SB Nation User Blog: scrappy-doo

Game #8 Recap. Vs. Houston Rockets

scrappy-doo — Sat, 15 Nov 2008 04:23:02 -0000

For a minute there, I was thinking "Yao Ming better hope the Rockets win, so he won't have to answer why he couldn't stop George Hill to save his life." Well, looks like it's answering time. The Spurs rookie scored 17 points in the win, with several of them coming in the form of lay ups ranging from "difficult" to "circus" over the Rockets' 7'6" center. Hill also chipped in with 5 assists, and 6 rebounds. One of Hill's rebounds was a crucial recovery of his own miss that allowed the Spurs to keep possesion with a minute left. Tim Duncan hit what ended up being the game winner seconds later.

The Spurs, once again playing without the injured Tony Parker and Manu Ginobili, struggled most of the game with an anemic offense. The Houston defense was able to key in on Spurs shooters and continuously force them into difficult shots. The problem ended up being that the Spurs hit enough of them down the stretch to escape with a win.

Jumping out to a quick lead, the Spurs began a trend of allowing Houston players to sneak into the paint to collect their own misses. Offensive rebounds were almost the key stat of the night for the Rockets, as the Spurs were unable to grow or protect a lead in the early going. The offensive boards came most often as a result of late defensive slides by the Spurs which allowed for either wide open looks from behind the arc causing long rebounds,or deep penetration into the paint. In the end though, it simply wasn't enough.

In what was largely a defensive struggle, the Spurs managed to get just enough points from their role players to get the job done. None of these points were bigger than Matt Bonner's three pointer to bring the Spurs within one. Maligned early in the season by the Spur's "official" "fan club", PtR, Bonner hit several key baskets to keep the Spurs within striking distance, though to be fair, Houston might have given this game away.

Ron Artest broke out of a shooting slump with an 18 pt night, hitting 8-16 from the field, despite missing what would have been the game winner. Unfortunately, the trade off came in the form of a Tracy McGrady shooting slump. The Rockets star went just 2-12, with many of his jumpers falling short of their target. McGrady's poor shooting however, was just one of several stats that contributed to the Rocket's loss.

Duncan once again paced the Spurs in the scoring column with a 22 point outing. He didn't put up his usual rebounding stats, but Roger Mason proved to be a serviceable stop gap, chipping in with 9 rebounds, himself. Duncan also had a key block in the game, sending back Aaron Brook's potential game winning lay up with one second remaining. Mason recovered the loose ball and made one of two foul shots to cushion the lead to an astounding two points. Ron Artest managed to break free for a potential game winning three point attempt, but he might have broken a little too hard, as he was off balance as the ball left his hands.

For the Spurs, the win can be marked as satisfactory, simply because it was a win. In the absence of two of their big three, they will be forced to take whatever they can get. Tonight, it was just barely enough.

The 2008-09 Spurs Official Nickname, and other news...

scrappy-doo — Wed, 12 Nov 2008 22:01:13 -0000

The Garbage Pail Kids... or more specifically, Tim Duncan and The Garbage Pail Kids... I like that one better, because it has the ring of an old Motown group, like Gladys Knight and The Pips...

The reason this nickname fits, is because at this moment, anyone not named Tim Duncan has already shown a propensity to either get injured, or just grossly underperform. Roger Mason is really the only one who could be defended out of this bunch, though not by much...

Think about it... Garbage Pail Kids is perfect, and has a nice ring to it whenever you see guys come off our bench. Who doesn't live up to that name like Matt Bonner or Fab? The answer is nobody. Plus, they stink... ability-wise and probably literally....

Tim Duncan and The Garbage Pail Kids...

Also, for anyone interested, I went to Wizard World over the weekend and came away with not only an artist (as I had been looking for...) but a publisher as well. I remember discussing with ATS, SiMA, and Tomasito, the book I was putting out, and now it seems that the process has been streamlined quite a bit. Hopefully I can fill you in on some concrete release details in the near future....

P.S. My name is really Justin Biehle, and not Scrappy-Doo.... just going to preemptively get that out of the way so as not to confuse anyone when they go looking for the book...

My Improved Ending to Powell's Emo Ranting...

scrappy-doo — Sun, 26 Oct 2008 20:34:33 -0000

On March 25th 2009, at approximately 11:28 PM EST, The New York Port Authority responds to a disturbance at Pier 18-A. A large black man, referring to himself only as "The GIST" is photographed breaking free from a storage container aboard a freighter of european origins. Despite combined efforts by the NYPD and Homeland Security, the man was unable to be detained and easily managed to escape the harbor area.

Once outside in the city, "The GIST" quickly commandeered a yellow cab, and threw it at pursuing police. Unable to pursue past state lines, the NYPD was forced to relent and hope that the federal agents could bring the man in.

The chase lasted for only five minutes, as The GIST used his blinding speed to make his way south, soon losing the tailing Feds. By 10 AM the next morning, The GIST was sighted in San Antonio Texas, climbing the AT&T Center. Once atop the structure, he let out a bone chilling howl, and finished the baby he had begun to eat only moments before.

Disgusted and ashamed by their inability to arraign The GIST, deputy director of the FBI Roland Garriott was left with only one choice. Though they had not spoken since Popovich had lain with his wife and sired an heir by her, appealing to the coach's mercy seemed to be the only option left.

After hours of searching the city, Popovich was conveniently found INSIDE the AT&T Center, where he had been conducting team practice. Angered by his team's lack of passion and will to win, Pop had launched into a fiery tirade, and was unable to hear the disturbance outside. After an awkward silence during which Popovich smiled menacingly at Garriott while making pelvic thrusts into the air, Garriott managed to explain the situation. Reluctantly, Popovich scaled the building to confront the menace.

Atop the structure, circling news choppers caught a live feed of Popovich and Gist standing toe to toe, their steel eyed gazes not breaking from the other. Though the feed contained no audio, the duo appeared to discuss something briefly, before embracing each other in a masculine, non gay way.

When the two safely reached the ground, they were quickly surrounded by reporters wanting to know what had transpired atop the stadium. The GIST responded by slapping the nearest reporter and quickly retired into the building. Left alone with the throng of media, Popovich raised his hands to quiet the masses before he spoke.

"My son.... has returned..." stated Popovich, before uncorking a bottle of expensive wine and toasting the nearby Garriott, asking him how he liked "them apples".

With the confusion apparently settled, Popovich withdrew into the confines of the AT&T center, where he found Gist already suited up and ready to join the team. Noting that his son was wearing Jaque Vaughn's uniform, Gist simply responded "...hungry...". Popovich laughed while stroking his beard, remarking that the meal had resulted in an available roster spot. The personnel problem solved, the team resumed their practice.

As the season came to a conclusion, any doubts that the media had about The GIST's ability to gel with the team were quickly dismissed as the Spurs won all of their remaining games, squeaking into the playoffs with the seventh seed.

During the first round against the in state rival Dallas Mavericks, the team was caught laughing on the bench as The GIST singlehandedly dismantled their opponents, winning the series in four straight games.

Advancing to the second round, the Spurs met a Phoenix team who had been riding a wave of confidence after sweeping their own first round opponent. Prior to the tip off in game one, Suns center Shaquille O'Neal mocked suggestions that the Spurs' had seemingly overnight become the team to beat. His words were quickly eaten as the Spurs easily won the first game 285-7, with The GIST easily eclipsing Wilt Chamberlain's 100 point record by scoring 283 points (the remaining two points were chipped in by way of Tim Duncan free throws). The series continued in much the same way, only briefly pausing for a brief scuffle in Game 3 in which The GIST decided he wanted to leave the bench to eat Leandro Barbosa. No penalties were assessed and the Spurs swept the Suns out of the playoffs in Phoenix. Riding an emotional high, Gregg Popovich had to be restrained by his team, preventing him from asking Shaq how his ass tasted.

The Spurs, having steamrolled their first two opponents, were granted a layoff as they waited to see whether their next opponent would be the Los Angeles Lakers or the New Orleans Hornets. Their question was answered when the Lakers dispatched the Hornets in a sloppy game 7 four nights later.

Eager to pay back the Lakers, the Spurs quickly made their feelings known as they punished the Lakers in game 1, with the GIST scoring 87 points in the first quarter before being put back into his cage for the remainder of the game by his proud papa. The tone of the series took an interesting turn when the media alleged that the only reason the aging Spurs had come this far was because they were employing the services of "a wookiee". Angered, yet oddly humored, Popovich laughed and announced that he would finish the sweep of the Lakers without the GIST.

Despite assertions that the team could perform as well without The GIST available, Popovich was nearly forced to eat some crow in game 4. Down by 4 with just under 10 seconds, Manu Ginobili hit a three while Lamar Odom assaulted him. Favoring his left shoulder when he got up, Ginobili was unable to tie the game at the line. When Laker guard Kobe Bryant came down with the rebound, many figured the game to be over, as Bryant had not missed a free throw all postseason. Stepping to line on the other end however, Bryant appeared to be shaken. The entire Spurs team had manufactured large diamond rings from the bench area, and were checking their authenticity around the painted area. The Los Angeles crowd had quieted for Bryant, but that may have backfired as he was then able to hear the cries of disdain from Spurs players as they discovered their $4 million dollar rings were indeed, fake. "What the fuck!?" cried a startled Bruce Bowen, who made just enough of a distraction to startle Bryant, causing him to miss the first free throw. "This some busta shit!" Shouted an excited Matt Bonner, who had managed to sneak onto the floor, his red hair not catching the usually keen eye of Popovich. The strategy worked however, as Bryant missed the second. Out of timeouts, the Spurs saved Popovich's guarantee as Tim Duncan hit a full court heave at the buzzer, and immediately went courtside to claim Bryant's wife, Vanessa, as his own.

Their perfect record intact, the Spurs waited once more to discover the identity of their finals opponent. The Celtics and Bobcats were locked in yet another battle, as the home team had not yet lost. With the series returning to Charlotte for game 7, the Celtics managed to stun the home crowd as Kevin Garnett exploded for 3 points, enough to ensure another finals appearance for the defending champions.

As the media began to hype the finals matchup immediately after the final buzzer sounded, pundits across the nation began to mention the impending matchup between Duncan and Garnett. Finally, it seemed, the questions would be answered.

The answer however, would have to wait until another season. During a game 1 altercation between Spurs rookie George Hill and Ray Allen, The GIST, back from his imposed suspension, used Garnett to club Brian Scalabrine to death, just like Jason in "Friday the 13th". Garnett suffered a major concussion as a result and was unable to finish the series. The absence of Garnett and their favorite cheerleader, Scalabrine, deflated the Celics, who went meekly into the night as the Spurs once again swept the series, becoming the first team to finish the postseason undefeated.

Relishing the moment with yet another expensive bottle of wine, Popovich recalled his team's struggles during the regular season, and applauded them for their resiliency. When asked where The GIST had gone, Popovich told reporters that he had frozen him in carbonite, and was saving him for next season. Just then, an elated Manu Ginobili, wearing a pair of women's panties on his head with "Eva Longoria's panties" scrawled on them in sharpie marker, grabbed the microphone. Before he could say anything, the cameras quickly switched back to an unintelligible Stephen A. Smith, who said something about the game that no one really understood.

Somewhere, a jaded Matthew Powell smiled....

SHAQ: Holy God, please make him shut up! Please , O' God...

scrappy-doo — Wed, 15 Oct 2008 16:32:24 -0000

In what is my first basketball related post since the season ended, Shaq has announced to a radio station that he will "make the Spurs pay for using the 'Hack-a-Shaq" strategy last year."

Here is the link:http://sports.espn.go.com/nba/news/story?id=3644779

Is it just me, or did anyone else just seem to know that Shaquille would have one of the longest, most drawn out and annoying declines of any athlete ever? The guy still talks trash like he's 25 and superhuman. What he needs to realize is that now he just sounds like those guys who talk about playing ball back in high school, while their beer gut rolls about like some majestic ocean wave, or perilous sand dune.

Shaq and his fat head needs to realize that, at this point in time, more people are starting to laugh AT him than with him.

This World We Live In. Pt.1 of a new weekly series! (Old People, Mechanized Death, and Letters to God inside!)

scrappy-doo — Wed, 01 Oct 2008 14:38:26 -0000

Hi there, dudes and dudettes. Justin here, also affectionately known (or perhaps obnoxiously known) as Scrappy Doo. I wanted to try a sociopolitical experiment, seeing as how this is an election year. There's a lot of stuff going on in the world (the world we live in.... shameless plug...)and I felt it would fun for everyone (but mostly fun for me) to make fun of them. I'll go on ahead and dive into my tangent (as well as try and stop using so many parentheses...)

Well, I have to admit that recently I've been waking up a lot earlier than I normally do. The demands of one leading a double life as a part time student/full time comic book auteur aren't quite as strenuous as you might think. To compensate my newfound proclivities to wake with the rest of the nation, I've made a pact with myself to try and stay better informed with what's happening in this world that I'm pretty sure I take for granted most of the time. I got myself a subscription to the Wall Street Journal, and I have to say that if half of the things they say in that rag are true, then we all need to get real jobs. I don't think PTR is a tax write off...

I've also been watching the news. A first, when you consider that doing so carries an opportunity cost of less FUEL TV...

DID YOU KNOW:

On the news this morn, states across the southern spread of the US (read: Dirty South) have been considering certain provisions in order to cope with the increasing scarcity of gas in the area. One of these options is to set aside a predetermined ration for the elderly.

FOR. THE. ELDERLY.

Now, I don't know about you guys, but when I heard this (and I watched for a full hour, so I heard it twice, for posterity) I had to approach it with more than a little skepticism. After all, if the news anchor (who was hot) is referring to the same citizen class of driving elders of which we all live in fear, then I feel like we may have a serious problem on our hands. Generally, the way to combat an ever increasing scourge of Oldsters behind the wheel is to not provide them with the ability to go anywhere they want. Rather than doing this, local governments around the area have decided to effectively turn our grandparents into rolling explosive devices.

They might as well be giving Asian women free hood spikes with every fill up.

Now I realize that I may be reaching just a tad here. After all, it's not like this is the worst idea ever (even though it just might be...). I have to admit that I can't seem to find the bright side of this, though. I mean, I'm sure we've all had automotive run-ins with senior citizens before. I for one, refuse to drive anywhere if my Gram Gram is behind the wheel. The way she drives her tiny Lexus evokes memories of watching Grave Digger and Bigfoot tearing apart cars on TNN's "Monster Jam" as a child. It's seriously that bad. Now, I have to live in fear of the fact that government in her area is apparently willing to trade what may amount to human life so Gram Gram can drive herself to church. Does God approve of this seemingly ironical trade-off? We should ask Him, seeing as how local lawmakers have apparently decided to forego their right to do so.

In the end, I suppose that it's best to avoid tinfoil hat paranoia and not live in fear of being run down by a visually impaired geriatric with a full tank of (extremely flammable) petrol, but I just can't shake the spider sense that this isn't exactly what our country needs. We're already a nation that has become overly dependent on oil, and I have to look down the road a bit and take notice that this won't help to break our addiction. After all, the best way to defend ourselves against this newest domestic threat is to armor ourselves in our own vehicles (vehicles that take gas!) in hopes that their own metal will shield us from obliteration via geezer metal (when I say "geezer metal", I mean old people in cars, and not Black Sabbath's Geezer Butler...).

Hey! Whaddya know? CHRISTINE is on TV! Great... Grrrreeeaaaaat...

Marquise Walker: How a Child Phenom Became His Father’s Greatest Attempt At Redemptive Success.

scrappy-doo — Thu, 25 Sep 2008 20:06:51 -0000

This is an article I wrote for www.socalsportshub.com. I'm unusually proud of it, so I'm going on a self promotional rampage right now. Besides, I like you's guys more than I like that site, so I'm just bring the product straight to you. Hope y'all can generate some good controversy out of it. Have at it.

I’m not a huge television watcher. For a sports fan, that’s definitely a weird paradox. Even when my Spurs or Cowboys are playing, I’ll often be found doing something besides watching them on TV. About the only time you’ll ever catch me watching any TV is late at night, when I catch the dregs of that day’s Sportscenter. One of the benefits (or detriments?) of my subdued television habits is that I can usually avoid being part of the outcry at whatever current event is sparking nationwide chagrin. This definitely comes in handy during an election year, as I am notoriously apolitical, and couldn’t care less about who said what or what have you. Still, even I can find it in me to get worked up over something getting beamed over the boob tube every now and again. Who knew that this time it would be an eight year old kid?

Marquise Walker is good at basketball. That much is obvious after even the most casual of glances. During one of my nocturnal ESPN sessions, I was fortunate enough to catch the Outside The Lines feature about him.Being no stranger to child prodigies (I actually was one… I had a twelfth grade reading level in second grade), I looked at Marquise as objectively as possible. What bothered me the most about Marquise’s obviously high level of talent was the fact that I immediately noticed something under the surface of the entire thing. I’m not taking too much stock in my detective work because the segment possessed the subtlety of a jackhammer, but I was quite disturbed by what I was seeing. It follows an unfortunate trend that has become increasingly prevalent throughout my short life.

Marquise Walker is a product. At eight years old, young Walker is already being advertised as the proverbial “next big thing”. Never mind the fact that there about thirty of these during any given period of time, because that really isn’t the underlying rub. The fact that his dear old dad is the one propagating Marquise is. Chikosi Walker isn’t necessarily in the wrong for wanting the best for his son. That is what parents do. But there is a fine line between wanting the best for your children, and living vicariously through them. Early on during the segment, Chikosi talks about noticing Marquise dribbling a kickball when he was two. Starting by having Marquise only dribble to the count of three, Chikosi smiles when recalling how soon it was that he could no longer keep up with his budding money tree. This is where I immediately sensed that something was off about the whole thing. When Chikosi remarked that “I might have something special on my hands”, he says it like a fisherman who just hooked a monster bass. He says it like someone who saw a kid dribbling sacks of money instead of a raggedy kickball.

Before long, Chikosi had met the acquaintance of Lamont Peterson, a basketball trainer who works with college level prospects. The operating words here would be “college level”, an age that would seem to be decidedly above eight. Peterson evidently saw an opportunity to jump onboard Chikosi’s money train and encouraged him to promote his son onYOUTUBE… Before long, Chikosi and Lamont’s viral campaign had plastered Marquise’s young face and skill set all over the internet, under the banner “The Nation’s Top Kindergarten Prospect”. When Chikosi says this on the segment, he gets a gleam in his eye like Scrooge McDuck used to on Duck Tales. It really is about as disturbing a thing I’ve seen in recent memory.

The marketing plan was a simple one. Chikosi would pose his son with top level NBA talent, and have them testify that he was indeed the real deal. The are videos of him with Luther Head, Lebron James, and several other players. The link between each of these videos is telling. Each of these NBA stars has a look on their face that screams about how they have better things to do than shill for some kid. The whole thing just speaks to how much of a scheme this is for Chikosi. He isn’t the only one.

When I was younger, I grew up down the street from a group of brothers who played sports (any sport…) with a tenacity that was discomforting to the other kids in the neighborhood. Two hand touch was never just two hand touch when you played with these kids. They played not just to win, but to mentally scar you with a lasting image of how badly they beat you. I had the good “fortune” of playing Little League with the oldest, and my younger brother played flag football with the younger two. That was when I got a glimpse of the brains of the operation. I had never seen two parents so into what their kids were playing. During timeouts or between innings, BOTH parents would seek out their demon brood and give them pep talks separate from the rest of the team. They wanted their kids to receive the notes that THEY had been taking about the opposition. “The shortstop plays close to the bag, so hit it to the gap.” They would say to their son, as the rest of the team thought about what sno-cones we might get at the end of the game. “The next time you get the ball, you stick behind the guard until you can break free.” It was disgusting. These parents (both of whom had an extreme Napoleon Complex) made no qualms about their desire for their own clan’s success. Their kid’s were going to be stars at NOTRE DAME! STARS!!!!! They were, to be blunt, THOSE parents.

As the segment rolled on, Lamont remarked at how Marquise had become credible upon hearing that Chikosi had footage of Marquise with a Lebron James that couldn’t have looked more disinterested and fake about the whole situation. The used car salesman smile is too telling. Still, Marquise was “credible”. The way Lamont said this was enough to make the viewer think that mass production of Marquise Walker Nikes was imminent. I should probably use this time to reiterate that the child is only eight years old.

Perhaps this is what alarmed me so much about watching Chikosi beam about young Marquise. He had already, in effect, proclaimed his son to be bigger than the game, another epidemic plaguing sports as a whole. We see it everywhere we go. On MTV Cribs, in video games and movies. Everywhere. Sports have become the new American Dream. Sports aren’t just a game, no matter how old you are. Sports=Money, Fame, and Status. This was something that was evident when I was a child playing with the All Star Bros, and it’s evident when you listen to Chikosi speak about his son. I’m suspicious as to whether or not attempts have been made to change Marquise’s name to “Meal Ticket”. This whole situation is bad for so many people, in so many ways. Hearing an eight year old child say that his goal is to “get to the NBA, and just make money” is a sickening thing to hear. When I was eight, I was worried about whether or not I’d be getting Street Fighter II for Christmas. I can count on exactly NO fingers the times I was pressured as a toddler to make an NBA roster. This current attitude has set a bad precedent, and Chikosi Walker is perhaps the culmination of it all.

Chikosi answers statements from the lone detractor in the segment with a conviction that holds as much water as a hula hoop. He falters and stutters while assuring the cameras that he would rather his child deal with the pressure of playing basketball well, than have to deal with the pressure of not having a life, an opportunity. Instead of making excuses though, he should’ve realized early on that basketball should have been merely a gateway, an enabler, to that opportunity. Chikosi neglected to mention to his son that basketball could be one of MANY ways that he might get into a college, at which success would give him the opportunity to do ANYTHING he wanted. Instead, he put the blinders on his child and told him essentially that basketball was the only way out. Wrong. Very wrong.

In asserting to Marquise that basketball was his lone shot, Chikosi set the prospect of failure into his unknowing child’s mind. He also placed him into a sweepstakes where the odds are ludicrously against him. What will happen if Marquise focuses so much on basketball that his academics fall far behind? What if he injures himself badly in high school? What if he peaks at to early an age? What if he just plain doesn’t grow? There are too many uncertainties and pratfalls to put all of your eggs into the basketball basket, and Chikosi managed to conveniently ignore that while he had dollar signs in his eyes.

Though I am not a parent, I have a hard time believing that I will want things this way for my child when I do become one. Like I said in the beginning, EVERY parent worth his or her salt wants the best for their child. That said, there is a right as well as a very wrong way to insure that they achieve their goals. One way to go about insuring their well being is to make sure that their goals are not YOUR goals in secret (or in Chikosi’s case, not so secret). It is not the parents’ job to force their child down a path by disguising and twisting their own attempts at redemptive success as a child’s “love” for that one thing. Who loves basketball more, Marquise? Or Chikosi?

I sincerely hope that Marquise does indeed make it to the NBA, because for how it looks now, his father might have done him the ultimate disservice by taking away the one thing each parent does give their children, a chance to do anything…

Marquise Walker: How a Child Phenom Became His Father’s Greatest Attempt At Redemptive Success.

scrappy-doo — Thu, 25 Sep 2008 20:00:35 -0000

Scrappy Doo's Drunken Declaration of Love to PtR's Member(s)...

scrappy-doo — Fri, 08 Aug 2008 08:15:14 -0000

I love you... even though I'm living in some perverted reality in which I've taken on the name of an obnoxious cartoon also ran...

I love you... even though I once received an email concerning possibly inappropriate (allegedly?) subject matter in one of my posts... I didn't care... because I love you PtR and Friends...

Yes... I have been drinking... Long Island Iced Tea. I chose that particular drink because on top of my desire to to defile myself this nocturn, it tastes like lemonade, which hearkens back to my days trying to peddle yellow kool-aid to strangers who may or may not have wanted me in their car...

That's beside the point, because this love fest is a celebration of my appreciation for a forum in which I (nay, all of us...) irreverently foam at the mouth whilst we claim to be basketball experts. All of that doesn't even matter right now... because hetero man love it's what's on the menu!

None of you actually know the real me, which is good because that's totally the most emo thing I'm going to say in this alcohol fueled reverie.

By the way, it's totally cool that I'm the only one participating in this very bizarre profession of love to a website, because we all know damn well that without the bastion of hope it represents during our work week, we'd all probably kill ourselves or do something irrational, like start some kind of Spurs themed Jonestown... where we'd kill ourselves or do something irrational, like start some kind of Spurs themed Jonestown...

That's totally cool. Because I love you, PtR and Friends, and it needs to be said by somebody, even if it's after a night of "enhanced socialization".

Don't anyone try to make me feel embarrassed by bringing this love menagerie up a year from now, because I totally know what I'm doing. That's right, I'm saying something that needs to be said to all of us PtR brethren who unknowingly give each other something to look forward to on any given day. Hell, we might have even prevented a crime or something by providing something for our more flighty, dangerous members to read. Or maybe we provoked one... I still love you anyways...

I have deduced through the process of deduction that I am one of the youngest members actively posting on this site, so all of you PtR'ers might be saying "This guy doesn't know what love is. All he does is come on here and spout off at the mouth every week or so, and we all put up with it because he made us laugh once, before he left us alone to go back to his comic books."

You could say that... but you'd be wrong. I go back to my graphic novels...

I don't want to make this awkward or anything, because a profession of love between consenting adults should always be treated seriously, so I'll just sum it up by saying:

"I love you PtR and Friends, I want to scream it from the rooftops. Hell, I'd scream it from space if the vacuum wouldn't kill us all... Thank you for giving us all a place to go when we don't feel like doing our work."

Now... can I crash on your couch?

James Gist's New Nickname...

scrappy-doo — Fri, 08 Aug 2008 03:01:57 -0000

is "Euro-Le-Gist"...

It's multi-faceted. First, the word "Euro" is in there, sporting a double entendre for the Euro Leagues for which Gist now plays, and the Euros, in which he is rolling...

Secondly, the article "le" is present. Le is the French gender article for masculine words/people/etc. This is a double entendre of sadness, because while French is a european language, Gist was a manly man whom many fans wanted to see rip someone in half. Tears will likely be shed at the absence of said ripping...

Thirdly, I've used my mastery of the English language (a gift which I continuously insist on employing for all the wrong reasons, including posts which are cruelly censored by an anonymous admin) to formulate this nickname to such an effect where, if you say it fast enough, it sounds like you're saying Urologist (which is a penis doctor... look it up... it's science!)

Urologist works in this situation, because, at present, our hopes of winning have currently been peed on ever so gently, like a warm summer shower.

It must be said that the writer/poster does not, under any circumstances, participate in or condone golden showers, unless maybe a fellow PtR'er had been struck by Cobra Venom. Then I'd totally pee, but only to save your lives!

Oden: "Yeah... I'd Totally Hit It..."

scrappy-doo — Sat, 02 Aug 2008 20:25:54 -0000

In a photo taken at ESPN's annual ESPY awards, Greg Oden was caught displaying his taste for tailored suits and a fine rapist wit. The top overall pick in last year's draft, Oden gained a reputation in college as a scorer and inside presence to be reckoned with. When reporters seeking a comment caught up with him, Oden informed us that after presenting the award, he tried his luck with the brunette pictured. "I told her that I I'm known as a scorer and an inside presence to be reckoned with." Oden was quick to add that he would have sealed the deal had Kevin Durant's charm not gotten in the way. "Yeah" He sighed. "Dude came up and started talking about his tremendous length and penetration skills at the three spot. I didn't even know girls had a three spot!" Neither Durant nor Bondage Action Sharapova could be reached for further comment.