Tuesday, February 23, 2010

Blazers vs Utah (and the events that followed)

It wasn't hard to find the perfect metaphor for Sundays collaps.

As Sarah and I arrived at my car parked in the Lloyd Center parking lot (where I park for every game I go to), I wasn't feeling so good.

"Whats wrong, babe?" she asked. I looked at her, not really sure how to answer that. Three hours ago I felt fine. AT that moment I felt far from. In fact it felt like my stomach was getting rung out like a wet towel.


It was actually more painful then that analogy let on. My stomach didn't just feel queezy, I was in legit pain. I could feel my stomach twist in a fashion that would leave me momentarly debilitated. It seemed to get worse the closer to the car we came. By the time we got to the car, I wanted to carve my stomach out with a fork and knife. Sarah looked concerned. I had had a stomach flu the week prior, but we thought it had gone away ( I know, I know. I'm turning into a real life version of Sick Boy from Van Wilder). She asked what was wrong and I simply replied, "Hun, I'm going to throw up tonight."


Sarah and I went to the Blazer game on Sunday, and thats where we were when my stomach started to act up. I was drinking a beer (any coralation to the fact that I'm on doctors orders not to drink and I was enjoying a beer when my stomach started to hurt? Maybe, but you can't prove it).


It was at this game where I watched my beloved Portland Trail Blazers come out from the opening tip off swinging the perverbial big dick and taking it straight to the Utah Jazz. They had managed a 25 point lead at one point. I was on cloud 9 watching Nic Batum remind us all of his endless potential. However, about the time my stomach started to hurt, the Blazers began to shit the bed.


And I'm not being over dramatic. Throughout the second half we watched a 25 point lead against a division rival vanish. Like John Mayers public percieved purity-GONE! I felt sick. Both theoretically, and legitametly.


(How do you blow a 25 point lead? More importantly, how do you let Carlos Boozer tip on in at the buzzer to send the game into Overtime?! )


Thats actually all I'm going to say about the game. Here I am, a few days later and I'm still upset. And to be quite frank, my health is in no position to get worked up like that.

When we got home, I tried ot make my self throw up. I went into the bathroom and dry heaved for a bit. No luck. Not even that stomach acid stuff that comes when you try too hard. The only thing I achieved was pissing my stomach off. I was hungy, but affraid to eat. I was tired, but affraid to sleep. So I did the next best thing, I drank pepto bismol, ate saltine crackers, drank a lot of water (to really piss my stomach off) and watched The Wire untill my stomach was ready for release ( I learned last week that when you have a stomach flu, if you combine water and saltine, your stomach will want to fight you).

Two hours later it still hadn't come, and I was tired of fighting the Sandman. I put the computer down, and closed my eyes. No more then a half hour later, a blood curdling scream came from downstairs. It was girlfriends baby. But this was not the typical "mom, I want my bottle" cries that we were used to. This was something more terrifying.

Girlfriend went downstairs, and after 15 minutes of her not returning I followed suite. I wanted to see what was causing her to cry like that, and I could feel my stomach negotiate the release of it's contents.

As it turned out the little Princess had thrown up herself, and even getting the vile into her eyes (throw up is mixed with stomach acid, that could NOT have felt good). I walked in the bathroom as Sarah was cleaning her.

"Babe, you might wanna hop out here for a second, I'll watch the babe." I said to her. "It's time to throw up myself."

" Just do it, I'm going to clean her. I'm fine." Thats all I needed to hear. I did an immidiate about face, kneeled and violently threw up a filthy combonation of cracker, pepto bismol, and beer. Wanna know what Pepto and Hef taste like together? Like asshole. Try it if you don't believe me.

Unlike the casual vomiting I experienced the week before (it didn't hurt, it was just queeziness. I'd go to the can, vomit a little bit, come out and make a joke. I was back to work the next day) this was not a good time. There was no joking about it this time. I was throwing up like I was trying a self exercism. Furiously violent whiplash heaves all producing the most toxic of smelling vomit one could imagine. I had both hands gripping onto the bowl and I was throwing up like it was a bit straight out of an early Jim Carry movie.

Then it happened. While I was in the process of shaking loose all my organs, I aparently lost control of abillities I developed as a toddler.

Like control over my bowels. Yes while I was relentlessly evacuating material through my mouth I began to start evacuating more material through my ass. Again, for the first time in probably twenty something years, I was shitting my pants.

15 minutes later, the storm had died down a bit (I ended up throwing up and pissing out of my ass multiple times through the next 20 hours, thank goodness the butt juice from that moment on ended up in the toilet and not my boxers). The damage had been done. I was a wreck and in no mood to move.

As I layed on the bathroom floor it came to me. That night was in itself the perfect metaphor for that nights Blazer game. The night started off awesome, just like Portlands 25 point lead. However the night went on a little too long (trying to make myself throw up, when I should've just tried to sleep it off) just like the Blazers who let the Jazz sneak into overtime. And by the end of the night, like myself, the blazers ended up throwing the game up and shitting all over themselves.

Well done, fuckers.

Sunday, February 14, 2010

St. Valentines day: The day of Love

Ah, Valentines day. What a wonderful day. The day where you take that special someone out and make them feel like, well, that special someone.


This year I got someone special. And it's funny how participation in an event or a holiday like Valentines day changes your opinion on something. Take that opening sentence. It seems real optimistic, like there is real joy in there. Sounds totally gay, right?!

But thats how I feel. I'm really excited about tonight and taking the girlfriend out for dinner and exchanging gifts. I got her flowers as well a present I know she wants, and I know she's gonna be very excited to get those gifts. I enjoy doing stuff like that for her. She is a very appreciative gift reciever.

What makes it funny is it's a direct contrast to my opinion on this very day last year. Here is what I wrote in a blog entitled: Happy Valentines day, valentine.

"Valentines Day blows. It's nothing more then a cheap excuse for men to shell out money on their lady friend, and to remind the single dudes how big of a schmuck they really are.

I'm now going to masturbate in my own tears and go to sleep in a room full of dudes. "

It's all about participation. The lonely people (ie. me last year, who spent Valentines Day driving to Spokane to watch wrestling....yup) hate the fact that everyone other then him and his brothers are getting laid. The couples love the crap out of the day because it's on of the few days in the year when you are guaranteed to get laid (your birthday being the other).

Who are you kidding? Thats why guys participate Valentines day, is for the sex. This shouldn't be a revelation. I mean we don't get cleaned up and buy gifts just so we can pick up the tab at the resturant you chose for this day. No, we do this in hopes that we keep you happy enough to follow through on your guarentee that we will in fact, get laid later on that evening.

I mean I guess it's possible that the dude actually likes his lady (my situation excluded. I love my girlfriend, we maintain a high level of romance, constantly. Right babe?).

And if you are one of those who were clever enough to get through Valentines Day without letting down your Special Lady Friend and her lofty expectatios, and seem to be heading towards the marital bed (because sex can only happen between a married man and a woman), just be careful, wear a condom. Even if it's your wish to express your love to your partner in the form of butt sex... just rememer to still wear a condom. You can still get all the diseases that you can with the vagina, plus it's the place poop comes from.

Happy Valentines Day.

Saturday, February 13, 2010

My Break Up with the Dunk Contest

Let the record show at 8:00 pm on 2/13/2010, that I, Andrew Belvin, am done with the NBA's dunk Contest. Like done, done. This isn't one of those break up's where I still like them and I'm not ruling out a chance of watching it again, but I still want to see what else is out there.

Oh no, we're splitsville.

This isn't a motivational tactic, like maybe the dunk contest doesn't have a job, and I'm tired of paying for EVERYTHING. I just feel like we've gone as far as we can go, ya know? Unless they do the equivalent of totally reinventing themselves, getting in shape and getting a dope job. Then we can re-open the case of Dunk contest and Belvins compatabillity(The only way this happens is if Lebron and some real dunkers finally show up).

Maybe I took it for granted. I'm not above admitting that. My first dunk contest was Kobe's coming out party. I remember everything about the Vince Carter and both of Jason Richardson wins. I used to plan my night around it.

It always irked me that Vince never defended his title. Or we never got a T-Mac, Vince, Kobe show down. Think about it, we could've thrown in Steve Francis, Desmond Mason and Jason Richardson. It would've been epic.

Unfortunatly we have more superstars who feel like Vince Carter and chose not to display their dunk skills anymore (or ever...cough cough Lebron, Dewayne Wade). Shit I remember distinctly, Vince Carter looking at ME through the tv and promising to follow up next year with more spectacular dunks. Saying something along the lines of 'I got more in my bag of tricks.'

The dunk contest has gone from the girl who always gave us a night we'd never forget, to the girl we can't remember. She used to give us things to talk about not just for months, but for years with our buddies ( Amongst my friends, Jason Richardson is talked about with the same gusto as my boys when they talk about the night they caught me wasted making out with a girl who had pulled her wig off and made her cry).

The dunk contest transforms you. In a league where image is as important as your jump shot (see Allen Iverson elected as All-Star starter this year), the contest can give you more individual attention then anything you can dream of.

Every guy my age after Vince Carters domination of the '98 contest believed he was the best 2 guard in the league for YEARS after that. In reality, he couldn't even get a seat at Kobe's restuarant.

Maybe the Dunk Contest has been taking me for granted? Knowing that every year, me and the millions of like minded dudes out there would gather around the Saturday of All-Star weekend hoping for a return to glory, and it didn't matter what the end result was because the we watched it anyway. That would explain why this year Nate Robinson was qued up to win his un matched 3rd dunk contest (Side Note: I was so disgusted with the dunk contest, I stormed out after the last dunks knowing DeMar DeRozan had won. I became physically ill when I found out because of the fan text messaging vote, Nate Robinson had been named the victor).

Yes, little Nate Robinson won his 3rd contest. Michael Jordan, Jason Richardson, Dominique Wilkins are all two time winners, but lil' Nate has passed them all by.

I understood the first one. Atleast I understood the novelty of it. Here is Nate Robinson, billed in at 5'8" but showing off what some might call super human leaping abillity. I have seen him cleanly check Yao Ming on a jump shot. I understand why he won the first one. It made sense. It's exciting to see a short man get up there, especially with some of the style he was doing it with.

How does he win a second? Are kids voting for him because he is there size? It's sure not because he deserved to win. He misses his first attempt at EVERY dunk. Then we just give him credit because he is mini-sized. Not cool.

That being said, it's not like we had better options (DeRozan should've won. He had the best dunk of the night, hands down. But thats what we get when the NBA gets to put no name bench players in a contest and then allows fans to vote). Who had a chance to beat the novelty of a guy so short he looks like he is jumping from a trampoline? Gerald Wallace? Please, he looked like he owed some Wise Guy money and said Wise Guy told him to take a dive.

Or we got Shannon Brown. Acutally that one smarts a bit. I actually picked him to win. The guy can fly, and he had been openly campaigning to get into this years contest. He wanted in so bad that there was a website put up for the purpose of letting Shannon dunk (it was creativly called letshannondunk.com). Yet he came out almost as bad as Wallace.

Seriously, Shawn Bradly is somewhere right now commenting on their lack of creativity in the air.

This years contest was rotten like a yeast infection. And despite watching it on my dads couch, I wanted my money back. I felt bad for everyone that dropped top dollar prices to watch these dudes hack it up.

I bet if you polled everyone who watched the even (on tv or live) if they'd rather sit through that again or watch 6 people suffering from autism dunking off trampolines (to prove this isn't an autism joke, so all proceeds from my fantasy All-Star event would go to benift autism research) I would venture a guess the majority would say, "BRING ON THE F***ING TRAMPOLINES!"

The Dunk Contest spit on the trust I had given her, and I'm not sure if I can forgive her for it. She is a cold hearted bitch. I gave her another chance after last years Nate Robinson dibacle (if you bring it up to my brother, you will trigger the following reaction: He will shit his pants, start swearing at you, and then punch you so hard that you will, in turn, shit your pants. So lets not talk about it). But then she turned right around and stooped to a new low.

I can never forgive her. I will not come back. I will not give her another chance.

(unless she gets a boob job. And by boob job I mean LeBron comes to play).

Sunday, February 7, 2010

Congrats New Orleans (Mardi Gras starts Early this year)

Wrong, wrong, wrong. I couldn't have been more wrong if I even wanted to. Lets recap the predictions from earlier:

Reggie Bush didn't score. Thomas won the battle of the Pierres by matching Garcon's touchdown but racking up more total yards. Manning toppled the 300 yard marker but didn't come close to the 4 touchdowns (or the MVP) and Brees missed the 350 yard marker by a solid 62 yards. And lets not forget, The Colts didn't score 41 points, nor did the win.

The Saints of New Orleans took care of that last part.

I can't be mad about it. What kind of monster would be (only acceptable answer is: if you're driving around your town right now after watching The Colts blow the game trying to figure out a way to tell your family that your child will not be going to college unless he gets a job to pay for it). We should feel happy for the city, and for the people involved. We know about the Hurricane that destroyed their city. We know about how this team has become the great escape for the hardships that the Big Easy faces.

We know about the season they had. Admit it, they had a great year. They were undefeated for 13 weeks and finished 13-3. We all know about Sean Payton, who took the Saints coaching job after Katrina not even sure how long the Saints would be playing in New Orleans. They were coming off horrendous seasons, and were in the middle of a natural disaster. How could they expect anyone paying to see a shitty team. The franchise as a whole had 2 playoff wins in it's entire existence. That didn't phase him. He viewed it as an opportunity. Look at him now, he has created the most exciting offense in the NFL and is getting fitted for his championship ring as we speak.

We know about Drew Brees. Drafted out of Perdue in 2001 by the San Diego Chargers. He didn't produce a lot of wins in his first three years and threw more INT's then Touchdowns (29-31 if you need the stats). Feeling like Brees wasn't the answer and they needed a change, San Diego drafted Eli (the younger) Manning(In case you forgot about that debacle I'll give you a recap: Eli was drafted by the Chargers. Eli refused to play in San Diego because he hates half naked girls and sunshine. Eli demanded a trade. And in a move of genius San Diego swaps Eli for Philip Rivers and Cash. Rivers has put up awesome fantasy stats but Eli has a ring).

Brees looked like the odd man out. But when Rivers held out for more dough he got a second chance and took advantage. Led San Diego back to the playoffs while throwing 27 Touchdowns and posting a 104 quarterback rating. San Diego made up it's mind though. And after five seasons they just let Drew Brees walk away.

He came to New Orleans, and not only has been the key to rebuilding a franchise but has had a huge hand in rebuilding a community. His mother died over the summer (they had a falling out a couple of years ago, but still, thats his mom) and he had a baby in the last year.

As he held his baby at the podium tonight, accepting his MVP trophy, you could see every emotion run through his face. He fought back the tears and thanked God, and called his little boy his "inspiration".

Drew, thats not your inspiration. Thats your good luck charm.

The Saints weren't supposed to win. Vegas had them as a 5 point dog to the 3 time (possibly soon to be 4 time) MVP Peyton Manning and his Indianapolis Colts. The line could've been 7. Both teams packed explosive offenses. Neither team kept opposing offensive coordinators up at night. This felt like it was going to be the game we talked about when Mannings name came up 30 years from now. It felt like he was going to do something statistically mind numbing. Thats what was supposed to happen.

It was easy to forget that Drew Brees threw for 5000 yards last year. And threw another 4300 yards and 34 touchdowns this year. I mean for how good he is, how could he out duel Manning? Brees doesn't have an MVP, he doesn't have a ring and he doesn't have an SNL appearance. Peyton had all three. His team finished with a better record and put away opponents more convincingly throughout the playoffs. Clearly this was his game to win.

It made too much sense.

Plus, how often does the best story win the Superbowl? The Saints had the rabid, tortured fanbase. They had their city torn down. Their franchise had done a complete 180 over the last four years. How often does that team win?

The Giants didn't capture the World Series after the earthquake. Mariners didn't win when they won 116 games after loosing three of the biggest stars in successive seasons. Brett Favre lost in the NFC title game in his last game as a Packer (the best story would've been if he took them to the Superbowl, won, then retired). The Patriots were 18-0 heading into the Superbowl in 2007, then lost to the Giants.

We never get the BEST story.

So here comes the Saints. The 5 point dogs. The City on the mend and a tortured franchise. Down 10-0 with everyone thinking "Holy shit Peyton is going to tear them apart." The narrowed the score to 10-6 by half time on two second quarter field goals, then completely dominated the Colts by outscoring them 25-7 in the second half.

Down 24-17, Manning set out to do what he has done so many times, drive down the field with the game winding down for a game deciding score. He had 5 minutes to get the touchdown. We've seen it before, we knew how this was going to end. The question wasn't IF the Colts were going to score, it was how much time they were going to leave the Saints.

At least thats what we thought was going to happen.

All that changed when Manning through an errant pass to Reggie Wayne, and Terrance Porter picked the pass off and took it straight back into the endzone. Un touched. 31-17. Ball game. Congratulations to The New Orleans Saints, Drew Brees, Sean Payton, and the people of New Orleans. You played a great game and absolutely deserved that win. Party on Bourbon Street.

Very Brief Superbowl Predictions

Superbowl starts in a little under an hour. For the second straight year I'm going to be absent from the Superbowl party scene. I'm ok with that. It'll just be the girlfriend, the princess and me at my dads, minus my dad and family (they will be attending the SuperBowl Party Scene).

We decided not to do the whole thing because Girlfriend seems to be under the weather (keeping up with the theme of the Saints being in the superbowl, we'll call the weather she is under "hurricane Katrina" like.)

Since I won't be out and about to pound my chest about my knoweledge, let me go ahead and put my sports predictions out there so we have undeniable proof that I'm smart. Or a total blowhard. After all, it'll be on the internet (and the internet NEVER lies).

The Score: Colts 38- Saints 28. Colts are giving five in Vegas so I feel like it's still a safe bet.

The MVP: Peyton. Duh. Dudes gonna have like 320 yards and 4 touchdowns. Chalk it up.

Brees Numbers: 350 yards 3 touchdowns 0 picks. Saints turnovers will come thanks to the fumble.

That battle of the Pierres (Thomas for the Saints, Garcon for the Colts): Uh, Garcon.

Who scores the first touchdown: It will be the Saints, and it'll be a dump off to Reggie Bush.


Alright, time to get started on my Nachos. Enjoy the game, bitches.

Monday, February 1, 2010

an Ode(n) to stupid Apolgies.

In lue of Greg Odens recent "exposure" to the world and Gilbert Arenas putting new meaning to the words, "shooting guard" I felt like I should express some commentary. As I read the stories I could feel the inspiration over take me. I had been abducted. I sat down and started to write what would upon completion, could only have been described as an "awesome show of power, and command of the English language." A rant for the ages about athletes, their constant discressions, and the subsiquent (B.S)apologies.

But I've changed my mind. Kind of.

I changed my mind in the idea of making a big thing about it. These atheletes are humans and as such they screw up. But unlike when I screw up, they're screw up's are monotered, discussed and scrutanized to the point where it could potentially cost them millions of dollars (see Kobe Bryant, Eagle Colorado 2005).

In that regards, I get why they are constantly releasing these cookie cutter apologies for everything. I don't like it, but I get it.

Gilbert brought guns to the gym. I get the apology there. That move is illegal, and he could do some jail time. Also, his team has paid him 20 million dollars the last couple seasons to a) miss a whole season due to injury, and now miss the majority due to suspension.

The apology was needed there. However, Gilbert (who blogs like crazy) did the road less traveled. He opted to write an apology letter and had it published through the Washington Post. He wrote it, not his agent. To that I say, sir well done.

Tiger had to apologize to the WORLD for cheating on his wife. Why? We aren't his family. It doesn't effect us. If you are at all hurt by Tiger being a douche then you need to re-evaluate your life. He is a public figure so I understand the interest in the gossip. But why does he feel like he needs to make a public apology?

What Tiger needs to do is sit his family down, apologize to his wife till it's annoying...let her simmer on it, and move on.

(and if he loses endorsments or business opertunities because of this, well I guess thats life bro. There will be others. Lets face it, at the end of the day the dude is still Tiger Woods. And when he decides it's time to pick the clubs again, everyone involved in the sports world is going to want him hawking their gear. Cheata' or not.)

Then there is Greg Oden. Greg recently apologized for his penis making it's debut to the internet. This one is the most confusing thing ever. What did he do wrong? He sent a picture of him and his tri-pod to a girlfriend, a year and a half ago. He is not the first 19 year old to have done this. Trust me, I use to sell cell phones, and I have friends who still sell cell phones. G.O. is not the first dude, or chick, to have done this.

Why should he apologize? He didn't slap them on there. He had no control over that. It's not like he sits at home and was like, " I need more press, time for everyone to see why my number is '52'." Nope, some lady (and really, after a stunt like that we should call her a bitch)desides to break trust and throw his goods for the world to see.

Is it a bad example for kids? Yes. But according to the news, 12 years old are doing these types of stunts before Oden's were leaked. I don't see an often injured, overly critisized center starting the naked picture revolution within the 12 yearold community.

If you want to blame anyone for kids and naked pictures it's their parents for giving them a camera phone and the means to send picture mail. Retards.

The injured center did release a statement saying, "I would like to apologize to everybody: Portland, the fans, the organization. It was very embarrassing."

But why!? Why does Greg gotta apologize for this? He already got kicked in the nuts, now he's gotta smile? It's embarrassing enough for the kid. Isn't it bad enough that some lady (again, bitch is more accurate) betrayed him and what was left of the trust that they once had?

Let him lick his wounds in piece. If you're offended by the sight of a 7 footers meat, well then don't google it. Move on.

These are personal matters, yet they double as Sportcenter Headlines. Just Imagine it if we had to apologize for mondane shit like they do.

Headline: Clinicallyawesome writer Andrew Belvin is in trouble today with Girlfriend after leaving the toilet seat up-yet again.

To which I'd have to appologize (though my agent and lawyer ofcourse): First of all I'd like to apologize to all my fans, who I've let down through my recent transgressions. It was a matter of oversight and neglegence and I should've known better. I'd like to say sorry to blogspot.com for the black mark I've put on the organization. Most importantly, I'd like to say sorry to my girlfriend. Who because of my selfishness and shortsightness, has sat in the toilet water again. I'm truly sorry."

I want you to know I laughed while writing that, because thats what they all are. If you aren't sorry, don't say it. If you really are sorry, then make us see that. Do as Gilbert as done (first and last time I will say that). If it's not our business, don't apologize to us, Tiger. And for the love of God, if you don't want to see Oden's penis, then don't type in any combonation of Oden + nude (or penis) in your Google search.

That'll be all.