Game 1, I don't really wanna talk about it

Last night I went to the first Playoff game in the Rose City in six years. I took a solid chunk of my paycheck and popped my playoff cherry with my father. We had awesome seats. We sat so close that I could see the back of Paul Allens head. But thats all I'm going to say on that subject.

Yup, we got our ass beat, and I don't want to talk about it.

I don't want to talk about how Yao scored 16 in the first quarter, or 24 in the first half. I don't want to talk about how he never missed a shot (literally, he went 9-9 for the game). I don't want to talk about how we were so demoralized in the second half that we made Oregon Duck product Aaron Brooks look like the greatest thing since sliced bread. Yeah, it's a little tender, so we're just gonna skip over it.

Don't even think about asking my opinion of our lack of defensive intensity. It's the playoffs. Anything and everything becomes more intense. You need to get aggressive. You need to by physical. Shoot, if you're doing it right you should probably be brought up on assault charges after the game. Right Robert Horry?

Teams that don't even have a 20 point average player (Yao averages 19 a game) should not come into the rowdiest stadium in the league and have a field goal average of 68 percent in the first half ( and damn near 60 for the entire game). I don't care if you're the 98 Bulls, you're not winning many games when that is happening for the other team (bad analogy, Jordan would've personally killed someone on live tv if his team was putting out that kind of effort in the Playoffs. Then David Stern would've had him play Baseball for two years while he buried it).

I know I'm not an expert but it just seems that if you have the loudest crowd in the NBA, and that is a clear advantage, you want to keep them in the game. So when 45000 plus fans get quite you have to do something to pop them back up. For the love of God put someone on their ass. Yao would've been perfect. He is 7'6" and weighs like a buck sixty, put him on his ass for shooting so good, and then knock him out if he comes back at you. Hell, give me a contract and I'll fight him. He has got to be the least intimidating man in the world, despite being a giant.

Or better yet, get in Crazy Ron Artest's head. There are some major points to remember when dealing with Ron. One, this dude has got to be a parking ticket away from the electric chair, so YOU KNOW he is charging at you after a hard foul. NUT UP PORTLAND! OK this is depressing, we need to change the subject.

I feel a vomit inducing sensation at the thought of our offensive production last night. During the regular season the combination of Blake-Roy-Outlaw-Aldridge average 64 points per game. Last night those same four barely cracked the thirty point marker. Roy got his 21, but it was a very ugly 21. Very ugly. Typically this is where I would make a "Brandon got sodomized everytime he drove into the lane." But I won't. In fact  don't want to talk about it, stop trying to bate me.

Oh and those referees were, well they were just, uh... uh.... well lets put it this way: about the second quarter I started getting flash backs to Black Sunday (when the Seahawks famously dueled the Steelers in the Superbowl and in a twist that would make Vince McMahon proud, the referees turned on Seattle giving the Steelers another run as Champ). Yup, every blown call made me quiver. When members of the Rockets came on the floor hit Roy with a chair I recalled phantom false starts. While the refs were "looking the other way" I remembered Darrell Jacksons phantom OFFENSIVE pass interference that took away a touchdown. Lets just say by the second quarter I was on par with Vietnam War Vet's, who think they're back in the rice patties shooting at Charlie when they hear their grandsons video games from the other room. 

All I'm gonna say about the game is it was a bad game. Thats it. Bad officiating, lack of intensity all that fun stuff that equals to me thinking, " I can't believe I spent money on this."  We looked like a young team who didn't belong, and we got our ass beat by a veteran squad.  Plain and simple. Thank God this is a seven game series and we more then capable of rebounding. Game 2 Tuesday, still in the Garden, so we have a chance to take this series. And I think we will.

 

But thats still two days away, and I'm still pretty crushed. So forgive me if right now I don't really feel like talking about it.

Thriving Ivory= chode lickers

I'm going to just throw this out there, if you don't like it then send it right back. I mean like right back. Like don't hesitate, just give the dish back and say it' snot what you ordered.

Thriving Ivory is fucking terrible.

Last night I paid ten dollars to go see them pretend to play instruments and I swear if I spent a penny more to watch that, I would've started a riot. I spent the entirity of the 30 minutes I watched them contemplating fighting the lead singer. They were like a new version of Coldplay, only if you replaced all the members of Coldplay with kids suffering from severe retardation.

How bad were they? Glad you asked. The lead singer's  voice(which is what I had the most problem with) was so bad, that somewhere Kanye West is saying, "damn, his voice is fucking terrible."

I'd rather spend a year in Shawshank and get sodomized by the Sisters daily. All of them. At the same time. Hell, I'd even go as far as stop using franz bread slices for my sandwiches and start making home made bread with yeast from a whore. Yummy.

We're talking Rush cover band levels of bad. Ok, I'm actually going to have to come clean. That last comment wasn't my own. The rights to that belong to Eric, who said that the lead singer sounds so much like a shitty version of Rush's Geddy Lee that he "half expects them to break out into 'Tom Sawyer'." Good observation, but sadly I'd rather watch every member of Rush  go down on each other for a half hour then listen to another attempt at a power ballad from this shitty band.

On a serious note, Clayton Stroope's (the lead singer) voice was so bad that even his special voice fixing mic couldn't cover the fact that he was making up his own notes. Ashlee Simpsons lip syncing no longer seems that bad. I honestly feel like I could Karaoke their songs better then they played them. 

Here is what pisses me off the most about it...

I went to the show last night to support one of my local favorites Throwback Suburbia. They absolutely rule. Now Thriving Ivory was the headline, but Throwback like they do, blew them out of the water. To put it simply, Throwback Suburbia is a uber talented, great bunch of guys who put on an incredible live show. While Shitty Ivory (from now on the new name of Thriving Ivory) looked like One Republic downgraded their lead singer, and added a Darrell Hammond look alike who is balls deep in a month long heroine bender,  playing on the keybored. Truly incredible that this band gets the push that they do.

What got proved last night was that it doesn't matter how much VH1 hypes you up, if you play with Throwback and DO NOT bring your A show(or if you aren't talented), you will get swallowed up and forgotten about (or in the case of the Gin Blossoms forgotten about-AGAIN). But while Throwback is clearly the superior band, Shitty Ivory remains the band that actually gets paid.  WTF AMERICA?!?!?! How does this happen?

I think that sucks. And yes, I'm biased because I know the members of Throwback. But come on people, talent wise it's not even close! I challenge anyone to argue the merits of Angles on the Moon, and why it deserves the exponentially more intense hype then, lets say Circles by Throwback. Not only will you not be able to, but if you try to do so your body will revolt against you and you will have an intensely violent epileptic seizure and die.  Fact. 

In closing, I'm looking forward to two things here in the near future. One, the new Throwback album that is close to being released. I've heard tracks, and I'm here to tell you, it will make sweet love to both your ears simultaneously. Start saving now, because this album is going to be so awesome you're gonna want to buy 7 copies. One for each day of the week.

The other thing I'm looking forward to is walking into a Starbucks some morning in the future very hung over and listening to Circles on my ipod. I order myself a mocha, and step aside to wait for the barista to hook it up.  I then look and notice that the barista making my mocha is the lead singer of Shitty Ivory. Now that was a terrible band, I'll recall. 

Then as he gives me my drink, (begrudgingly, because he noticed I didn't tip) we'll have a moment of awkward eye contact.  He is sad, because he knows that I know. Suddenly, a Throwback Suburbia single plays over the Starbucks innerstore radio system. It's a catchy little ditty, something like "half way to the stars" and I won't be able to help but shine the biggest, most cocky smile at the douche bag barista. 

I know this will happen one day. I will have my Retro-bution.  

Welcome back, Junior

It's 6:20 here on opening day. It's the fifth inning and Ken Griffey Jr comes up to make his second at bat in his return to my beloved Mariners. He looks a little different then he did a decade ago. His face a little rounder, as well has his midsection. He no longer possess the ability to hunt down fly balls, turning the uncatchable to catchable. He is no longer the hands down favorite to retire the Home Run King.

Putting the differences and the decade aside, the Junior I know is not completely lost. He is back to wearing 24. You can see him clowning in the dugout. Even his pre-pitch rituals, bat waggles, and that legendary stance remain un changed over 20 years of professional ball.

Ten seasons after his last at-bat in Seattle, the 39 year old was digging in again. Wiggling his bat, shoulders slightly closed to the pitcher, waiting for the Twins ace Fransico Liriano's offer. Again, nothing changed. And just as if it were scripted, Junior jumped all over on the first offering he liked blasting the pitch over the right feild wall.

It's been a long nine years for all parties involved in this reunion. For Junior, he left Seattle where he hit 398 Home Runs before the 2000 season. Since then, he has struggled to stay healthy and has managed to hit only 213 Home Runs since. When he was hear, he was known as the premier outfielder in baseball. He backed up that reputation by winning ten consecutive Golden Gloves. That streak ended when he left, and now he has nine consecutive seasons with out winning that award. Also, last year was his first taste of the playoffs since his MVP campaign for Seattle in 1997.

For the Mariners, they started off very well after the divorce of 1999. They seemingly got over the superstar quickly, making the playoffs the next two seasons and winning 116 games in 2001. Since then however, the wheels have fallen off. They haven't made the playoff since that 2001 season, and have only been competative two seasons since then.

This season was destined to be a giant failure. We have a new front office and a new coaching staff that seem committed to rebuilding. Not a bad plan, but can cause difficulties in motivating yourself to watch baseball in August. It didn't look like I was going to have anything to enjoy over the summer, and actually began entertain the idea of adopting a National League team. Then something magical happened, the Mariners did something that has been talked about for years-They brought the Griffey home.

Now we the fans, who are the forgotten party in that split a decade ago, have something to look forward to in what could prove to be a long summer. What often gets forgotten about, when remembering that trade is not that Seattle traded away their franchise player, rather that we as Seattles fans lost OUR franchise player. Junior was the reason many of us even started paying attention to baseball. He was the reason we tried to bat left handed in whiffle ball games, or we fought over who got number 24 in Little League. 

I remember that last season he was with us, there being alot of rumors floating around about a possible trade. I was young, and never thought it was possible. Shockingly, after the season it happened. When the 2000 season started, we had Mike Cameron in center and we as a whole were forced to move on, and put our faith in Alex Rodriguez ( huge mistake that turned out to be). The split was far from mutual. But now we finally get our chance for closure.

We get at least one season to say goodbye to the Kid, the Chosen One,  the natural, and the soon to be Hall of Famer. Five years from the day he retires, we get to watch number 24 get inducted into Cooperstown, and if there was ever a doubt what hat his plaque would describe, let those doubts be silenced. Because there is none in my mind that he will be wearing the Hat of where he started and ended his career. The hat he was born to wear, and the one he is wearing this season-the one with the "S" on it.

Ken Griffey Junior is not the same man he was a decade ago. We won't see him crash into walls, steal bases or blast another 56 Home Runs. We're not going to see him score from first to beat the Yankees. He won't be scaling old Tiger Stadiums fences and bringing homers back. His body won't allow it. That being said, we can still enjoy the reunion/goodbye tour of the artist formerly known as MVP. 

Here we are, back in the fifth inning and I feel like 12 year old boy again, watching Griffey blast an opening day home run for my Mariners. After the initial excitement wears down, I remember I'm not 12 anymore, and thats not the same Junior who last hit a Home Run for us back in 1999. But watching the old man as he trots around the bases for his first home run of the season, I can't help but thank him for at least pretending to be.

Delaying the Day

Good Morning everyone!

It's one of those not so uncommon days where I have no interest of getting out of bed, so in stead of forcing myself into the shower before work I'm going to relish in the fact that my body is lazy and I'm going  to write about it.

First of all, Happy April Fools day. I'm pretty un prepared for today, so only pranks I pull off are going to be stir of the moment and very organic. But believe me, there will be pranks, oh yes, there will be pranks.

Went to another Blazer game with some work homies (well it was Kristy, Jill and Jills college youth group). Couple of thoughts about the game:

• I have never seen a more disorganized, and terribly unprepared team then I have on Saturday with the Memphis Grizzlies. They were worse the shit. It was five players playing five different games. I'm mean it was painful. And keep in mind I'm a Mariners, Seahawks and Blazers lifer. I've seen multiple displays of bad team sports. I gotta give Memphis a good ol' fashioned 'come on buddy'. 
• Marc Gasol is single handedly helping me convince evolutionary theories that we came from monkeys. Holy shit, this man is built like an ape. His knuckles were almost scraping the floor when he ran.
• Darius Miles got booed as loud if not louder then Kobe Bryant when he checked in for his back breaking five minutes of service.  Usually when Kobe comes to town, there are a couple of loud mouthed LA transplants who pick fights when we get in Kobes ass. However, when Darius checked in 44000 strong booed in unison. It was marvelous. 
• This game was so bad, and so uncompetitive that I spent the second half text arguing my old basketball coach about Portlands new acquisition of a Major League Soccer program, and their complete negligence on getting Baseball to Rose City. Seriously who is going to take time out of their day to watch a third rate professional sport? I'm not. Lets focus our energy on something that would actually benefit the local economy, and that is Baseball people. Portland is too big of a city for only one of the Big three sports to be here. Shit, Hockey would be more productive the soccer. Feel free to prove me wrong on that.

Cool thing about the game though, was afterwards I got to go down on the court with the group I was with. And for the first time in my life, I got to shoot a free throw in the Rose Garden. Now let me set this up for you, the game was over, so the place was cleared out. So here I am, with a small group of people to my side, and I start earth quake shaking. My mind is telling me it's the finals and there is 44000 plus waiting for me to miss. Naturally, I miss. My only shot at personal immortality and I miss it. Reason number 552 why my NBA career wouldn't have worked out.

Ok, well my bladder is forcing me out of bed. So it's time to sign off. Keep this in mine ladies and gent's..it's April Fools Day, so keep that in mind if you talk to me today.

Fight on the Front Line against Testicular Cancer...

I woke up friday morning, like any other morning. In an absolute rush to get ready for work. Apparently it's hard for me to become a functioning member of society before noon. So I take my shower, eat some grub and finish getting ready. As I was about to finish and head out the door, I realized I couldn't find socks. 'Shit, I guess I'll just grab the first two I find in my room'.  I wasn't paying much attention, because Jesse was talking to me about something not that important, but important enough to occupy the smart part of my brain.

So I run into my room to grab socks, and grab the first two solo socks I could find. Put them both on and start to walk back out to where my shoes on. Thats when I noticed  a peculiar wetness in the bottom of my left sock. 'Why the hell is this sock wet? Did I spill in my room?'

After recalling where I picked that sock up, I was forced into a cold realization of why my sock was wet. Jesse, who was very committed to telling his story stopped when he saw my face twist up in a look of panic.

"Dude, whats wrong?" He asked.

"Dude, this sock is wet." He looked at me confused. "It's been used." After a moment, he caught on what I was saying. Yes, my negligence in the morning hustle caused me to grab a sock that I had recently used for masturbational purposes.  Not awesome.

Kobe, How does MY ass taste?

Last night, the hated Lakers of Los Angeles came to town. They came strolling in with the leagues best record and with one alleged rapist (and confirmed sodomizer of blonde staff members in a hotel in Colorado). They think they're cool because they're fan base are full of oscar winners and they come equipped with two Europeans who look like they haven't bathed since the beginning of the season. Of course they also have Adam Morrison, the only man who grows a shittier mustache then me. Yes the Lake Show came to the Rose City, and promptly got their shit pushed in.

Oh and I had tickets too. Me, Weezie, Father of Weezie, and Brother Huck took a trip to the Garden to boo the purple and gold until lost our voices. It was spectacular. 

I mean you haven't experienced pure ecstasy until you talk shit to a group of people, and though they might be bigger then you, you know in your heart of hearts they aren't gonna do anything back to you because they are wearing enemy colors among thousands of rabid Blazer fans.

I watched a drunk Blazer fan talk dump trucks of belligerent trash to a group of big dudes wearing Laker jerseys. I also watched the talk get worse as the score increased in our favor. The Laker fans started off cocky, but as we got up by twenty (and ultimately 30) Drunk Blazer Fan got more and more confident. He was taking advantage of the situation. He knew that outside of the Garden, he would've been stomped out for saying half the stuff he did. But he looked around and saw a lot of matching Brandon Roy Jerseys.

Speaking of Brandon Roy, I love him. I know I've said it before, but that man is a winner.

Ok, some quick observations from the game:

• Brandon Roy is now in the conversation of NBA elite. The Hirearchy goes like this Lebron, Kobe, Wade, Howard, Paul, Roy, Williams. This is not debatable.
• If Portland ends up winning the division, get ready for the second round people. We aren't losing a playoff game in the Garden. Fact.
• Ariza is a punk ass bitch. Lets look at the Rudy hit real quick. Yes, you can make a case for the ball, but you can't deny that he went in too crazy for a guy on a team down by 30 at that point. He was going in there to make a hard foul, and ended up putting a crowd favorite on a stretcher.
• That being said, Ariza is lucky he didn't become the victim of some ski mask justice after the game.
• I love how after that play all the Blazers looked to get in somebody's ass. Before this season, I thought out side of The Killa Joel Pryzbilla we were soft. Not anymore. After Rudy went down Travis, LaMarcus, B-Roy and Joel got ready to throw bombs. I LOVE THIS FREAKING TEAM.
• My record in live attendance this year, 2-1. 

The point is people, it's almost playoff time. For the first time in five years my boys are poised to play in the post season. They have their faults: they don't win on the road as often as you would like. But you can't deny their explosiveness or their ability to bury good teams at home. Ask San Antonio how our ass's taste.

We might not be the best team in the league, or even in our division. But we're dangerous. And we proved that by throwing a hay maker at the talking heads favorite for the championship in May. So for one night, lets for get about the records. Lets forget about my teams weaknesses, or the Lakers team experience. It became irrelevant after we slapped them right in the face for the 7th straight game in the Garden.

Now, how does that taste Kobe?

Status Update

In case you were one of the five people who check this page over the last two weeks and wonder what the hell was up, I moved into a new place and it took me a minute to get internet hooked up.

That being said, I will begin to update regularly again.

So get ready bitches, here comes the pain.