Beware the Emo. And the Weblogs.

Also funny is that the news report used the song from this parody in its dead-serious report:


(HT: James)

Dick Cheney's Inadvertent Suicide Attempt

Sewing the seeds of his own demise, one horrible idea at a time.

You know how the Taliban allegedly attempted to kill Dick Cheney yesterday? Well, assuming that it's true, is there anyone else who finds that wildly ironic?

If you'll recall, of course, following the foundational moment in the sham presidency with which ill-begotten President Bush has set this country back, the United States retaliated by attacking Afghanistan, suspected home of al Qaeda leader Osama bin Laden and his allies in the ruling Taliban regime. But we still don't know what happened to bin Laden and attention soon wandered as the U.S. looked to wage a superfluous war in Iraq that it now clearly can't win. To wage said war, the government, led by Dick Cheney, lied to the American people and the international community. That's just Cheney's way.

A funny thing has happened as this "war" in Iraq has dragged on: it's sapped resources from elsewhere, notably Afghanistan, the original focus of the U.S.'s anti-terrorism strategy. And while the U.S. has not stabilized Iraq, it also has not, and cannot, stabilize Afghanistan. In fact, things are growing worse and worse there. Both al Qaeda and the Taliban have reconstituted and grown, and there is grave concern that the insufficient troop levels in Afghanistan will impede efforts to establish lasting peace and democracy.

With all of this in mind, isn't it just a little ironic, at least, that Cheney was attacked by the regime that the U.S. originally sought to defeat but ultimately could not because Cheney insisted upon a strategy that diverted resources from where they were supposed to be? And how many people has that stubborn foolishness killed?

What's that Bob Dylan song? "Masters of War"?

Karma 's a bitch, Dick.

Derek Fisher: Among the Few Not Taking Crazy Pills

It's not a mug shot, it's just preparation for his bust in Canton.

So, let me get this straight...

In Major League Baseball, there are no thugs. This is just the Hammurabi code of the good ol' American pastime:


In hockey, there are no thugs. This is just the exciting part of the sport meant to be celebrated:


In the NFL there are no thugs. This and this and this and this and this and THIS are all just isolated incidents for which you can apologize and move on.

But in the NBA, they're all thugs, symbolized by their cornrows and tattoos? There needs to be a dress code? Somehow, THIS can happen and just because it occurred during the same weekend when there was a basketball game going on, it's the NBA's fault? FUCK. THAT. SHIT.

I'm sorry, but that's racism at work. I'm not condoning ignorance, and I am not saying that there can't be violence in sports. I'm not even saying that once you commit a crime you should have to tote around a scarlet letter. But what I am saying is that you can't tell me that the characterization of the NBA, when set in contrast of the characterization of other professional sports, isn't racist.

And no, that's not a new idea. But yes, it bears repeating given that the president of the NBA's Players Association had to go on record defending the league because one dumbfuck football player was being his usual idiotic self.

I get tired of this bullshit.

Music for a Monday: 2007 Blows So Far

Being pictured here means little so far, although it is nice to see Craig Mack

It's been about two months, and things stink. Maybe not overall, but certainly in terms of music. Only one halfway decent album has come out--that Nature Sounds Wu-Tang Clan & Friends: Unreleased joint--and the singles aren't really making this internet go nuts, either. Am I wrong on this? I mean, the people doing best in hip-hop this year are the Jackson 5.

Below are the ten best songs I've heard so far this year. Please send help...

10) Cam'ron, "Curtis"

9) Common ft. Bilal, "Play Your Cards Right"

8) Talib Kweli, "Happy Home"

7) Raekwon ft. Smif-n-Wessun, "I Recall"

6) Craig Mack, "I Heard"

5) Q-Tip, "Move"

4) Jay Dee, "Crushin' (Yeeeeaah!)"

3) Kanye West, "Throw Some D's (Remix)"

2) Havoc, "Leave It Alone"

1) Raekwon, "My Corner"

Starting the Week Off Right

Accessorizing 101: Make sure that your SARS mask matches your shirt and hat.

It's Monday, and that means just one thing for those of us who work: it's time to go back. We've had our weekend off, and we've done exciting things. Things like LSAT homework; like the Reno 911 movie (which was funny); like apartment cleaning; like drooling as we watch our new 40" HD television make sports look like a new invention. We've had our time, and now we have to stop. It's sort of like that one scene underneath the well in Goonies--down here, the weekend, it's our time.

Those of you who live in places without the luxury of world-class public transportation have to pile into your cars. You maybe bring some coffee for the ride. You throw on your favorite music or talk shows, you get pissed off if there's traffic, and you mostly do your own thing until you arrive at your destination. You might think you have it bad--congestion, gas fill-ups, knucklehead drivers, shitty rappers like Pimp C perpetually in the turning lane--but you don't. You aren't treated like livestock.

But we, the New Yorkers and such, we get treated like pigs or cattle. First, we need to trudge off to the subway, hoping that the slop--like the snow that just fell and is destined to melt--doesn't fuck up our work clothes. Then, we have to pile onto these subway platforms that, from what I can piece together, feel like the rafts that you might have taken to America were you a certain 1980s fictional drug kingpin and hip-hop hero. Once on these stuffed islands of misery, we need to worry about a maddening array of horrible people: the self-important ones who don't understand why everyone else can't see that their needs trump all other considerations; the oblivious ones who do things like stop short in the middle of the pedestrian stream; the bike riders who seem to enjoy nothing more than ramming their wheels into your legs while you can't see; the Blackberryers who walk into things as they slavishly peer down at a device that can't even work underground; schoolchildren on field trips with insufficient supervision and teachers who think it's cute that the kids are screaming and narrowly avoiding death. And, we never know when some homeless might shove one of us onto the tracks, so we also have to watch our backs at all times. It's glorious.

Conditions don't get much better once we are on the trains. And that's only when we can actually make it on. No passenger can take for granted that he or she will actually make it onto a subway car once the doors open, as the train frequency is unreliable and seemingly every car shows up jam packed. If you're lucky enough to elbow some elderly woman into submission and contort your body so that you can fit in between her, the dude with terrible breath who's exhaling in your face, and the pissed off kid who only wants to make out with his girlfriend and will scowl for the entire ride if you step on his sneakers, you are treated to a herky-jerky ride of awkward lunges, uncomfortable distributions of weight, and the off chance that you will pull someone's hair as you wildly grasp for something on the way toward the floor if the train stops short.

Given that this is what we're working with, I wanted to take a moment on this Monday to make a simple request of the assorted Asians around New York who wear surgical masks as they ride the subway: PLEASE STOP. The ride is already a pain in the ass and those masks aren't helping.

To be fair, it might not just be Asian people, and I suspect that it has more to do with being crazy than being Asian (this would lend credence to my first caveat, that this might be a universal practice among crazies, and not regional or cultural thing), but I have yet to come across a non-Asian in a surgical mask on the subway, so I am left to rely on the generalizations culled from my own anecdotal experience. Anyway...

STOP. It freaks me out. I mean, what is the point? Are you afraid of catching something? Are you afraid of giving me something? Is it one of those annoying supposed-to-be-funny-in-its-irony fashion trends? Regardless, just don't do it. If you don't want to catch something, I can sympathize, but the masks are likely ineffective and just ratchet up the tension level. I mean, when people see those masks, they think of SARS or disaster movies and get anxious. And if you don't want to communicate something, I'd feel better if you would just stay home or quarantined until it was all cleared up. Again, that mask isn't engendering much confidence. Please consider all this. Thanks.

That's all. Enjoy Monday.

FD Guest Lecture

The fine gentlemen of Free Darko invited me to participate in their community outreach program. My contribution is here.

Some Reading to Fill the Void

As was forewarned last weekend, work + LSAT + other stuff (link coming later?) = a slight decrease in posting frequency. Sorry to drop the ball. I offer partial supplication:

- GLC's answers are hilarious...

- Bill Cosby: More real talk? More unfair judgment?

Music for a Monday on a Wednesday: When They Reminisce Over Themselves

T.R.O.Y.

Most popular entertainment vehicles often attempt to win points by cutting corners. It's why MC Serch strolls around sounding like an idiot on The White Rapper Show each week, "ooh-ooh"-ing and "step off!"-ing and "fall back"-ing his way further and further into the depths of embarrassment. The reality show formula says that you need a reliable gimmick or catch phrase. It's also why you and any of your passed-eighth-grade friends could write an episode of The O.C.; why you can complete half of Rick Ross's rhymes having never heard them before; and why you know how 80% of the movies that you see are going to end. Originality is dead, imitation is the sustaining vitality of mass culture, and the works of art that aren't wholly derivative stand out, often seeming greater than they might actually be.

I saw Breach over the weekend and really enjoyed it, overcoming my initial instinct that it would be contrived. There's a scene in the movie in which Chris Cooper asks Ryan Phillippe to say five things about himself, four truths and one lie. I am sure that you've seen its set-up in the coming attraction. Again, I originally suspected that the scene would be some cheesy, transparent plot device or an erroneous component thrown in purely to create some sort of synthetic resonance among the audience. But it wasn't, and the movie's quality led me to reflect upon that scene as I was taking a stroll through my iTunes catalogue last evening.

If we were to play the Breach game and limited the parameters of response to songs on my computer, I'd give you this:

Common, "Be"
Theme, "Hair Bear Bunch"
Theme, "Danger Mouse"
Earth, Wind, & Fire, "Reasons"
Glen Yarbrough, "The Greatest Adventure"

And if you read this blog on the regular, you'd assume that I was lying about one of songs two through five. But you'd be wrong, in part because I accidentally deleted "Be" and in larger part because I am hopelessly nostalgic.



I do well at my job; I have adult relationships; I study for the LSAT; and if you met me on the street while I was in a tie and jacket, you wouldn't think I was anything other than one of the millions of twenty-somethings trying to make a dollar out of a dime and a nickel. (Although, to be fair, this might also make me Shock G, the one who put the satin on your panties.) But yet, I commonly identify 12-year-olds as my peer group only half-jokingly, not because I am obsessed with sexual innuendo, struggle with puberty, and dream of becoming a teenager, but because I think I was really happy as a 12-year-old and a part of me hasn't stopped acting that age. Which is not to say that I am unhappy now, but man, I had it made when I was that old. Back then, I watched SportsCenter (when it was still emerging as a cultural force and long before it became unwatchable) multiple times per day, caught "Pop That Coochie" on The Box in the morning with my dad seemingly all the time, offered daily NBA recaps to start off what would have been homeroom had my school been a traditional place, started at the point on the basketball team, had a girlfriend, stayed up as late as I wanted, ate whatever I wanted, did well in school, didn't catch any grief for my quirks, and internalized the shit out of just about everything pop culture.

Only somewhat consciously, I haven't really surrendered everything from a time when I was happy to spend a day home from school reading the newspaper and watching cartoon after cartoon. I think that back then, as is still the case now, I thought that curiosity was a cool thing and experienced no shame if I decided that I wanted to not only know the difference between the Herculoids and the Centurions but also to memorize their respective theme songs. I still like knowing that stuff, and I still have those theme songs on my computer.

I will admit it: I was and still am a colossal dork. But I was and still am happy being that dork. And no matter what it is that we all, respectively, are, we're inclined fairly strongly to hang onto those identities if they make us comfortable. Perhaps we might gain some perspective as we grow older; I can't watch Voltron beyond the opening theme because it's too slow and simple. But while recognizing the limitations of our old routines and habits, we can still appreciate how much joy we derived from them.

The human need for a comfort zone--whatever shape it may take or conditions it may require--is seen nearly everywhere. And it's presence in hip-hop music was something of which I was reminded last week during Oh Word's excellent rap music retrospective week. One of the highlighted songs was Raekwon and Ghostface's "C.R.E.A.M. 2001," a song that never did much for me, in part because I resented that Rae and Ghost would so willingly exploit their greatness as they, at the time, floundered about. But upon revisiting the track, it reminded me of both how fleeting rap success can be and how hard it is for artists to cope.



Think about how commonly the rhetoric of our established favorites invokes the seemingly universal urge to "take it back" or "bring it back," a tacit if not obvious admission that whatever was done in the first place was better than what's been done more recently. Common, Dr. Dre, the whole Wu-Tang, Snoop Dogg--all of these artists have professed such a desire. And those are the dudes who are being honest. Then there are the producers--like Kanye, Pete Rock, Premier, whomever--who want to help our favorite rappers recapture a theoretically lost sound, a presumptuous notion that fans invariably embrace because of the underlying veracity. Mobb Deep and the hype surrounding Blood Money were further proof of both how hard it is to replicate success and how deeply we yearn both for the innate qualities of the original aesthetic and the feelings we have attached to those earlier works. The Infamous remains a seminal record as good today as it was when it first dropped, but it has now inherited a melancholy remorse that we project onto the album given that it no longer is a rap manifesto whose consequences we anticipate with glee.

This collective sentimentality is often expressed through the introspective (and sometimes vain) "remember this?" track, with our favorite MCs digging in their own crates to bring back the classic material that earned them praise, all the while hoping to divine inspiration and, if nothing else, offer a temporary solution for a serial problem: Three years after Midnight Marauders, as the Ummah was emerging as the guiding creative force behind A Tribe Called Quest, Tribe gave us both "The Pressure" and "1nce Again," two tracks that, when framed by history, seem indicative of the group's growing internal strife. And they were sequenced back to back, no less.

How did MC Ren open Kizz My Black Azz, his first EP after the NWA break up? By sampling lines from NWA's "Always Into Something" and Eazy-E's "Ruthless Villain."



When Snoop "came back" with Paid Tha Cost to Be Da Boss, the track that served as everything but a formal announcement that he was leaving behind those late-90s years of wayward record making was Premier's "The One and Only," a montage of Snoop's greatest hits.

To call out Baatin and help salvage Slum Village, S Villa got Dilla on the track and made "Reunion."

And we could go on and on. I mean, we haven't even gotten to the many times rappers have attempted to remake their own hits. But the point is that hip-hop regularly provides us with an audible demonstration of the nostalgia-driven search that just about all people undertake as they seek comfort. And really, is grasping at that one old single that you put out ten years ago all that different from summoning a smile by throwing on the theme song from Fat Albert?

Hey hey hey!

- MC Ren, "Intro (Check It Out Y'all)"

- A Tribe Called Quest, "1nce Again"

- Slum Village, "Reunion"

- Snoop Dogg, "The One and Only"

2007 NBA All-Star Weekend: "All Things Through Christ"

The judges were mad because Dwight was stylin' on them.

Reflecting on past writings, it occurred to me that many of the observations I might have shared about the splendor that transpired in Vegas over the weekend are the kinds of things I've said in the past or the sort that I offer as a matter of course during the everyday happenings of Straight Bangin'. I mean, you all know that I love TMac; that Eva Longoria is probably on NBA-sanctioned television more than the Grizzlies; and that few things make me smile as widely as Craig Sager or Jim Gray cluelessly interviewing no-internets Dirk Nowitzki. So we probably need not cover all of that again. Instead, I thought I might pass on some assorted thoughts from the weekend, roughly broken out by evening.

Friday Night

Yes, I know that this is a picture from Sunday. Shut it.

Friday night was special for three reasons: it gave us our first glimpse of the horror that passes for glamour in Las Vegas; it showcased the future of PG play in the NBA; and it offered further clarity regarding the WNBA's place in the universe.

- First of all: Wayne Newton is not street legal. That crazy skin; those Smokey Robinson eyes; the blinding teeth; the head that looks nothing like the body--unfortunately displayed thanks to a few too many loose buttons--to which it is attached! It was a horror show. Almost literally. I thought that I was watching a dramatization of Christopher Moltisanti's idea for that slasher-flick-meets-Scarface movie about the posthumous killer raised from the dead and composed of odd body parts. That man runs Vegas, making women lose their shit and commanding respect from nearly everyone? I would be worried about hanging out with him and having to hook him up to whatever way-back machine he's concocted on his ranch. When everyone's done investigating Anna Nicole Smith's demise and Britney Spears's hair, might I suggest that they shift their attention to Wayne Newton and the weird science upon which he's stumbled?

And don't even get me going about the bullshit he pulled at the actual All-Star game. He honors James Brown, Elvis, and the entire NBA nation by mouthing the words to a bunch of boring songs? He should be as embarrassed as Lloyd Carr should have been after this year's Rose Bowl debacle. And the NBA should stick to what works--teen R&B sensations. OK, maybe not.


Easily the all-time greatest dunker among players who look 15 and malnourished.

- The real attraction on Friday was the Sophomores Put a Beatdown on the Rookies Challenge. And the true highlight of the event was how thoroughly dominant Chris Paul and Deron Williams were. All-star games can't ever be taken as fully reliable indications of any underlying basketball truths, but at the same time, they are little more than high-level pickup games, and in that sort of setting, skills are skills, and that's what wins out. Playing with guys whom they don't commonly set up (save for Williams's Illini connection with Luther Head), Paul and Williams were dazzling. Paul, in particular, embodied the elegant simplicity of basketball's aesthetic and emotional appeals. Everything he did was effortless, and his passing, shooting, dribbling, and penetrating all were testaments to his mastery of such exceptional skills. As Jason Kidd and Steve Nash grow older and begin to falter, Paul and Williams will ensure that there is no shortage of standout point guard play.

I think we should also note that amidst the questions about his passion for competition, the self-congratulatory tone writers have affected following Shane Battier's important contribution to the Rockets, and concerns about his indefinite position, Rudy Gay's incredible physical traits went largely ignored. In the last month, as he's gotten more shine, we've been reminded of his promise, but watching him ferociously throw down dunks on Friday with his pterodactyl arms was refreshing and exciting and all that. If he puts his whole game together and remains focused, there won't be a perimeter defender who will be able to shut him down. If he wants to be that player to begin with.

- Also amusing, though for a different reason, was watching WNBA players participate in that horrible, cheesy, affront of an event that they call the Celebrity Game. I think it's cool that the WNBA players are a part of the Shooting Stars competition, but asking them to rebound Bow Wow's misses and run the point with Carrot Top (who is basically famous for being hated, not funny, and oddly jacked) is a tad belittling, no? I mean, we're supposed to take these women seriously and respect them as basketball professional, right? It's not like we ask female lawyers from big-time law firms to compete in high-school mock trial. Just something for the League to keep in mind when it crams WNBA ads down our throats in April and May.

- P.S. Kenny Smith, Murs, Just Blaze, Ne-Yo, and Craig Sager. In no other sport do these people appear on television together to talk about partying. Throw this nugget on top of the mountainous pile of reasons why the NBA rules.

- P.P.S. One more reason: Neither Jim Nantz nor Billy Packer nor Digger Phelps nor Joe Buck nor Tim McCarver nor Lou Holtz had anything to do with this weekend. Jyeah!

Saturday Night

Having seen him shoot now, does it make you feel better or worse that Bill Laimbeer used to kill teams? Despite the vast catalogue of Knicks killers from which I can choose, I still vote for worse.

- Despite that one woman from San Antonio, the women were sonning the men on their jump shooting from spots within or at the three-point line. Just an observation. Also: Scottie looked silly, at 41, in that headband. He sounded even sillier in this story. I know where he's coming from, but even I can't defend this.


If you've gotten to this point, you already know how I feel about Mr. Paul.

This event was fun, in part, because it was a cute little microcosm for the NBA's pecking order: Dwyane and Kobe succeeding while LeBron, despite the hype, just doesn't get it done.

A surprising personal theme that emerged throughout the weekend was how tired I am growing of Mr. James. I am nearly shocked by this, as I relish his talents and very much would like to invest myself in the mythology that would arise in the wake of his success. I even like his commercials. But a part of me finds that celebrating James feels inauthentic. Much of that is not his fault and is instead indicative of my own skewed perspective as a fan: he has not won like Kobe and Wade and he does not consistently play with the same manifest ferocity displayed by Kobe and Wade. I can't help but find that off-putting. And that's not to say that a player must win a title to be attractive or that James is passive and invested in winning to a lesser degree. As we saw in last year's playoffs, he will go to the basket relentlessly when it matters. And as Doug Collins mentioned on Sunday, he has hit free throws when it matters as recently as last week. He tries. But absent the seemingly immutable validation earned among many basketball fans upon winning a championship (or even a playoff series that you shouldn't), the LeBron schtick--everything from his style on the court to that off of it--is somewhat less compelling. I regret feeling this way, but that's how it seems right now. Maybe that will change come the playoffs.


So good.

P.P.P.S. This.


This week's sign that the Apocalypse is upon us.

- Jason Kapono has actually won something in the NBA primarily through his own efforts? What?

Everyone falls over themselves to complain about the dunk contest and pronounce it dead. I sort of feel the same way about the three-point shooting. I very much like seeing the skill shown off--I think it becomes easy to take for granted just how skilled one has to be to shoot at the level that NBA guys can. But this event always lacks real drama and a more engaging human component. I'd like to see challenge matches among the best shooters; a variety of skills tested (like coming off screens, pulling up, etc.); some kind of gimmick round like Shaq and Mark Cuban playing HORSE--something more than what we now get. It's a little stale, no? Especially since, like the dunk contest, the field is not filled out with the best of the best. I know that Damon Jones is a specialist and all that, but I'd rather see Dirk and Arenas and Ray Ray and Michael Redd and all them instead of newjack Craig Hodges wannabes.


Doesn't he sort of look like Juvenile sometimes?

- So, as was well-stated here and here, Dwight Howard was robbed. You can watch the video above for further confirmation. That dunk jump was just amazing. And, it's not like it doesn't take coordination to hit that sticker onto the board at the apex of the jump and still flush that lob pass with authority and style. The judges should be ashamed of themselves. Especially Michael Jordan, who was giving out wack grades all night. I wasn't especially impressed by anything other than the Jesus Is Awesome sticker dunk--Iguodala's dunk from behind the backboard last year was nicer than anything anyone not named Howard did last year or this year--but still, Michael, even when doing so subtly, always has to make everything about him. Excluding those who have killed their ex-wives or committed other horrible acts, is there a single athlete who has become any less likable than Michael has since he retired? It's really disappointing. He's this quasi-sour, humorless asshole with a gambling problem and a tremendous ego. What a hero. (But yes, dude could play. Of course.)

- Can we please ban Nate Robinson from the NBA? If not, how about the dunk contest? His gimmick was played out before he even seized upon it; he does very little to help his team win real basketball games; and he still can't even properly execute the one thing--dunking in contests--he's known for. I was much happier seeing David Lee throw down eight times on Friday than I was seeing Robinson need about eight attempts to throw down once on Saturday. He's tedious.

Sunday Night

I think people overlook how good Ray Allen is.

- Is there really much to say about this game? The East was terrible (especially Jermaine O'Neal); Kobe was awesome; the West had better players; and Tim Duncan was hilarious on the bench when he complained about not being able to jump. Overall, an enjoyable but not particularly dazzling (or memorable) game. I felt good for Shawn Marion, who played well and affirmed that he belongs. I also felt good for Carmelo, who looked great taking those jumpers from the wing and whose finishes on the break betrayed our tendency to ignore his athleticism.

So that was it, another iteration of one of sports' great spectacles. I leave you with this:


Excuse him while he kisses the, um, rim.

The Terrible Twos Arrive for Straight Bangin'

I told you that there would be balloons.

On February 17, 2005, Straight Bangin' was born, a sometimes well-written mixture of hip-hop enthusiasm, basketball obsession, political fervor, Michigan alumnus pride, opinionated daily observation, and a burning sense of hateration. It was initially a project meant to alleviate boredom and offer catharsis, but as is fitting given that blogging falls within the classification of "social media," Straight Bangin' really became a place where I could engage in the conversations for which I was searching. It's been a wonderful, challenging, edifying process.

And so, as the Bangin' pushes past the 700-post mark (we're now at 711) and celebrates its second birthday, I wanted to take a moment to thank everyone who comes to this site and visits with me. I would not be writing this interweb were it not so rewarding, and it would not be rewarding were it not for all of you. From bloggers to regular commenters to the people who only just pop in once and while to offer agreement or call foul, you all make this happen. So thank you.

And now, back to the regularly scheduled complaining...

WTF?

NBA News That Makes You Shake Your Head

My man!

Remember when Nike had that Swingman series and made jerseys for just about any marketable player who played the 2, 3, or 4? They did Kobe, TMac, Pierce, Garnett, and so forth. Well, it was a misappropriation of the term, but a nonetheless well-intentioned idea, because the swingman is surely worthy of celebration. I make no secret of my preference for Tracy McGrady above all other players, but much of what I love about TMac was born of my love affair with Scottie Pippen, the archetypal contemporary swingman and my favorite player of all time. He wasn't the best player, and he wasn't without his flaws, but those shortcomings only enhanced his standing as a flawed hero for whom I could root.

And so it was with great ambivalence that I read that Scottie wants back into the L. It would be great to see the Scottie of the one-man zone defense; the Scottie of the nonchalant clutch three; the Scottie of the fluid finish on the break only outdone by James Worthy; the Scottie of the point-forward in the triangle. But that's not the Scottie that's gonna come back. We'll see the Scottie who can't move as well, can't jump as well, and can't play as well. And he'll get hurt early on. And then we'll all be reminded of when Michael came back. And it will be sad.

- Wow, this divorce is gonna be ugly. I mean, wow. Read those allegations--sex with strippers; children across the country; hitting with a baseball bat; taunting your wife while she's crying. Lends credence to the notion that the Nets might not want the distraction.

Get Ready

"Cat's just sick/The dog got his swagger back"

Much like your favorite NBA team, you'll get nothing from me today, as I am off for the All-Star Break. Sort of. I'll be taking in all of the glorious festivities from one of the five best weekends of the year. It will then all get exhaustively discussed on Monday, when I won't be working and will have nothing to do but gush about how much I love NBA All-Star Weekend. In this instance, I will let past performance be indicative of future results:

- 2005 wrap up, parts one and two
- 2006 omnibus wrap up

Two other scheduling notes, collectively bittersweet: This Saturday (tomorrow) marks the two-year anniversary of Straight Bangin'. There will be balloons. And this weekend also marks the beginning of an LSAT prep course, so posting may become a little less regular in the next few months as I try to slay that exam. I hope you'll understand.

To offer some modicum of consolation as you grapple with what must be crushing sadness in the wake of my second scheduling disclosure, let's ride out into the weekend with a classic game of Name That Sample (no looking, these aren't too hard):

- Abba, "The Name of the Game"

- Gil Scott-Heron, "We Almost Lost Detroit"

- Solomon Burke, "Cool Breeze"

- Five Stairsteps, "Danger, She's a Stranger"

- Bootsy Collins, "I'd Rather Be with You"

Great Figures in the History of Stupidity: Tim Hardaway

What do you mean he's gay? Aw, hell no!

You know, at Straight Bangin' the editorial policy is pretty clear: Damn near any topic is up for discussion, and a diversity of viewpoints will be considered (even if the opposing views aren't endorsed), but you will get lit up if you're peddling stupidity and bigotry. It happened just last week. And it's gonna happen again right now because Tim Hardaway is one ignorant-ass motherfucker.

This is what he told Dan Le Batard yesterday (I've added the emphasis):

"You know, I hate gay people, so I let it be known," Hardaway said. "I don't like gay people and I don't like to be around gay people. I am homophobic. I don't like it. It shouldn't be in the world or in the United States."

Hardaway was a guest of Miami Herald columnist Dan Le Betard on the Miami radio show Sports Talk 790 and was asked how he would deal with a gay teammate. When asked if he would accept an active player's coming out, such as that of retired NBA center John Amaechi, Hardaway replied: "First of all, I wouldn't want him on my team.

"And second of all, if he was on my team, I would, you know, really distance myself from him because, uh, I don't think that's right. And you know I don't think he should be in the locker room while we're in the locker room. I wouldn't even be a part of that," he said.

I'm very confused by this. Let me take this line by line:

- "You know, I hate gay people, so I let it be known."
Why?

Hate?

Really?

And, what the fuck is "let it be known"? Who was even waiting? Is that some kind of a policy statement that you issue upon entering a room, meeting new people, and serving on a jury? Is it on your business card? Should it go in your obituary--"Hardaway, who never won shit and won't be in the Hall of Fame, hated gay people."

- "I don't like gay people and I don't like to be around gay people. I am homophobic. I don't like it."
How do you think Hardaway would feel if someone said, "I don't like black people and I don't like to be around black people. I am a racist. I don't like them"?

- "It shouldn't be in the world or in the United States."
Only a Republican would consider the United States to not be part of the world. And, in fact, the most prominent one in the country doesn't even support gay rights, so actually, that sort of makes sense.

- "And second of all, if he was on my team, I would, you know, really distance myself from him because, uh, I don't think that's right."
No, I don't know. I'm not a moron.

- "And you know I don't think he should be in the locker room while we're in the locker room. I wouldn't even be a part of that."
This whole "I wouldn't want a gay man looking at me" routine is amazingly offensive, asinine, and arrogant. It's not like a gay person is on the prowl after every game hopelessly enslaved by an insatiable sexual appetite. If we've learned anything from pro sports, it's that many of the straight guys seem to struggle with that problem, and the responsibility that comes with it. And, no gay player is there as a diplomatic emissary--he's not trying to recruit, or on some kind of a predatory sex mission. He just played ball and wants to shower then leave, just like everyone else. Plus, who says Tim Hardaway is anything to look at to begin with? If any NBA dudes were hoping to fraternize at the workplace, I'm sure that a man who won the Frances Pomeroy Naismith Award in college for being so good while just six feet or less would probably be deemed to be too short.

But don't worry, Tim apologized. Sort of:

"Yes, I regret it. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said I hate gay people or anything like that. That was my mistake."

Yeah, I shouldn't have said it. I was thinking it, but I didn't mean to say it.

Tim Hardaway is a fool. I always did hate those Heat teams.

Peep Game on the Reg with No Problemo

I invite all readers to regularly take a stroll through the blogroll on the left. It's got new additions, and you won't want for entertainment or stimulation.

A Brief Catalogue of Basketball Women

This is a family website, albeit a profane one. None of those Vida pictures here. Sorry.

(Editor's Note: This post was the product of a provocative question posed by Shoals over at FreeDarko, where a collection of excellent writers have shared thoughts of the same general concept.)

The ultimate heterosexual male fantasy likely involves warm weather, two women who look and act like Vida Guerra, and kosher-lawyer paper. But after that, I think most straight men--especially those of us who have come to the perhaps sad conclusion that Vida, let alone two of her, is not in our future--fantasize about the elusive female who, while meeting other criteria that vary by fantasy owner, will simultaneously "know about" sports but won't be annoying in her wisdom. It's when I, perpetually single, make these nuanced distinctions that my friends start to roll their eyes, but that's the truth.

It's a tough search, finding this ideal female companion, because most women seem to fall into three basketball-watching categories: there are those who don't do it and care that you are; those who don't do it and don't care; and those who do care and need to prove it. None of them is ideal.

In college, I dated a girl who fell into the first category. She was from Minnesota and wasn't sure if Kevin Garnett played for the Timberwolves or the Twins. In patronizing fashion, she thought it was "cute" that on any given day, there were a number of games I wanted to watch, and she would quickly retreat to her computer--pissed off that something else was commanding my attention--to look at pictures of tigers (don't ask) when I'd let the TV settle on TNT. I tried hard with her, even taking her to Crisler Arena to watch Jamal Crawford drop a 30 on Duke before his Michigan tenure was cut short, but she seemed most taken with just how ugly those third-color black-and-blue Duke uniforms were. That relationship was not long for this world, not least of all because her refusal to even try basketball necessarily forced me to act like someone who I wasn't. Compromise is one thing, but inauthentic overhaul is another, and the latter, as I've painfully learned, is not for me.

Someone from the second category is not much better than someone from the first. Sure, you can spend more time watching basketball without the uncomfortable weight of her obvious displeasure, but there's a fatal opportunity cost that you incur as you indulge your passion--she's off doing her thing and investing in something else while you're watching lots and lots of games. That doesn't really scream out happiness. Even worse, when you reconvene for a shared activity or even just a conversation, it's kind of awkward, as you've knowingly just de-prioritized her in lieu of men whom you'll never even meet.

Ideally, it would be nice to date someone with whom you could share interests. You're not ever going to pursue all passions to equal extents, but in this case, it would be nice if you could help a girlfriend cultivate an interest in basketball that at least complemented your own. You know, sitting on the couch, arm around her, making jokes at Mike Dunleavy's expense or mutually enjoying a Tracy McGrady finish with the left hand. It's the same way I might get into soccer a little if that were her thing. Or maybe I'd try a new book that she'd raved about (so long as it weren't Bronte-style fiction). If nothing else, getting her to watch basketball would make it much easier for her to understand why I was in such a bad mood on a given Saturday after UConn had pissed away a lead against some dramatically less talented team.

At the opposite end of the spectrum, though, is the basketball-inclined woman who internalized the male longing for a sports-conversant companion and emerged as a dangerous cocktail of roundball erudition: two parts authentic interest, one part desire to fill a void. This is the woman who is into basketball but needs to prove that not only does she follow it, but that she can follow it like you do. She's the one who recites statistics that might not mean much but get easily trotted out; who passes off ideas and opinions culled from ESPN.com as though you won't recognize the source material; who picks out a favorite player for seemingly arbitrary or hard-to-believe reasons and then champions him to no end. She might even talk over the play-by-play at critical times just because she is so intent on demonstrating how much she knows. I think we all know the type, and it's a disaster.

Having met all three kinds of woman, I have to say that the fantasy date--someone who isn't from the first category, is more receptive than a girl from the second, and has a greater sense of individual worth than one from the third--appears fairly elusive. However, I hold out hope, fueled by a familiar anecdote: When my parents, now happily married for more than 30 years, first went out, my father took my mother to a high-school tripleheader at Madison Square Garden. That seems to have worked, so love and basketball are clearly not mutually exclusive. And besides, I can always move to Miami and go to law school. Those are the easy parts.

Happy Valentine's Day, Vida.

- Lenny Williams, "Cause I Love You"

The Loathing and Loving of Kobe Bryant

The most complicated player in this lig.

Perception defines reality on hip-hop radio more so than anywhere else in the world. You say that 50 Cent is a manipulative Connecticut thug whose best days as a rapper are behind him? Not on hip-hop radio, a realm in which he remains the leading figure in the pathetic rap narrative of endless conflict and hyper-masculinity, appearing every six months or so to stoke the flames of phony beef. The bluster and bravado are currency with a hip-hop audience that willingly venerates the mindless. I mean, how else would an ignorant racist like Miss Jones still have a job? How else might we explain the excitement generated by the school-girl radio rivalries that do little more than sell mixtapes and heat up the Summer Jam screen? It's unfortunate, really, that the court of public opinion convened on the radio is governed by such a twisted notion of jurisprudence because it ultimately allows for a myopic sense of justice and rewards that which is so obviously deleterious. And no contemporary elite basketball player has suffered from being measured within this distorted value system more so than Kobe Bryant.

At some point, aided by the limited ways in which black people are portrayed in popular culture and the vestigial racial misapprehensions born of this nation's ugly racial climate, the Hot 97 hip-hop modality became a cultural synonym for blackness. Though surely a dangerous mischaracterization that neglects reality, the hip-hop culture of hip-hop radio is readily identified as a black culture. Similarly, the NBA is seen as a black league, thanks primarily to the racial composition of the NBA's rosters and also to the urban roots of basketball. (Black and urban, of course, became sad, frequent synonyms following World War II when government policies and latent racism built the suburbs and fostered pronounced residential segregation.) Through some kind of odd, lived transitive property, the NBA and hip-hop-radio hip-hop became forever intertwined, mapping the value system of hip-hop radio onto the NBA, though not to a full extent.

Kobe Bryant was not made for the radio. He grew up first in Italy and then in Affluent America; his origin story is not easily sited within the parameters we commonly envision for the black basketball star; and nothing about him is street. He went to a great high school and would have gone to a great (white) college had he not been a preternatural talent. If someone like Darius Miles was the Lox, Kobe was YBT, and as a result, he had no chance.


On Hot 97, he'd probably get dapped up for "keeping it real" and punching a trick in the stomach.

Predictably, Kobe didn't start out as a hip-hop favorite. Sure, people had his jerseys and were intrigued by the potential of tethering their fan identity to a straight-to-the-league player who might score like Mike, but Kobe never captured the hip-hop hearts and minds in the way that Allen Iverson did. Or Stephon, TMac, LeBron, and so many others. And as is often the case, what started in hip-hop became a mainstream phenomenon. So it was that while Kobe's talent made him nearly irresistible to some extent--he quickly emerged as the player about whom you said, "He's a great player, but..."--the mainstream learned that it was OK to hate Kobe, given his absent street bonafides, and, even better, the obvious flaws that stuck out to basketball fans. With each shot over a triple team; every forsaken pass; the cavalcade of camera shots showing an exasperated Shaquille O'Neal; and forced air balls that lost playoff games, the certainty of his ethereal inadequacy was further cemented.

Back in the radio realm, Kobe's misguided rap fantasies and orchestrated mean mugging made him that much more inauthentic, a charlatan who would never be of that place. His personal ascendancy and the triumph of the Lakers did little to dissipate the disdain, and no moment better captured the pervasive ambivalence towards Kobe than the MVP ceremony that followed the 2002 NBA all-star game. We celebrated him for the might of his skills and the sublime method through which he wielded them, and yet it was so maddening to recognize the positives of a person who was so widely disliked that he was mercilessly booed in living rooms around the country and, most notably, throughout the building in his supposed hometown.


Address me as Mister!

Even that moment was not Kobe's nadir, though. By the time the most recent iteration of a Lakers dynasty ended, Kobe was a non-entity on hip-hop radio. His credibility was undetectable. And in the mainstream, he was cast as a great player but impossible teammate who seemed to happily play the roles of aloof loner, locker room cancer, and brooding megalomaniac. There is perhaps no greater referendum on Bryant's excellence than the fact that when measured with traditional metrics such as jersey sales and all-star votes, he remained wildly popular while so many basketball fans, basketball writers, and culture critics detected, if not espoused, a palpable aversion toward the man.

The Kobe haters were sickly validated on July 18, 2003 when Bryant was charged with rape. I know because I was one of them. Rape was not a crime anyone condoned or from which anyone derived happiness, but to witness Kobe suffer was gratifying because it seemed to be karmic affirmation of the festering collective antipathy. He even came back with tattoos, which were taken as another pathetic attempt to adhere to the archetypes laid out for basketball players by the prevailing hip-hop culture. That Kobe became the punch line in several rap songs was both unsurprising and a strong reminder of how he was perceived on hip-hop radio.


Everyone's got jokes.

The episode of alleged criminality hung over Kobe, cost him endorsement deals, and resulted in the unfortunate circumstance of the lig's best player being ostracized at all times, subtly if not explicitly. Following the breakup of the Lakers and Phil's not-yet-retracted insistence that Bryant was uncoachable and far too difficult, Kobe was effectively left for dead. A good run had ended and it was Kobe's fault; Shaq was gone and anointed the winner of their feud; Bryant's reputation as a stoic gunner remained; and the prospects of team-based success were said to be bleak given the roster and the presumption that Kobe was a problem teammate.

Following his Tiger-Slam era of dominance, Tiger Woods embarked upon a lengthy swing revamp that didn't make sense to most people. He was already wildly successful, no one could stay with him...and he was gonna make changes? He dumped his old coach and started not winning. This led to howls that he had made some bad choices and needed to get back to what he had been doing. The public had no clue regarding what was going on, and Woods, a private guy, was happy to ignore the confusion and criticism. Now that he's riding a seven-tournament PGA winning streak and has captured the last two majors, people have shut up and are back to calling him the greatest ever and projecting that he'll win twenty majors. Sometimes, our sports heroes need to do what they think is best and heal themselves as they see fit. That's what Kobe did.


See the above caption.

He came back as Black Mamba, a player with a seeming scoring fury and a burning passion to win. He was darker and even more potent than before, his intentions almost ominous. Journalists seized upon the nickname and Kobe's style, creating a season-long orgy of conjecture that emerged as a cocktail of breathless appreciation of his talent, jokes that grew stale, and common wisdom that was often nothing more than laziness sometimes rewarded. Some were surprised that the Lakers made the playoffs while others viewed it as destiny realized for a team led by such a singular talent. No one seemed to have a definitive feel for the Black Mamba, whose motivations were always subject to speculation. Kobe was changing his swing and not letting anyone in on the process.



Given Bryant's serial evasion of total comprehension, it is only natural (and even fitting) that something unexpected has now grown out of the seed planted during last year's campaign of transformation. Kobe's preeminent ability taken in concert with the success of the Lakers, the direction in which they appear to be headed, and the improvement of his teammates has begun to recast KB824 as something different, something better. No longer unapproachable and selfish, he's become a gallant figure whose scoring is generally placed within the context of Bryant's desire to win through any possible means. Particularly notable outbursts of scoring are testaments to his talent, not manifestations of his narcissism. And people are even writing about the improved rapport he's fostered on a young team. His skills are no longer assailed as the traits of a stubborn individual, and his image has been slowly repaired, most symbolically by his placement adjacent to LeBron at the center of Nike's basketball future.

But to truly understand the altered perception of Kobe, one must turn on the radio in order to receive ultimate judgment: He's among the featured players promoted on Hot 97's all-star weekend giveaway. That's a credibility he was not supposed to enjoy.


See, he can play with others.

Who Knows What Goodies Lie Here?

Did a favor for a friend and wound up with this. Clickity click.

Also, peep my Dork grind here.

A Must-Watch Video

Supernegro posted a video that you must watch.

White people!

Music for a Monday: Navel Gazing Edition

Well, aren't we all talking about ourselves a lot...

- Kanye West, Nas, KRS-One, and Rakim, "Classic (Nike Remix)"
Don't know if this is new, but I hadn't heard it. Kanye, Nas, KRS, and Rakim all tell you how famous and successful they are; they offer history lessons and proscriptive raps; and the beat takes a back seat to the lecture at hand. Not anyone's strongest verse, but an easy listen.

- Little Brother, Never Leave"
If you are already tired of Little Brother, this won't do much to change your opinion. Rapping over the beat you might recall from Bronze Nazareth's "Detroit," Phonte flips the jargon of coke rap, co-opting it for a donut day-in-the-life narrative while Pooh does Pooh stuff.

2007 Grammys and Democratic National Convention

Why is this person recording an album? And will it sound like a man is singing?

Ghostface was nowhere to be seen. Chris Brown might as well have been Michael Jackson. Yung Joc could have been killed and no one would have really noticed. And the closest Young Jeezy got to an award was being on the same label as Ludacris.

All in all, your favorite bloggers' favorite rappers and favorite objects of hate had nothing to do with the Grammys, either reinforcing that blogging doesn't really matter (yet) or that there's a little too much cooler-than-thou ennui circulating in all internet precincts. It likely depends on your perspective. But either way, this year's Grammys also reinforced that the awards might not realy resonate. At least, not with the people I know. In fact, most of my friends--fans of all manner of music--didn't even know that the Grammys were happening, which lends credence to the idea that the spectacle is no longer a trend-setting showcase. If it ever was. And that makes sense, I guess: what else would you expect from a mainstream awards show about mainstream music put together by middle-aged white liberals? They surely thought they were connecting with the kids by featuring Gnarls Barkley.

Regardless of what the Grammys do or don't mean, I still watched, because I always have a good time checking in on what the establishment values; observing the annual love fest held for specific acts who've won the hearts of voters; hearing music I like (and don't); finding fodder for ridicule; and staying up on music. I mean, it's kind of my thing. Below, some assorted musings from the event, sorted by artist in no particular order:

- Jamie Foxx said that "the power of collaboration is hot." I don't really know what that means. And I didn't like his silver dinner jacket.

- What are we to make of Justin Timberlake? I generally don't care for his music; I find him to be inarticulate and mostly vacuous when he speaks; he dresses like he slept in some clothes left over from the "Smooth Criminal" video shoot; and his whole "I will force you to think of me as a black artist while I target white teenagers--see, even my whole backup band is black!" routine gets tedious and irksome. But all that said, the song about Elisha Cuthbert cheating on his friend is pretty good; he showed me something by playing the piano and the guitar; he was super nice to that one girl who won the American Idol Grammy; and he seems to be a pretty spirited, cheerful fellow. I sort of like the person but not the artist, if that makes sense. He's like the musical inverse of Bobby Knight.

- Wow, the people who run the Grammys hate Bush and love the Dixie Chicks for hating him even more. Not that I object. And you also can't front on their We Hate Bush anthem; it's a catchy song. Plus, you have to admire that the Dixie Chicks don't back down and don't care who it pisses off. They have told Bush to fuck himself; Walmart to fuck itself; Nashville to fuck itself--that's awesome. If only Natalie Maines didn't love the spotlight oh so much...

- When the Grammys decide that three artists are winning all the awards, can't it think ahead and cue up more than one song from each album?

- The Black Eyed Peas are a disaster. They are the U2 of non-rock music, always available and never saying no to any opportunity to be somewhere just because. Plus, they're kind of like a bad-dressing, half-Asian, half-black, half-other pan-gender (can't always tell with Fergie) version of the Go-Go's or something. What was Will.i.am wearing on his left ear? An earing from the Murphy Lee Phantom of the Opera collection? And Fergie, what? Easy on the eyeshadow. And why couldn't she talk?

- Last year one of the award shows featured crumping. This year, Chris Brown led a step line (which was sort of funny since he dies ten minutes into Stomp the Yard). Which lucky black dancers will they trot out next year? I am shocked that the Chicken Noodle Soup didn't get an all-star salute from ABC, Young B, and Menudo. Maybe they'll induct it into the hall of fame with the Harlem Shake next year.

- I was happy for Mary J. Blige since winning awards and getting embraced obviously meant so much to her. But why was she made out as having endured the all-time greatest tragedies known to man? It was sort of eerie.

- Couldn't the Police have given us a fucking medley? Or something other than the trite "Roxanne," which I don't even like? Then, I could have even said, "They're good police," and sounded like Jimmy McNutty.

- Shakira was introduced as "Latina Superstar Shakira." Everyone else was just who they were. Or, they were noted for their accomplishments and the professional accolades they'd received. Also, I think that there was a vote at some point about five years ago that people were gonna start hating Wyclef. I don't get why, though. He's cheesy, but he's also talented, and I find him likable.

- Smokey Robinson looked crazy, sounded weak, and was wearing a woman's shirt. It was mildly depressing.

- Here are some ideas that are among the worst ever: Electing George W. Bush; opening a torture theme park; dating Erykah Badu with the hope of improving your music; eating poison; naming a song "Jesus, Take the Wheel"; letting the person who sings that song put on a country tribute to an entirely crappy band like the Eagles.

- Does Ludacris winning the Best Rap Album award do anything to help validate the Shawn Carter stewardship of Def Jam? Even if the album was totally mediocre at best?

- Mandy Moore apparently sleeps in a tanning bed.

The Bus Is in the Passing Lane!

The only time I like Chris Berman.

If you're like me, you're primarily into the NFL for one reason: the music that ESPN plays on NFL Primetime. And if you're like me, you've always wanted the mp3s. Well, ten of them are available below. This is the best day of my life. (Biggest HT ever to this site.)

- Primetime 1
- Primetime 2
- Primetime 3
- Primetime 4
- Primetime 5
- Primetime 6
- Primetime 7
- Primetime 8
- Primetime 9
- Primetime 10

Bullshit Hip-Hop Beef Continues

What percent chance is there that Hot 97 set this whole thing up to sell Summer Jam tickets later this year? 50%? 75%?

I fucking hate 50. And the Diplomats are idiots if this is how they're spending their time. They should get back to being harmless overgrown children.

The Melancholy Year

"I can't explain how monumental a blow we in the hip hop community have just taken. I met James Yancey, or Jay Dee as we affectionately referred to him, in 1994 at Battery Studios, NYC. From that day, he's never ceased to amaze me with his vast knowledge of good music and his knack for manipulating sounds and making them his own. I am an MC. I've been doing what I do for a long time. I've sat in many a basement, studio, tour bus, and living room watching and waiting as beats were being conceived for me to rock and I can honestly say, I've never seen anyone with a better understanding of sampling and re-inventing sound. I've never seen anyone with a tighter grip on technology and how to use it to broaden ones perspective without losing site of the original essence...hip hop. Jay Dee was a true hip hop Artist. The vinyl of the world served as his colors. The sp1200, mpc60, keybords and computer programs were the brushes he used to apply his gift to the canvas that is this world. I've never been a dickrider. I only give credit where credit is due and the genius of James Yancey is most definitely due credit. I can't begin to explain the influence his mind and ear has had on my band, myself, and the careers of so many other artists. The most humble, modest, worthy and gifted beatmaker I've known...and definitely the best producer on a mic. As I write these words, my tears splashing the keyboard, I reminisce on the times I've shared with Dilla, never without that signature smile and head bouncing to the beat, and finally understand the true meaning of passion. Jay Dee had a passion for life and music and will never be forgotten. I loved this brother. I love what he's done for us all, and though I'm happy he's no longer in the pain he had been recently feeling, I'm crushed by the pain of his absence. The name is Dilla dog and I can only rep the real and the raw." - Tariq Trotter, The Roots

I still can't believe that Dilla is gone. It feels like this news just broke yesterday, and yet it's been a year. That's how resonant his passing remains. I spent a large part of my hip-hop life loving his music, and I spent the entirety of the last year missing a man who I never met but whose music made him my friend. He truly will never be forgotten.

RIP, James Yancey. You are loved and are missed.

"As Long as You Don't Bring Your Gayness on Me I'm Fine"

Gayness? Are we in third grade?

No, Shavlik, you're not. You're pathetic.

Year	Team	G	GS	MPG	FG%	3p%	FT%	OFF	DEF	RPG	APG	SPG	BPG	TO	PF	PPG
06-07	PHI	13	6	13.8	.479	.000	.545	1.5	2.7	4.2	0.3	0.5	0.8	0.69	1.80	4.5
Career		70	7	9.5	.462	.000	.591	1.1	1.6	2.7	0.3	0.4	0.3	0.43	1.50	2.7

Until you matter, shut up. And if you ever do, stop being an ignorant ass.

What a Blue Devil.

National Signing Day: My Cesspool Is Better Than Yours

You can't say "no" when Lloyd Carr puts on the hard sell and begins promising that he'll try to beat Ohio State and win a bowl game that people care about at least one time in the next four years.

Ladies and gentlemen, your 2007 Michigan football recruiting class (thank you, Rivals):

Ryan Mallett	QB		6-6	235	4.85	Texarkana, TX
Donovan Warren	DB		6-0	175	4.4	Long Beach, CA
Toney Clemons	WR		6-2	205	4.5	New Kensington, PA
Austin Panter	LB		6-3	240	4.6	El Dorado, KS
Ryan Van Bergen	DE		6-5	260	4.8	Whitehall, MI
Martell Webb	WR		6-5	225	4.63	Pontiac, MI
Michael Williams	DB		5-10	181	4.67	Ventura, CA
Zion Babb	WR		6-0	177	4.67	Alhambra, CA
Junior Hemingway	WR		6-3	205	4.5	Conway, SC
Brandon Herron	LB		6-2	198	4.55	Sugarland, TX
David Molk	OL		6-2	280	5	Lemont, IL
Renaldo Sagesse	DT		6-4	315	4.9	Montreal, Que.
Steve Watson	TE		6-4	235	4.7	Denver, CO
Artis Chambers	DB		6-2	185	4.5	Ft. Wayne, IN
Avery Horn	RB		5-11	195	4.5	Hanford, CA
Mark Huyge	OL		6-6	280	-	Grand Rapids, MI
Vince Helmuth	RB		6-1	235	4.7	Saline, MI
James Rogers	ATH		6-11	195	-	Madison Heights, MI
Troy Woolfolk	DB		5-11	176	4.5	Sugar Land, TX
Marell Evans	LB		6-2	204	4.7	Richmond, VA

MGoBlue also has a breakdown (and player notes), this by position:

PLAYERS BY POSITION
Defensive End: Ryan Van Bergen
Defensive Line: Renaldo Sagesse
Linebackers: Marell Evans, Brandon Herron, Austin Panter
Defensive Backs: Artis Chambers, James Rogers, Donovan Warren, Michael Williams, Troy Woolfolk
Offensive Line: Mark Huyge, David Molk
Fullback: Vince Helmuth
Running Back: Avery Horn
Quarterback: Ryan Mallett
Wide Receivers: Zion Babb, Toney Clemons, Junior Hemingway
Tight Ends: Steve Watson, Martell Webb

You can add consensus top-100 DT Marcus Slocum to this group, too. He spent a year at prep school and is gonna be eligible in the fall.

First, a recruiting overview
You know how people lament that high school sports and recruiting have become filthy, exploitative, overblown productions that have all but totally deviated from the initial, pure intentions? This year was perhaps the worst. A kid spends all year telling one school that he's coming and then, in the last month of the process--while his verbal is non-binding and his letter of intent hasn't yet been signed--he takes visits to other schools; he loses control of the process to his mother amidst mass confusion; he gets calls from uber-aggressive coaches that don't know what "no" means (no date rape); his NFL superstar adviser forbids him from signing where he wants; and so forth.

Recruiting has become a treacherous enterprise for everyone involved--the kids, the coaches, the schools, the media. It's one big fucking mess. And it's made even worse by an NCAA that doesn't do shit to govern its own sports because it's too busy making money off kids, and by the sanctimonious coaches and fans who cry foul when anything bad happens to their school while they engage in the same dishonest and ugly behavior. USC, Florida, OSU, LSU, Texas, Notre Dame, Michigan--they all do it. If the Vatican were a D1 football program, the Pope would be sending text messages when he wasn't supposed to be and would be promising pieces of the Sistine Chapel to flavors of the month.

Look again at this article about Notre Dame, and remember it the next time some annoying-ass, return-to-glory-means-three-losses loser gets all self-righteous about his media-inflated program from his shit hole trailer park "college town":

"I thought I'd make my decision and that would be it," said Arrelious Benn, who announced his commitment to Illinois on ESPNU on Nov. 9 before graduating from Dunbar in December and enrolling in Champaign last month. After the commitment? "That's when it got worse. These are grown men. Why can't they live with the decision I made?"

Throughout his junior school year, Benn said he had considered Notre Dame his top choice, but when he felt as though the Fighting Irish coaching staff was putting too much pressure on him to commit he stopped considering the school. Once Benn orally committed to Illinois, Notre Dame assistant Peter Vaas continued to pepper Benn with text messages and voice mails, some of which Benn provided to The Post:

"FYI, ILL is telling Robert Hughes that they will build their offense around him? Didn't they tell you that?

Coach Vaas," Vaas wrote Benn on Dec. 17.

Earlier that month, Vaas left this voice message on Benn's phone: "You don't want to do anything except bury your head in the sand. . . . I guess you're not tough enough to compete at the big level."

Vaas, who was let go as quarterbacks coach by the Irish after their 44-14 loss to LSU in the Sugar Bowl, did not deny leaving the messages. He said last night that even though Benn made his announcement on national television, that isn't necessarily a recruit's final word.

"Did he say [he was going to Illinois] to me? Did I see him on TV?" Vaas said. "There's an awful lot of rumors or innuendo out there . . . and kids change their minds after they do that. A lot of times, it depends upon what kind of conviction a kid has about a place. You know how you read between the lines? As a recruiter, I have to hear between the lines."

It's ugly, and it makes me--a fan who generally prefers that his team do just about everything legal to win--worry that the college-sports arms race ultimately makes everything less fun.

That's enough from me, though. We can delve deeper into this another time.

For a list of recruiting classes, look here, here, and here. If you don't want to click, here's what you need to know: USC's class is ridiculous and may render the expression "that's why they play the games" obsolete; Florida's class is not far behind and has more players than USC's; LSU and Texas and Tennessee slaughtered people; the SEC was great; Mack Brown might be able to make UNC football a real player; Michigan was good, not great; OSU was better than it might seem; and Penn State was really cute as it tried to pretend that it was "back."

So, what about Michigan?
Ideally, you'd like a Michigan recruiting class to restock the team with potential stars while filling needs and, at least, ensuring quality depth. And, of course, an assessment of recruiting "needs" depends, in part, on how one views the roster and values the players already on it.

Coming into this year, I thought Michigan needed a great quarterback, about four great defensive backs (corners and safeties), a couple of standout OTs, some stud LBs and then the usual array of good players at the other positions, particularly TE and WR. Michigan did a good but not great job of meeting these needs:

- QB: Check. Ryan Mallett is a top-five player nationally and said to have an arm that only JaMarcus Russell could understand. After seeing him at the U.S. Army All-America game, I feel good about him, as he seems to have the arm, a nice release, and the leadership intangibles that Michigan hasn't really had since Tom Brady.

- DB: Check, but in pencil. Having missed on just about every elite cornerback for three years and instead settling for second-tier players and projects, Michigan desperately needed an impact player at the position. Donovan Warren meets that requirement, although Michigan really needed two and lost out on Ronald Johnson, a kid from Michigan who wound up at USC. Troy Woolfolk, instead, is the second corner. He's said to be a fast athlete with raw coverage skills. He should probably room with Johnny Sears so that they can commiserate about this. At safety, Michigan needed a standout for both free and strong, as Jamar Adams is almost done with school and Steve Brown appears to be the only notable kid in the pipeline. UM didn't get it done here. After Jerimy Finch, the best SS in the country, reneged with a month to go, Michigan was left with an odd mix of undersized kids destined for nickelback (Michael Williams), raw projects (Artis Chambers), and good athletes who'll need to learn defense (James Rogers, Zion Babb). I would have hoped for more, and safety becomes a major need in 2008.

- OT: Disaster. It was a down year for offensive tackles, but Michigan was never a factor with any of the elite players. The best it could do was a proverbial in-state "late bloomer" that had a bunch of MAC offers before committing to Michigan. A school that used to be a factory for NFL linemen throughout the 90s has now signed five OLs, in total, in the past two classes. That's discouraging before you even factor in that the antiquated Michigan strength program makes the linemen stronger, slower, and fatter. This is a potential mess if Michigan doesn't clean up in 2008.

- LBs: Incomplete. This is another position Michigan hasn't recruited well in the past five years. Last season, seeking to correct this error, Michigan signed what turned out to be four linebackers: Cobrani Mixon, Quentin Patilla, Obinna Ezeh, and Jonas Mouton (Brandon Graham is now a lineman and Mouton is a converted safety). None of them is a known entity yet, but reports from bowl practice had Ezeh playing the best, a minor worry since he was initially brought in as a FB. In this class, Panter is a Juco stud who will start with junior eligibility while Marell Evans and Brandon Heron are both considered long-term projects. If Panter can come in and sure up MLB, then that will be big. If not, this could be another mess. Just like at OT, Michigan must find some impact players at this position in 2008.

- Everything else: check-ish. Michigan's receivers haul is very good: Toney Clemons is supposed to be the next Braylon Edwards; Junior Hemingway is said to be an underrated great athlete and big target; Martell Webb sounds like an Antonio Gates in the making; and Steve Watson has the athleticism and bloodlines, as his dad was in the NFL (with the Broncos). On the defensive line, everyone who's watched Ryan VanBergen raves about his potential, his effort, and his strength while Renaldo Sagesse, whom Michigan stole from Illinoise (as Ron Zook would spell it), is the top player in Canada and supposed to be a powerful project who needs to get in shape. David Molk is the center of the future, and though undersized, his film is impressive.

So, overall impression?
In a year when the state of Michigan had no fewer than 10 high-D1 prospects, Michigan did terribly among them, only pulling Webb and VanBergen. But that's not so troubling because for every lost Dionte Allen, there is a Donovan Warren; for every Taurian Washington, a Junior Hemingway. More troubling is that UM didn't fill all of its needs once again while losing a lot of elite talent to USC, Florida, and other schools. Some players, such as Finch and Johnson, made it painful. But at least UM was in it for them. It was discouraging that so many super prospects like Joseph Barksdale, Eugene Clifford, Brandon Saine, Matt Romine, and several others never even gave Michigan real consideration. Luckily, recruiting in a given year does not happen in a vacuum, and Michigan can atone for some failures in 2008. In sum, this is a decent class that probably could and should have been better. Michigan really needs to do well from a quality perspective in 2008 or else it could be in some trouble.

Democrats Would Be More Likable If They Didn't Suck

Want to make this a relic of the past? Do something smart!

Did people read this article the other day? I just about freaked out when I read this part right here:

In theory, the budget presents the Democrats their first real opportunity to rewrite the administration’s policies, especially on tax cuts, that they have been attacking for six years.

But in practice, Democrats know that the only way they can find the revenue to restore the administration’s proposed spending cuts would be to cut back on military spending, delay their stated intentions to balance the budget or rescind the Bush tax cuts in future years. They are not especially eager to do any of these.

The most likely result, even some Democrats acknowledge, will be a limited reshaping of the budget by restoring some proposed cuts in a variety of domestic programs, including children’s health care, Head Start and home heating assistance for the poor and the elderly.

But few Democrats are expected to look for new revenues by calling for an end to Mr. Bush’s tax cuts, instead of extending them as the president proposed Monday, or to deal with the looming costs of Social Security and Medicare as the postwar generation retires, all of which pose huge budget problems in future years.

What. The. Fuck. Haven't we spent the past 6+ years reading about how many tax programs this administration has devised that provide new and creative ways for rich people to keep their money while the income gap widens, the national deficit goes up, and we cut domestic social programs to pay for a fraudulent "war" sold to the public on a foundation of lies? Why aren't Democrats doing everything in their power to reverse these horrible trends? We're punishing the poor and helpless while the wealthy get further out of sight. And how about the opportunity costs--think about how many smarter programs have gone underfunded or have been cut because we needed the money to put soldiers in harm's way, smack dab in the middle of an emerging civil war that we incited. Is it really that hard to build consensus on these issues? Fiscal responsibility can and should be a hallmark of Democratic governance because Republicans have manipulated just about everything within their power to help rich people while spending has soared.

Since 2003, I've been advocating the pie-chart method: Democrats should prepare a brief series of easily understood graphics the lay out the worrisome economic policies perpetrated by the Republicans. Show us the money the richest of the rich have kept. Show us the disproportionate burden that the tax code places on people who make low wages. Show us the money that hasn't been spent on education, healthcare, actual homeland security, and everything else while we've paid for a sham "war." Kos hinted at this yesterday:

Reuters -- The Bush administration on Monday sought a cut of $4.9 billion, or 8 percent, in education, training, employment and social services grants ... the White House's five-year plan foresees $66 billion in cuts to Medicare, a program for the elderly, and $12 billion in cuts for Medicaid, the state-federal program for the poor.

Reuters Alert -- As the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan grind on and their costs could hit $662 billion by the end of next year ... This year, fighting wars in Iraq and Afghanistan could total around $170 billion.

Put that shit on a chart, have a press conference, pass out electronic copies for newspapers and bloggers to publish, and take ten minutes to say, "For every dollar we spend in Iraq, we don't spend a dollar on X. For every dollar we don't tax rich people, we take away a dollar from Y program that poor people need to get help and get out of poverty."

I know this is a simplistic critique, but the elemental thought should be no less resonant.

Seriously, Democrats blow.

And also:
- Peep game: Keepin' It Right Radio

- Peep slept on game: I don't know why I didn't see this sooner. Jay Smooth is awesome.

- Peep important Michigan basketball game: Hire Rudy T. You know damn well that Amaker is incompetent. If you feel like I so, help make a change. Start by signing this petition.

- Peep interview game: The Clipse are just ridiculous. I mean, can you recall reading an interview like this? Lots to mine from here...

Night of a Thousand Salutes

So it's North Carolina-Duke, Round 1 tonight. Basketball fans are excited. My Duke friend and his UNC girlfriend are prepared for 2 hours of intrahome squabbling. And somewhere--Durham, I guess--Dick Vitale has been frothing at the mouth for 6 hours.

I stopped liking, and then stopped being able to tolerate, Dick Vitale a long time ago. But he retains a certain novelty appeal that is good for one thing: over-the-top, falsetto-driven parody. I can't tell you how many times my dad and I have cracked up on the phone running through Vitale's seemingly endless array of trite expressions and bizarre behaviors. It's really kind of funny when you call someone up and immediately launch into, "HELLO! HELLO! HELLO! HELLO AMERICA! ARE YOU SERIOUS? IT'S THE DUKIES AND THE CAROLINA? CERTAINLY WHEN YOU TALK ABOUT RIVALRIES, THIS ONE IS AT THE TOP OF THE LIST! HELLO! IT'S AWESOME, BABY!"

In honor of Vitale, I thought I'd made a few predictions about tonight's game:

1) Dick will refer to the Texas Tech head coach as "Robert Montgomery Knight" at least once, and will be sure to chastise the Indiana University administration for not already naming the basketball court at or all of Assembly Hall for Mr. Knight.

2) Dick will refer to Coach K as "Kaowch K" and harp upon his membership in the hall of fame.

3) Dick will refer to Roy Williams as a future hall of famer and lose his shit a little while trotting out his favorite statistic, that the dude averages 27 wins a year.

4) Dick will hit us with one of those, "OK, let me give you my top-five player of the year candidates" moments when he tries to act serious.

5) Freeze it!

6) Dick will talk a lot about "Mr. Oden" and he'll warn us that he might stay in school. BABY!

7) Dick will then talk about Michigan basketball, and he'll say that while he knows that Tommy Amaker hasn't made the Tournament yet, he's gotten no help and deserves a practice facility before anyone passes judgment.

8) Dick will "salute" about a trillion people.

"Where Are They Now" Weed Carriers Remix

Somehow, someway, Jim Jones will probably wind up on this, as well.

Weed carrier visionary Robbie is bringing together the best of the baggage handlers for a Bag Holders remix of Nas's "Where Are They Now," the breakout platform for career resuscitation in 2007. He's assembled a fine list of talent, and I am helping him out by identifying additional potential participants. There is a natural tendency to try to find work for usual suspects like Spliff Starr, Memphis Bleek, Tony Yayo, and the American Cream Team, but we're trying to also find some of their oft-overlooked colleagues who've carried weed in all kinds of pockets and orifices:

Trigger tha Gambler


Unless you're really into the rap, you probably only know him from his work on "Broken Language," back when he was carrying for his brother, Smoothe da Hustler, whose MySpace background is an ode to Trigger's deft holding and rolling.

Blinky Blink, Huddy Combs, and Pierre Cardan




One of the most underrated weed owners of all time is probably Mase, as he not only left a mark "on the game" but can also claim that his weed carriers (remember when he used to coo "Cameron Giles" and "Jimmy Jones" at the end of his songs?) went on to form their own label and make a trillion YouTube videos. Three of the few Harlem residents who didn't leave Mase's crew for foreign service positions were Blinky, Huddy, and Cardan, who may have also carried for Cam when Cam was carrying for Mase. That's a weed carrier's weed carrier. Literally. Also notable, these nicknames are perhaps just more evidence that most rappers from Harlem in the last decade were likely part of some homosexual gang (no Puffy).

Tekitha


If you can't remember who sang a hook or sounded strung out on a Wu-Tang track, it was likely Tekitha, who was a legend among the carriers for the duffel bag she toted to keep the Clan blunted. Well, everyone except U-God. There are unconfirmed reports that he carries his own and sometimes Starks's when Cappadonna is driving the taxi and fears that the cops may search his ride.

City High


Emboldened by the unlikely fame of Pras, Wyclef went through a period when every time he went some place, he'd show up with a new group of black people who were reputed to be emerging talents. Think Product G&B. Among these sundry performers was the group City High, which carried weed for Wyclef and duped you into thinking that with a good-looking female lead, direction from Mr. Jean, and some decent songs, it would emerge as the new version of the Fugees. You were wrong, and I'd imagine that they're still carrying.

The Swing Kids


Remember that one dude, K7? These guys carried his weed. That's an ignominious distinction that could probably only be topped were they to come into the employment of Kevin Federline. Unconfirmed reports that are routinely deleted from Wikipedia, earning the author(s) warnings, suggest that "Come, Baby, Come" was an anger-fueled tirade directed at slow-moving weed carriers who didn't get K his blunts in a timely fashion.

Bad Boy South


This is a controversial inclusion, but since you probably can't think of a single good album to come from this label, and since every music-related thing that Diddy has done post-Biggie has been reactionary and inferior, I'll stand by this pick. Bad Boy South is the weed-carrying label of the Southern explosion, the lesser little sibling that just hopes to catch a contact high as it follows the trend setters everywhere, toting weed and putting out Yung Joke Joc records.

Link

- Peep game: That Ol' New York Rap
Nice feature on some underground New York cat named Cavalier whose shit I'm feeling. It's that dense-flow poetic rap, but it's not grating (thankfully). TONYR has a video for this track, "Dionne," that sounds like a Pharcyde solo joint from the Bizarre Ride era.

Book Learning Is Overrated

The Dropout Bear can rely on his Ph.D. despite having never finished school.

A few weeks ago, my man Nate posted something on the AOL NBA Fanhouse about ideal participants in the all-star weekend dunk contest. As I picked my way through his choices, I couldn't help but notice how many players hadn't gone to college or were only in college for a short while. It was a reminder that there are some guys, not just the LeBrons of the world, who are just ready to play. Did Monta Ellis need to go to college? Maybe not. To be clear, I think all kids should go to college--not just for the education, as not everyone wants to be in a classroom, but because of the social aspects and because it helps these aspiring basketball players better understand their future trade--but "should" is a judgment and need, in this sense, is a little more objective. There are 17- and 18-year-olds who have the bodies and the games, both of which may be better refined and applied on an NBA bench than by beating up on the Michigans and St. Johns of college basketball.

But I was also reminded of how much speculation regarding prep athletes is driven by measurables and workouts and meat-market summer camps. Every year, there are kids who can jump 40 inches and run quickly while carrying 220 pounds. These are kids who will be "blessing" college programs with their matriculation and would be NBA players were it not for the age requirement...

And then the kids show up on college campuses and, just like the moment you drive that new car off the show lot, their values plummet. Here are five guys who probably should have never gone to college:

James White


The video speaks for itself. White's leaping ability had people buzzing about his assured greatness. But two colleges and no jump shot later, how's it all working out? Had White gone pro out of high school, some dumb-ass GM--there are plenty of them--probably would have been taken him in the lottery.

Felipe Lopez


At this point, we all know Felipe's story. And this is among the most melancholy, for me, despite the seeming dissonance: the guy made the NBA and had a decent enough career, after all. But that neglects the uncomfortable truth that he was underwhelming at St. John's (Zendon Hamilton was better) and forever viewed through the lens of disappointment, because coming out of high school, there was nothing bigger than him. I always wished that he would have just been picked top-five out of high school.

Gerald Wallace


Another one in the Lopez camp, as he not only made the NBA but has become something of a cult figure, a fantasy stud, and a solid starter. But still, do you remember when Wallace was in high school? He had the braids and the awesome highlights? Motherfuckers hadn't ever heard of Childersburg, AL, but everyone knew about the kid from there who shocked the basketball pundits by actually choosing college over a guaranteed spot in the lottery and a legitimate chance to be picked first overall. I still can only name three or four places in Alabama, and Childersburg is one of them.

Joe Crawford


This is a more obscure choice, I'd imagine, as the Kentucky guard is still in college, but he was a top-ten player coming out of high school and there were concerns that he'd be a one-and-done guy. But again, he's still in college, something that most top-ten high school kids view as a failure. And, Crawford may not even make the NBA.

Most Big White Men Who've Gone to Duke This Decade


Do you remember the hype when Shavlik Randolph chose Duke? How about Josh McRoberts, who hasn't looked like the top-five pick we were told he might be.

Music for a Monday: A New Era in Rap Semiotics

Fresh and clean--a new hope for America.

There is a new, well-intentioned Coca-Cola ad about black history which you may have seen at the movie theater or on television, as recently as last night during the Super Bowl. It looks like this:


The first time I saw this with my mans an' 'em, we laughed because it cuts off at 1963. Now, of course, I understand why--it's a poignant homage to Dr. King; the commercial is built on a foundation of inspirational acts carried out by seminal black figures; and you obviously can't get the entirety of black history into a 30-second commercial, so why not focus on some good stuff? I get that. And I also understand that Coke would like to make the points that it acknowledges black history, is proud of the contributions that black people have made, and has been around forever, its bottles changing with the times.

We laughed, though, because 1963 is more than 40 years ago, and a lot has happened since then. Cynical and race conscious, we laughed because it doesn't acknowledge the Civil Rights Act; because it doesn't acknowledge so many milestones, like the election of our first black U.S. Senators; because it seems to play into the fallacy that racism sort of stopped in the 1960s once people thought about it a little and formally (though not practically) eradicated the legacy of the Jim Crow system. It's not a bad commercial, it's just a little hollow.

It's also a reminder that racism, and all forms of bigotry, are alive and well in America. Even among people who might consciously tell you that they reject discrimination and don't adhere to an ideology of intolerance. You needn't look any further than what Joe Biden said about Barack Obama last week for proof. I don't think that Biden hates all black people, but it's also obvious, given his recent statement and other comments he's made, that the man has been socialized to believe in certain demeaning, stereotypical ideas. That he said something about Obama being "articulate" was especially bad given the word's connotations in a racial context. (Though, I also lament that we can no longer call a black person "articulate" if the characterization is apt. I use it as a compliment about whites all the time given that so many people--friends black and white, Digger Phelps, Beyonce--don't enunciate.)

I have to say that his use of the word "clean" was just amusing, partly because it's such an audacious and ridiculous insult and partly because it calls to mind Sleepy Brown. As I discussed with a friend over the weekend, had Biden called Obama "so fresh and so clean"--something which he sort of meant since he claims he was trying to compliment Obama for the newness, or freshness, of his ideas and the attractiveness of his optimistic rhetoric--he might have been able to launch a hip-hop campaign for the presidency, declaring Brown his running mate and embarking upon a Bulworth-like sequel of sorts.



Race, of course, is never far off in hip-hop. Whether it's an explicitly race-conscious verse or the self-conscious narratives constructed by our favorite black MCs that we then apply to lifestyles that we know, envision, or conjure, race is an inextricable part of hip-hop. But, sadly, so too is ignorance. No community is as intolerant of homosexuality; the rampant misogyny of much rap music has been thoroughly dissected; the common embrace and espousal of violence is unsettling; and so forth. A fan of everything from Black on Both Sides to "Pop That Coochie," I am not attempting to author some declaration that all hip-hop must contain uplifting messages and morally agreeable ideas. Not at all. I mean, for better or worse, the real version of 2Pac and Jodeci's "How Do U Want It" video remains among my favorites. But there's also nothing wrong with getting serious for a moment to call foul when it's appropriate.

Racism and prejudice are never far off, either. Many rappers traffic in stereotypes, and among this bigotry, antisemitism--or, to be more generous, stereotypes about Jews--remains common, among both rappers we revere (Nas) and those we don't (Jim Jones--at least, not lyrically).

It seems fair to say that no rappers in recent times have done more to circulate commonly held misperceptions about Jews than the Dip Set, with Jim Jones being particularly noteworthy. If you listen to enough of Jimmy's music, you begin to think that he likely grew up convinced of an underlying veracity behind the traditional stereotypes that have allowed many to cast Jews as doctors and lawyers who sit around, Stonecutters-like, controlling the money, banks, and Hollywood. Jones has dropped jewels of ignorance:

- From "Bright Lights, Big City" - "Getting locked up for crimes and ya lawyer's ain't Jewish! (STUUUUPID!)/That's why I keep the attorneys on retainer"

- From "Baby Girl" - "Jewish lawyers, n***as, so I gotta beat the charges"

A "Jewish lawyer" has become a fixation for Jones, and when he invokes the idea in his rhymes, it appears as though he means for it to carry the demeaning regard fueled by myths. He wants a Jewish lawyer because the lawyer must be successful and must be plugged into a ruling clandestine cabal. The healthy proliferation of successful and prominent Jewish lawyers has done little to dissuade Jones, of course, but the ideas are nonetheless silly in how seriously they're presented. In fact, I wouldn't really be surprised to throw on the next Jim Jones LP and hear him peddling some conspiracy theory about Jews running U.S. foreign policy and planning 9/11. He'd name-drop AIPAC because uptown at Dip Set headquarters, real-world information filters into the collective consciousness before taking its place among the other skewed facts and half-informed ideas.

"Jewish lawyer" and its connotations seemingly appeared in a new form last year when Cam, on his seminal (no joke) "Y'all Can't Live His Life," unveiled what I suppose was meant as a synonym:

"Think my life a joke?/I been indicted folks/Do I like it? Nope/I'm under a microscope/A paid lawyer, word to mother, it's nice to know"

A "paid lawyer" was the new term. Quite obviously, one might prefer a paid lawyer to one whom isn't because a paid lawyer is probably better at the job. It's sort of like the distinction that's drawn on The Wire when people like Marlo talk about a "pay lawyer"--not a public defender--akin to the man, Maury Levy, who handled the Barksdale Crew's legal issues. But given the group-think that runs rampant in the Diplomat universe and allows the Set to carry on each others' beefs, conform to a shared lifestyle, and remain on the same page while receiving facials, presiding over the midnight bike club, and appearing on The White Rapper Show, it doesn't seem like much of a stretch to assume that Cam might have picked up the idea Jim loves spouting off about.

As with all things Dip Set, this Jewish-lawyer phenomenon is simultaneously disconcerting and, precisely because of how fully they buy into it, amusing. It's absurd, and while you worry that it might take root in the minds of those who don't know better, at a certain point, you also just have to chuckle at such unbridled and vainglorious ignorance. I don't condone it, but I also think it's funny in a Joe Biden "what did he say?" kind of way.

In 2007, no song has been as infectious and likable as Rich Boy's "Throw Some D's," even if it did come out in October 2006. This gets back to my earlier point: say what you will about its content, but the beat knocks and the swagger of the track is ridiculous. I walk around my office muttering "Throw some, throw some D's on that bitch." As you might have expected from a genre of music in which imitation is more often the path to success than innovation, "Throw Some D's" has spawned notable remixes--Kanye's hilarious "freestyle" re-working and an artist-endorsed re-up with Andre 3000, Murphy Lee, Game, Lil' Jon, and Jim Jones. Sure enough, Jones's verse contains what sounds like the latest addition to the hip-hop semiotics of Jewish myths: the kosher lawyer.

"And we go hard/Zone 4 d-boy squad/We don't need the bars/Kosher lawyer, baby, just to beat the charge"

Sadly, it's possible that Jones is saying "cautious" or something made up, like "kosherist." But given his demonstrable preoccupation with Jewish lawyers, it seems more likely that he has simply created a new term that not only fits in with everything--the idiocy, the absurdity--of his earlier creations, but has the added, um, flavor of also being a wild misappropriation of the dietary adjective "kosher."

Only the Dips, the only other rap collective (other than OutKast) that could ever hope to provide a soundtrack to the Biden/Brown ticket.

- Rich Boy ft. Andre 3000, Murphy Lee, Game, Lil' Jon, and Jim Jones, "Throw Some D's"

- Kanye West, "Throw Some D's"
P.S. This Kanye version sounds like October 2003 mixtape-era Kanye, doesn't it? I wouldn't be surprised if dude's had these rhymes lying around since before he got that Roc-a-fella shine.

P.P.S. There's also this:

The Super Bowl Super Sucked

When this is your QB, you must have Devin Hester and a good defense.

NFL fans, tell me this: why is your marquee event always so fucking lame? And also, why does your league do stuff like this, thinking that it's a punishment? The players already hate the Pro Bowl. What's next, two failed tests and you aren't allowed to participate in optional off-season workouts? No, not that!

Also, there were only two good commercials all night--the CareerBuilder.com Promotion Pit and the Emerald ad with Robert Goulet.

In sum: two teams that no one cared about; a game that was boring; commercials that sucked. Of the premier sporting events it's showing over the next three months, the Final Four and The Masters will surely be the best of the CBS programming.

Now let all the T.O. stories start again; training camps don't open for another 6 months.

So That Super Bowl Song Is Also Common's 1st Single?

Fast-forward through the first minute.

- Common ft. Kanye West, "South Side Super Bowl"

This Embarrasses Me

Please, stick to the Red Sox:

"2. Damon [Jones] considers Shaq the king of South Beach, Dwyane Wade the prince, himself another prince, and Pat Riley the "Don Donna." That's what the players nicknamed Riley -- it means that he's the "man" or the "king." Right around here, I decided that I need to hang out with NBA players more often."

This Is a Sick Country

Joe Biden spouts off about race. Iran's PR department is housing the U.S. And in his State of the Union address, the President can neglect to even mention one of the greatest tragedies in American history--an entire major city was destroyed!--and yet we get this shit pouring forth over a MOTHERFUCKING HORSE:

CNN


ESPN


The New York Times


MSNBC


Washington Post


Los Angeles Times


USA Today


Sports Illustrated


The lead story on damn near every key news and sports outlet? For Barbaro?! It won a race of significance. And it's a horse. A HORSE. I'm sorry, but that is fucked up. It's all fucked up.

Also, sorry that the posting fell off this week. Work.

Lots to get to, like the complete sham that Tommy Amaker is presiding over in Ann Arbor and the awesome work y'all did over here. I'm back, and I'm madder than ever. One!