Light Another L, Pass the Bottle

These things are effing ill!

- The Game ft. Nas, "Why You Hate the Game"
(By the way: I have a lot to say about the album from whence this came. That's later this week.)

So here we go--tonight, it's on.

Last week the Darkos were interviewed on Chicagoist, and my mel(l)o(w) Shoals called himself a "total NBA narcissist" as he derailed a query regarding what needs to be changed in the Association. There may, of course, be superficial ills that present themselves as outstanding problem areas (synthetic arena noise, for instance, should be deaded relative to how it exists today), but the answer was far from glib: in a general sense, all is well. And never is that more apparent than during the drawn-out immediacy that precedes a new season in the Lig. No one who really cares about the NBA is suffering the pangs of trepidation or the agony of ambivalence as he or she sits at home struggling with the dread of another TV timeout tempering his or her enthusiasm about Tyrus Thomas sonning people in the lane. Ask Matt Bonner if you should be excited about that.

Despite empty facsimiles of our Precious, like the World Championships, and summertime drama, like the Ben Wallace intradivision defection, it's been a long time since the majesty of the NBA was available for copious consumption. But now, that will all change. Not only are Ray Ray and KG back, but so are Kevin Martin's fade and Nate Robinson's socks; Roscoe's widely spaced grin and Brent Barry's set shot; James Posey's frame and Josh Howard's mid-scalp headband. It's all here again. Finally. And it will be wonderful.

So spend less time worrying about cap rules; check out Part One of the preview; and get ready for the realness.

Preseason Wishes

Pick it up, dunny. I've been touting you for months.

20) That Kobe is 1/3 the player despite having three times the number.
19) That a buddies duo finally emerges to succeed Cat and the Franchise.
18) That Rashad Anderson kills it in Greece.
17) That Hilton Armstrong, Rudy Gay, and Marcus Williams do UConn proud.
16) That Lamar Odom makes it through this fire.
15) That Greg Oden loves college.
14) That Cubes keeps it real, despite the rules.
13) That the Lig crowns a real dunk champion.
12) That No Internets Dirk gets interviewed at a lot of halftimes.
11) That Michael Redd makes the all-star team.
10) That Tyrus Thomas blocks a Shaquille O'Neal dunk at least once.
9) That Jackie Butler takes Francisco Elson's spot.
8) That Wayne Simien continues to maintain the best-manicured hairline in the L.
7) That Tracy and Baron and AK and Grant and Larry and Manu can all stay healthy.
6) That Mike Breen indulges his inner actuary and finds another job.
5) That Rasheed Wallace keeps his ass in the paint and Tony Dice wins 6th Man.
4) That people wise up and give MVP to someone who actually deserves it.
3) That Stephen Jackson continues to keep it gully.
2) That Ron Ron out-sells Lloyd Banks
1) That Darko blows up.

The Isiah Thomas "Off-Season Move Most Likely to Become a Pejorative Noun" Award - New Orleans Hornets

The bald guy has yet to find an injury he wouldn't overpay for.

Please Note: Due to various factors (innate stupidity, poor ownership oversight, limitless capacity for post-career failure) that were making this category uncompetitive, Isiah Thomas is no longer eligible for the award and has instead become its namesake. *sigh*

So let's see: Tyson Chandler, who's about ten-years-old, is always twisting his ankles and already suffers from a bad back. Bobby Jackson, who's about 100-years-old, owns a timeshare on the injured list. And Peja Stojakovic, almost thirty-years-old, shows up at training camp complaining about his legs. Were this insurance, none of these three would be getting the lowest possible rates--too many risk factors. And yet Jeff Bower thinks that these men deserve more than $140m in total salary. Astonishing. In the off-season, all of the rhetoric said that the Hornets had gotten serious about winning, yet I don't think this is a playoff team, and the franchise lost the chance to sign better people who will want to play with Chris Paul starting next year. Brilliant.

Ice Cube "Bitch in Yoo" Award - Sebastian Telfair, Boston Celtics

Bassy allegedly hits more rappers than jumpers

Well, let's see: As soon as the Celtics had him, they drafted Rajon Rondo, who basically does the same things and is already a better defender. Earlier this month, he may have shot Fabolous. And in Sports Illustrated, an NBA scout said that he was an undersized PG who couldn't "shoot a lick"; would get ignored by defenses in the halfcourt; couldn't finish; doesn't create for others; and looks to score first. If that isn't public humiliation with a chance at relative worthlessness, I don't know what is.

Most Improved Player - Josh Smith, Atlanta Hawks

Freakin' the 'Nique

Unlike 100%-dunk-offense players of the past, Smith seems to actually be working on a game. On top of that, he is already an insane shot blocker who enjoys playing on both ends and was starting to fill up the stat sheet across the board by the end of last season. Starting alongside a real PG (Craig Claxton) and an emerging stud on the wing (Joe Johnson) for a dog team with no real rebounding and an injured Marvin Williams, Smith will likely have a chance to engage in a proverbial assembly of "it"--he'll put it all together. And he'll be markedly better.

Least Improved Player - Jerome James, New York Knicks

Slow, potentially overweight, allergic to health, and stealing millions of dollars--that's my TendeRome-y.

Stephon is Isiah's boy; Frye is the future; Eddy has been told to get his ass tougher; and J-rome...got hurt on the first day of training camp. He already will not be fitting in. No matter, though, as the guy does nothing but take Cablevision money, eat, and live in a nicer house than any of us, anyway. All of that because he once played well in the playoffs for about three weeks. It was highly unlikely that lazy-ass James was gonna show up with a hook shot for both hands and, as the NFL guys would say, a motor that never stops. Before the injury, that would have been more of the same and we would have all shook our heads in disgust. Now--well, it's just more of the same anyway. I love that this award is always won by a Knick.

Rookie of the Year - Brandon Roy, Portland Trailblazers

(Insert your play-on-his-last-name pun here. For instance: What's in a Name?)

I've been riding with dude since June. You think I'ma play him now? Roy is gonna get burn at up to three positions in Portland and will get major minutes on a team that's starting over. Again. He's already getting hyped as a savior, too, so you know he'll be handling the rock. So long as he doesn't fall in with Darius Miles and start acting like a petulant fool, hurling unprovoked racial epithets at his coach, Roy should be alright. It also seems like a weak year for rookie impact: Shelden Williams has struggled; Adam Morrison isn't hitting shots and can't defend; Tyrus Thomas might not get the minutes behind the veterans on a team that wants a title; and everyone else seems like an unknown at best. I had thought that with his cerebral style, stout defense, and good hands, Hilton Armstrong could make an immediate impression in New Orleans, but he's been up and down.

Sixth Man of the Year - Shareef Abdur-Rahim, Sacramento Kangs

An apropos photo

This is always the hardest award to hand out. You can debate the meaning of "most valuable" and you can assert that great defense can't always be measured in blocks and steals, sure. But the grind of the NBA schedule is taxing, and the significance of the chemistry and depth that teams need can't be understated. There are, of course, many ways to win, though, and as a result, there are usually a number of 6th men who merit strong consideration for an award that is less about who's the best of the not-quite-good-enough and, instead, who means the most to his team's unique rhythm. In the West, behind Kenny Thomas and Brad Miller, and alongside no one else of any real size, Shareef will need to play a major role for the Kangs. Abdur-Rahim is not a big winner, no longer a big scorer, and prone to passages of inactivity. But that's why he makes for a good sixth man--he can come off the bench and maximize his ability in a limited role.

Defensive Player of the Year - Andre Kirilenko, Utah Jazz

Don't body yaself

It's not just the blocks, the steals, and the rebounds. It's the versatility that allows him to guard anyone; the athleticism that allows him to cover the whole court; the size and coordination that lets him alter so many shots. Name one other player who can be an entire defensive game plan unto himself.

Coach of the Year - Brian Hill, Orlando Magic

"The annoying kid with the backne and the arrogance--Redick. Yeah, he's over here."

I can't believe I'm writing this, as I never though much of Hill in the past. That may have been unfair though, as, when in Orlando, he was likely overwhelmed--at least, in my perception--by the oversized personalities and talents he was supervising. It never felt like Hill was in control of the Shaq and Penny All-Stars, did it? Since returning to the Magic, a chastened Hill seems to have been emboldened by his experience and his team's youth, and you have to love the effort--especially on defense--he coaxed out of a seemingly disjointed and overmatched team last year. This year, people are looking for Howard to ascend, Darko to develop, Grant Hill to come back (again), and for the Magic to push for a playoff spot. I think that the Magic can get that done, and if they do, it will owe, in part, to Hill, who deserves some dap.

Coach Most Likely to Ruin a Year - George Karl

Just about to shove his players under a bus

Does this even need to be explained? Karl wears on his players, is quick to snipe at them in the press when he's under duress, and has worn out his welcome everywhere. Stars come to resent him, teams quit on him. Denver appears to be a perfect situation both for and because of him: the Nuggets have had some success but have disappointed against elite teams; they have the talent but don't always seem to play with a sense of purpose or cohesion; and the volatility of the people involved almost assures that there will be ample opportunity for public acrimony. As this group encounters adversity, I can almost assure that there will be moments when a less combative coach would mollify everyone and fix it. But that's not Karl. He'll get into pissing contests and sit on top of an ever growing mountain of spite. And when Denver underwhelms, either missing the playoffs or falling apart in them, who will be surprised?

Most Valuable Player - LeBron James, Cleveland Cavaliers

Like Eddy Curry as a miniature, black hobbit in a Cavs uniform

Let this be the first of many "conversations" about this topic. LeBron is the single player who means the positive most to his team, and he is also arguably the best. Best is amorphous, and some could say that Dwyane or Kobe is more effective, but neither cumulatively means as much. Wade plays with Shaq and the referees (though LeBron surely gets his calls); Kobe can be cancerous in spite of his talent--that's where the notion of "positive most" comes into play. Kobe might mean more--though that's debatable--to his team, but some of that significance is born of his corrosive presence. Bron will have a monster season for a contending team.

Most Valuable Shooting Guard or Swingman - LeBron James, Cleveland Cavaliers

Perhaps a more engaging discussion than MVP

I love this topic--among the numerous exciting, gifted 2s and 3s in the L, how would you rank them?

1) LeBron
2) Dwyane
3) Kobe
4) TMac
5) Arenas

Waiting List: Pierce, Vince, Carmelo, Ron Ron, Ray Ray

Most Valuable Big Man - Tim Duncan, San Antonio Spurs

The sad part is that someone thought this was a great idea and needed a lot of time for it

Just had to get this man some dap. Said to be healthy and hungry, a bad combination for the rest of the Association.

2) Dirk Nowitzki
3) Kevin Garnett
4) Elton Brand
5) Yao Ming

Waiting List: Dwight Howard, Amare, Jermaine O'Neal, Greg Oden

Straight Bangin' Preseason Select List

Game recognize game

Hall of Fame Members: Scottie Pippen
Coach: Jeff Van Gundy
Also receiving votes: Andre Iguodala, Ben Wallace, Larry Hughes, Dwyane Wade, Charlie Villanueva, Rudy Gay, Lamar Odom, Marcus Williams

10) Manu Ginobili
9) Hilton Armstrong
8) Josh Smith
7) Dwight Howard
6) Kevin Garnett
5) Tim Duncan
4) LeBron James
3) Tyrus Thomas
2) Antonio McDyess
1) Tracy McGrady

What's Gonna Happen?

Eastern Conference
This is one of those instances when a team like Miami can likely coast through the regular season before turning it on in the playoffs since few teams are equipped to challenge Dwyane.

Atlantic Division

1) New Jersey Nets - Let us hope that the Nets do, actually, run away with this division as some have portended. If this comes to pass, and the games become meaningless, a benevolent Lord (or Lawrence Frank) might then allow us to witness what would arguably be one of the great fast breaks of all time, in the NBA, Rucker, or otherwise: Kidd and Marcus Williams flying down the court, directing traffic as Vince, RJ, and Hassan Adams filled lanes and threw down.

2) Boston Celtics - I have no idea what will happen with this team--it could be high-lottery horrible, it could be in contention for a low playoff seed. Paul Pierce turned his career around last season, a transformation that was symbolized by his seamless integration into the Pistons during the NBA All-Star game. (That assertion of symbolism might not actually be true or make sense, but I am a Pistons fan and y'all have to deal with it. Indisputable is that Pierce was, um, the Truth last year.) If he is focused and ready to lead, he has some nice pieces around him. Ratliff will play defense; Szczczcsxerbiak will score 18 and spread the floor; and Ryan Gomes looks like he's gonna be a player. The PG situation is murky, despite the preseason Rondo hype, and the defense must improve, but if the young dudes get their shit together, the C's will be fun to watch. At least.

3) Philadelphia 76ers - Ever since the Sixers made the Finals, they've been the least interesting team in the Lig. Every single year, they seem like they'll be mediocre, they have lots of questions, and everyone recycles the same old Allen Iverson stories. I'd like for Andre Iguodala to finally emerge as the nuevo Scottie Pippen his body and skill set might allow for, but I am worried that he just might not have it in him. Oh, and Chris Webber--a tragic example of the player you used to love and now, sadly, just sort of wish would go away--will still be dragging around that knee of his. I am already bored.

4) New York Knicks - Can we not talk about this? I agree with what everyone else has said: the absence of Brown DMC will be the addition by subtraction that the Brickers needed to pick up 10 more wins and still be terrible and without a true future. Hopefully, real optimism will abound next year at this time, when Isiah is gone and...the team is still capped out until I die. Fuck.

5) Toronto Raptors - I don't see how this team will be keeping defenses honest or playing real defense. I mean, if Rasho is the answer at center, you're sort of fucked. And this team theoretically wants to run, not exactly a Nesterovic strength. Del, any help on these dudes?

Central Division

1) Cleveland Cavaliers - A healthy Larry Hughes will make a big difference for this team, as he isn't scared to have the ball in his hands, can bring it up the floor, and will score. His defense is overrated thanks to his steals accumulations, but he's an athlete and something of an asset. His crunch-time decision making is not what you might call "good," but that's when Superman can bail him out. I'm not sold on their bench, but that's more a worry for the playoffs. That said...

2) Detroit Pistons - ...picking Cleveland to win this division primarily reflects: 1) my esteem for LeBron; 2) my sense that the Pistons will stumble a few more times this season than they did in '05/'06. They may ultimately be as good or better than last year, as they're deeper and have a center who can score some to mitigate the lost defense, but it will take them some time to sort everything out. I also worry about Rasheed acting right--he needs to have a huge year if the Pistons are going to remain elite. Oh, and one more thing: sign Jalen. Please.

3) Chicago Bulls - Ben Gordon has to show me that he can start for 82 games; Kirk Hinrich needs to improve his shooting percentage; and the team has to score better, but it certainly has the components needed to be good. I just don't think it will be as good as some expect, primarily because there may not be a scorer who can take over the game in crunch time--Gordon might be too small and inconsistent.

4) Indiana Pacers - When Ron Artest left this team--first through suspension, then by exile, and finally by trade--it lost defense, versatile scoring, and a certain edge that made it far more imposing. It suddenly seems to be stuck in neutral, lacking the outside shooting and toughness needed to be a true threat. I think it'll be more of the same this year.

5) Milwaukee Bucks - Can they play defense? I think that if Villanueva is a success, they will be nearly impossible to guard. And Michael Redd's release--especially when he pivots off of a screen and into a jumper at the top of the key--remains thrilling.

Southeast Division

1) Miami Heat - As the NBA continues to overhaul its rules, I'd like to suggest one more: Opposing fans can shoot tazer darts at Alonzo Mourning whenever his annoying-ass flex-and-scream, post-emphatic-play gesticulation routine gets going each night. That would be really, really rewarding.

2) Washington Wizards - Es la pata del diablo. Can't wait to see another year of Gilly. Also surprisingly bullish on Antawn Jamison, whom I've always liked in a sympathetic kind of way: his facial expressions and perpetual also-ran status always make him seem overmatched, thus routinely casting his consistent 20 and 8 production as something of a serendipitous realization when it sinks in. He's one of those guys who will never win anything but retire with impressive numbers.

3) Orlando Magic - This is a solid lineup--Howard will bang and improve; Darko will play defense (we hope); Hedo will give them everyman play on the wing; Hill will be the moderator of the panel; and Nelson will get his job done well enough. Through hustle and some luck, they'll hang around the playoff picture. Don't love Nelson, Bogans, Dooling, and Redick as a backcourt, but this is Dwight's team.

4) Atlanta Hawks - By acquiring Craig Claxton and letting go of Al Harrington, the Hawks ruined the ultimate NBA fantasy: an all-swingman lineup of Joe Johnson, Josh Childress (who still has the ugliest jumper in the league), Marvin Williams, Josh Smith, and Harrington. Instead it will be more of the same bottom dwelling, although Joe Johnson had a great summer on Team USA and perhaps is ready to take his game up a notch? Also something to consider: Will Shelden Williams scare all of the women out of the Gold Club?

5) Charlotte Bobcats - Emeka Okafor has a bad back and is the only person I've ever heard of who missed ~50 games with a twisted ankle. What the fuck is that? I wonder if he'll ever really be healthy. I also wonder if Adam Morrison will be fun to watch--his game says yes, but his 35% shooting in the preseason says otherwise. The most intriguing story on this team might be the evolution of Gerald Wallace. Will it continue? How high is his ceiling?

Playoff teams: 1) Miami Heat; 2) New Jersey Nets; 3) Cleveland Cavalier; 4) Detroit Pistons; 5) Chicago Bulls; 6) Washington Wizards; 7) Indiana Pacers; 8) Milwaukee Bucks

Conference semis: Miami over Detroit in six; Cleveland over New Jersey in seven

Conference finals: Miami over Cleveland in six


Western Conference
Am I the only one who thinks that Phoenix might still be a little soft if Amare isn't the guy we all once idolized?

Northwest Division

1) Utah Jazz - I think most of this comes down to Deron Williams--can he run this team, hit some open shots on the perimeter? The front line will be nasty if it's healthy.

2) Denver Nuggets - See what I wrote about George Karl above and Kenyon Martin yesterday. Those, and Carmelo's emergence, are the key stories here. This team shot about 40% from 3 in the preseason, which was surprising because when you look at the roster, you wonder where the shooting comes from. If that gives them some spacing, that's huge, because the Camby is frail, Nene is unskilled, and no one else can really score inside.

3) Minnesota Timberwolves - Last year, Kevin Garnett was a mess, and dun has far too much pride to let that happen again. I think he's gonna have a strong year. But I just don't get the roster around him--Ricky Davis puts up good numbers on bad teams; Trenton Hassell is not much of a threat, although he'll defend; and Mark Blount is intermittently exciting and a disaster. Mike James could be alright, and everyone loves Foy, although I think the hype is a little excessive just yet.

4) Seattle Supersonics - This was the best college team in America two years ago, and it was hugely successful because it was hitting jumpers and getting lucky. It was also getting great rebounding from Reggie Evans and Danny Fortson. But that was and still is completely unsustainable. Instead, Ray Ray and Rashard Lewis will languish. Where is the size on this team? And where is the defense?

5) Portland Trailblazers - I always liked Jarrett Jack at Georgia Tech because he could finish in traffic like Stephon at his best. I also love Brandon Roy. That's all I want to saw about this team, really. Martell Webster intrigues me because he's supposed to be a good guy and I can only imagine the Darius Miles stories he could tell.

Southwest Division

1) San Antonio Spurs -If it's possible to be a championship contender and somehow be underrated, the Spurs are it. Duncan and Manu are healthy; Parker took a step up last year; and the center position has been improved. Need I also remind you: Duncan is the best player of his era and Manu is just about unstoppable when he's in rhythm. The bench is getting a little older, but I'd imagine it has another title run in it. To me, thanks to Duncan, primarily, this team is the title favorite.

2) Dallas Mavericks - I never bought what this team was selling last year, and I was proved wrong the whole time. Dirk wasn't as soft as I had thought he was, Terry and Stack stepped up, and Devin Harris played well. I really like Diop, partially because I am a sucker for blocked shots and partially because he will forever be the charmingly idiotic kid from that Oak Hill documentary that ESPN used to run. I also love Josh Howard, partially because it doesn't seem like his body should accommodate some of the stuff he does. He's like the Western Conference Paul Pierce. They will be good again, but will they be able to recapture the magic?

3) Houston Rockets - Thanks to Jeff, TMac, and Isiah Thomas, this is the team that I will root for most ardently this year. Not when they come to New York, but at all other times. Will they be good? If Yao and McGrady are healthy that would help. But that's no panacea. They have to also play with each other, not just alongside each other. There is too little rhythm in the Houston offense. Bonzi and Sugar Shane should help. I will miss Sura.

4) New Orleans Hornets - In theory, Chris Paul pushing the tempo to get Chandler dunks and Peja pull-up threes, or getting into the lane so that he can score or get David West some looks is gonna be great. In reality, I wonder about whether these dudes will stay healthy and whether all of the parts will fit.

5) Memphis Grizzlies - No Pau = big problem.

Pacific Division

1) Phoenix Suns - They will again be wonderful to watch, and I will again spend a lot of time appreciating Steve Nash while simultaneously resenting that he is overrated. But that's secondary: Matrix will continue to basically play a position no one else can replicate and Amare will hopefully be Amare by February. If not, that will be an enduring sadness that will taint the season.

2) Los Angeles Clippers - May Shaun Livingston finally become the Shaun Livingston everyone wants him to be. And also, this will be a playoff team, but there will be some nights when Tim Thomas, Corey Maggette, and Sam Cassell are making Dunleavy crazy because the Clippers will be losing by doing stupid things. And that will be the Tim Thomas we've all come to love and appreciate as the court jester that he is.

3) Sacramento Kings - Ron Artest is a dark horse MVP candidate if this team gels. And let's hope that the need for shooting gets Quincy Douby some PT.

4) Los Angeles Lakers - It's a testament to Kobe and Phee-il that this team may make the playoffs again despite starting Smush Parker, Kwame Brown, and Chris Mihm. That's not really whom you want to take into battle, is it?

5) Golden State Warriors - This is a team that would be fun to follow as it surprised people. Baron has fallen off the radar thanks to injury, but he is still a compelling figure, one whose brazen style is hopelessly cool. Pietrus is an athlete on the wing who seems like he should be a great defender and slasher. Diogu is a tank down low. Murphy is gritty and versatile. And Richardson has quietly become a dangerous shooting guard. If only Captain Non Gully, Lil' Dunny, weren't taking up space and cap room.

Playoff teams: 1) San Antonio Spurs; 2) Phoenix Suns; 3) Utah Jazz; 4) Dallas Mavericks; 5) Los Angeles Clippers; 6) Houston Rockets; 7) Sacramento Kings; 8) Denver Nuggets

Conference semis: San Antonio over Houston in five; Phoenix over Dallas in seven

Conference finals: San Antonio over Phoenix in seven

NBA Finals: San Antonio over Miami in six.

How You Got High Expectations But Got No Patience?

It's all fun and games until someone lights someone else up for 50

There is no burden as heavy as that of expectation. It is a unique weight that can crush the foundations of preparation; that can drag down true accomplishment to the level of mere adequacy; that can encumber the most nimble mind until it mistakes patent foolishness for admirable daring. It's why a smart person might fuck up the SATs; why Tiger Woods might ever be seen as slumping; why the Roots made The Tipping Point. The pressure of negative expectation can be just as onerous: On The Wire, the alleviation of the weight carried by expected failure renders the "corner kids" paralyzed and embittered as the school system that regularly relies on the easy marginalization offered by suspensions ("out of sight, out of mind" in its saddest, most belittling iteration) instead opts for increased attention and prolonged patience. In this void of the punitive dismissals we come to appreciate the enormity of the burden usually carried by these children.

Expectations weigh heavily upon us, and this is why the instances when we exceed the most admiring or contradict the most scornful are also so fulfilling. It is in these soaring times when we all best imitate Harrison Bergeron and cast off the shackles that often serve to hold us back.

At the outset of the last NBA season, the basketball landscape was awash in the dreary sepia of harmful expectations. The Lig, to some extent truly and to a further extent imagined, felt as though it was struggling to change an identity of antisocial behavior and diminishing quality. The Brawl had happened; the Artest suspension had happened; the supposedly sloppy NBA game had been conquered by a purer brand of basketball played in places like Argentina; and perhaps worst of all, the Association was aesthetically ruled by the theoretically clumsy, proletariat, utilitarian style of smash-mouth basketball championed in places such as Detroit and San Antonio. Even worse, the most public and dramatic (emphasis on the drama) personification of this low-scoring, slow style was the somber, aggrieved Larry Brown, hailed as the greatest basketball coach in the world. No one important wants to consume this thuggish, boring product--that was the collective thought that appeared to grip the NBA power structure.

What was the Lig to do? Well, it got a dress code (no more thugs here); it got an age requirement (no more young punks who don't have skeelz); it got new rules that promoted scoring (no more of that boring-ass "defense"); and best of all (though not as a direct outcome of any NBA-sanctioned action), it got a new generation of stars (no more Allen Iverson-as-savior. Woo hoo!) By the end of last season, all of the talk was of the ascendancy of LeBron and Dwyane Wade; of the maturity of Carmelo Anthony; of the precocity of Chris Bosh and Chris Paul; of the ferocity of Dwight Howard and Amare Stoudemire. It was a tidal wave of positive sentiment that even allowed Darko to rise out of the Mariana Trench where he'd be discarded and then kept down by his myriad critics for nearly three years. An exciting playoff cycle concluded with a bevy of budding ballers, an emerging good-natured rivalry for Lig-wide preeminence, and a figurative image of David Stern, his owners, and their players holding hands and humming "Roundball Magic" as all of the off-season changes were venerated.

The NBA was back!

And this year, it's even backer, elevated by an expectant press and public that both want to fawn over the Association's quarter-century-old superstars. From Sports Illustrated to fantasy-basketball drafts, the heralded surge in NBA value can be seen in the grinning faces of the L's newest Triumvirate of Relevancy: LeBron, Dwyane, and Carmelo. Their faces are on the magazine covers, their jerseys are on the people's backs, and their production is supposed to carry the fantasy owners to victory. Those three and their young-gun friends are all expected to break out as the definitive stars of a league that may have finally (David Stern has his fingers crossed) moved beyond the post-Michael comparisons (Penny, and Grant, and Kobe, and Jerry, and...) and petty, reactionary, foolish media fetishes over tattoos and cornrows.

But as we all know, expectations can be burdensome, so please try to account for things like growth, failure, and everything else that makes us, and our court-bound heroes of the hardwood, human. We all want Lebron to score 75 on Kobe; while Dwyane and Carmelo have a duel; while Chris Paul shows that he could even make Jerome James an all-star; while Chris Bosh helps basketball supplant hockey as Canada's national pastime; while Dwight Howard hits for 40 and 40; while Gilberto Arenasio (he's Cuban) tickles an armpit while making a halfcourt jumper to win a Game 7. But it might take time, just as Michael wasn't even fully Michael the minute he dropped 63. And let us not forget the words of this patron saint of "Did he really just do that?": If you accept the expectations of others, especially negative ones, then you never will change the outcome. Here's to hoping that the Triumvirate of Relevancy et al. haven't been reading too much this summer.

With that said, let the excitement ensue....

- 2005 Preview, Pt. 1
- 2005 Preview, Pt. 2

- John Tesh, "Roundball Magic"

Back Like Cooked Crack Award - Amare Stoudemire, Phoenix Suns

Gonna be a familiar sight, I'd imagine

For all of the product-moving, imagination-capturing Davids who have demanded our attention and elevated the game in the past twenty-odd years, it is the can't-sell-sneakers, said-to-be-extinct Goliaths that continue to own the lease to a certain part of the romantic basketball narrative that most NBA fans follow. From the sublime efficiency and intelligence of Tim Duncan to the awe-inspiring power of Shaq; the poetic athleticism of a sweeping hook to the enviable power conveyed through a decisive rebound and clearing of the lane; the beautiful grace of a drop step that pins a defender on a pivot's back to the electrifying authority of a put-back dunk, the staples of the big man's game are seductive and enduring fundamentals of the game.

There was something hopeful about Amare Stoudemire--he wasn't just a windmill on the eternal horizon. With his nimble feet, unmatched athleticism, and dedication to his craft, he was equipped to emerge as the modern paradigm of post presence. But then he had the microfracture surgery that ruined his '05/'06, and we are now left hoping that he can return as the embodiment of promise, not a shell of potential. From a tentative Penny Hardaway to a gimpy Chris Webber, followers of the Lig have already seen the microfracture rob our culture of many milestones that may have been and experiences that never were. Amare's battle--against his body, his confidence, his opponents, and his knowledge of history--will be a compelling story this season. Not least of all because if Stoudemire can be the Amare of old by the end of February, the Suns may well be the best team in the Association.

Forgot About Dre Award - Tracy McGrady, Houston Rockets

Still the chairman of the Straight Bangin' Select List

As Kobe was dropping 81 and assembling more proof that he may be the best player in the world, Tracy McGrady's legs and back were breaking. As LeBron James was asserting himself as the Lig's most important presence, McGrady was being indirectly blamed for Houston's poor performance. And as Dwyane Wade won an NBA title and thrust the New Jack era upon us, everyone stopped talking about TMac. Hello? This is the same McGrady who, when healthy, can't be stopped and can basically start nailing jumpers the minute he crosses half court, right? The same McGrady who finishes with his left better than any other righty in the NBA? The same 6'7" McGrady who shut down everyone's favorite 7'0" German in the playoffs two years ago? Am I taking crazy pills? So long as he's healthy, TMac will remind people that his name needs to be in the discussion...

Tony Yayo "Dude Gets Shine?" Award - Peja Stojakovic, New Orleans Hornets of Oklahoma City

If he's putting the ball on the floor, it must be the first half

There was a time when I liked Peja very much--he was a great shooter who spoke the rhetoric of a solid teammate and appeared to be poised to break through as a true NBA star. But then he remembered that he was soft, averse to contact, and easily injured. And from that point forward, he stopped being likable. Now, he's an oft-hurt spot up shooter who's allergic to crunch time. And yet the Hornets are paying him max money? What am I missing here?

Skyzoo "Stop Sleeping" Award - Maurice Williams, Milwaukee Bucks

I define what you look at as cold

Milwaukee has to be one of the most commonly forgotten real cities in the U.S. and A. No one ever talks about it, no one goes there--it's like it doesn't exist. This widespread neglect tends to obscure the Bucks, one of the most entertaining teams last year. If you happened to be watching them, you might recall that Milwaukee was often making a run or seizing the emotional upper hand when Mo Williams was in the game. Kid ran their offense nicely last year while scoring well for a PG and offering some outside shooting. With T.J. Ford gone and Charlie Villanueva in the house, Williams is gonna blow up a little bit. Watch.

Memphis Bleek "Just Happy to Be Here Award" - Jason Kapono, Miami Heat

I dare you to find a decent action shot of this dude on the Heat.

Our first repeat winner from last year. Charles Barkley, Patrick Ewing, Karl Malone, Dominique Wilkins, Kevin Garnett, Allen Iverson--I hope that you're all reading this post and looking at this dude's picture, because he has more championship rings than all y'all combined. That is arguably one of the saddest stats in all of the world. It's bad enough that Kapono gets to be in the NBA and make good money for working two hours a day, five days a week. But he also gets to be on a championship team? AND live in Miami?! Ridiculous.

Let this also be said: You know you're a douche bag if...you wear gel in your hair to play basketball. Kapono = guilty.

This world of ours really blows sometimes.

Rick Ross "Sucks" Award - Kenyon Martin, Denver Nuggets

A stoic, simmering KMart with injured people around him. What a pithy encapsulation...

Five years ago, when Martin was a still-raw god-body post defender punking the old Antoine Walker, there was something cool and, if nothing else, tolerable about his ornery demeanor and proclivity for violence that tested the limits of the sport's organization. You assumed he would improve, harness that emotion, and emerge as an imposing power forward. Well, that didn't happen. The easy baskets weren't as easy without Jason Kidd, the winning didn't happen without Kidd, and those skills never really came. What did come was a knee injury that seems to have functionally ended KMart's career. He now exists in this odd limbo: his own team doesn't seem to like him, no one else wants him or his albatross contract, and he's still quite angry. He's basically become a cancer.

The worst person for him to spend his days with is confrontational, combative, snarky George Karl...and of course, that's who coaches KMart. These two already hate each other; it's year three in Denver for Karl, usually the year in the coaching stint when the wheels start to fall off; and the situation will only become more bilious as Karl likely rides Martin every day. This will surely wind up making Martin an even worse, even more upset teammate. And thus, he temporarily steals this de facto "Sucks at NBA Life" award from Darius Miles until Captain Petulant, the Sultan of Idiocy, does something characteristic again.

Lil' Wayne "What's the Appeal" Award - DeShawn Stevenson, Washington Wizards

The NBA should pay Stevenson to be its living testament to an age requirement's necessity

Really, this is an open-ended question. What do people see in him that continues to net him starting jobs?

Ghostface Killah "Tony's Money" Award - Leandro Barbosa, Phoenix Suns

"Fuck around, leave you with a mouth full of murder sauce"

Everything I read about the Suns highlights: Steve Nash is OMG Teh Greatest Ever; Amare needs to get healthy; Shawn Marion is the truth; and Boris Diaw is gonna blow as he plays four positions. I'm not saying that those things are wrong (well, numbers two, three, and four might not be), but Barbosa is gonna be really, really good as the backup PG on this team. Just give him some love. Especially when voting for Sixth Man.

Cam'ron "Label Change = Star" Award - Marquis Daniels, Indiana Pacers

Already fitting in

Let's see: Stephen Jackson is crazy; Danny Granger is a forward; and no one else can play SG on this team. That almost guarantees that Daniels is going to get a lot of touches. Theoretically, Indy is gonna run more this year, so that also augurs for this dude's success, as he is certainly a good athlete. So long as he stops getting all gully with Jackson, I think he might break out.

Kool Keith "Can This Get Any Weirder?" Award - Tim Thomas, Los Angeles Clippers

The saga of Tim Thomas defies description

Really, I am at a total loss when it comes to Fugazi these days. I have killed him on this site, at Madison Square Garden, and everywhere else for years. He's such a disappointment, he says stupid things, he sleepwalks through entire years--and yet here he is, signing big-money deals following the most unlikely string of playoff heroics that I can remember.

But that's not even the crazy part.

In the Sports Illustrated NBA preview, there was a curious passage about the Clippers that read:

One thing the Clippers hope won't change is the hot hand of Thomas, 29, who led Phoenix with 48 three-pointers during the playoffs, celebrating many of them by waving his right palm in front of his face as a nod to his rapper pals in G-Unit.

I read that and chuckled--of course Tim Thomas would count an idiotic rap clique among his friends. Especially since he was trying to act tough while living in New York. That's so Raven Tim! I even noted that I wanted to blog about it at some point. And then I read about 50 and Tony Yayo appearing at Villanova's midnight madness event because Thomas had put Nova Coach Jay Wright in touch with Yayo. That was just too perfect. Tim Thomas is officially the mayor of Bizarro World. I am at a loss--I can't even ridicule him any more.

Pt. 2, with picks and more awards--some even conventional--tomorrow...

A Message from Bill Clinton: Address Me as Mister

"I wish my arms was long enough to hug you all at the same time"
- Slum Village, "Selfish"

My fellow Americans, in light of recent allegations that my wife, Hillary, has had some work done because she used to be ugly, I thought it was important that I stand up and defend the honor of my family. It is an abomination that anyone would speak about my wife in that manner. And more importantly, the bonds that we all share in our humanity will forever be weakened if we let stand the demoralizing, slanderous notion that any wife of mine is, was, or will be ugly. A Clinton don't play like that. As a paragon of raging heterosexuality, I feel compelled to remind you of one unfailing truth: I...can pull...hot...broads. Seriously, I can.

Sure, I know that you're thinking, "Gee, now that you mention it, Mr. President, you aren't really known for dating hot women." Well let me tell you something: fuck watcha heard. Call me a man-whore for lying down with Paula Jones and Monica Lewinsky; question my taste as you recall Kathleen Willey and Hillary; trot out your pictures of Gennifer Flowers--no, seriously, can we get a picture of her? That woman was in Penthouse and now runs a cabaret in an old house of assignation. I don't know about you, but I think that's pretty hot.

Say all those things if you must, but ask yourselves why women still love me after all these years, and all this infidelity. Ask yourselves why people mention me when they talk about a dreamboat like JFK. Ask yourselves why the ladies all swoon when I whisper in their ears as I go through a receiving line. You wanna know why all of that happens? It's because I'm the balls. Pretty much literally. I mean, those things are good. Just ask my dog, Buddy:


See what I mean? Let me let you all in on a little secret: I'm blessed with the "kavorka." You know, the lure of the animal. I can't help it, really. I've tried all my life, but I just can't shake this thing, and as a result, I am one bad-ass lothario. And like I sort of said before, membership has its privileges. Check it out:

How does that one song go? "I...love...burritos at 4AM...somethin' somethin' somethin'...AND TWIIIIINS!"



This is me with Andrea Paul, a family friend. That guy to my right is her husband, although he wasn't that night:



And this is your boy with Miss America, Jennifer Berry. Let's just say that things got biblical at the afterparty:


I got pictures for days, so I can keep going if you'd like, but maybe we can just leave it at this: Billy gets some serious tail. Am I right? Am I right? You think I'm nominally spending my life with (keep it real, though: you KNOW I'm commuting to Harlem or traveling around the world as much as possible) an ugly chick? As my friend Whitney Houston once said, "Aw, hell to the naw!"

Some of you guys out there are probably wondering how it is that I can bed down so many fine-looking ladies. Well, it's like I told you before, the kavorka. But, it also helps that I fly G4's, ride Lamborghinis, and run with a pretty hip crowd:

This is me kickin' it with my girl Oprah...



...and here is Bono and me. We had just met with Nelson Mandela and taken some killer pills on the way back to the plane...



...and while my douche bag successor is using "the Google,"--you know, on the internets--I'm runnin' with the dudes who made it. Hey George, quit ballin' on a budget; this is wealth, not riches...



...and, of course, in my spare time, I help Bill Gates cure malaria and AIDS...


I will make my offer again: do you want more proof of all the fine honeys I'm meeting? Or are you getting jealous. I think it's pretty clear that I've never had a problem wining and dining the fairest of the fairer sex.

So again, I implore you, my friends, to confront the evil that now threatens to fester among us lest we cast it out: do not let anyone get away with telling you that Bill Clinton runs with the ugly set. I don't play like that. My whole life has been about a few things, and sleeping with homely women is not one of them. Thank you for your time.

Oh, and lay off Hillary...'Cuz you know I am, ifyouknowwhati'msayin'! High five on that...

11/1: Brooklyn Bodega's Jay Dee Party for the Ages

Jay Dee in the turnin' lane with your ex

This is gonna be the goodest look of the year: a Jay Dee tribute and lupus fundraiser. Peep the info. I can't effing wait...

When: Wednesday, November 1
Time: 7 PM
Where: Brooklyn Brewery (79 N 11th Street btwn. Berry and Wythe, Williamsburg, Brooklyn)
What: A celebration fundraiser commemorating the life of Jay Dee, one of the greatest hip-hop heads of all time.
Price: $10 at the door, $20 if you want a t-shirt to go along with your admission

The Brooklyn Bodega and The Room Service Group host celebration for the late
Jay Dee aka J Dilla

On November 1^st Brooklyn Bodega, The Brooklyn Brewery and The Room Service Group will host a fundraiser for producer and composer James Yancey aka Jay Dee or J Dilla. Jay Dee passed away in February of 2006 of complications from Lupus, a common blood disease. He was best known as 1/3 of Detroit’s Slum Village and creative partner of Q-Tip from A Tribe Called Quest. Jay Dee along with Q-Tip and Ali Shaheed Muhammad made up the Ummah who produced the last two Tribe records as well a slew of records for Busta Rhymes and others.

Jay Dee also worked with Chicago MC Common and produced his biggest hit. “The Light.” Along with The Roots’ ?uestlove and James Poyser, Jay Dee produced Common’s Like Water For Chocolate and Electric Circus albums.

Though not well known outside of certain circles Jay Dee was responsible for even more hits including Q-Tip’s solo smashes “Vivrant Thing” and “Breathe and Stop.” “Runnin” by The Pharcyde, “Stakes Is High” by De La Soul as well as various tracks from Erykah Badu, D’Angelo, Black Star, Bilal, Royce da 5’9”, Dwele, Janet Jackson, and Ghostface.

However Jay Dee’s crowning achievement was his work with his own group, Slum Village. His work on Fantastic Vol. 1 and Fantastic Vol.2 was the blueprint for the post Native Tongue sound that spawned Little Brother and others. Later he partnered with kindred soul Madlib under the name Jaylib and created the classic Champion Sound.

Room Service Group president Wes Jackson adds, “Jay Dee was one of the most prolific and important producers of our time. His impact on the industry is grossly understated. He was not only a king in the ever critical underground scene, but he was also able to produce bona fide hits without losing an inch of artistic integrity. His influence touches cats from T.I. all the way to The Strange Fruit Project.”

The celebration on November 1^st is designed both to celebrate Jay Dee’s life and accomplishments, but also raise money to fight Lupus by donating the profits to the Dilla Foundation. The Dilla Foundation is run by Jay Dee’s mother and works toward educating the worked about the disease. As opposed to other celebrity driven events, the Bodega celebration will be driven by the fans. The Bodega has been collecting as much of Jay Dee’s catalog as they can find and will have it on hand at the Brewery. Whether it be CD, vinyl, or mp3 fans will be able to request their favorite Jay Dee production or verse. In addition the complete discography will be annotated by the Bodega editorial staff and will hopefully educate fans on Jay Dee’s extensive catalog.

“We will also be filming the event and hope to turn the entire night into a tangible DVD and/or book that will help document Jay’s powerful voice,” added event co-curator and Bodega writer Jake Perry. “We are going to set up a wall where we people can send a shout out to Jay Dee and then we are going to send those as well as written remembrances to his mom to let her know how much we loved her son.”

The Brooklyn Brewery will be hosting the event, donating their fine lagers and ales to the for the night. There is a $10 suggested donation to attend, $20 at the door will get you entry and a free limited edition t-shirt.

For more info check out www.brooklynbodega.com.

Goofy Athlete Cameos in Rap Videos, Vol. 1

Must be the money

You name the athletes. And yes, I realize that this isn't all that hard. It's just sort of funny...

De La Soul, "Stakes Is High"

De La always makes these weird videos that are good concepts executed in a quasi-corny fashion. Tribe did the same thing.

Dilated Peoples, "Back Again"

Just really random.

Queen Pen, "Party Ain't a Party"

Don't front like you didn't think this song was catchy.

And, of course, the mother of all goofy athlete cameos...

MC Hammer, Too Legit to Quit

Nothing like a spandex one-piece...

Music for a Monday: Ridiculousness and Redemption

Top row: AZ looking like AZ; Eminem looking like a dork; Mos Def looking pensive (on purpose)
Bottom row: Papoose looking like Papoose; Jim Jones looking like a woman

A nice little club sandwich of redemption with three slices of ridiculousness bread:

- Eminem ft. 50 Cent, Cashis, and Lloyd Banks, "You Don't Know"
Things that are funny because they're lame: 50 singing hooks (always); this Shady Records crew declaring themselves to be a "movement," a term that has been overused forever and was notably invoked by the Harlem World All Stars back before Mase become a pastor. That's so cutting edge!

Things that are cute in their futility: These wannabe-hard synthesizer beats that Eminem cooks up as though his former status as a preeminent rapper ever lent him the currency necessary to have a good ear for music. I don't even know if he produced this, but it is certainly boring enough and steeped in enough ersatz dramatic tension to qualify as one of his. Quite the signature sound.

Things that are just weird: the recently emerged G-Unit need to give everyone a fucking nickname--V.I.P. Hollywood Hav. Curtis "Billion-Dollar Budget" Jackson. And now Ferrari F-50? Why?

Eminem's ability to spit that assonance is intact. Everything else is the usual. Eh...

- AZ, "The Truth"
AZ will never really receive the credit he's due as an MC. I've tried before, and others have as well, but the guy will just never have the rep (or, to be real, the sales) he needs to ascend higher into the general public's consciousness. On this track, it's more of that endlessly seductive, steady flow that delivers AZ's wistful remembrances, ghetto stories, boasts, imagery, and matter-of-fact assessments of the industry and the world around him. One of the impediments to commercial success that AZ's always encountered is that he either has too many stale tracks or too many with odd components, and this, sadly, can be counted among the latter: this chorus is bogus. But his flow--peep the first verse--is still so good.

- Papoose, "Friend Request"
This is a song about MySpace. Please read that sentence again. I know that thugs--studio, imagined, real, and otherwise--use the internets, but this is just about the least gully thing ever. Pap sounds like he's reading from a technical manual. Where the fuck did this song come from? It's like a hip-hop rendition of Schoolhouse Rock; this is the 21st Century version of Scooter Computer & Mr. Chips. LAME.

- Mos Def, "Undeniable"
Dude spends a lot of time stringing together familiar rhymes and word couplets; interpolating known language patterns; borrowing old rhyming rhythms; and singing hooks that are effectively tropes. All of that can grow tired and come to seem derivative, but oddly, this is not always the case. And on this track, he somehow manages to rework Bambaataa and the 20th Century Steel Band in a way that, combined with his usual sing-song positivity, is oddly amusing. Surely not a vintage effort from Mos, but at this point, why would you ever expect that again? I think we all just have to settle for engaging.

- Jim Jones, "Cook It"
So I guess this is supposed to be some kind of play on that electronically manipulated female voice at the opening of Busta's "Touch It." It turns out horribly awkward. In addition, Jim takes the usual Dip Set template--some kind of vocal sample, a dramatic air lent by sweeping strings, uptempo drums, and a tale of the glory and big-budget lifestyle that come with slangin'--and fills it in with the necessary details--Jim's got a 'caine case in court, spent 8 on a lawyer, still bought a car, hangs out in Harlem, will engage in beef if it's wanted, etc. Sadly, Jim does not leave the bar and go straight to the car or exclaim that he's "bawwwl-liiiiin'" on this track, but variety is the spice of life. Sort of.

Random (Mostly Hateful) Thoughts on a Sunday

You know, just because...

- I can't stand Donovan McNabb. I know--Limbaugh-like blasphemy, right? Well, here's the deal (and I apologize in advance to my legions of Illadelph-reppin' friends who already think I have bad taste in sports teams): When did he become anointed as a sacrosanct media object? If Peter King weren't busy slurping Brett Favre and Peyton Manning or self-righteously slamming Terrell Owens or annoyingly attempting to earn his stripes as a baseball poet with an oh-so-quaint Red Sox fascination every week, he, as an official ambassador of the football-media establishment, would be writing about McNabb. Sportscasters and writers are always so breathless when McNabb comes up. When the Eagles win, they resplendently bask in his reflected glory, celebrating him as some transcendent leader of men who is always carried to greatness by the surging wave of moral authority. As Chris Rock might ask, What the fuck did we win? When they lose, these same people make it seem as though a crime against humanity has been committed by a menacing evil that has wrongly mustered the temerity to challenge the settled rule of Donovan law. Let us all hang our heads for a moment and pray for Brother Donovan. What is that? And am I just imagining this?

I was watching highlights of the Philadelphia-Tampa Bay game today, and as is the case every time the Eagles lose, the announcers sounded decimated as they noted that the Eagles had lost. And on the last play, no less. Usually, the highlights of a loss are followed my a mournful McNabb lamenting his team's failures before some studio talking head comes back on and frames the loss as a horrible tragedy that we are all enduring: Sadly, the Eagles just couldn't get it done, and they'll now have to rebound. It won't be easy, given their schedule, but if there's one guy who can see them through this, it's Donovan. And by the way, Mr. McNabb, was I tugging on it too hard? At what point did the Eagles become the owners of a gridiron manifest destiny that entitles them and their leader, McNabb, to perpetually be portrayed as the victims of a wronging whenever they lose? And why is it some kind of collective accomplishment when they win? I get that McNabb is affable and articulate--meaning that he'll give good interviews--but why does he, in particular, get this treatment? There are a lot of nice people in the NFL.

And on top of all that, I just don't enjoy watching McNabb--he always looks so herky-jerky when rolling out and throwing. He reminds me so much of Paul Pierce--both are great athletes capable of physically impressive feats, and yet both also do what they do with so little grace. It's ugly and clunky.

- If you weren't alive or weren't old enough to really be "with it" in 1978, I recommend that you go see Jonestown: The Life and Death of Peoples Temple. It is a sad, fascinating, well-made documentary about the real Jim Jones (not this one), a cult leader who was responsible for the deaths of more than 900 people on November 18th, 1978. The tragedies endured by the people who speak in the movie--to say nothing of the desperation that would lead so many people to pledge their lives to a completely sinister lunatic, or the things he did to his followers--are really affecting. And for hip-hop heads, this movie will forever affirm the sneaking suspicion you've had that the Dip Set Capo Jim Jones really is either an idiot or something worse. Nothing like naming yourself after a manipulative, dishonest rapist and murderer, you know?

- While The Wire continues to prove itself as the greatest television program ever made, I've gotten to the point of the television season when I need to take stock and figure out what else I will continue to watch. This choice is motivated by two important considerations: 1) What's actually good? 2) Which programs are worth it given that NBA League Pass will soon be popping off? Survivor, and Lost make the cut, for sure. The Office, Prison Break, and X-Men Heroes are probably gonna make it. I will undoubtedly watch a marathon of the latest Real World/Road Rules challenge and get into that. Everything else seems to be on shaky ground: Friday Night Lights just doesn't capture my attention; Studio 60 hasn't been too good since the pilot and the lead woman with the blond hair is basically horrible; 30 Rock is a disaster that Alec Baldwin can't even save; etc. Also, why hasn't someone resuscitated North Shore yet? Now that was quality television.

- Humor me, for a minute, and envision this flying down the floor on the fastbreak at you: Jason Kidd and Marcus Williams pushing it with Richard Jefferson, Vince Carter, and Hassan Adams filling the lanes. I know that this won't happen until the Rucker, at the earliest, but the preseason is a time for dreams, right? And I'm not even a Nets fan.

- Pour out a little liquor...

- Is anyone else really tired of the Steelers? Lot of attention for a 2-4 team whose quarterback isn't as good as his record and is as interesting as the new Lloyd Banks record. For those confused, Rotten Apple is the sort of album one might put on and walk away from, never to return, after about 15 minutes.

- Sticking with boring-ass stories in sports: Has anyone cared at all about any given Cardinals team in about 20 years? They're all the same: bland, stocked with annoying players, and not all that good. Why can't baseball just be over already? The aural poison that we call Joe Buck--you know, that grating, sniveling, moralistic sound coming out of your television that might cause you to curse and kick something--shouldn't be unleashed on the public more than once a week ever.

- Women, most of you look goofy and a little uncoordinated or something when you tuck your pants into your boots. Especially UGGs. Just an FYI.

- Puffy's (yeah, I still call him Puff) new album sounds like something he might put on while he's seducing men. He really took it to the clubs on this one. The gay clubs. Nicely done, Shiny Suit Man. And nice recycling of Kanye's "Grammy Family" beat on that "I Am" interlude.

- As the world falls apart, isn't it nice to know that the U.S. has the moral authority it needs for effective diplomacy? Oh wait--sorry. I forgot about the unnecessary occupation, the inept President, and the incompetent Secretary of State. My bad. Once we elect Hillary, she'll restore order--her shameless pandering will surely win everyone's support.

Chris Andersen Called; He Wants His Niche Back

What, you were expecting a picture of this guy?

You know that dorky, skinny white guy whom the Sonics drafted about three years ago? The one that everyone makes fun of all the time? Well, his name is Robert Swift, and this is him now:


Auditioning for the Fox River Prison basketball team.

I just thought you'd all like to know.

I also thought that you'd like to know that I am again traveling for the weekend. This time, it is off to State College, PA to watch the Wolverines attempt to get by without Mario Manningham. Penn State fans are already pissed off about the officiating. Back on Monday.


We are...completely paranoid losers. Fuck the state pen and hoes at Penn State.

That Damn Liberal Media

Luckily for Sayid, Oceanic Flight 815 was amply stocked with Soul Glo.

***LOST SPOILER***

Did anyone else find it juuuust a little funny that on this week's Lost, an Iraqi, Sayid, was embarrassed and compromised when he underestimated an opponent heading into an armed conflict, assuming that the other side would put up little struggle on the way to an assured defeat? Was it just coincidental that the situation smacked of political satire? Do I have too much time on my hands, despite a schedule that has precluded getting a haircut and resultantly rendered me some kind of unfrozen caveman lawyer?

I Take Summers Off 'Cuz I Love Winter Beef

Bawwwwww-linnnnnnn'

It was only appropriate that as the New York forecasts began calling for lows in the 40s--an affirmation that the steady descent into winter is now all but upon us--the bullshit-hip-hop-beef scene would heat up. Thank you, Jimmy.

Below, please find your favorite uptown capo gunnin' for Jay-Z. Summer Jam is still a long way off...but don't worry: there're new albums from Jay and Jones slated for the fall. Surely, this is all one big coincidence, though...

- Jim Jones, "Alarm"

P.S. What is the noise of a million hip-hop fans yawning?

An Odd Mix of Enduring Perceptions

The name is Dilla Dog, and I can only rep the real and the raw.

James Yancey, who most of us knew primarily as Jay Dee or J Dilla until his death, passed away eight months ago yesterday. As is often the melancholy truth, it was not until his passing that everyone stopped to fully recognize Dilla's many gifts and acknowledge just how important Yancey was to music. In a year that will have seen Jay-Z return, the Roots return to form, Ghostface ascend to the critical heavens, and a bevy of other notable accomplishments and phenomena, Jay Dee's passing will sadly remain the leading story. One simply cannot overstate his brilliance nor the subsequent sorrow that has filled that void and only made it worse. To paraphrase Black Thought, I remain crushed by the weight of his absence.

I am not sure if it is cruel irony or deserved fortune that in the year of his death, Jay Dee's presence in music has been as pronounced as ever. There was Donuts and Jay Loves Japan. There were the inevitable tributes (see below) and inadvertent fodder for comparison. And most obviously, there were remembrances.

As my words above indicate, it's been impossible for my mind to ever stray too far away from Dilla since February. I've walked, traveled, worked, run, and driven with a Jay Dee soundtrack--everything from Slum to Jaylib to Pharcyde. Always a fan of the man's work, I have seen me adoration intensify now that he's gone. One of his greatest gifts, of course, was the equipped with a sublime creativity and an artistic fearlessness that essentially made anything possible, Jay Dee brought out the best in so many artists. An odd paradox, though, was Jay Dee and Busta Rhymes.

I've written before about how disappointing I generally find Busta Rhymes to be. He hasn't put out a truly good record in about eight years; he runs around spitting this insincere thug bluster and reveling in a certain sort of unembarrassed street ignorance; he is routinely offensive when interviewed about serious topics like homophobia and violence; and his talents and humor have gone largely wasted as he's foolishly set out to forever erase memories of that goofy, fast-spitting, smart-sounding guy with the dreads who used to run with the Native Tongues. However, only in hip-hop could such a campaign of self-immolation result in a marked increase in esteem--Busta can still get Q-Tip on his records, Hot 97 DJs on his dick, anyone from Dr. Dre to Hi-Tek on his boards, and himself on top of the charts. WTF?

To me, the ultimate WTF Busta Track remains the Jay Dee-produced "Show Me What You Got." For starters, the beat is remarkable--it is a wonderfully melancholy track that steadily ambles along, powerfully wielding the swelling emotion engendered by its simple melody, never cresting. It's mesmerizing, and sets a mood like few other beats. It also has this subtly active bass that enriches the sound, providing the track with a necessary depth that would not otherwise exist--it's the protein that makes digesting the music an endeavor in something other than empty calorie intake.

But beyond the sonic brilliance, "Show Me What You Got" remains a bizarrely perfect encapsulation of Busta's synthetic transformation. His unrelenting flow rides the beat so well, the performance strengthened in emotional effect through a carefully calibrated energy level that always hints at his potential for recklessness, but does so knowingly, conferring upon Busta an air of menace not unlike that which surrounds Tony Soprano as his calmly and slowly speaks to a soon-to-be deceased work associate--you're supposed to see what lies beneath the surface. Add to that a three-minute screed filled with somewhat amusing hackneyed hip-hop masculinity, highlighted by Busta's characteristic eccentricity, and you are presented with the juxtaposition of an MC talented enough to be greater, yet self-conscious enough to know what helps one get a rep. It all feels both sincere, thanks to the beat, and very calculated at the same time. And despite what this work represents in the larger evolutions of both Busta Rhymes and hip-hop, "Show Me What You Got" endures as an oft-overlooked homage to hip-hop's elements.

I've included the lyrics below, as a careful study can be an engaging exercise for a variety of reasons. I also think that it helps one understand just how powerfully Dilla was able to manipulate emotion--this track is mournful and celebratory at once, and though it may cause us conflict as we venerate it, we also can't help but to do so.

We all still miss you, Jay.

- Busta Rhymes, "Show Me What You Got"

Yo, yo, Busta Rhymes the immaculate raw
Hardcore, riggidy raw, lay n***as flat on the floor
We climbin' the back of the four
Nonchalant flavor fo' sure, Timbs wit tha aqua velour
Flava like you never seen it before
Ha, holy, sacred, and pure
Flipmode, be on it fo' sure
Be incredible to settle the score
Like a n***a shot you in the face, through the peephole in the door
From New York, down to Singapore
Keep you ni***s jumpin' around, had the bitches beggin fo' more
Street n***as, yeah we speak for the poor
Now we stack cheddar galore, when we shop and buy at the store
Metaphor like nuclear war
I warned n***as if you try to bite, shit I'll leave a crack in your jaw
Take the livest n***as out on a tour
Make a n***a black in the spot, make you wanna take off a door

All my dogs who hustle everyday
All my dogs who hustle everyday now
Own a store, laundromat around the way
And own a store or laundromat around the way now
We got to get it, YEAH!
My n***as, all my niggas
Show Me What You Got for me, what you got for me
All my n***as what ya got for me
All my shorties who stay fresh everyday
All my shorties that stay fresh everyday
My get money bitches who still hang around the way
All my get money bitches that chill around the way now
We got to get it, YEAH! We gotta...
My bitches, all my bitches, c'mon
Tell me what you got for me
What you got for me, all my bitches what you got for me

Now, yo, we stay packin the toast
Could give a fuck, bust on a ghost
And end up on the front of the post
N***as know that I be rockin the most
Fuckin Ethiopian bitches, living in the Ivory Coast
Let me drug y'all n***as up wit a dose
Make you act just like you suppose'
Watch a n***a playin me close
Nowadays type of dough that we gross
I celebrate and throw me a roast
And get an old face for a host
We get it hype even when we be calm
N***as know my word is my bond
When we come you know we the bomb
Hypnotic shit, get you retarded
Shoulda known it was a bad move
Fuckin around and gettin me started
Still whippin in the back of the truck
So what, not givin a fuck
In the streets, livin it up
So what happened to the last n***a, Bust?
Could give a fuck whoever he was
Throw them n***as outta the clubs
Them n***as all, shit turnin me off
Tie 'em up, makin 'em cough
Gag 'em in the throat wit a cloth
After that we go and wild for the night
Make 'em know the style for the night
Car low, pile for the night
You know we always give y'all n***ass a blaze
Black it out and party for days
Let y'all n***as fuck with the strays
Fuckin dimes at the end of the days
Gettin money but it's too late
Got a n***a stuck in his ways

All my dogs who hustle everyday
All my dogs who hustle everyday now
Own a store, laundromat around the way
And own a store or laundromat around the way now
We got to get it, YEAH!
My n***as, all my niggas
Show Me What You Got for me, what you got for me
All my n***as what ya got for me
All my shorties who stay fresh everyday
All my shorties that stay fresh everyday
My get money bitches who still hang around the way
All my get money bitches that chill around the way now
We got to get it, YEAH! We gotta...
My bitches, all my bitches, c'mon
Tell me what you got for me
What you got for me, all my bitches what you got for me

How Long Will They Mourn Me?

This is something more than just a recess. - MC Travel

I don't commonly read Time magazine--nor do I make the internets rounds as much as I used to thanks to a litany of factors--so you'll have to pardon me for so tardily picking up on this article about the lives of Voletta Wallace and Afeni Shakur. I only found out about it today when I saw the following letter in the most recent issue of Time:

"A Tale of Two Mothers" [Sept. 25] concerned the efforts of the mothers of murdered rappers Tupac Shakur and Notorious B.I.G. to honor what TIME called "their sons' legacies." What a sad commentary on society. Those two individuals promoted hedonism and violence. There was nothing honorable about the lives they lived, and the perverse fantasies they sold to inner city youth were probably more damaging than any good they may have done. I wish the mothers of the two rappers would denounce the lifestyles their children were proponents of. They succumbed to the thuggery they preached and died much too young. Their tragedy should not be glamorized.

JAY ROSS
Glendora, Calif.

This letter made me angry, but not at Jay Ross. First, the caveats: To confine the contributions of BIG and Pac to a promotion of "hedonism and violence" is obviously an unfair characterization, as both men left indelible artistic marks that are still evident in everyday hip-hop. So that wasn't especially nice of Jay. Nor can one so easily dismiss their deaths as the simple real-life culmination of the bleak recorded pseudo world in which they lived. This may not demand a thorough Oliver Stone treatment, but there were forces beyond the control of those men that ultimately contributed to their deaths.

OK. Now that the usual homage has been paid--wait, one last thing: check out a new verse I just wrote, "If I wasn't in the rap game, I'd probably have a key knee deep in the crack game..." (I'm a writer, not a biter; I'm merely biggin' up my brother.) Anyway, as I was saying: now that the usual homage has been paid, and I've sufficiently propitiated the modern-day hip-hop gods, I need to engage in some real talk: Jay Ross is mostly right. Sort of.

Far be it from me to impose upon a mother how she is to mourn her son. I am not going to pass judgment on the actions of Ms. Wallace or Ms. Shakur. (Suge Knight and Diddy and Eminem and all of them are a different matter....) But I will agree with Jay Ross that Biggie and Tupac are only martyrs because too many hip-hop fans continue to either ignore or never find the wisdom that should help them differentiate the fiction and creativity of art from the consequences and ills of life. And I would hope that Mr. Ross would agree with me that the sickening, sustained vitality of a larger system which allows such misperceptions to fester is the true tragedy in the Biggie-Tupac saga.

As we are reminded each week by The Wire--and each day by the newspaper--this is not a country that cares about properly helping its poor. Nor is this a country in which many of the poor people, poor or rich, want to accept responsibility for failing to prioritize education; for failing to serve as role models for children; for failing to help temper the strong impressions of media with the enduring realities of America. This is a country in which only comedians hold politicians accountable, and the theoretically absurd notion of a Stewart-Colbert ticket becomes far more palatable because no one else seems to be paying attention. It is only our own collective failing that allows for any single person to find honor in dealing drugs; to find sanctity in a cycle of needless violence; and to find emotional reassurance in the startling demise of others.

Jay Ross is right--the tragedy of Biggie and Tupac, now nearly ten full years later, should not be glamorized. But yet it is, and we have still done so little to explain away the lasting appeal of misfortune. How sad is that?

Best Movie of the Year

As compelling as Alec Baldwin and Mark Wahlberg were entertaining. Oscars all around...

The Departed is one of the most enjoyable and fulfilling cinema experiences in a long time.

Music for a Monday: Look, Guys, Jay's Back. Greeeeat...

Of the three, whose music sounds the most corporate? The guy standing with Bill Gates? What?

- Jay-Z, "Show Me What You Got"
Is Just Blaaaaaaaze a victim of his own virtuosity? You decide as you listen to this latest would-be heatrock. To me, this sounds like everything I'd expect from a Jay-Z "comeback" song: a catchy, albeit known horn sample (check, baby, check); a blaring, breezy soul melody; the cornucopia of instrumental filler; the up-tempo energy and mid-tempo drums--it all follows a certain pattern, and in no way is it surprising to learn that this beat came from Just. It is technically impressive and evocative of a distinct mood, albeit an empty facsimile of genuine excitement. While calling this track "formulaic" might be an unfair employment of the term, the song does have a certain contrived feel to it, no? Throw in Jay's boring verses about his latest fascinations (the Michael Jordan metaphors, the meta reflection about his career, the generic shouts to material indulgence) and weak lyrical fare like a tired simile relating a drop-top to women's clothing, and you have a thoroughly underwhelming effort. But I am not surprised. Personally, I like my Just Blaze a little edgier and creative.

For more, read Henry.

- Hi-Tek ft. The Willie Cottrell Band, Ghostface Killah, and Pretty Ugly, "Josephine"
A blue-light special for Dennis Coles, who should seriously consider making a record with an R&B outfit since the man clearly loves soul music. This verse from Ghost is intriguing, as he not only issues yet another cautionary tale about the misguided whims of young women who take up with drugs, but also offers what could perhaps be seen as a self-conscious admonishment, lamenting that his protagonist couldn't help but fall into the clutches of the drug narrative. A narrative made popular in much of Ghost's music. I'm likely reading too much into this song (see: projecting)--or perhaps merely not playing along with Ghost's popular pastime of momentarily stepping out from the bleak urban landscape he helps construct in order to issue warnings about the ills that plague the impoverished--but it is a fun thought, nonetheless.

- Hi-Tek ft. Dion, Jadakiss, Papoose, Talib Kweli, and Raekwon, "Where It Started At (NY)"
I don't know this "Dion," but he sounds like he's trying to emulate Akon's style. And that is both nauseating and an indictment of the entire system. We surely do not need another Akon. We don't even need an Akon. Fuck him. That someone would consciously choose to inhabit the same niche is a discouraging referendum on American ambition.

Somehow, this song manages to be simultaneously boring and captivating. The beat is horribly maudlin and Dion is a joke. The verses are bland and sound like the rhymes a hip-hop researcher would writer were he or she asked to pen verses representative of the respective rappers who contribute here. And yet, that characteristic emerges as a potentially peculiar phenomenon: are the rhymes of each MC purposely sui generis so that, collectively, they come to embody the essence of contemporary New York hip-hop? Was that level of thought put into this track? Or (more likely), did these dudes just phone it in and, in Kweli's case, get caught up trying to seem meaningful?

- Count Bass D, "No Comp"
A raw, purposely unrefined production aesthetic is sort of like asking Terrell Owens to be on your football team: It will likely end in disaster (just listen to whole swaths of some of the Def Jux catalogue) and you stand the chance of being so thoroughly turned off by the enterprise that you won't want to revisit it (hello, Think Differently), but there also exists the potential that it will be a perfect fit and lead to something better than what you could have otherwise had. That's this track, to me. That new Bass D album, Act Your Waist Size, is filled with these rough sounds, some of which work and some of which are plain annoying. Sort of like an accidental overdose or sit-ups in a South Jersey drive way (and not at the Aqua Teen house). But "No Comp" is ten catches for 137 yards and 2 scores. The track works because you can hear the seams and the scratchy audio and all that. It's a beautiful stiff arms for eight more yards when you should have been tackled for a loss.

"The Epitome of the Ride-or-Die Type of Chick"

She's craziest!
No, he is!

Did people watch Committed: The Christies? If not, here's what you missed: nothing. Or, 30 minutes of boredom. What a complete letdown. If anyone writes anything good about this first installment of what suddenly seems like a lame show, they're either drunk, named "Christie," or a little too into their own over-the-top, yellow-background schtick.

The show opened in promising fashion, with a montage of video clips chronicling Jackie and Doug's exploits and the many amused and disapproving opinions engendered by the Christies' unique brand of public obsession. It seemed like the show would be a half-hour of combative behavior and further disclosure of unsettling behaviors shared by the NBA's most notorious couple. That would have been great--a weekly expose about the signs and symptoms of troubling relationships. All of us could have gleaned insight and then diagnosed our friends, probing to uncover any and all whom might suffer from cases of blinding Amorus Christieus. Sort of like a med student who thinks he or she can detect lupus or some shit after just one week in school. So you called your girlfriend three times because she didn't respond to your email within four hours, as is usual? You angrily barked at a waitress when she brought your order to your table because she had the nerve to hand your boyfriend his food? Hm....Tell me, have you ever met a woman named Jackie Christie?

But sadly, that appears as though it will remain the show that should have been made. Instead, we got an entire episode about the Christies moving from Sacramento to Orlando and trying to get their new television installed properly. It was just excruciatingly boring. Whereas that might have been one of the best-possible episodes of Bobby and Whitney--replete with Whitney cursing about having children and Bobby spouting off some homespun wisdom regarding the spiritual benefits of televisions no more than 4 inches wide--it just sucked with the Christies. There was no true narrative thrust, no true humor, and very little drama. There were, of course, moments that hinted at the show's concept's promise--like when Jackie was called "the epitome of the ride-or-die type of chick." But those were too few, instead buried underneath a cavalcade of quotidian happenings, like Jackie making phone calls and Doug learning how to use the safety net placed over the pool. The show didn't even give us interviews with former teammates saying stuff like "I thought my wife was annoying, but then Jackie started showering in the locker room and demanding that no one look at her and Doug. I went home that night and proposed all over again." I very much would have liked to have seen Peja or Dirk trying to describe life amidst the Jackie Christie insanity.

But again, that didn't happen.

Really, there were only three true highlights of the program: 1) At one point, Jackie described a chaotic time in their lives as having been "tulumptuous," because apparently no actual English word could have encapsulated what it's like to be involved with her. 2) Later, we saw Jackie making 25 phone calls to Doug before 11 AM on a single day. 3) Jackie and Doug acknowledged that they have one wedding per year because, according to Jackie, "If you're busy with a wedding, you can't be busy with a divorce."

The saddest part? I will surely watch again next week. I hate myself...

Stephen Jackson Is Still Beefing with Sanity

Zig on hip; extra clip; tried by twelve; definitely not carried by six.

Fuck whatcha heard about the off-season: Stephen Jackson is in mid-season form.

Gone for the weekend. Again...

A Well-Deserved Moment of Ambivalence

A Baltimore po-lice going to see this man?! Sheeeit...

Among the obnoxious things about we zealous HBO viewers are that we gleefully shit on (most) regular television (Lost holds it down), proselytize like we're bringing the gospel to heathens, and resent it when our efforts are successful. Or maybe that's just me.

I was the first of my friends to really "get into" HBO. My family started subscribing around the time that I was beginning high school, and I was filling my non-homework, non-NBA hours around the house apartment with boxing and Saturday night blockbusters and Desperado reruns and the occasional Shannon Tweed performance. That's why I grew up loving Lennox Lewis, quoting Def Comedy Jam, and detesting America Undercover. That's what was on. To this day, I continue to count my devotion to Oz as one of the proudest and most influential aspects of my early years, and I remember convincing my dad to check out this new show called The Sopranos.

In the summer of 1998, I really got into HBO. I was in New York, working on some bum-bitch science project which I hated, and exhausting my summertime freedom through a series of social engagement which have all been rendered unremarkable and literally unmemorable by the slow march of time and what has emerged as the mournfully boring nature of my high-school life. I honestly cannot recall one thing which I did that summer, save for falling asleep on the bus I'd ride to work; falling asleep with my head propped up by a microscope; and falling asleep at night with the repetitive synth chords from Cam'ron's "Glory" echoing in my head, since that record--Confessions of Fire--was something that I bumped a lot that summer. Really, I was just some semi-sullen suck killing time with premium cable.

Most summers, between the ages of 9 and *gulp* 21, I was away at summer camp, so it was always noteworthy when I wasn't. 2002 was the other notable outlier. That summer, the job had improved, my social life had improved, and the music was mostly worse, but what remained was my HBO. I'd begun an ill-fated rental arrangement at a property in TV Snobbery by that time (I've since reclaimed a spot in a good part of Mass Culture Town), and HBO was pretty much the only thing I was watching (or at last admitting to liking). Oz had gotten ridiculous, Sopranos had ascended to the rarified heights of transcendent television, I was giving every HBO program three weeks to impress me (why else would I have possibly seen so many episodes of Sex and the City?), and a new "gritty" crime drama was debuting. That drama was The Wire.

When it premiered, The Wire was a relative mystery. I knew that it was set in Baltimore, that it was about drug dealers, and that it had an attractive logo with a striking font. I wasn't expecting that anything would or could appeal to my racial and social sensibilities as keenly as Oz had, but I also had nothing else to do. So I sat down and watched the first hour.

Honestly, it was a little too slow, its obvious promise betrayed by the excruciatingly deliberate pace and the attention to detail. Immediately, The Wire announced that it would not inflict the quick, blistering burn of a mistake in the kitchen; instead it was the steady, searing heat that really hurts as you get too close to a conflagration. And that was the initial genius of the show: it brought the heat in a way that wasn't obvious, and before you could do anything else, you were immersed in the fire. After three quiet Sunday nights, I was upset about the Gant murder, intrigued by Stringer Bell, and hooked on the greatest television show ever made.

Part of the show's appeal, though, was that no one really knew about it. When I returned to school in the fall of 2002, none of my friends had seen it; few had even heard about it. I'd mention it in passing, but little came of that. And in some ways, I was relieved. The dexterity with which the intricate plot was shepherded along; the visceral sadness engendered by the program's fair, respectful, compassionate treatment of its subjects; the unnerving authenticity of the poverty and moral ambiguities--it was almost too much to endure. I adored and was thankful for The Wire, as it confronted so many of my own emotional conflicts and deeply felt beliefs, but that resonant articulation was an intense experience that ultimately felt draining. Sort of like a million mornings of awful news heralding disturbing political and social frustrations all crammed into one newspaper. But that said, the show was mesmerizing, and, though I am somewhat embarrassed to admit it, I really liked that those of us who loved The Wire were few and far between.

That is no more, of course. The show remains the singular apotheosis of televised entertainment, but the glowing praise that preceded this fourth season sort of ruined the secret-society feel that had grown among the show's fans. This surely is not a bad thing--the widespread accolades emboldened HBO to renew The Wire for a fifth season despite relatively poor ratings--but it is also unmistakably different. Suddenly, The Wire has gone mainstream, and part of my initial devotion--I was a keeper of the truth--has been irretrievably altered. The universal acceptance of the show has also made it difficult to write about it with much originality, as The Wire's merits and methods are now well reported and known. Thus, the absent encomiums about Clay Davis, the missing odes to good police like Lester Freeman, and the limited references to Namond Brice. I just don't know if the other fans aren't already saying all that I might.

Luckily, though, my mans an' 'em are applying the trademarked sublime writing talent and regularly reassuring cultural awareness to this David Simon masterwork. Peep serious game: Heaven and Here. I'll be watching...and reading. Long live Stringer.

And P.S. It will be among the saddest days on record when and if Marlo deads Omar.

What I Did on My Summer Vacation

Tell Stout to holla at him. Tim Grover, too.

Eddy Curry licked his wounds and allegedly got focused.

Just so we're clear, is that Jay-Z focused or Memphis Bleek focused?

Meanwhile, the Nets are taking over New York.

Stephen Colbert Might Get Clapped By Supreme Allah

Or he might spawn the all-time greatest posse cut known to man. Think about the fodder this might provide to the Wu, Rakim, AZ, et al.

Watch this video. Get to the third threat listed. Then read some shit.

Peace, God. We got the king Ruler Zig-Zag-Zig Allah.

Ron Artest Auditions to Be in the Young Gunz

Yup it's only right that the whole block scared; YG'z hooked up with the "Tru Warier" in his hair.

I don't know what's worse: that Ron Artest actually thinks he can have a career as a musician, or that he sounds just as credible as nearly every single State Property-grouped rapper from the Roc. Seriously, tell me that this isn't a Chris and Neef song, replete with the trite tales of opulent partying and the derivative brass sample. Oh Ron, you are endlessly engaging.

I'll let the track speak for itself.

- Ron Artest, "Fever" (Clean)

It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year

The newest Knick gets comfortable laying down, just like his new team.

While some people think that October is exciting because the baseball playoffs start, Michigan State football reliably collapses, and the media gets to write about Brett Favre and Peyton Manning all the fucking time, every real person knows that one single event dominates October like nothing else: NBA training camps open.

The Knicks, secluded in scenic Charleston, open camp tomorrow. Here's the guaranteed-contract roster and Qyntel Woods broken down, loosely, by position:

C Jerome James
C Eddy Curry

PF Renaldo Balkman
PF Channing Frye
PF Malik Rose

SF Jared Jeffries
SF David Lee
SF Quentin Richardson
SF Jalen Rose
SF Qyntel Woods

SG Mardy Collins
SG Jamal Crawford

PG Stephon Marbury
PG Steve Francis
PG Nate Robinson

Now here's the roster broken down by reality:

C Jerome James - Worthless; overpaid; impossible to move; not likely to see much PT
C Eddy Curry - Reliably out of shape; bad heart; bad rebounder

PF Renaldo Balkman - Undersized; said by some to be worst first-rounder ever; see here
PF Channing Frye - A glimmer of hope; needs to rebound more, get more assertive
PF Malik Rose - Will be the team's best citizen; will try, in vain, to guard bigger guys

SF Jared Jeffries - [sarcasm] So glad we signed him, his length, and his potential for only $30 million [/sarcasm]
SF David Lee - See Frye; not an ideal SF, but an active body, at least.
SF Quentin Richardson - Already hurt or at the three-point line or both; not traded yet?
SF Jalen Rose - Still can't believe he plays with Marbury, Francis, Crawford, and Robinson; will tease with talent, have some nice games, wind up disgruntled
SF Qyntel Woods - Actually wasn't so bad when he just played hard and kept canine death matches to minimum

SG Mardy Collins - Get comfortable on the bench; start looking for houses in Europe
SG Jamal Crawford - Will produce some signature moments and lots of bad shots; great talent, limited basketball acumen

PG Stephon Marbury - I'm tired of this; love the sneakers gesture; please trade
PG Steve Francis - Not a real leader; will never have career he should have; please trade
PG Nate Robinson - Andre wants his dunk trophy; a circus attraction; please trade

I can't imagine that you'll be surprised to read that I have secured precisely 0 tickets to watch this team play this coming year. If someone wants to take me, I'm gladly there, as there is nothing like going to the Garden to hang with such an erudite basketball crowd in a City that loves basketball and deserves better. But I can't pay to watch this team; it would be a violation of my conscience. I can't help but love the franchise, either. However I am happy to cut off the money. The Knicks won't get more of my cash until the Dolans and Isiah are gone.

Besides, on a give night, the remote control and League Pass will be much more fun.

Seriously, does anyone think that the Knicks will be significantly improved? What's the starting lineup even? I'd play Steph, Crawford, Jeffries, Frye, and Curry. I'd bench Curry whenever he wasn't hustling for rebounds and playing defense. The focus would be on getting Frye touches all over the floor since he's the only player with an auspicious future. Stephon could do his thing, and I'd give him one last chance to prove that he can win, as he enjoyed playing with a young big man in Phoenix. I don't really have an answer for Crawford--sometimes I love him and sometimes I hate him. He makes too much money to sit, and he isn't scared in crunch time. Lee, Jalen, and the Franchise would be the eight-man rotation; Frye could play center with them on the floor, joined by Q and some "hustle guy" like Rose.

Can you believe what a fucking mess this is, though? Which parts fit together? I guess we'll find out starting tomorrow...

P.S. Gilbert Arenas is fucking awesome.