's credit, he did manage to turn the Cavs into a great defensive team and if they buckle down and focus, I believe they can slow down the Spurs' offensive onslaught.)

If the Cavs are forced into setting up in the half court, Brown should go back to his attic, dust off his offensive playbook, and maybe, JUST MAYBE, incorporate a few more plays in his gameplan. It was absolutely ridiculous how during Game 1, he went to the EXACT same play through most of the night.

Here's the play in all its glory:

Lebron gets the ball 35 feet from the basket, surveys the defense, calls for a screen, and attacks the basket. The Spurs, being as good as they are, collapse on the King and forces him to either, a) pass the ball, b) force an ill-advised shot, or c) re-set and do the entire sequence all over again until the shot clock goes down and he forces an even harder ill-advised shot.

Add a few more plays here and there to give the Spurs different looks throughout the game. With any luck, it might cause San Antonio to scramble on defense and allow LeBron enough room to work his magic.

Instead of LeBron dominating the ball at the top, the Cavs should get him the ball off of picks set by Gooden or Varejao (ala Rip Hamilton) for catch-and-drive situations. This way, LeBron will have the luxury of catching a defender vulnerable. Maybe even getting a mismatch once in a while. This scenario would even make it a little tougher for the Spurs to send a double team at him, something they've been able to routinely do in the first two games.

The Cavs should also try looking at taking something away from the Spurs playbook. Instead of LeBron bringing the ball up court and waiting for a Gooden pick, why not let the point guard, preferably Daniel Gibson, bring the ball up and work a pick-and-roll with LeBron James! If executed properly, LeBron would be salivating at the thought of Tony Longoria trying to contain him in the post. Sure, the Spurs will send the double team, but if Lebron thinks fast enough, he can attack the basket before the help arrives!

-0-

One of the Cavaliers strengths as a team is there ability to rebound. So far, they've been outjumped and outhustled by the Spurs in the Finals. For them to make this a series, they must take control of the paint and limit San Antonio's second chance points, and at the same time, get enough offensive rebounds to score some putbacks of their own. And if they can control the boards, they may have a better chance of doing the "Lebron-Runaway-Train" play I mentioned earlier.

-0-

These are some of the adjustments I'd like to see Coach Brown make. All of it, however, remains up to him. Whether or not he sticks to his guns or tries something new is still his call. It's just my belief as a fan that with the way things are going for the Cavs, any new approach would be a good approach.

Then again, I'm just hoping and praying that the remaining games will be more exciting than the snoozefest that was Game's 1 and 2.

Point Taken

2007-05-20T00:32:00.000+08:00

I’ve always had an affinity for the point guard position. More than any other position in basketball, I love how they can affect the outcome of a basketball game. Depends on who you ask, but more often than not, point guards have the ability to change the course of a game to their teams favor.

Yes, I still believe that “height equals might” in basketball, albeit with a little reservation. While it’s always convenient to have a low post presence on the offensive side of the ball and a “patrolman” on the defensive side, centers don’t have many responsibilities apart from scoring down low, guarding the rim, and getting rebounds.

On the other hand, point guards play the role of coach on the basketball court. Similar to a quarterback in football, the point guard is tasked to call out the plays in the game. He reminds everybody where they’re supposed to be within the context of certain plays. The point guard also controls the tempo of the game. Depends on what system they run, point guards can either push the ball out in transition or slow the game down to set up their teams half court plays.

So while the bigs do possess a certain degree of responsibility, it still pales in comparison to the responsibility of being the point guard.

That being said, basketball is still a team game and point guards can’t win games by themselves. They still need their teammates to make their shots, set screens for them, and finish off their passes on the break.

“It takes five”, as Adidas would say.

-0-

Regrettably, one of the lingering images I will take away from this year’s NBA playoffs shows a Hall of Fame point guard put up performance after performance worthy of his legacy, only to have his teammates go AWOL when he needed them the most.

And no, I’m not talking about my man, Baron Davis.

I’m talking about Jason Kidd.

This guy is 34 years old with two bad knees (one knee underwent arthroscopic surgery, one of the most serious injuries anybody can have), a bad back, and a family in shambles.

This guy’s career was supposed to be on the decline.

Instead, what did he do in the playoffs?

He averaged a triple-double.

Let me write that down again: He AVERAGED a triple-double.

For those who don’t know how hard it is to record a triple-double in a game, let alone average it for 12 games, it’s really hard (I couldn’t come up with a suitable comparison, so try to be convinced with my ‘it’s really hard’ quip).

His shooting could have been better, but he’s never been known for scorching the net. What he does bring to the table, however, is a steady diet of everything.

In Game 3 of the Toronto series, Kidd recorded the 10th triple-double of his postseason career with a whopping 16 points, 16 rebounds, and 19 assists. Two weeks later, he followed it up with his 11th triple-double when he did in Game 3 of the Cleveland series. In all 12 games, Kidd’s lowest assist outing was 6 and his lowest rebounding figure was 7.

His average for the playoffs? 14.5 points, 11 rebounds, and 11 assists.

That’s amazing stats for anybody.

But then again, Jason Kidd isn’t just anybody.

Besides the gaudy stats, it was J-Kidd’s veteran leadership that kept the Nets this long in the playoffs.

The 16-16-19 line? It came a day after he didn’t practice because of a knee injury.

In Game 6 of the Nets-Cavs series, Kidd almost rallied the Nets from a 22-point 1st half deficit all by himself. In the 3rd quarter alone, he was unstoppable, seemingly willing his team to an improbable comeback victory. When the Nets were down by 15, Kidd put on a show worthy of a superstar with daring drives to the basket, relentless defensive pressure on the Cavs, and timely dishes - including a beautiful bounce pass to Mikki Moore for a three-point play. Everything was set for Kidd to add another chapter to his legacy.

But then LeBron James took over and after Jason Kidd led that third quarter comeback, he was physically spent. He had nothing left for the stretch run.

And that’s when Jersey needed their other superstar, Vince Carter, to step up. But alas, Carter choked and everybody was robbed of seeing Jason Kidd continue his brilliant playoff run.

The sad reality? New Jersey just may have seen the last of Jason Kidd in a Nets uniform.

(I know this is a Kidd post, but I’m still annoyed at Carter’s late game no-show that I must give space on this post to rant about him:

For the record, I haven’t seen a superstar stink up the joint this bad since, well, Dirk Nowitzki became the poster-boy of the LVMVP (Least Valuable Most Valuable Player) a couple of weeks ago. Vince has been so disappointing this playoffs that I’m actually wishing the Nets let him walk in free agency.

Late in Game 6 against the Cavs, when the Nets needed a basket in the worst way, how did Carter respond? On one possession, he dribbled the ball too much which eventually caused a shot-clock violation and on numerous possessions, he passed up the ball instead of taking it strong to the hole.

That’s not what superstars do, Vince. They rise up to occasion, not wilt under the pressure.

People used to call you “Half Man, Half Amazing”. Now, you’re just “Half Tin Man, Half Cowardly Lion”).

As the Beatnik Walked By

2007-03-19T23:59:00.000+08:00

The discussion has raged on for months now and the day has finally arrived. While I do not fault you for deciding to shut down your ECS permanently and finally heed your “artistic calling”, it is with a heavy heart that I pat you in the back, light your cigarette one final time, and set you of on your quest for literary euphoria.

I wish that you didn’t leave, at least not this soon. After all, I didn’t want to inherit the burden of writing a newsletter (that nobody reads anyway) week in and week out. I don’t want to write customer success stories of products I have no intention of using. Most of all, I don’t want to be checking my e-mail on a Sunday night thinking of the workload that lies ahead when morning comes.

But this is what you wanted. You told me about your goal of reading five books a month. You can do that now without worrying about the content of this week’s newsletter or how many pick-ups a client gets for their latest photo release. You don’t have to curse at the high heavens anymore when you attend meetings at an ungodly hour or share a conference room with self-serving clients.

You have all the time in the world now. What you do with it is your decision and yours alone. But if my opinion has any weight (I sure hope it does), I would like you to finish your short story. I believe that with a free mind and a relaxed hand, it has the potential to be something not just worth reading, but something worth picking up in the classics section of Powerbooks (or the bargain bins at Booksale).

I once told you that your writing “inspires me to write.” You brushed it off the same way a grubby individual brushes off dandruff off his shoulders. You thought I was pulling your leg. While I plead guilty of having my fair share of bald-headed lies, that statement was anything but. I said that, and will continue to say it, with the sincerity and genuineness of a good friend. No lies. No bullshit. No fugazi.

So as you march on your journey towards Palanca glory, do leave bread crumbs along the way. Let these crumbs guide those who wish to follow in your footsteps. Let these crumbs inspire those who, one day, will seek their own “artistic calling”.

A toast to you, Artel, for choosing the road less traveled. I wish you nothing but good tidings and warm blessings on your new journey.

"Cheers!"

Conquering Lebron

2007-03-14T15:34:00.000+08:00

The trash talk started early. He had been running his gums all day about all the moves he wished to do lay down on Chris, even threatening to, as he put it, “break Chris’ one remaining good knee”. He claimed to have been practicing every morning for the past three weeks just so he can unleash his fury on the court.

Chris took all his boasts in stride, having decided early on to let his game do all the talking. After having read “Sacred Hoops”, he decided to adapt that to his strategy. “Don’t let the game consume you,” it said.

Game time commenced and Lebron hit an early 2 (it was a 1-2 scoring system so 3’s counted only as 2’s) in Chris’ face. Jogging down the court, he cracked a smile and flashed a wink as if saying ‘That’s just the appetizer, homie’. Chris shot back with a nod. Last thing he wanted to do was engage in a battle of wills and egos. Doing that, he figured, would only lead to his team’s downfall. So, he played his game, distributing the ball to the teammates and making sure that they, as a team, can withstand the onslaught of Lebron. When winning time happens, then they might have the chance to sneak up and snatch victory from Lebron’s team.

The game went back and forth. Lebron’s team built a six-point lead. Chris’ team clawed back and tied the game. Lebron rang up four straight points, but Chris kept pace the whole time. Their individual battle also had its share of highlights and lowlights. Chris managed to beat him for a high-arching floater that banked in and nestled through the net. In retaliation, Lebron blew past him and cradled in a nifty left-handed lay-up with two defenders in his face.

Towards the end - with the score tied at 22 - Lebron was isolated on the left side for a one-on-one play. He faked Chris to the right. Chris didn’t budge. Lebron drove hard to the left and at the last moment, elevated for a 12-foot jumper along the baseline. Swish! Nothing but net. 23-22.

Chris’ team’s trip down the court resulted in him turning over the ball on an errant pass. Chris was pissed. He didn’t want to let the game end that way. There was no way in hell that he was going to be the goat.

So he took on the task of guarding Lebron again. He knew Lebron burned him the last time, but he was determined to not let it happen again. He was going attach himself to his hip, if he had to.

Lebron was isolated again on the weak side with everybody else, including the ball, on the other side. Suddenly, he makes a quick cut to the basket immediately followed by one of his teammates lofting a perfect lob pass. “Uh-oh! An alley-oop pass!” Its one thing to lose a game to a jump shot, but to go down because of an alley-oop play was downright embarrassing. Instinctively, Chris raised his arms in an attempt to disrupt the pass. The ball hit his elbow and found its way to a teammate’s arms. “Yes,” his head screamed in delight. It was their turn now to try and tie the game and send it to sudden death. Chris received the ball at the top of the key and drove hard right. Lebron and one of his teammates collapsed on him and the three got tangled up, sending their bodies sprawling to the floor. Chris called a foul. Lebron’s eyes lit up like an adolescent watching his first Jenna Jamison movie. “Foul?! Where?” He couldn’t believe Chris had made such a call! In Chris’ defense, when the three bodies collided and made a heap on the floor, there had to have been, at least, incidental contact. None of Lebron’s teammates jumped to his defense, either, so his complain ended up falling on deaf ears.

As the ball was inbounded to Chris, he quickly passed it to the center, who quickly made a move to the basket. Chris’ defender chose to double-team he center, leaving him wide open at the wing. Reacting to the double-team quickly, the center passed the ball back to Chris where he raised up and shot a wide-open three. As the ball left his fingertips, he left his outstretched arms in its follow through pose. The release was perfect. He knew it was going in.

“Swish!”

In a moment of sheer triumph, Chris raised his hands up in victory. Everybody started congratulating each other on a hard-fought game. Everybody except Lebron, who took a seat on one of the benches, shaking his head at the outcome of the game.

On the ride home, Chris and Lebron begin to break down the game, play by play. As Lebron steps out of the car, Chris makes fun of him one last time. Lebron could only smile. Before closing the door, he left with a few parting words. “Next time, I’m going to own you,” he said. As he left Lebron, Chris couldn’t help but to laugh. He concedes that Lebron is a more dynamic, and a far better athlete than he will ever be. Victories against him comes few and far in between.

But on this night, Chris managed to upend the Chosen One.

On this night, Chris was triumphant. And as for Lebron, well, he bore witness.

On One Good Knee

2007-02-22T11:45:00.000+08:00

The knee has been a source of nuisance since junior year of college. But as any pretentious athlete (give me the liberty to refer to myself as such) would tell you, we are not one to admit our aches and bruises to our peers. Doing so would be a sign of weakness – an admittance of a lack of ‘testicular fortitude’. And so, I quickly dismissed all the worried requests. I didn’t have to adhere to their cries of concern, and for the longest time, I didn’t.

A few years have passed and the pain still remains, although it doesn’t pop up (no pun intended) that often. Only after participating in any strenuous, physical activity does it begin to become a source of discomfort. If that was the case, I figured it was something that I could live with.

But after hearing from a colleague of his experience with a similar discomfort and his trivial nonchalance in addressing it, which eventually led to him tearing the anterior cruciate ligament of his right knee, my indifference turned into growing concern. The warning signs surrounding his injury were eerily similar to what I was experiencing.

So I finally conceded. I decided to have it checked.

---

The doctor’s office was cramped beyond despair. You could barely open the door without banging on one of the metal chairs; the secretary’s wooden desk occupied about half of the office space, and to make it worse, the smell inside reeked of expired powdered milk. Not really the most ideal place to know about the extent of your injured knee.

But there I was, waiting for my number to be called. A few days ago, I had undergone an MRI scan and the orthopedic doctor advised me to bring in the diagnosis as soon as I had them. So, with the results in my hand, I waited patiently for the dear doctor to save me from the loathsome stench of the reception area. After a few agonizing minutes, he finally opens the door to his office, which to my dismay, smelled worse than the aforementioned reception area.

As I sat down anxiously waiting for his diagnosis, doctor took one look at the MRI and said, “You have a partial tear in your ACL.”

To his credit, dear doctor tried soothing my bruised psyche with an attempt at dry humor. Asked about what sports I could still play, he jokingly replied, “You can still play chess.” Lame as it was, I couldn’t help but appreciate the effort.

Although there was a risk, and a big one at that, of aggravating the tear, doctor still said that I could still play basketball provided that I take it easy on my reckless forays to the basket. An easy compromise, I figured. In addition to that, doctor advised me to start wearing a metal brace every time I decide to play ball. No problem on that, too. Considering how the hospital visit began, his rather cautious recommendations were as-good-a-news as I could have possibly hoped for.

Mercifully, the appointment didn’t take up too much time and I was spared from having to take in anymore of that wretched odor. As I left the doctors office, I began contemplating on the circumstances and severity of the injury. A torn ACL, partial or otherwise, is not something to be taken lightly. A traditional tear, if you can even call it that, takes a year to rehab. For someone who has big plans for his future, sitting on my arse for a full year is not my idea of fulfilling my goals.

But something still needs to be done and I’ve come to grips with the reality that there’s no hiding from this type of injury. After all, it only takes one wrong step to tear the ligaments off completely. So one of these days, I shall go into therapy. Three years too late, I know, but I’m just glad I know how to deal with it now.

In the meantime, I shall continue playing my sports, albeit more reservedly. I’ll play fewer games now, and I’ll try to stay away from excessive contact with my fellow competitors. But I will not stop playing.

For as long as I’m capable of walking, I’ll keep on shooting.

Sunday Night Lights

2007-01-31T09:42:00.000+08:00

It’s a breezy Sunday afternoon on the basketball courts of Valle Verde 5 and the familiar sound of the ball bouncing on the parquet floor reverberates in the surrounding areas of the park. Inside the grounds, the court is littered with men in sneakers and basketball jerseys. On one bench, one player is doing his stretching. On the other bench, another one is lacing up his sneakers. On the other end of the court, two players take turns hoisting up 30 foot three-pointers. In the distance, another two are engaging in NBA small-talk.

For a passerby, the scene may seem like an ordinary Sunday afternoon ballgame. But for a basketball soul, it’s a completely different atmosphere. The sight is the prelude before the battle; the calm before the storm.

And just as dusk dissipates and the last remaining fragments of light exits the horizon; as if on cue, the warm ups, stretching and small talk concludes.

The lights are on. It’s game time.

The rules are simple: A 1-2 point scoring system and the first team to 24 points wins. If the players aren’t too winded, the “main event” game, as some would like to call it, runs up to 30.

The players have no audience, no cheering sections, and certainly no fans. Not that they’d wish for any, after all, its one thing to play a 5-on-5 pick up game, it’s another thing to have onlookers scrutinizing their every move and waiting for the opportune time to make fun of their game, or lack thereof in some cases. Apart from the security guards who make the usual rounds and the churchgoers who pass by the courts before and after hearing mass from the nearby chapel, the area is desolate of any witnesses.

The initial game is fast-paced; played at an almost frantic tempo. The thought of playing defense is quickly lost in favor of fancy no-look bounce passes, acrobatic lay-ups, and the almost too predictable parade of three-pointers. It’s easy to excuse the rash of “ballhog-itis” since a week’s worth of pent up frustrations are poured out in the first few possessions of the game. Pretty soon, the game slows down and the highlight (or lowlight, whichever you prefer) plays are replaced by pick-and-roll’s and half court sets. As the score picks up, the game also takes a more intense tone. Bumps are harder, the defense tightens up, and fouls (both phantom and legitimate) are called more often. This was, after all, still basketball, and the competitive juices of each player still dripped down their skins all the while making permanent residence on the parquet floor. Nobody came here to lose.

As the fallout from battle proves time and time again, there always will be a victor and a vanquished. But in the spirit of camaraderie, the losers are quick to congratulate the winners on a hard fought game. High-fives are exchanged and the players laugh over the botched lay-ups and the behind-the-back dribbles gone haywire. As soon as the pleasantries are finished, everyone slumps down in their benches, chugs down their water, and unwinds for a few minutes. Pretty soon, the next game will begin and at this point, the players need all the rest they can get.

Predictably, succeeding games take longer as the legs grow heavier with every sprint down the court. In the process, wide open ‘gimmes’ are missed and shots become flat. The players, once full of bounce and energy, have been reduced to huffing and puffing shells of their former selves. But fatigue is never an excuse. The game continues and the competitive streaks re-emerge. The final game is usually the most intense. Everyone wants to leave their mark on the evening. If there was a fitting time to bring the ‘A-game’, this was the time to do it. The fancy plays that were so widespread only a few hours ago are gone. The game has turned into a rugged half-court affair. Plays are called louder, mistakes are magnified, and good shots are greeted with body bumps and high-fives. As the ball swishes through the net a final time, the collective shouts of elation and dejection pierces through what is now a starry Sunday night. At last, the games are over.

After three hours and four games, everyone is prepared to pack it in. The exhausted players take a few more minutes to relax and catch their wind. Everyone was drained. But it wasn’t the kind of burnt-out exhaustion the workplace brings about, it was fatigue borne out of playing too much basketball. It was tiring, but at the end of the day, it was all worth it.

Finally, the lights are turned off and the final high-fives and knuckle-knocks are exchanged. Everyone calls it a night and heads to their cars to go back to the comforts of their own home. For the first time the whole day, the mood was somber, maybe even a little too quiet for comfort. Looking at everyone, it wasn’t hard to figure out why. Nobody needed to say it; no words had to be exchanged. It was obvious what everyone was looking forward to.

Sunday.

The day the lights are on, and the games begin anew.

Mid-Season Awards

2007-01-28T12:50:00.000+08:00

MVP – Steve Nash

Shaquille O’Neal. LeBron James. Dirk Nowitzki. Gilbert Arenas.

Question: What do these four players have in common?

Answer: These all-planet superstars all had (and in the case of Dirk and Gil, are still having) MVP type seasons, but were, and will be, beaten out for the THIRD STRAIGHT YEAR by a diminutive point guard from British Columbia, Canada.

Let’s already come to terms with it. It’s easier to do it now, rather than denying the obvious and finally admitting it at the end of the season. It’s a less bitter pill to swallow.

To say Steve Nash continues to amaze is an understatement of mammoth proportions. It’s like saying Mary Kate Olsen is a little bit on the slim side.
The dude is having the BEST season of a career and providing he stays healthy, will win his third Most Valuable Player award.

All points are leading to Steve Nash winning MVP no. 3A month away from being 33, Nash is playing at a level that is way past great, it’s bordering on magical. He makes it so easy for his teammates that everyone looks like All-Stars when they play with him and scrubs when they leave (that’s you Tim Thomas). He’s great at shooting from anywhere in the court, his ball-handling and
passing skills are flawless and his basketball IQ
is second-to-none.

He’s the captain of a Phoenix team that’s scorching the entire league with a 15-game winning streak after already reaching 15 in a row earlier this season.

Bill Simmons made a great point when he said that had it not been for a 5-point loss to the Wizards (Arenas dropped 54 on them and Nash’s three to win at the end of regulation went in-and-out) and a 2-point loss to Dallas (where Nowitzki hit the game-winner), the Suns would be riding a 33-game winning streak right now, which ties the NBA record for most games won in a row (set by the ’71 Lakers led by Wilt Chamberlain and Jerry West).

Had those two breaks gone Phoenix’s way (Nash making the three and Dirk missing the game winner, we would have witnessed history, fellas.

And we have Steve Nash to thank for it.

Runners up: Dirk Nowitzki and Gilbert Arenas

Coach of the Year: Jerry Sloan

His time has come. There is no coach in this league who deserves this award more than Jerry Sloan. Nobody expected the Jazz to play this good so far into the season, including me, but he’s proven that he can get the most out of his players by getting them to play hard and compete night in an night out.

This Jazz team executes well offensively, they move the ball around they have versatile players capable of playing multiple roles every night.

Is it a sentimental pick because he has never won the award yet? You bet it is. But at least I’m comforted by the fact that he’s got a winning team playing great basketball to justify my biasness.

Runners up: Mike D’Antoni, Phil Jackson, Jeff Van Gundy

Rookie of the Year: Brandon Roy

Despite missing 20 games, I’m still taking Brandon Roy as the Rookie of the Year. Nobody has really shown anything worthy of being considered the top rookie. Adam Morrison has put a new definition to the term “erratically inconsistent”, Andrea Bargnani has been showing some worth the last month but is still a long ways from becoming a consistent threat and Randy Foye hasn’t been given enough PT to warrant consideration. Roy leads all rookies in scoring with 14.3 points per game. He’s also grabbing 4.3 boards, dishing out 3 assists, and steals the ball at a rate of 1.3 per game.

If it wasn’t for that 20 games he missed, this award would have been a landslide.

Runners up: Adam Morrison, Andrea Bargnani

Most Improved Player of the Year: Deron Williams

This award proved to be a head-scratcher, too. But unlike the ROY award, the MIP is tough because there’s just too many worthy choices.

Heck, the Golden State Warriors alone have three players to pick from!

In the end, though, I’m going with Utah’s Deron Williams, with Kevin Martin of the Kings a close second.

While Lil’ K-Mart has become a premier scoring threat for the Kings (even with that ugly jump shot of his), Deron Williams that has taken his game to a whole new level. After struggling with his weight and Utah’s style of play last year, Williams spent time in the summer shredding the unwanted pounds and going under the wing of the man whose shoes he was supposed to fill, John Stockton.

So far, the Jazz have been playing great music together led by a reinvented Williams. He’s been a consistent scorer and he’s making the beautiful passes (with a 21 assist game under his belt) Jazz fans haven’t seen since No. 12 was leading the break.

Runner up: Kevin Martin

Honorable Mention: Luke Walton, Monta Ellis, Andris Biedrins, Matt Barnes, Matt Carroll, Jason Kapono, David Lee

Sixth Man of the Year: Ben Gordon

This was a toss-up between Gordon and Leandro Barbosa.

Both players having been playing off-the-charts basketball while coming off the bench. Barbosa has been averaging 16.5 points per game, while dishing out 4.2 assists per game for a Suns team that is blistering the league at a frenetic pace. Gordon, on the other hand, has been putting up monster numbers off the bench too, with averages of 21.3 points per game and 3.5 dimes per game.

I’m leaning towards Gordon for the Sixth Man Award simply because he’s more important to the Bulls success than Barbosa is to Phoenix.

I’m not saying that Barbosa is expendable; but I believe the Suns wouldn’t miss a beat if he goes down with an injury, whereas the Bulls would probably implode if Gordon doesn’t suit up.

Runner up: Leandro Barbosa

Defensive Player of the Year: Alonzo Mourning

What Alonzo Mourning has done this year is nothing short of remarkable. Filling in for an injured Shaq four games into the season, Zo has done a yeoman’s job in manning the middle for the Heat. While he’s offensive production has taken a hit because he’s not the focal point of the offense anymore, he’s defensive production has been like the Zo of old. He leads the league in blocked shots with 3 a game and if there was a category for number of shots altered just by sheer presence alone, he’d probably be on top of that list too.

What’s most impressive about Mourning this year is that he’s doing all of this while only logging 24 minutes a game. Jermaine O’Neal, who also blocks three shots per game, logs 12 more minutes a game than Zo.

Runner up: Shawn Marion

The Road to Miami - Divisional Round

2007-01-09T11:38:00.000+08:00

The Road to Miami – The Divisional Round

Before I dive into my divisional round predictions, who here feels bad for Tony Romo after his disastrous error at the conclusion of the Cowboys-Seahawks game? To lose a game like that, on one of the most routine scoring plays in all of football (a field goal attempt from 19 yards!) is a crushing way to lose a play-off game and end a season where the aforementioned Romo skyrocketed to superstardom by leading Dallas into the postseason.

What makes this all the more heartbreaking for Cowboys fans was that when Romo was running for the end zone after the botched field goal attempt, he didn’t even have to make to the end zone for the Cowboys to win. All he had to was make the 1 yard line, where the first down marker was. Had he made it, they would have gotten a 1st down, run down the clock, and kicked the winning field goal with no time left.

But alas, he was tripped up at the 2 yard line and the star that was shining ever so brightly crashed down to earth with him.

Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, it’s time to finally take a look at the Divisional Round to see which teams will advance to play another week for a chance to book flights to Miami for Superbowl XLI.

Indianapolis at Baltimore

The big key in this game is how Peyton Manning can regain his form after a mediocre performance against the Chiefs in the opening round. Not to put any additional pressure on Manning, but the team that’s waiting for him on the field this Saturday is the Baltimore Ravens who happens to have one of the best defenses in the league

Ray Lewis, Ed Reed and the rest of that defense is a nightmare for any team. Not only do they have a plethora of versatile playmakers that can make things happen, but this team has proven that they can win on the big stage against elite competition. They have the ability to pressure Manning and his receivers all night and make it hard for the Colts to get in rhythm. In addition to that awesome defense, the offense has found a level of consistency with Steve McNair under center. The power-based offensive attack of the Ravens will prove to be a good match-up for a Colts rushing defense that stepped up to the plate against the Chiefs after being abused by just about every team in the regular season.

Still, everything hinges around no. 18 and how he performs against the Ravens D. If “Playoff Peyton” can play to the level of “Regular Season Peyton,” they have a good chance at beating Baltimore. With Manning’s track record, however, it’s a task that’s easier said than done.

Still, as good as the Ravens defense is, who would bet against a virtuoso performance from Peyton Manning this Saturday after that stinker he had against the Chiefs?

Not me.

Colts 27, Ravens 21

New England at San Diego

This is the toughest match-up to predict because you have the best team in football this season against the best team in football this decade. It’s like one of those classic boxing fights where the only way to pick a winner was to flip a coin.

I feel the same way for this one.

On one side you have the San Diego Chargers. They are the best team in the league, having won their last 10 games. They are also 8-0 at home and they are the highest scoring team in the league this year. They have a tough defense and the team is led by this guy, LaDanian Tomlinson. I’m sure you’ve heard of him.

On the other hand, the New England Patriots aren’t called a dynasty for no reason. They have the best quarterback in football, the best coach in football, and that undeniable championship aura that other teams can only dream of having. The Patriots also have a pretty stout road record, posting an impressive 7-1 record away from the Big Razor Blade. These will all come handy when they travel to Qualcomm Stadium in San Diego.

So here’s the dilemma: Who do I pick, LT or Brady and Belichick?

The safe pick would be to pick the Patriots. You can’t deny the genius of Belichick and the savvy of Brady. They’ve been there before and they’ve beaten some pretty good teams on their way to three championship rings.

But all those teams don’t have what San Diego has – “Superman” himself, LaDanian Tomlinson.

Even though they’re the safe bet, I’m hopping on the LT bandwagon and pick the Chargers to take this one.

Chargers 31, Patriots 28

Seahawks at Bears

The Seahawks were beyond lucky last Saturday night. Next Sunday, they’re going to need more than ‘beyond lucky’ to beat the Bears.

They’re going to have to be beyond good, too.

Last year’s Seahawks could have beaten this year’s Bears. I have no doubt in that.

But this year’s Seahawks have two factors, and huge ones at that, going against them. One, their receiving corps is banged up. Darrell Jackson and DJ Hackett are both playing with injuries and it remains to be seen if they’ll be able to suit up this Sunday. Against a premier defense like what the Bears have, Matt Hasselbeck needs healthy and effective wide receivers to throw to. Unfortunately, Hasselbeck doesn’t have that luxury. Second, the loss of Steve Hutchinson will be magnified even more against the Bears. With Hutchinson and Walter Jones anchoring the left side of Seattle’s offensive line last year, Shaun Alexander was able to put up huge numbers. Now that Hutchinson’s gone, Alexander will have a tougher time penetrating the Bears defense. It showed the whole year, even when the Birds were playing pedestrian defenses.

Against the Bears, Alexander will be lucky to break 90 yards. Even if he does, Seattle is still too banged up to mount a real challenge on Chicago.

Bears 27, Seahawks 10

Eagles at Saints

I think the whole world wants the New Orleans Saints to win the Superbowl. Certainly, after everything their city has gone through in the past 18 months, nobody deserves it more than them.

Standing in their way will be a revamped Eagles team that hopes to rain in on New Orleans’ parade. Make no mistake about it; the Eagles are the hottest team in the NFC right now and they pose a serious threat to end the Saints fairytale season. Jeff Garcia has done a yeoman’s job filling for the injured Donovan McNabb and tailback Brian Westbrook has been nothing short of spectacular as well.

But the Saints have a bunch of special players, too.

Drew Brees leads a high-powered Saints offense that is chalk-full of playmakers, including the vaunted running back tag-team of Deuce McAllister and Reggie Bush and a formidable group of wide receivers led by super rookie Marques Colston.

In a game that’s too close to call, the Saints have one advantage over the Eagles that might ultimately decide who moves on and who goes home - The Louisiana Superdome.

If you think the Week 3 game against the Atlanta Falcons was electrifying, it will pale in comparison to the atmosphere this Sunday night. Don’t be surprised if the roof of the Superdome literally flies off. Expect the Saints to ride on the supercharged atmosphere of the home crowd and continue their march to Miami.

Saints 23, Eagles 13

It's Not about the Presents

2006-12-26T01:59:00.000+08:00

A Christmas present, complete with fancy giftwrappers and shiny tassels and ribbons, brightens up Christmas for everybody.

Growing up, I used to impatiently wait for the calendar to flip to the 24th so I could open up the presents that had “Kirby” in them. Sometimes, my name would come out wrong, as is often the case, but it never mattered to me. One gift was as good as the other, wrong name and all.

When I was seven, I recall receiving a couple of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles action figures. The image of opening up that box is still fresh on my head, like it happened only a few Decembers ago. I remember how I viciously tore up those wispy Christmas wrappers, as if my whole life revolved around those action figures. When I finally laid my hands on them (it was a Michelangelo and Krang), my face lit up like Times Square on a crowded winter night.

I’ve had my fair share of exciting Christmas memories, including some very neat presents throughout the years. But as the years roll along, and the presents become scarcer and scarcer, as a kid, it’s easy to feel slighted. You’ve gotten used to seeing your name on so many presents that when the time comes when you hardly see it anymore, you feel let down and Christmas, somehow, loses a little bit of its oomph!

But behind that guise of disappointment comes a stark realization that the decline in material presents opens up another perspective on what this season is all about. In my case, I’ve began to pay more attention on who gave the present, rather than what’s underneath the wrapper.

The over-used cliché “it’s the thought that counts” is exactly that, over-used. But in spite of that, there’s really no other way to explain it better than what that phrase is trying to say. I’ve received dozens of Christmas presents, some from the regular ninongs and ninangs, and some from unexpected individuals whom I’ve had little interaction with. Each gift takes on the same significance now; some may be more expensive than others, but in the bigger scheme of things, I’m just thankful for being remembered at this time of the year.

The truth is I’m flattered that people still consider me on their holiday list. The thought that they’d waste a couple of hundred pesos (in some cases, thousands) of their hard earned money is something that I’m extremely grateful for, so much so that the actual gift itself becomes an afterthought.

What'simportant for me is being around the presence of those I love. That makes my Christmas all the more special.

Circumstances at the Christmas I spent in America made the appreciation all the more genuine. You see, the season takes on an entirely different meaning once you’ve spent it in a foreign land, away from the safe confines of home sweet home. It’s not to say that it’s not fun, in fact, it was. And to be truthfully honest, it’s something that I’d suggest to everyone who can find it in them to spend the holidays away from their families. There’s nothing like a quiet, cold winter night to get your thoughts running; one you spend sitting by a fireplace with a cup of hot chocolate on one hand and a plateful of marshmallows on the other, all the while staring blankly at the flames dancing riotously in front of you. If for nothing else, the experience warms the soul like no other.

In spite of that, I still yearned for the normal traditions I’ve come to enjoy over the years. Hearing ”Ang Pasko ay Sumapit” after the midnight mass, posing for the usual family pictures, and just being with the same group of people I’ve spent the past 22 years of my life with, there is no better feeling than spending the holidays at home.

Nevermind that there’s no use for a fireplace in this country; I have my family and they’re all I need to keep my heart warm.

The Price of Admission

2006-12-14T00:42:00.000+08:00

I’ve never been comfortable talking about stuff like this because I find it hard to get my thoughts out properly and if I do try, I only end up misinterpreting my own words, and worse, end up writing something completely asinine.

What can I say, shit like this has never been my cup-of-tea, nor will it ever be. I’m not a huge fan of spilling my guts on some “blog” for everyone’s viewing pleasure, just so they can dissect my words and think that I’m some kind of unstable emotional-wreck.

Nope. That’s not my style. I prefer the laid back image; the happy-go-lucky guy who loves to write about sports. It’s what I’m good at and it helps keep me sane. To those who know me, writing something pitifully emotive like this is completely out of character.

But then again, you won’t see a wind-up mechanism on my back, either, like those cheap toys you find in the market. I still have feelings too.

So before I end up drowning on my sorrows, allow me to attempt to fill the pages of this blog with a sullen confession, of sorts - written from my “full-sized aortic pump,” as Joey Tribbiani would say.

It seems like the first and the hardest risk we can take is to be honest with ourselves.

Let the truth be told then: I was never good at relationships. For a lack of a better term, I sucked at it.

While I will not try to shoulder all the blame for my misfortunes, I shall not act as if I am clean of any transgressions either. After all, it does take two people to make a relationship work; but it only takes one to mess it up. More often than not, and this is what pains me to admit the most, is that I was guilty of being the one who messes everything up. Back then, the idea of building up a relationship appealed to me more than the idea of maintaining one. It may have been, and it probably still is, idiotically flawed, but that’s how it worked for me.

In retrospect, I’ve spent so many nights staring blankly in space, thinking that if I could have mustered up enough cojones then to make a relationship last, maybe everything would have turned out different today. Maybe the 22 year old wont be reaping the sins laid out by the foolishness of the 18 year old.

But that’s not how my story goes.

The reality is that no matter how hard I try to convince myself that I can draw from my past experiences and learn from them, the more it becomes clear that any attempts of conjuring up inspiration was like trying to draw water from a well in the middle of the Gobi. I had nothing.

Try as I may to look back on my relationships and think about the lessons I learned, experiences I treasured, and memories I cherished – the more I realize that I hadn’t learned anything, I had no treasured experiences, and the only memories I’ve made are those that I’d rather forget.

It’s a bitter realization, I’ll tell you that. Enough to shake up my confidence, develop self-doubt, and have lingering thoughts of maybe not being good enough.

Or maybe I wasn’t good enough to begin with.

End of an Era

2006-12-09T13:05:00.000+08:00

So it’s official: The Allen Iverson-Philadelphia 76ers marriage is about to end.

Allen Iverson has asked to be traded and the Sixers are going to accommodate his request.

After several seasons of toiling in mediocrity, followed by a very sluggish 5-12 start to this season, the proverbial camel’s back has finally broken.

The last straw happened during the Sixers practice last Friday. Iverson showed up at practice but what was told that he didn’t need to participate (because of his back, which Iverson said was not a problem). Furthermore, he was also told not to be in the game against the Wizards on Friday night and against Orlando on Saturday.

In a statement that he released, Iverson had this to say:

"In my entire career, even the doctors haven't been able to tell me not to play. I've played through injury and illness. I think everyone knows how much I love being out on the court, competing and winning. That's why it was so disheartening to be told that I couldn't play, knowing that I was ready. It hurt even more to be told not to come at all.

"This season has been very frustrating for everyone. We've lost 12 of 14 games and nothing seems to be working. I have expressed my frustration to my teammates; however, I have continued to give 100 percent night in and night out. Apparently, it hasn't been enough to help our team win. As hard as it is to admit, a change may be the best thing for everyone. I hate admitting that because I love the guys on the team and the city of Philadelphia. I truly wanted to retire a 76er.

"I appreciate that in my 11 years in Philadelphia, the fans have always stood by me, supported me, and gone to bat for me."

We’ve all gone through this with the Sixers and Iverson. They look to trade him, tease us with all the teams they’re talking to, only to pull back on the trigger and up doing nothing.

This time, it’s looking like it will really go down.

Lisa Salters, ESPN correspondent, talked to Ed Snider, the Sixers chairman during the game against the Wizards. Salters asked Snider whether Iverson had come up to him and asked to be traded. Snicer’s response was a short, yet resolute “yes”.

Then Salters asked Snider the question all Philadelphians have feared.

”Has Allen Iverson played his last game as a Philadelpia 76er?”

“Probably.”

"At a certain point, you have to come to grips with the fact that it's not working. He wants out and we're ready to accommodate him," Snider adds.

While I can’t say I’m surprised, I am kind of bummed out at how everything has played out. I’ve always been, and I can’t stress this enough, a huge fan of a franchise player sticking it out with one team throughout the course of his career, whether they’re contenders or whether they stink up the gym every night. That’s why I’ll always admire Reggie Miller for that. Here’s a guy who was the face of the Indiana Pacers for almost two decades. Through thick or thin, through all the ups and downs, Reggie Miller never cut sail and bolted. Even though he didn’t win a championship, you respect him more because he really bled Hoosier blood.

I look at the league right now and see only two players who fit that bill: Allen Iverson and Kevin Garnett.

Let’s face it. Allen Iverson is the Philadelphia 76ers. While he may have had his fair share of off-court troubles, nobody can deny that he loves to play for the Sixers. The Sixers fans love him too, there’s no question about that. A.I. has always made it known that he wanted to end his career in Philadelphia.

"I always wanted to stay here because of the loyalty, it's all I know," he said then.

As a matter of fact, you can actually make a case that Iverson just might be the most popular 76er of all time. He’s more popular than Chamberlain, Barkley, Moses, or any of those guys.

The only one that is as popular as him is Julius Erving and if you ask Philadelphians, there’s no 1 and 2 between them, just 1a and 1b.

But the inevitable has come. Sixers fans have to come to grips that they may be seeing a whole lot less of The Answer from here on out.

With regards to where A.I. might potentially go, there are a number of teams that can make a trade work, although it’s not as easy as it looks. Iverson, after this season will still be owed around $35 million for two years, a risky proposition considering he’s turning 32 next year.

I’m not that familiar with players’ salaries but with his salary, his high asking price will cost a lot for other teams to acquire him. As for the teams, the three teams that I’m thinking has a legitimate shot at landing Iverson are Minnesota, Boston, and Chicago.

Minnesota, for example, just might have to give up Mike James, Ricky Davis, and Randy Foye and some draft picks. Boston might have to part ways with Wally Szczerbiak, Al Jefferson, and Gerald Green. Chicago, although it’s unlikely that they’ll make a run for Iverson, has Tyrus Thomas, Luol Deng, Ben Gordon and a plethora of draft picks as bait.

Whatever happens, Allen Iverson has done so much and meant so much to the Sixers and to the city of Philadelphia that it’s almost a blasphemous sight to see him in another uniform and playing for another city.

It’s a crying shame they couldn’t make it work.

Weekly Whistle 4

2006-12-03T22:15:00.000+08:00

Weekly Whistle 4

A tragedy of Shakespearean proportions

Has any division in all of sports been this disturbingly awful like what the Atlantic Division is right now?

Consider that the top team in the Division, the New Jersey Nets, sports a sparkling 6-9 record. Four of the five teams have a winning percentage of less than 38% with the Nets not really that far ahead with a 40% winning percentage.

The division reeks of so much tragedy Shakespeare might have a field day just thinking of compelling ideas for a tragedy.

Here are a few suggestions:

1) Make Red Proud

Their patriarch dies before the season. The man led them to nine championships, assembled the greatest teams in history and is one of the most influential people in the history of the NBA. The team dedicates the entire year to his memory, with a mission to “make Red proud.”

Then they end up with the worst season in Celtics history. So much for restoring tradition

2) The Deserted Brother

They play in a country that only cares about hockey.

Their mascot looks like Barney’s ‘roided up cousin.

Except for Chris Bosh, they have the worst 2-12 lineup in the league.

Sam Mitchell is their coach.

Nothing can be as tragic as this.

3) Allen

After holding down the gates of Philly for over a decade, and having nothing to show for it, Allen Iverson gets tired of all the empty promises of a better team and strangles General Manager Billy King.

The ironic twist? The Philadelphians will love him for it.

4) The Four Hogs of Broadway

Four egotistical, selfish ball hogs on one team. That, in itself, speaks volumes on how bad that team is.

You’d think it can’t get any worse, right?

Not if you realize that those four players are ALL POINT GUARDS!

Don’t be surprised if they end up killing each other because someone was “hugging the ball a little too much”

5) Wildly Inconsistent

Lose six in a row. Win 11 in a row. Lose five in a row. Win seven in a row.

That basically summarizes the Nets season.

If you’re a Jersey fan, that’s enough mood swings to last you an entire year.

I’m beginning to think that the only team to crack .500 will be The Nets (barely) and the rest of the division will finish with a -.455 season. From the way it’s shaping up, that scenario is becoming more and more likely.

If it does happen, you read it here first!

Players of the Week:

East: Dwight Howard – Earning his second Player of the Week honor, Dwight has the Magic on a tear. Howard notched up averages of 21 points, 15 rebounds and 3 blocks during the week as the Magic extended their winning streak to six games.

When I went to a taping of Quite Frankly in New York, I wanted to ask Stephen A. Smith who he thought was going to beast up the league in the coming years, Amare or Dwight?

While I never got around to asking SAS that question, the answer’s becoming really clear.

West: Steve Nash – With respects to Kobe Bryant and his jaw-dropping performance last Friday, Steve Nash gets the nod for Western Conference Player of the Week.

(Editor’s note: I was one of those who was bummed to find out that Nash traded in his long locks for a shorter crew-cut in the off-season. It meant that we couldn’t call him Hair Canada anymore, which is really one of the coolest nicknames out there.)

Leading the Suns to a six game winning streak, MVP has been also been MEP (Most Efficient Player) for the Suns by posting averages of 22 points, ten assists while shooting 51% from the field in the past week.

Have you ever seen a line like this from anybody? 51% from the field, 47%(!!!) from 3’s and 90% percent from the line.

Quiet and unassuming greatness – that’s what Nash is all about. Don’t worry Steve, you’re getting love from the Whistle.

Kobe v2

Kobe Bryant?

Name sound familiar?

Oh yeah, isn’t he that basketball player fellow? Whatever happened to him? Is he still playing?

The first month of the season sure didn’t look like it. I mean, yeah, he WAS technically playing, but it wasn’t the Kobe Bryant we’ve come to love (or hate, whichever side of the fence you’re on).

He was actually passing the ball, playing within the system of the triangle offense.

Where was 35 points-per-game-Kobe?

Well, The Kobe Show returned with a huge bang last week as Bryant dropped 52 points on the Jazz and looking more like his old number 8 self again. You have to feel bad for Kirilenko. A week earlier he was responsible for locking down Kobe in a Jazz win at Salt Lake City, and you know how Kobe likes to take things personally. So really, we should have seen this coming.

Steve Kerr made a good point during the game when he noticed that Kobe had his game face on, that unmistakable scowl of his that you know something special was going to happen that night.

And boy, did he deliver, and in the process, he put the whole league on notice.

Kobe’s back, baby.

He was making shots from all angles he made Andrei Kirilenko, one of the games premier defenders, look like a blond Antoine Walker. It was so effortless that even Phil Jackson, ever the stoic statue on the bench, got up and gave him a high-five as he was going back to the bench.

What’s most impressive about this performance wasn’t the 52 or the 30 points in the third quarter (where he made 11 straight shots). It wasn’t even the 19 for 26 shooting he had.

It was that most of his points came in the flow of the triangle offense. Everything was in groove, and in synch. Even better, Kobe is beginning to trust his teammates even more. The lack of which, led to their demise in the playoffs last year.

As they say, defeat changes a man. It makes him stronger, faster, and wiser.

From the way the season has gone, the biggest change in Kobe this year is not the number on his jersey.

Quote of the Week:

"What is venom? I've only been here eight years, guys." - Dirk Nowitzki, reminding his audience that there are still few English words he hasn't been exposed to yet.

He was asked to respond to coach Avery Johnson's recent assertion that bad blood between the Mavs and San Antonio Spurs is "great" because you don't get venom "if there aren't two good teams."

Weekly Whistle 3

2006-11-26T16:58:00.000+08:00

So the third issue of the Whistle is up. I’ve been trying to figure out how I can get photos up here to make the column all the more bouncy. But alas, my technical incompetence has once again harpooned any chance of me ever figuring out how to do it. So if there are any willing souls that can assist ‘moi, I’ll be more than grateful.

The Weekly Whistle III, ladies and gentlemen!

The Booze-dozer

Anybody surprised with how the Jazz have fared so far this season?

This kind of strong start isn’t new to Carlos Boozer. Two years ago, when the Jazz went 7-3 in their first 10 games, Boozer was playing like a wild animal. After signing a big, fat contract earlier that summer, Boozer seemed to validate the Jazz’s faith in by not only posting up career numbers, but also giving the Jazz faithful visions of a Karl Malone redux.

Unfortunately for Utah, Boozer’s stay with the team has been a mix of glimpses of superstardom as well as long stints on the shelf. In his first two years in Utah, he’s missed a total of 80 games.

As much as Okur, Williams, and Kirilenko have all been huge in Utah’s resurgence this year, the main cog still has to be Boozer. He’s that one dominant low post guy they can go to when plays bog down. It helps that he’s a beast on the boards this year, too. So far this year, he’s been averaging 23 points, 13 boards, and three assists pre game. Mailman-esque numbers indeed.

The whole equation, however, still lies with his health. How long can he keep this torrid pace before his body bogs down again?

Utah may be playing some sweet jazzy sounds now. But their track will last for only as long as Boozer’s health does.

Here’s to hoping he plays past January.

(Editor’s note: I totally made up that Booze-dozer nickname, but that’s just for the purposes of this column. I’m still digging his immortal NT tag, Carlos “Verbal Agreement” Boozer. Now, that ‘nick should go to the Nickname Hall of Fame.

P.S. If you want the background story on how he got that nickname, just ask.)

Players of the Week:

East: Dwight Howard – Can you say man-child? In the past week, Howard has had two 20-20 games. Against Memphis, Howard rang up 24-23 and had a 24-21 against Charlotte, in less than 30 minutes! The past week has seen him average 21.3 points and 18.3 boards per game.

Every time I see this guy play, he’s just toying around with whoever tries to guard him as if it’s like a man playing against boys. The problem is, age-wise, Dwight Howard IS the boy! That goes to show you how much this kid is beastin’ right now.

West: Dirk Nowitzki – Lost in all the hype of Utah’s fast start and San Antonio’s resurgence are the Mavericks, who have won eight straight after a 0-4 start. Leading the way, as he’s always done is Dirk Nowitzki, who is also having a quiet MVP type season. In three games last week, Nowitzki averaged 26 points, 14 rebounds, and four assists per game, not to mention a giddy 26 for 28 from the free-throw line.

The Gangbusters

Every year, there are a handful of players who come out of the scene and play their way into public consciousness. Previously rotting on their respective benches, the increased playing time has given these guys a chance to shine and with it they’ve certainly put the league on notice:

Kevin Martin – His shot is ugly, but you can’t complain with the results. Heading into the weekend, lil’ K-Mart is averaging 25 points (from 10.8 last season!), five rebounds, and shooting a ridiculous (for a two-guard) 54% shooting from the field. All that despite an eye-sore looking shot that looks like he’s throwing the ball in a sidewinder motion from his waist.

Can’t imagine it? Call yourself lucky.

Monta Ellis – I always love the story of an overlooked player coming out and proving the critics wrong. It’s a fascinating read every time. This year’s winner of the I-Told-You-I-Can-Ball award has to be Monta Ellis. Taken in the second round of last year’s draft (40th overall), Ellis was seen as being too small to play the guards position (he’s actually 6’3, but he does look like a lot smaller than his height). Unfortunately for the GM’s, and I always never understood this, they overlooked one thing and that guys like Ellis may not be the prototypical basketball player, but they can flat out play.

Ellis has rewarded the Warrior’s taking a chance on him by averaging a sweet 17 points, five dimes per game this year.

Deron Williams – For all the raves Carlos Boozer has had for Utah’s early success, Williams has quietly established himself as the legitimate John Stockton successor at Utah. Averaging 18 points and 9 assists per game this year, he and Boozer are slowly starting to look like a modern day “Stockton-to-Malone” combination.

Maybe the Jazz weren’t all that cuckoo selecting Williams over CP after all.

David Lee – He may not light up the scoreboard like the previous three guards, but Lee has been an absolute maniac on the glass. Averaging only 24 minutes a game but grabbing nine rebounds in those minutes, Lee has Dennis Rodman written all over him, minus all the baggage of course.

But this being the Knicks, I’m sure Isiah Thomas will find a way to screw this up. Maybe he can trade Lee to the Hornets for Marc Jackson. That would be awesome.

Zaza Pachulia – His name may sound funny, but he’s game is certainly no laughing matter. Anchoring the suddenly improved Hawks frontline is this Georgian (the country, not the state) center who has averaged a pretty impressive 16 points and seven rebounds in his second year as the Hawks’ middleman.

Not bad for a dude named Zaza.

Video of the Week

Nate on Yao - This vid reminded me of Muggsy Bogues doing Patrick Ewing dirty some years back. Unbelievable.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rqlaN31OzDs

Quote of the Week

“I was blocked by a 5’3 guy before, so that’s not a record.” -Yao Ming, after 5’9 Nate Robinson rejected his dunk attempt.

Weekly Whistle volume 2

2006-11-19T16:55:00.000+08:00

So, the first issue of the Whistle drew a total of eight readers. Pretty encouraging considering I only expected half of that number to pay attention, let alone read it. Not that it matters…ok, maybe it does…but only for self-worth excuses. Either way, this second issue, I’m shooting for the stars, baby! What-say-you I double that and get 16 readers for the week? Lets just hope I don’t drink too much alcohol during the week and start counting each reader twice.

Anyways, on to The Weekly Whistle issue two!

Hey, it’s the new ball!!!

When was the last time you saw a game end in such an unusual way you had to do a double-take to see if what you saw really happened? So maybe the Wizards-Nets game ended with a typical overtime win for Joyzee, but the shot that forced OT was clearly a “whatthehelllwasthat” play.

Note to reader: In the interest of censorship, I think it’s in my best judgment to refrain from using any cuss words so as not to come across as being rough-edged and uncivilized to my readers, all eight of you, to be in fact. So from this point on, no cussing in the Whistle…unless it’s the Knicks were talking about.

So here’s the scenario: Down three with 2 seconds left, Vince Carter gets an inbound pass at the top of the three point line and launches a fall-away 27 footer to tie the game. As the ball hit the rim, it bounced the way a deflated ball would bounce when it hits something metal in that it DIDN’T BOUNCE! It hit the rim, and then just plopped to the hoop. Can’t imagine it? Try getting a collapsed ball and throw it at the basket from 30 feet out. Looks ugly, doesn’t it?

But, alas, the ball went through the hoop, there was OT, and the Nets won.

After the game, Jason Kidd had some pretty amusing comments regarding that freak play. "It didn't rattle. It just stuck," he said. "The old ball maybe just hits the rim and bounces out. This new ball is different and we were very fortunate that it stuck and rolled in."

Vince Carter, when asked if his last second heave would have went in with the old ball, said, "If it would've hit like that? Heck no. No way."

This kind of head-scratching freak play is enough reason for me to wish I had TiVO.

Players of the Week

East: LeBron James – It’s really not fair to put LeBron James as a Player of the Week considering he’s going to end up here at least nine times, anyway. But if you put up 33-6-6 over the week and lead your team to a 3-0 record, there’s no reason why you shouldn’t be here. As my friend Migs, the number one LeBron James nut-hugger would say, “a typical week in the office.”

West: Baron Davis – Second week, second favorite player. I swear there’s no bias here! Check out Diddy’s averages for the week: 26 points, 4 rebounds, 13 assists, and 3.3 steals. Most impressive stat? The Warriors went 3-0 this week against the Pistons, Raptors, and Kings.

Will the real Diddy please stand up!

Speaking of Baron Davis, I was lucky enough to catch the Warriors’ last two games against Toronto and Sacramento, the first one BTV and the other one care of TVU. It struck me that, if healthy (and Lord knows that’s a huge IF), Baron Davis is the scariest point guard in the NBA.

I will refrain from saying best, because, after all, he’s always a hangnail away from the injured list. But if his last two games are any indication, this man, as long as he doesn’t trip over his garden hose and hurts his knee, is going to have a great year.

That first quarter against the Kings was a ridiculous display of dominance from Diddy. Eight points and 11 assists! He bullied his way against the small defenders the Kings put on him, and when they put Artest on Davis, he just blew by him with his first step. This is Ron-ron “The Rottweiller” we’re talking about here, not some fruitcake defender(s) like, say…the whole New York Knicks team.

Like what I’ve said, if Baron can, at LEAST play 70 games for Golden State this year, I’m calling it that they keep on playing past April. Let’s jus hope he stays healthy to make my prediction happen.

Coaching for dummies, literally

Quickest way to get fired from a coaching job: Come up with a new offensive philosophy that urges your team to shoot the ball at least 100 times in one game.

I made a bet with a friend of mine on which coach would get the pink slip first from their respective teams – Sam Mitchell or Doc Rivers. I’m almost 98% percent sure I’m going to come up on top here.

After hearing about Mitchell’s “100 shots” philosophy, the firs thing that came to mind was “how the hell is this guy a coach in the NBA?”. I’m going to be shocked if he makes it past the All-Star break as Toronto’s coach. Seriously, what kind of philosophy is this? From what it sounded like and from what I saw from two previous Toronto games I’ve seen, Mitchell basically gives the green light to EVERYBODY in his team to just shoot when they feel like it. Maybe he thinks that if they shoot 100 times in a game, they have a good chance of winning. Good idea Sam, except that:

a) You’re not the Phoenix Suns

b) Your best player is a back-to-the-basket post-up power forward

c) Your team only has ONE shooter!

On more than one occasion, I’ve seen a Toronto player bring the ball up the court on a one-on-two and shamelessly launch a three pointer without having any of his teammates cross the half court line yet. And Sam Mitchell endorses this!?!!

As of November 18, statistics show that the Raptors do attempt the most field goals in the league (86.4), but they rank 26th (!) in field goal percentage with a 43% shooting percentage. They rank 4th in 3 points attempt, yet they’re 24th in 3-point percentage. Even worse, Mitchell’s “hoist-‘em-as-if-they’re-hot-potatoes” philosophy lessens the chances of the team going to the free-throw line. Need proof of that, too? Barney’s crew is 29th in free-throw attempts per game.

Maybe Mitchell thinks that they can get away with shooting more because they can outscore the opposing team. Unfortunately, he forgot that his team doesn’t play defense too. Giving up 104.5 points per game, good for third highest in the league, won’t win you a lot of games, especially if you only score 99.3.

As much as I want to say that there’s light at the end of this tunnel, the only positive spin I can put on this whole situation is that, at least, I’m making some money out of it.

Three stripes and you’re out!

When I first saw the cover of this year’s Kicks Magazine featuring The Adidas Five on the cover with the words “It’s Over” splashed on it, I thought the Stripes might have struck gold with the campaign. It was a really sweet idea. Considering that the company has flunked massively on making successful signature lines for guys like Duncan and KG, pairing them up with McGrady, Billups, and the quirky one himself, Arenas, made really good sense.

“Why not market five of the best basketball players as a team and revolve your whole basketball campaign around them?” Expectations were high. You’ve flopped with most of your basketball ads, Adidas, but I have to admit, this one looks promising.

Needless to say, I couldn’t wait for the ad to come out.

When I first saw the commercial, all my expectations went flushing down the toilet. It made ABSOLUTELY NO SENSE. Sure, they got the message down. “It takes five to win, blah, blah, blah.” But the presentation was a real stinker. From KG doing that “You’re a fool” scowl, which was neither believable nor menacing, to Duncan delivering his “It fool’s you” line from a radio studio (which I found really weird since it had nothing to do with basketball), the whole commercial was like allowing your piss-drunk friend to mix you a hardcore drink. You prepare yourself for something awesome only to be left with a “whatthehellwasthat” look on you face.

Oh, and that footage of Billups in the parade with his Finals MVP trophy? Didn’t Adidas realize that he won that award TWO YEARS ago, and that there have been two Finals MVP’s after that? One of whom is Tim Duncan, who was in the SAME commercial!

Good job Adidas.

Stick to your futbol commercials. At least that Jose+10 campaign was pretty cool.

Quote of the Week

“The teams that we’ve played against, if you look at their record, they’re pretty good teams as evident by how they’ve done against the other good teams. I just wish we start playing the lesser teams…like us.” – Isiah Thomas

Weekly Whistle volume 1

2006-11-11T17:32:00.000+08:00

For this season, I've decided to write a weekly NBA blog regarding all things NBA. I'm officially christening my baby as The Weekly Whistle
Now I know, only about four people will bother reading this, half of whom would probably read it out of sheer curiosity only to turn away after a few paragraphs.

I can tell you know you don’t know what you’re missing. Twenty years from now, these weekly recaps will be considered literature gold mines and all of you will kick yourselves in the nuts for not being a part of it.

See, I can still write a paragraph of fugazi BS without cracking a smile. It takes talent to do that.

Now onto the first edition of The Weekly Whistle

Hornets past and present

It’s a week into the NBA season and the only thing that makes sense so far is that my Hornets are 4-1. 5-0, if it wasn’t for that overweight point guard from Golden State deciding to play his best basketball against his former team.

I’m just kidding. I still root for you Diddy, just not against the Hornets.

How about that game, huh? Two of my favorite players going toe-to-toe and carrying their teams on their shoulder. And their stats, whew!
Chris Paul: 34-5-10
Baron Davis: 36-4-9

Players of the Week

Speaking of monster stats and strong performances, here are my first picks for players of the week:

East: Joe Johnson – Five games in and he’s averaging 28.4 points, 5 boards and 5 assist. Even more impressive? Atlanta’s 4-1 record, considering they didn’t get win number four last year until their 20th game!

West: Chris Paul – Of course I’m biased! But favoritism aside, it really has been a monster start for CP3. Going into today’s game against the Blazers, he’s averaging 21 points, 4 rebounds, and 10 dimes. Savage.

Beast of the Least

So the Hawks are the number one team in Eastern Conference. The Pistons and Bulls, pre-season favorites by the way, sit at the bottom of the Central division. The Cavaliers win all their games against good teams but get embarrassed against bad teams.

I know it’s a week into the season but these trends are really unsettling. It’s beginning to look like nobody wants to win the East.

That being said, at least five teams right now have a legitimate chance in winning the conference, albeit, none will do it convincingly. I have Miami, Detroit, Cleveland, Chicago, and New Jersey.

Now, who’s my pick out of these five? I’m picking the team with the least amount of questions surrounding their season. And conveniently enough, it’s the New Jersey Nets.

Miami’s too old now, and they probably have hunger issues. Detroit has lost its mojo. The Bulls are offensively inept. The Cavs are a one-man show, unless proven otherwise. So, the odd team out is Jersey.
They have one of the most explosive scorers in VC, a reliable do-it all guy in RJ, and the measuring stick among all point guards, J-Kidd. Not to mention, a budding and ever improving slot man in Krstic and a better bench, although it’s still not as deep as it should be.

So, they’re my pick to win the East. So what if they’re from Jersey?

As for the Hawks? They should enjoy their early success because they’ll come crashing back down to earth soon.

Motown Dud

I feel bad for Detroit. Two years ago, they were the model franchise of the NBA. It seemed like everything Detroit GM Joe Dumars did turned to gold. Since then, all of Joe D’s moves have been anything but golden. Let’s recap:

a) He let free agent C Mehmet Okur walk back in 2004.
b) He traded Darko Milicic and Kelvin Cato to Orlando for…I cant even remember who got back in that trade…just so they have the cap space to sign Big Ben, who coincidentally,
c) bolted to run with the Bulls for greener pastures.
d) Now, there’s talk of Chauncey Billups moving to Milwaukee next year.

Now, if Isiah Thomas made those moves, it wouldn’t be all that surprising. But, Joe D? I know you’ve made Isiah look good back in your playing days, but to do it now? What gives?

King of the Hill

How about Grant Hill, huh? It’s amazing how incredibly efficient he still is after everything he’s been through. He still shoots at a high percentage, still does everything so well, and he can still defend the opposing team’s best player.

He’s like that favorite uncle who used to give you the best toys for Christmas only to leave for another country and takes all the presents with him. He sends the occasional action figures, but it doesn’t happen as often as it used to be. Then he comes back, and the cool presents return too. You wonder how many G.I. Joe’s you could’ve had if he hadn’t left, right?

Gives me goose-bumps imagining how good Hill would have been if he hadn’t gotten hurt.

I’m thinking Top 10…ALL-TIME.

The LeBrons

Arguably one of the funniest campaigns out there right now. For all the accolades LeBron has received on the court, its his talents off the court that’s going to make him huge. In this campaign by Nike, LeBron, or Athlete LeBron, as he’s called in the ad, shares a home with three other LeBrons, Business LeBron, Wise Lebron, and Kid LeBron. The funny thing is he plays all four roles so convincingly; you’d think he took lessons from Eddie Murphy.

Here’s three of the four ads from season one of the LeBrons. Check out the link: http://youtube.com/watch?v=40GKEtQzUOk

Adieu to a Legend

2006-09-14T20:26:00.000+08:00

If pictures could paint a thousand words, the look on your face would say it all.

It was a face of a battered and drained warrior. The words from your mouth were unhurried and deliberate; trying to make sure you said the right things. Your gaze was far and in between. You didn’t look directly at the cameras, afraid that they might catch you getting all choked up. You were biting your lip, trying to hold it in. This was inevitable. Nobody could deny the fact that this moment would come sooner than later. Not your fans, not your team, and most especially not you.

How ironic is it that a room full of over-zealous, loud-mouthed journalists fell silent when you uttered those words. They too, knew that this time would come. But they, like me, refused to admit it. We held on to the hope that you would extend for at least another year; that we would still catch you and your pompous, arrogant face on television for one more season.

That is, until you made it official.

I became a Formula 1 fan because of you. It was the 1999 British Grand Prix. You had a terrible accident and broke your leg. I felt bad for you, and being the underdog-nuthugger that I am, immediately flagged down the bandwagon and proudly hopped on board.

I wanted you to succeed. The anointed savior of a team that had lost its ‘aura of invincibility’, you were tasked to bring back glory and prestige to the Prancing Horse. You were close on many occasions but unfortunately, you always ended up short. You reminded me of Wile E. Coyote. You chased and chased the Road Runner, even relying on craftiness and trickery. But at the end of the day, all you had to show for your efforts was second place.

That’s why you can imagine my jubilation when you took the chequered flag at the 2000 Japanese Grand Prix and finally won your third Driver’s Championship, but more importantly, your first with Scuderia. You had come through on your promise to bring the championship back to Maranello.

Then you won again in 2001.

…and again in 2002.

…and again in 2003.

…and again in 2004.

All of a sudden, you became the Road Runner. Nobody could catch you. Nobody could TOUCH you.

You began dominating the sport in such a way that all the major records flew by the wayside. Most championships, most career wins, most wins in a season, most pole positions, most podium finishes. Your name will be carved beside all of them.

But in spite of all your achievements; and the love and adulation from your loyal ‘tifosi’, you still had a boatload of detractors and critics, and rightfully so.

You didn’t always race in the ‘fairest’ of ways. You had a reputation for being overly aggressive. You would grumble and protest when an adversary gets an upper hand on you and yet, wipe your hands clean when the fingers are pointed in your direction.

I still remember you driving into the back of Jacques Villenueve’s car in Jerez in ’97 so you could win the title. You ended up being disqualified from the championships that year. Deliberate or not, it showed that you had a nasty streak and that you would go to incredulous lengths to win.

It wasn’t just Jerez. It was also Adelaide in 1994, Austria in 2002, and Monaco just this year. All these incidences put a dent on your reputation. You tried bending the rules until its breaking point, and for that you made a lot of enemies.

Nevertheless, it doesn’t take away anything from what you’ve accomplished in this sport. You are a 7-time world champion. You have won 90 races, almost twice as much as Alain Prost’s 51. All your records are head and shoulders above the rest.

At the end of the day, this is how your legacy will be remembered. In spite of all your misgivings, you will be remembered as a great champion who gave your fans memories that will last a lifetime.

I still remember Imola in 2003. My goose bumps were having goose bumps when you won that race, just a day after your mother died. You decided to race on despite your grief and you totally annihilated the competition. The image of you crying on top of the podium is still fresh in my head.

As your final season winds down, you have three races left. Three points away from first place. Your 8th championship is but a few car-lengths away. There’s still a chance to do what few athletes have done: go out on top.

You’re no Cinderella, but still, fairytale endings are meant for people like you.

Good luck and thank you for the memories.

Blacktop Culture

2006-09-07T14:37:00.000+08:00

It’s a far cry from the bright lights of the arena. The familiar sight of brightly polished parquet floors and fully loaded box seats are nowhere to be found. In its place is a slab of asphalt and cement blocks posing as bleachers. Everything is different; the bounce of the ball, the sound of a swishing net, and the roar of the crowd.

This is street basketball.

In the basketball world, it is most commonly referred to as the “other” game. A game where fundamental skills and half court style of play are left at home and a high flying, freestylin’ version takes center stage.

It’s a game where style points are as important as two points.

In a way, street ball is a basketball purist’s worst nightmare. Old school coaches cringe at the sight of their players going one-on-one against their defender. Coaches shun the playground style because of the emphasis on flashy moves and one-on-one duels and the lack of teamwork and organization.

In street ball, it’s the way of life. Ballers display a style of basketball that never lacks on showmanship and flair; enough that could get them benched in a normal game setting.

This in-your-face style makes the game so appealing, especially to the young inner city kids today. There’s a sense of freedom given to each baller to strut his stuff and work his magic, something he could never do on an organized game. Trash talking and attitude is highly encouraged. Between-the-leg, no-look passes and acrobatic dunks are considered religion. The play is physical, and tense, but all in fun, at least most of the time.

After all, streetball goes by only one credo—-if it looks good, it’s legal.