SB Nation User Blog: nightbluefruit

10/11 JD, Work in Progress

nightbluefruit — Sun, 11 Oct 2009 06:47:41 -0000

I've been working on a Fanpost for about a year now on what Basketball IQ means. I have about a page of text talking about Manu Ginobli and Anderson Varejao, but the essential thesis is that Basketball IQ means never following the rules. I'm not doing it purposefully to make people mad, but I do hope that's an eventual outcome.

On an unrelated note, this is my first Junk Drawer post ever. Most of you will find this mundane, as everyone has had a first JD and they were probably more interesting than this.

Post your concept of BBIQ, or don't, or fill out my Beatles poll; I'm writing an article on The Beatles for a conference in November.

Poll

Which is your favorite Beatles album and why?

Please Please Me, I am a closet Roy Orbison fan

0 votes

With the Beatles, I am a closet Rolling Stones fan

0 votes

A Hard Day's Night, I am an idealist

2 votes

Beatles for Sale, I enjoy obscurity

1 votes

Help!, I am a believer in embroyonic change

0 votes

Rubber Soul, I get all the jokes

4 votes

Revolver, I have impeccable taste

13 votes

Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Heart's Club Band, I have few opinions of my own/I remember where I was and what I was on when I first heard "A Day in the Life"

5 votes

Magical Mystery Tour, I am the Walrus

3 votes

The Beatles, I am an Anarchist

3 votes

Yellow Submarine, I do not like The Beatles

4 votes

Abbey Road, Paul is dead

8 votes

Let it Be, FREE PHIL SPECTOR!

2 votes

45 votes | Poll has closed

March Madness Open Thread

nightbluefruit — Thu, 19 Mar 2009 16:54:54 -0000

There's nothing quite like the soothing voice of Jim Nantz to get me in the tournament mood. I realize that at this point I should have purchased DirecTV so I can pick my announcing poison, but I am a poor grad school student living in New York City, so I suffer with the rest of us.

I will take this thread down, by the way, if a similar one goes up on the main page, but I would like to share my idiotic bracket choices with the community: that is, if you'll have me.

First Update: Memphis looking like a pretty boneheaded final four pick.

Second Update: Gatorade has been replaced courtside by Vitamin Water--hair will now receive much needed lustre after getting dunked in victory. Oh, and Memphis still can't stop high screen dribble penetration.

Third Update: Greg Gumble looking smart in matching tie and pocket square. Wait, did I say "smart"? I meant "foppish." A&M with convincing halftime lead. Memphis struggling, LSU and Butler are close.

Fourth Update: The backup halftime team asks "What does Northridge have to do to keep the pressure on Memphis?" The answer? "If you're the coach of CS-Northridge, you've got to figure out what works, and keep doing it!"

Wow.

Fifth Update: CS-Northridge player, going after a loose ball, pushes a Memphis guard to the floor. Refs swallow their whistles. Needless to say, they are "letting them play" a little bit...

Sixth Update: CSNR and Memphis is obvious game of the morning. All the Memphis players look like Zach Braff right after he found out he was being punk*d and was threatening to kill a twelve year old on camera. My stomach hurts.

Seventh Update: Studio break includes the following quote: "BYU cannot protect the paint or guard against jumpshots." I assume their defense is geared around stopping half-court shots, then?

Eighth Update: Miller Lite commercial begins with "When you're enjoying a refreshing Miller Lite..." in hopes that customers will forget they've never enjoyed a Miller Lite.

Ninth Update: It's time for Elton John to rewrite one of his hits for CS-Northridge, Butler, and BYU. They all played like candles in the wind. Never knowing who to pass to, when the trap-press came in. Up next: two number one seeds and the Maryland/Cal game.

Tenth Update: Rose Garden is EMPTY for N. Iowa/Purdue. You guys couldn't get fired up for the historic matchup of Kwadzo Ahelegbe and 35-year-old Chris Kramer?

Eleventh Update: Northern Iowa sure knows how to lay down and play dead.

Twelfth Update: N. iowa/Purdue is a battle of ugly white balding power forwards. I think these games should be referred to as "Brian Cardinal Deathmatches," and shall be typified by their high number of turnovers and unnecessary diving out of bounds.

Thirteenth Update: CSI: Miami promos include a ninja. MIND=BLOWN

Fourteenth Update: Mocs have run off the rails on a crazy train. Cal/Maryland however, are pretty close in a kind of borzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Fifteenth Update: N. Iowa, like Jason before them, have risen from the dead to give Purdue a run for their money. There is a lot of sweat on those receding hairlines. Meanwhile, Mocs and Radford are sunk, while Cal and Maryland stage battle of who will throw up more ill-advised shots.

Sixteenth Update: I click on the link to watch the UNC-Radford game. The screen tells me there's "a problem with that video" and asks if I'd like to "consider another game?" The CBS server is protecting me from bad basketball.

Seventeenth Update: N. Iowa officially sent packing, Chatt. and Radford are mathematically eliminated. Only Cal/Maryland is still interesting, and half of my interest is in Bill Raftery.

Eighteenth Update: Announcer bemoans a Cal player getting his fourth foul "just as he was getting lathered up on the other end." I didn't make that up. Meanwhile Cal is shooting themselves in the foot (feet?) and I have to go to the gym. No more updates for a while. Thanks to everyone for the conversation--I'll be back for late games.

We Can Plant a House, We Can Build a Tree

nightbluefruit — Tue, 17 Mar 2009 16:34:21 -0000

When Alexander saw the breadth of his domain, he wept, for there were no more worlds to conquer.

This is a quote that gets repeated ad infinitum, in spite of the fact that it was almost definitively never spoken by anyone of any import (unless you count Hans Gruber, which, of course, I do). The quote is, then, a popular creation—a platitude that gains prevalence not because it is accurate but on the basis of the fact that it is likeable, that it expresses something that appeals to a large swath of the public.

This is especially important because of the content of the actual quote, provided by Plutarch:

Alexander cried when he heard Anaxarchus talk about the infinite number of worlds in the universe. One of Alexander's friends asked him what was the matter, and he replied: "There are so many worlds, and I have not yet conquered even one."

So the switch, maintained by the popular memory, is an important one: does Alexander weep because he has nothing left to conquer, or because he is so eager to conquer and cannot?

For those who have had the patience to get this far, the question is crucial to the current makeup of the Portland Trailblazers. Everyone on this particular blog, and those in the rest of the sportswriting industry, take the future of the Blazers as though the ultimate aim is a priori a championship. The context of the trade deadline was especially interesting to me, as people argued feverishly over what the definitive "championship piece" would be. An all-star SF? A "true" PG? A defensive specialist? And although this problem could never be resolved, that didn’t stop people from arguing over the arbitrary permutations of possibilities at each of these positions (quick note: I love this kind of arguing, even in it’s arbitrariness, so it’s definitely not the spirit of the argument I’m attacking). Perhaps rather than follow the rote routine of this ancient argument we would be better served attacking the very conditions of the argument: namely, that the championship is the thing. What if we started asking the question: which groups of players will produce the most beautiful ball?

Before I get Herm Edwards reminding me, politely, that you play to win the game, hello, I want to point out that the most treasured memory for most Blazers fans (my age anyway) are the teams of the early 90’s. Those teams provided Portland with some of the most entertaining and impressive basketball I’ve seen in my life, and although the period is referred to from time to time as "bittersweet," it’s really only the "sweet" half that I experience when I think back on those teams.

Or, okay, here’s a test for those who are still skeptical: who would you rather root for: the 2003-04 Pistons or the 2005-06 Suns? 95-96 Sonics or 98-99 Spurs? 61-62 Philadelphia Warriors or 61-62 Celtics? Yeah, I went there—those Celtic teams were mostly boring.

In the case that there are those who still think I’m crazy, who think that beautiful basketball that loses in the end is still just losing basketball, take a long look backwards at that Halberstam masterpiece The Breaks of the Game. That Blazers team, in spite of their remarkable talent, had nowhere to go in 78. The sense of aimlessness is palpable in that book—it’s crazy how quickly a team that seemed unbeatably singular manages to crumble into competing individual desires. As much as I’m looking forward to LMA pouting about his contract’s inadequacy, I’d rather just watch him throw down put-back dunks.

All I’m suggesting is that there’s a reason the first version of the Alexander quote is more popular: it’s the truer iteration. Whether or not it’s true is of secondary import.

Summertime...And the Blogging is Easy

nightbluefruit — Wed, 16 Jul 2008 18:08:59 -0000

These are a group of seemingly unrelated but totally related notes I've compiled over the summer. Like in a beginning fiction class, the intertextuality of the piece is practically impossible to spot. Still, the author will get irate and defensive if you question it, and will probably say something passive-aggressive about your piece when the class critiques your writing.

i. Watching Summer League Play Reminds me of Grad School Applications. And this may be the process by which all helplessly unathletic fans get their rocks off, i.e. comparing the fantasmatic experience of the professional athlete to whatever memory you can use as some form of interpellation. But seriously, I can’t tell you how many times I imagined my competing applicants and wished we could settle it in a more concrete way. Like, say, for instance, a game of pickup basketball. The joke is on me, though, because there is no concrete determinant used to decide who gets a job out of summer league and who doesn’t. You could lead an undefeated summer league team in assists and still find yourself gunning for the D-league all star game next year. It is precisely this indeterminacy that reminds me of the college application process. Everyone on the court is playing so frantically, so eager to do the one thing that will set them apart even though no one can tell them what that one thing will be. The GRE? Your GPA? Your PER? Your AWP? No one will tell you what any of them mean in a pragmatic sense, and for that reason you flail around the court bouncing the ball nervously off your knee in desperate attempts to stand out from the dozens of people around you—who, in all likelihood, are every bit as talented and desperate as you are.

ii. Jerryd Bayless Makes me Excessively Nervous. I’ve publicly admitted on this site numerous times that my tendency as a fan is to doubt before I believe. I should make it clear before I go on that I think it would be impossible to come away unimpressed with Bayless after watching him play these last few summer league games; his ability to penetrate and make things happen is on par with second year players like Thaddeus Young and Al Thornton who have proven to be effective at the next level. He gets to the line and makes his free throws, and even with a fairly lousy shooting percentage the number of shots he needs to get his points is encouraging. But that shaky J makes me think it will take a lot of work to get him to the point where he could actually play in the same backcourt with Roy. The problem as I see it is he does a lot of the same things Roy does. He forgoes the outside look in lieu of driving the lane. He looks for teammates out of the pick and roll. He takes contact in the paint and gets his shot off. This is all great and encouraging but he does these things at a significantly lower level than Roy (obviously) and I’m not sure you can play two of these kinds of players at the same time. You wouldn’t want Roy to sit around the perimeter, waiting for a catch and shoot opportunity; that would take away the true brilliance of his game. At the same time, I don’t want Bayless catching and shooting either because his J looks like mine: weak. Playing Bayless on the second unit in the short term will make our team a lot better—the guy will make exciting things happen for them when he gets his NBA legs. When his rookie contract is up, though, I don’t know whether there will be a position for him in the starting 5: the Jerryd Bayless Experience might be a short ride, but still well worth the price of admission

iii. This is my Last Summer in Portland and I’ve Found Just as Much to Love as There is to Hate. I love this city’s downtown; aesthetically its one of the best I’ve ever seen. Unfortunately, there’s nowhere to get a beer and a decent meal anywhere near downtown. Speaking of city planning, the public transit system is criminally flawed. Thanks to forward thinking the likes of which brought us the streetcar (which runs on Portland’s busiest streets and actually congests downtown) and the aerial tram (I can’t succinctly sum that project up without the use of foul language) we have one of the most ridiculous transit systems in the world. A million ways to go nowhere but no way to go where you actually want to go (but the bus). Going from North to South on the East side frequently requires bus transfers downtown (?). Plus, as an added bonus (and as my friend always like to point out) if you put a piece of tracing paper over a transit map of Portland and trace the streetcar and MAX routes you end up with a swastika. Thanks, Trimet, for making it subliminal.

Still, it’s been hard to say goodbye to the city I grew up in. Right now I’m frustrated but for sure in a month or two I’ll miss you like crazy. Even the ridiculous parts. Like the Michael Graves building, the Portlandia statue, the Amphibious tours through the sewage-laden Willamette, the burgeoning homeless problem, the slow and painful death of NW 23rd, the gentrification of Old Town, the hyperbole over the bike/automobile fracas, the decrepit arts buildings on the Portland State campus, the Lloyd Center, the superfluity of prostitutes on 82nd, the daily stream of beamer and lex driving businessmen parking around the Fantasy on Sandy at around 5:30 in the morning, the intolerable smugness of SE, the shiver that runs through my veins when people say “nopo,” the aimless bands of frail and tortured boys brooding over their hollow cheeks and mixed drinks in bars all up and down Belmont who are waiting for someone to ask them what they think about Dumas…

I love this city.

An Open Letter to all Current and Future Blazers

nightbluefruit — Thu, 03 Jul 2008 18:57:53 -0000

Dear all current and future Portland Trail Blazers,

Listen, I know you’re busy people and likely do not make a habit of reading fan mail. I’m pleased you’re making an exception for me because this really is a matter of high import. As you are no doubt well aware, the Seattle Supersonics (a long-time rival of your team, but you knew that) have more or less left the Pacific Northwest for the dusty climes of Oklahoma. I know, I know, believe me—it felt as stupid to write it as it does to read it.

Now as a life-long fan of the team you currently or will eventually play for, I have to admit I was shocked by how upset I was at this move. You would think I would revel in any misfortune encountered by the Sonics. And, yes, it is true that I have used the Dikembe moment to taunt Sonic fan friends repeatedly; but really this isn’t about the past, it’s about the future. We’re going to forgive and forget, here. Well—we’re going to forgive me and forget the stupid things I’ve done, at least.

You see, I have a favor to ask of you all, one I hope you are willing to grant me. It’s simple really: I want you to hate the new Oklahoma City team as much as I do. I want this hatred to manifest itself in your play against the team. I want you to empty your tanks in a concentrated effort to destroy their morale. I know the platitudes about giving 110% every night, but let’s be realistic: some nights you try a little harder. Like, say, home games against Los Angeles. I know, alright, it’s not something we’re supposed to talk about; this, though, is important enough that we can’t afford to hide from the truth on account of social niceties.

And listen, it doesn’t always have to be about more effort, either. Sometimes it’s as simple as making an elementary yes or no decision: should I or should I not humiliate the other team? As long as you’re playing against OKC, the answer is always a resounding, “I should.” Why settle for a layup when you could dunk on Jeff Green? Sure, blocking a shot to your teammate would give you possession of the ball; but how about blocking a shot into the fifth row? That would really make the fans stop and think, “ouch, that humiliating rejection reminds me of the despicable way our ownership fleeced a devoted fanbase of its team. Maybe I won’t buy season tickets next year.”

I appreciate the time you took considering my humble suggestion. Hopefully you guys will be throwing ‘oops all over the Okie state for years to come. In closing, let me remind you that a great man once said, “remember they can buy anything—but they can’t buy backbone.”

Amen, brothers.

Yours,

Nightbluefruit

P.S. Better make that block land in the sixth row. Just to be safe.

Portland Fan/Seattle Fan: An Exercise in Feeling Sorry for Oneself

nightbluefruit — Wed, 02 Jul 2008 00:08:00 -0000

This is an email conversation between a native Portlander and a native Seattlite regarding the experience of being a fan in both cities. I posted it because I thought it was interesting and somewhat humorous. I censored the graphic portions and edited out my friend’s name. I chose to call him “Pim” because it’s the name of a character from an excellent Samuel Beckett novel and also because I thought it was funny in this context (I was going to call myself “Pom” but decided against it for clarity’s sake). Anyway this is long and convoluted but hopefully someone will be touched by it and, like, be motivated to perform their own personal Tuesdays With Morrie. Or something.

Pim,

Just found statistical evidence to prove a former thesis: Over the past two years no team in the NFL has compiled fewer personal foul penalties than the Seattle Seahawks. A credit to Holmgren as a disciplinarian? Or a team of enormous [pansies]? I think we know which it is.

-NBF

NBF,

I hate to admit it, it pains me, but I don't disagree with you. Lately I've found myself really resenting Seattle. I was born there, I have friends and family there, I enjoy being in the city, but somehow I have these illogical ill feelings toward the people and the city in general.

Last time I was in Seattle I bought the new Steve Malkmus album from a record store on capital hill. The guy at the counter said something snide, something about never living up to Pavement, like that is a fair criticism of anybody or anything. Even though I have no serious pride in Portland as a city—especially our music scene, which I could give two [craps] about—I was pissed off and felt the need to say something mean about Seattle. I could have made a Kurt Cobain blowing his brains out joke, but I settled for something about how much Band of Horses was pushing the envelope. When I really consider it, I don't care what anyone says about Portland, but when Seattle tries to act superior, I can't help but lash out against the general failures of the city.

Maybe I'm bitter about the poor city planning (traffic, monorails, the [freaking] EMP) but deep down I suppose it has something to do with sports. In my entire life, I've never had a team I was invested in win any top honors (my high school's basketball team won the state championship, but I hated my high school so I felt very little pride or joy). Never a World Series, a Superbowl, an NBA title, or an NCAA championship. All I know is loss. I blame Seattle for this, but instead of taking it out on the teams I can't help but root for, I just take it out on the citizens: I bag on their music, their coffee, their breweries, etc… Collateral damage, I guess.

I can't argue with your hypothesis. Seattle's franchises—probably from the top down—are a bunch of [pansies]. Now and then they demonstrate some testicles—Griffey scores from first, Alexander rushes for 1,800 yards, Kemp fathers 18 illegitimate children in a single season—but did I ever think we'd take the Superbowl from the Steelers? Was I shocked when our foray into the postseason didn't lead to a pennant? Did I really think Kemp would pass Screamin' Jay Hawkins? Yeah, you're right—[pansies]. But for better or worse, no matter how much I bitch and project, they're my [pansies].

-Pim

Pim,

I actually envy you your geographical alliances. Seriously, growing up in Portland was good for crushing Trailblazer defeat after crushing Duck defeat. While it did turn me on to basketball (which I seriously consider the single greatest spectator sport in the world) it made me grasp at straws as far as teams to follow. The Detroit Tigers because my dad worked there. The 49ers because Joe Montana was the quarterback and all my Catholic cousins went to Notre Dame. The Colts because my grandpa mentioned them on his deathbed (!). The Ducks because three of my uncles are alums (I have one Beaver uncle). The Florida Gators because my mom found a baseball hat with their defunct logo on it for three dollars. You can see how desperate it can get.

Throughout all of this, though, Seattle was represented by my classmates as the logical choice for my surrogate fandom. You know, just substitute the Seahawks and Mariners for the sports Portland didn't have and still root with all your heart against the Sonics. This made zero sense to the grade school me but in a way I kind of fell for it. At least half of it. The Mariners were likeable losers and occasional [screw-up] successes. I followed them haphazardly and got really excited when they put together decent seasons.

That said, I [freaking] hate the Seahawks with all of my heart. My friends were all Seahawks fans, but I just didn't get it. Dave Krieg? Steve Largent? When the most talented and recognizable player in your team's history is a white receiver you know you are the buffet tapioca pudding of the NFL. And I fancied myself a white receiver for [gosh] sakes! And don't get me started about Curt Warner. Without even mentioning his legacy of owning small car dealerships in the Seattle burbs he loses points for sharing a name with the evangelical hero of the "Greatest Show on Turf." The only player who can get away with "giving" a championship to God is David Robinson. Look, I can't explain it, it just feels right to me.

Anyway, I don't have any pity for you with the "no championship" thing because championships are totally foreign to my experience. I just can't imagine one in the NW. I don’t envy your geological alliances because of the potential for ultimate success, I envy you your geographical alliances because they have offered you some of the most entertaining teams in recent history—which to me in my "no championship" universe is the apex of sports fandom. Seriously, those Glove, Reign Man, and Shrempf Sonics teams were some of the most exhilarating I've ever seen, and that's coming from the perspective of someone who absolutely hated them. Comparing their star power to the imminently unlikable Clyde Drexler still makes me jealous. When the 2001 Mariners hit their stride they were unstoppable, one of the most memorable baseball teams ever—even though I knew the whole time they'd never pull it off in the playoffs. These are the kinds of things that a Portland fan wishes for. Mull that over for a minute.

The only thing I really feel bad for you about is the Seahawks. I really cannot think of a less exciting sports franchise in any sport. In between the legacy of halfway decent balding white quarterbacks, the give-up attitude of the team's star, and the long term employment of [alleged] date rapist Jerramy Stevens—seriously, rooting for this team is like kicking yourself in the nuts every Sunday.

This is all so disjointed. I'll just end by saying being a sports fan in the Northwest is reconciling yourself to the prospect of giving up all chances of ultimate fulfillment and settling for the thrill of transcendent one-game performances. Like the Blazers perfect quarter. Or the Mariners (near-perfect) season

Just do yourself a favor and go YouTube "Shawn Kemp mixtape." Seriously, you'll thank me afterwards.

-NBF

INCMNG/OTGNG BLZRS, 2nd Annual Edition!

nightbluefruit — Fri, 27 Jun 2008 04:31:59 -0000

This is all subject to frequent updates, but I'm going to write it based on current intel.

INCMNG:

Jerryd Bayless: From all indications you are the PG we needed, minus the fundamental pass-first style that defines a PG. Whatever, as long as you can lob 'oops to Oden I don't give a ----.

Nicholas Batum: "What? He's not white?" --that was my reaction when I first watched YouTube video of you this spring. Supposedly Hollinger thinks you're a bust. I'm sick of his smarmy baldness. Let's prove him wrong by having you learn to throw 'oops to Oden. Deal?

Omer Asik: Dear Fenerbahce Ulker, we promise not to take your big white stiff center until he's good and ready to throw 'oops to Oden. Love, Portland. UPDATE: Turns out we're never going to be taking your white stiff center, Fenerbahce! We got 3 FUTURE BULLS SECOND ROUND PICKS! Woot!

Clippers 2009 2nd Round Draft Pick: Have fun in 2008 playing for your college team/in the D-league/enjoying your time overseas. Don't forget to practice throwing 'oops so you'll be good and ready when you get here/get traded for other assets!

UPDATE: Ike Diogu. Man, two of you jumped me because I allegedly forgot to mention Asik got traded (which I did not, note the update) but nobody even noticed I COMPLETELY FORGOT about Ike Diogu. I would apologize to you, Ike, but something tells me you're kind of used to it.

OTGNG:

Jarrett Jack: I doubt you had the basic skills to lead this team to the next level. Still, I'm sorry you ended up in Indianapolis. Furthermore, in all the time you spent here your moustache never fully filled in. That joke was my ace in the hole. I miss it already.

Bob "McBob" McRoberts: I always had to be reminded you were still here, as in, someone would be all, "Is McBob in street clothes?" and I'd be like, "who?" and they'd be like, "Josh McRoberts. Our 13th man." Then I'd remember. Anyways, happy trails.

Brandon Rush: Your time in a Trailblazers hat was cherished. It will always look better than any Pacers hat. F'realz. And I think you know it, too. Sad.

Darrell Arthur: Watching you sweat in the green room was a treat, as was the constant speculation about what could be wrong with your kidneys. Well, now you and your problem kidneys are off to Houston. Allegedly. Just in case, I suggest you request a seat by the bathroom for the flight.

Joey Dorsey: Wait, you're gone, right? Or is it that Turkish guy? No, I'm pretty sure it's you. So, you know, good luck. Wherever it is you're going. (Sidenote: your choice to call out Oden in the NCAA's keeps biting you in the rear).

Mike Taylor: WHOA! Your draft-day picture looks like a mugshot. Next time you get kicked off your college team and end up in the D-league, smile for the camera, dude. You're not coming off real charismatic.

Paul Allen's Money: I bid you a fond adieu, for yet again you have been transubstantiated (through KP's sorcery) into valuable assets. HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!!

O! How [MJ’s] Worth With Manners May I Sing

nightbluefruit — Mon, 02 Jun 2008 16:51:58 -0000

Sometimes history gets it right. This is seldom the case and often a fluke. Yet the fact remains, not all of history as imagined from the present deserves to be torn down and deconstructed. For whatever reason, sometimes our contemporary impressions collectively judge the past with justice.

The most obvious and classic case of this phenomenon would be William Shakespeare, the playwright who was more or less rescued from the obscurity of his peers by the doting interpretation of Samuel Johnson. Since that time Shakespeare’s reputation has grown to the point that in 4th grade I was convinced I would become a genius if I read his collective works. Whether or not this worked is certainly disputed, but beside the point. Thanks to Johnson today we suffer from an influx of misguided high school drama and English teachers proclaiming Shakespeare as a genuine romantic, as a skilled satirist, as a precursor to Keystone “Komedy,” a political mastermind, and a wily wordsmith. None of them understand in the slightest what makes Shakespeare great (perhaps it would be better to imply that they understand what endears Shakespeare to them), nonetheless they profess his greatness. A clear-cut case in which, for whatever reason, history has made the correct choice in memorializing Shakespeare as a man of genius; the fact that history has no concept of that genius does not affect the justness of its decision.

The trouble is, like any decision imparted with the suspect traces of a unanimous historical approval, Shakespeare’s greatness is frequently assaulted by modern critics. While these critics are most often high school students wishing they didn’t have to read Othello so they could dedicate more time to filming bum fights to gain subscriptions to their Youtube accounts, the simple fact that they challenge historically supported hegemonic approval lends imagined credence to their complaints. In other words, the fact that in Kindergarten we were all lied to about Columbus’ supposed greatness turns every other prominent great man into a racist talentless white male usurper. Chaucer was a rapist. Teddy Roosevelt was a racist. Kennedy was a philanderer. Bill Murray was a drug addict. On and on it goes, sucking Shakespeare unjustly into the whirling dervish of acute postmodern suspicion.

This, my friends, is what I am witnessing in the present day in and around Portland (and especially on BE) in regards to the legacy of Michael Jordan. My fear is that the Sam Bowie draft’s lasting impressions are deeper and more insidious that I ever could have imagined. We need to come to terms with the fact that we passed on Jordan. It’s just a part of what makes us who we are. Don’t ignore the thought of the banners that could be hanging from the Rose Garden ceiling, but embrace the vision of them as an inescapable part of a past that was. There’s no need to manifest the regret associated with that draft by attacking the lasting impression of MJ’s greatness. Jordan is the Shakespeare of basketball; for whatever reason, the popular assertion is correct. Jordan really was that good.

Take the perspective of someone who really seems to have very little perspective at all: the author of the “anti-Jordan page.” Even before the page title, “Reasons NOT to worship MJ,” there is a point of clarification in bright red: “*PLEASE NOTE: I'm NOT denying the fact that MJ's the greatest player.” Even the irrational hatred of the Chicago Bulls, every Bulls fan in the world, and the entire city of Chicago and anyone who’s ever lived there cannot blind this person from coming to the correct conclusion. Now why do we let the Bowie pick cloud our vision?

To close, I want to deal specifically with some of the claims I’ve been dealing with, both with friends here in Portland and on this site specifically:

--Hakeem was the best player in the draft that year. Well, no, he wasn’t.

--Clyde in his prime was as good as Jordan. Unfortunately for me, as a Blazers fan, he wasn’t.

--Kobe today is as good as MJ was. Uh, no, he isn’t.

--Given a set of potential historical circumstances, one or another team could have stolen some of Jordan’s rings. No, they couldn’t

Hopefully that clears everything up. We’re better than sour grapes, Portland. Let’s not be the Dekker of our times. We picked Sam Bowie. We should have picked the greatest player of all time, just like Houston should have. Now let’s move on.

Poll

MJ: Greatest Player ::

Lakers: Terrible

14 votes

Fundamental basketball: Foreigners

2 votes

Cricket: Nigh Unwatchable

8 votes

Me: No Sour Grapes

12 votes

36 votes | Poll has closed

What Goes Around has to Go Somewhere, Right?

nightbluefruit — Fri, 23 May 2008 19:23:23 -0000

I recently received the gift-of-the-magi in the form of some additional office help at my job. The sinister part of it, the part in which I tragically trade my hair for a now-useless porcelain comb, is the fact that the new co-worker drives me crazy. She is not a native Oregonian and only moved here days before receiving the job. Now that she has found an apartment in the outskirts of NW she ceaselessly spends her weekends meandering the city of roses like Bolivar jaunting through South America; pretentiously crafting an ethnography solely for the purpose of controlling everything she circumscribes. My fabulous luck has it that she shares this newfound knowledge in an ostentatious monologue that never ends, 8:30 to 5 pm, every work day. The sound of her affected voice only drowns out when the steely and overbearing imagined narration of O. Henry didactically expresses how my worldly desires are proved petty and simultaneously noble through some form of depressing human universality. Meanwhile I get to hear about this great part of town. It’s called the “Pearl District.” And in this “Pearl District,” they have all kinds of shops. They even have this one shop full of books. It’s probably the biggest book store in the world. They sell new books and used books and they have a coffee shop and oh my god I think I really am going to put this ball point pen through my eardrum right now.

As my depression grew, in came the realization that this was the tone of voice I frequently copped when talking to bored onlookers about the Blazers. About three or four years ago the average inebriates leaning on the bar at Blackwell’s didn’t know a thing about the Blazers or care to know a thing about them. They didn’t go to the games. They didn’t look at the box scores or recaps in the paper. And had Bassy himself wandered into the bar and opened fire they would have had no way of knowing a millionaire NBA draft bust was trying to kill them, and not just your average nutcase.

This lead to the kind of tone of voice I get now from my coworker. Well, attendance is really low right now but we have a couple players we’re developing and some of them don’t look too bad, so there’s some hope for the future &c., &c. The bored looks on the faces of my fellow drinkers never inhibited me from going on for hours, just as my pained expression and the sound of my teeth grinding never seems to stop my coworker. Certainly the two acts are not perfectly congruous, but the poetic justice is pretty thick.

So what have we learned? As usual for me, very little. I still think O. Henry is a crap writer and the only version of "The Gift of the Magi" I enjoy is the one where they copped the idea for Sesame Street. Bert traded his paper clip collection for a soap dish for Ernie’s rubber ducky and Ernie traded his rubber ducky for a cigar box for Bert’s paper clip collection. Oh the pathos! Luckily in this version, mister Hooper showed up at the ninth hour to return their sacrificed treasures as a Christmas present. God bless Deus Ex Machina!

So, pretty much, I hope KP and Mr. Hooper package my coworker in a sign and trade for Calderon.

The luckiest girl in the world

Poll

Who is the greatest muppet?

Gonzo.

28 votes

I'm a fool.

27 votes

55 votes | Poll has closed

Choose and Perish

nightbluefruit — Wed, 14 May 2008 19:54:56 -0000

As a Portland native and adamant defender of those things that, like myself, are born of the PNW, I’ve always enjoyed the work of Matt Groening. In particular I enjoy the collection of comic strips he published about his two kids, titled Will and Abe’s Guide to the Universe. Those familiar to the book will recognize how well he captures the asinine yet fundamental questions provoked by the literalist curiosity of childhood without peddling overt sentimentalism. When Will raises his head in indignation to ask belligerently, “Why do skeletons DANCE?” we are tempted to smile smugly with insouciance at the naiveté of the perplexed child, when really we should be asking the same kinds of questions about stuff all the time.

Of course, questions like “Why do skeletons dance?” don’t have answers per se, but assumptions that interpret or imitate meaning. Maybe skeletons are happy, or, maybe they are angry. The question could be, “why do people who imagine anthropomorphic skeletons tend to make them dance?” but then we’ve only made a simple unanswerable question into a complicated and obscured unanswerable question. And when you get to the heart of things, both unanswerable questions are just different forms of the same unanswerable question. Or at least unanswerable without answers to even more complicated and redundant questions about our relationship to the concept of skeletons.

If it’s okay with everyone, I’m going to abandon the skeletons for a moment to get to the basketball portion. I’ve been watching the playoffs with the interest of someone who loves the game but hates everyone playing it. The Utah v. LA series is especially problematic. Who to root for? The answer: no one. I root for soul-crushing defeat for both teams. Never mind physics.

However, in the midst of these (I have to admit) entertaining playoff games I can’t help but notice that some of these teams are really effing good. Not just kind of good. Like, really g.d. good. New Orleans, Utah, LA, and Orlando are absolutely stacked. Not to mention San Antonio has again managed their roster so as to clear out dead wood while continuing to develop and reload talent (never mind the Scola mishap). I’m not sure whether it was watching CP3 nail off-balance floaters through three defenders or Dwight Howard risk opponents’ life and limb with the kind of dunks that remind you Shaq once had cartilage in his knees that originally made me think of it, but nevertheless, it came to my ridiculous mind. Like Dr. Raymond Stantz staring at his own manifestation of Gozer, it just popped in there. I couldn’t help it. I tried to think of the one thing that could never possibly destroy us.

In any case, my skeleton question is:

Are we sitting on the verge of a repeat of the Blazers teams of the early 90’s?

Is our future to be an extremely talented, extremely likeable team of second-place finishers?

And, secondarily, would that be such a bad thing?

I’m off to glower.

Poll

In the worst of all possible worlds the Rose Garden would become

The LA Weight Loss Garden

24 votes

The GoDaddy.com Garden

6 votes

The Waste Management Garden

7 votes

Full of Kobe Jerseys every time the L*kers visit. Oh, wait.

19 votes

56 votes | Poll has closed