Ha! I'm not supposed to have time for this, given a presentation due tomorrow which I have yet to start--but, let me just repeat this: I love Nonoy Baclao.
And that block on meierhoffer at the end of the fourth, with ra-ra-rasputin ending up on the floor and Nonoy stepping over to growl over him... Yaaah. Help me, I'm melting.
Anyway. Here's a proposition: Nonoy, can I be your girlfriend for two weeks? I swear two weeks is all I'm asking for. Kahit post-season pa. My sister blocked this proposal with a mocking "He has a girlfirend, no?" but I'm like, so? Given for example, you've been together two years, what's two weeks? 14 out of 365, two out of 52, 1/2 out of 12. Surely this is not too much to ask?
You don't even have to introduce me to anyone, let alone your friends, or parents.
But of course, I'm being silly. And untruthful.
Fact is we plan to have a huge banner at game two: Pakasli ko, Noy!
If ever I've said anything remotely sarcastic in the past about proposals over the big screen during basketball games, I take it all back now.
Showing posts with label basketball. Show all posts
Showing posts with label basketball. Show all posts
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Friday, February 22, 2008
What the...?
This is what's wrong:
You like teams, and you like maybe some players from other teams. You hate some teams, and most probably only for a single player in that team. And then a weird trade happens, and it's all blown to bits.
And guys, maybe this half-assed analysis will seem silly and (gasp!) just-like-a-girl to you, but guess what? I am a girl (gasp!). Deal with it.
I love Pau Gasol. I hate the Lakers. Bad trade for me, good trade for Gasol.
I don't care about Shaq. I love the Suns. But I love Steve Kerr more. Go Steve Kerr.
I never liked Jason Kidd. I hate the Mavericks. Go for it, Kidd.
But the worst, the worst of the worst is Kurt Thomas to San Antonio. I hate Thomas. I love, love, love the Spurs! I mean sure, Francisco Elson was a wash. Brent Barry is injured, but he shoots threes! Can Thomas do that?
You know who I suddenly miss? Nazr Mohammad. And is he still with the Knicks? Well, good luck to him.
Okay, I'll shut up now. The last time I ran my mouth about basketball, I lost 500 bucks on a bet.
You like teams, and you like maybe some players from other teams. You hate some teams, and most probably only for a single player in that team. And then a weird trade happens, and it's all blown to bits.
And guys, maybe this half-assed analysis will seem silly and (gasp!) just-like-a-girl to you, but guess what? I am a girl (gasp!). Deal with it.
I love Pau Gasol. I hate the Lakers. Bad trade for me, good trade for Gasol.
I don't care about Shaq. I love the Suns. But I love Steve Kerr more. Go Steve Kerr.
I never liked Jason Kidd. I hate the Mavericks. Go for it, Kidd.
But the worst, the worst of the worst is Kurt Thomas to San Antonio. I hate Thomas. I love, love, love the Spurs! I mean sure, Francisco Elson was a wash. Brent Barry is injured, but he shoots threes! Can Thomas do that?
You know who I suddenly miss? Nazr Mohammad. And is he still with the Knicks? Well, good luck to him.
Okay, I'll shut up now. The last time I ran my mouth about basketball, I lost 500 bucks on a bet.
Thursday, May 31, 2007
Say it loud.
Go Spurs! Go!
Woohoo.
This is what I like about the Spurs. They're so dependable, so "boring", you don't even need to cheer for them anymore. You know what they should do, they know what they should do, and they just do it. No fuss, no flash. They had a chance to close Utah out at home, and they did. Simple as that.
Their starting five didn't even have to play in the fourth quarter.
That's how dependable they are. That "boring".
*****
This is what I don't like about the Spurs. They're so dependable, so "boring", nobody wants to bet against me anymore.
My poor friends who were loyal to the Suns in the 2nd round bet against me. Because of their (misplaced) loyalty, I was able to collect--actually some of you guys still owe me. Don't think I've forgotten!--enough money to have my nails done and got two whiskeys out of the deal as well. Now that no one wants to bet against me and my dependable, "boring" Spurs, I have to pay for my own mani-pedi. Dammit.
But. We are going to the NBA Finals. Sue-weet.
*****
Speaking of friends, I just remebered this from the comments to my post a few weeks back:
mikael said...
the spurs over the suns? mas mabilis ba ang slo-mo kaysa fast-forward? kumain ka na ba? naka-drugs ka ba?
eight beers on this one. or eighty. putcha, dalawang daliri. matalo magpapakalbo. spurs over suns? kurt "secret weeeeeeeeeh-pon" thomas will make duncan a non-factor. marion on ginobili. and, uh, rex chapman on parker. have you seen chapman lately? he can go 5 miles per hour and can lift, like, forty-seven pounds.
this'll be over faster than you can say "poetry reading sa mag:net sa lunes." itaga mo sa bato.
Ahem. Kael, kelan ka magpapakalbo? Since I've yet to collect my eight (or eighty) beers, puwede ba buhok mo na lang? Let's just say that could be my version of the finals trophy. Hahahahahaha.
I'm only half-kidding.
*****
God, am I mean? No, don't answer that. I prefer cocky. Arrogant. Hell, even "heartless bitch" works for me. Sometimes.
*****
Here's a poem I wrote a few years back and saw again recently. I didn't know I used to sound like this. Or could write like this. Now I feel my poetry is just too short, too angry, too held-in. I don't know. Here it is:
Anticipation
I sidestep sleep with the help
of coffee and cigarettes.
The latter rationed to last
until exhaustion overtakes caffeine--
or snow falls
come the wee hours of the morning.
The sky is an uninterrupted grey
of dense clouds--a convex, bulging
surface of unimaginable weight
which I pray it will release soon.
The night is silent--
Pregnant.
Expecting.
And I, ever impatient, look
to the window periodically, continually--
wiping mist-turned-droplets
off the glass pane,
hoping to see
a sprinkle of white flakes--
not quite solid, not quite liquid--
or a mountain-head mantled in white.
Though all I see is darkness and stillness,
a quiet like a cat crouching--
muscles tensed and hackles raised;
though the smattering of fluorescent
lights through my window
mock me with snowflake patterns
as streetlights expand in the mist,
I pray that it comes.
In stingy spurts that won’t settle
or a heavy blanket that will stifle
everything except the morning sun.
*****
This was written in Japan, anticipating my first snow-fall. Which with my luck, was falsely reported by the weather bureau and didn't come until, like, 2 weeks later.
Woohoo.
This is what I like about the Spurs. They're so dependable, so "boring", you don't even need to cheer for them anymore. You know what they should do, they know what they should do, and they just do it. No fuss, no flash. They had a chance to close Utah out at home, and they did. Simple as that.
Their starting five didn't even have to play in the fourth quarter.
That's how dependable they are. That "boring".
*****
This is what I don't like about the Spurs. They're so dependable, so "boring", nobody wants to bet against me anymore.
My poor friends who were loyal to the Suns in the 2nd round bet against me. Because of their (misplaced) loyalty, I was able to collect--actually some of you guys still owe me. Don't think I've forgotten!--enough money to have my nails done and got two whiskeys out of the deal as well. Now that no one wants to bet against me and my dependable, "boring" Spurs, I have to pay for my own mani-pedi. Dammit.
But. We are going to the NBA Finals. Sue-weet.
*****
Speaking of friends, I just remebered this from the comments to my post a few weeks back:
mikael said...
the spurs over the suns? mas mabilis ba ang slo-mo kaysa fast-forward? kumain ka na ba? naka-drugs ka ba?
eight beers on this one. or eighty. putcha, dalawang daliri. matalo magpapakalbo. spurs over suns? kurt "secret weeeeeeeeeh-pon" thomas will make duncan a non-factor. marion on ginobili. and, uh, rex chapman on parker. have you seen chapman lately? he can go 5 miles per hour and can lift, like, forty-seven pounds.
this'll be over faster than you can say "poetry reading sa mag:net sa lunes." itaga mo sa bato.
Ahem. Kael, kelan ka magpapakalbo? Since I've yet to collect my eight (or eighty) beers, puwede ba buhok mo na lang? Let's just say that could be my version of the finals trophy. Hahahahahaha.
I'm only half-kidding.
*****
God, am I mean? No, don't answer that. I prefer cocky. Arrogant. Hell, even "heartless bitch" works for me. Sometimes.
*****
Here's a poem I wrote a few years back and saw again recently. I didn't know I used to sound like this. Or could write like this. Now I feel my poetry is just too short, too angry, too held-in. I don't know. Here it is:
Anticipation
I sidestep sleep with the help
of coffee and cigarettes.
The latter rationed to last
until exhaustion overtakes caffeine--
or snow falls
come the wee hours of the morning.
The sky is an uninterrupted grey
of dense clouds--a convex, bulging
surface of unimaginable weight
which I pray it will release soon.
The night is silent--
Pregnant.
Expecting.
And I, ever impatient, look
to the window periodically, continually--
wiping mist-turned-droplets
off the glass pane,
hoping to see
a sprinkle of white flakes--
not quite solid, not quite liquid--
or a mountain-head mantled in white.
Though all I see is darkness and stillness,
a quiet like a cat crouching--
muscles tensed and hackles raised;
though the smattering of fluorescent
lights through my window
mock me with snowflake patterns
as streetlights expand in the mist,
I pray that it comes.
In stingy spurts that won’t settle
or a heavy blanket that will stifle
everything except the morning sun.
*****
This was written in Japan, anticipating my first snow-fall. Which with my luck, was falsely reported by the weather bureau and didn't come until, like, 2 weeks later.
Sunday, May 13, 2007
Who could resist?
Duncan is wildly underrated
By Bill Simmons
Page 2
Editor's note: This column appears in the May 18 issue of ESPN The Magazine.
My father visited me last weekend for two reasons: He wanted to see his granddaughter, and he wanted to finalize his will in case he drops in a heap after David Stern says these words: "The third pick of the 2007 draft goes to ... the Boston Celtics." At one point during Dad's visit, I was discussing possible column topics for the issue you're currently reading. Tim Duncan's name came up.
"Would you read a column about how underrated Tim Duncan is?" I asked.
Dad made a face. He played with his hair. He seemed confused. "A whole column on Tim Duncan?"
"You wouldn't read it?" I continued.
"I don't think so. I'd see the headline, skim the first two paragraphs and flip to the next article."
"Seriously? He's the best player of the past 10 years!"
"Nahhhhhhh," Dad maintained. "Nobody wants to read about Tim Duncan. He's not that interesting."
Duncan's prowess has been a sore subject with my dad and me since the 1997 lottery, when our beloved Celtics had a 36% chance to land the No. 1 pick, and San Antonio plucked it away. Helplessly, we've watched him carry the Spurs to three titles, a number that could have been five if not for Derek Fisher's miracle shot in 2004 and Manu Ginobili's stupid foul of Dirk Nowitzki last season. No Celtics fan can assess Duncan's career for more than .21 seconds without remembering he could have been ours. With the franchise facing another make-or-break Ping-Pong moment on May 22, it's safe to say that not getting Duncan set the Celtics back 10 years.
But what did we really miss besides a slew of 58-win seasons and a few titles? Well, the chance to follow the most consistent superstar in recent NBA history, for starters. Duncan's averages from his first year (21.1 ppg, 11.9 rpg, 2.7 apg, 2.5 bpg, 55% shooting, 39.1 mpg, 2,967,840 USD*) are nearly identical to those of his just completed 10th (20.0 ppg, 10.6 rpg, 3.4 apg, 2.4 bpg, 55% shooting, 34.1 mpg, 17,429,672 USD* ). His placid demeanor hasn't changed even a little; he looks exactly the same. His trademark 15-foot banker off the glass hasn't changed. Nearly 900 regular-season and playoff games have worn down his legs a little but not much, and he's made up for the erosion with an ever-expanding hoops IQ. If there's a major difference between the 1998 Duncan and the 2007 Duncan, it's his defense. He's gotten better and better as the years have passed, not just as a help defender but as an overall communicator.
Whenever I watch the Spurs in person, that's the first thing I notice: how well they talk on defense. It's a friendly, competitive chatter, like five buddies maintaining a running dialogue at a blackjack table as they try to figure out ways to bust the dealer. Duncan is the hub of it all, the oversize big brother who looks out for everyone else. During breaks in the action, you can always count on him to throw an arm around a teammate before dispensing advice or to wave everyone over for an impromptu pep talk. He's their defensive anchor, smartest player, emotional leader, crunch-time scorer and most competitive gamer, one of those rare superstars who simply can't be measured by statistics alone. Fifty years from now, some stat geek will crunch numbers from Duncan's era and come to the conclusion that Kevin Garnett was just as good. And he'll be wrong. No NBA team that featured a healthy Duncan would have missed the playoffs for three straight years. It's an impossibility.
Now ...
I'm not a fan of the whole overrated/underrated thing. With so many TV and radio shows, columnists, bloggers and educated sports fans around, it's nearly impossible for anything to be rated improperly anymore. Everyone is constantly searching for fresh topics to dissect, so could anything slip under the radar at this point? Think back to when Duncan entered the league: The web was still rounding into shape, sportswriters weren't screaming at each other on TV, radio hosts were confined to talking about their local teams and everyone read their local columnists. That's it. Ten years later, a hyperactive sports world means that, if anything, underrated players (like Ben Wallace, for instance) quickly become overrated because everyone spends so much time discussing how underrated they are. Well, I say Tim Duncan is underrated. You know what else? He's wildly underrated.
Assuming the Spurs win the 2007 title and Duncan captures his fourth Finals MVP award (both decent bets), his first professional decade will have concluded with four rings, two regular-season MVP awards and nine first-team All-NBA nods. His best teammates have been David Robinson (who turned 33 in Duncan's rookie year), Manu Ginobili (never a top-15 player) and Tony Parker (ditto). In fact, Duncan has never played for a dominant team; the Spurs have never had quite enough talent to roll through the league. Trapped at the top of the standings, they've been forced to rely on others' failed lottery picks, foreign rookies, journeymen and head cases with baggage. Zoom through San Antonio's past 10 rosters on basketball-reference.com some time. You'll be shocked. Tim Duncan has never played on a great basketball team. Not once.
So how can he remain underrated? For one thing, he's always had a little too much Pete Sampras in him. Even last month, when Joey Crawford tossed Duncan for laughing on the bench, everyone seemed most shocked that Duncan was the guy involved. It was like watching an AP history teacher flip out on an honors student who never speaks in class. Duncan certainly doesn't have Shaq's sense of humor, Kobe's singular intensity, KG's menacing demeanor, LeBron's jaw-dropping athleticism, Wade's knack for self-promotion, Nash's fan-friendly skills or even Dirk's fist pump. If there's a defining Duncan quality, it's the way he bulges his eyes in disbelief after every call that goes against him, a grating habit that was old about five years ago. The other "problem" has been his steadfast consistency. If you keep banging out great seasons with none standing out more than any other, who's going to notice?
There's a precedent for this: Once upon a time, Harrison Ford pumped out monster hits for 15 solid years before everyone suddenly noticed, "Wait a second, Harrison Ford is unquestionably the biggest movie star of his generation!" From 1977 to 1992, Ford starred in three Star Wars movies, three Indiana Jones movies, Blade Runner, Working Girl, Witness, Presumed Innocent and Patriot Games ... but it wasn't until he carried The Fugitive that everyone realized he was more bankable than Stallone, Reynolds, Eastwood, Cruise, Costner, Schwarzenegger and every other competitor from that time. As with Duncan, we didn't know much about Ford outside of his work. As with Duncan, there wasn't anything inherently interesting about him. But Ford always delivered the goods and, eventually, we appreciated him for it.
I think we'll say the same about Duncan someday. Over the past 10 years, he's been overshadowed by Kobe and Shaq, LeBron and Wade, Nash and Kidd, Nowitzki and KG, even C-Webb and Iverson ... and yet, Tim Duncan was better than all of them.
Just wait, he'll have his Fugitive moment. It's coming. Maybe even next month.
*****
*PS. Salary data my own input. Obviously, not everything is identical, or underrated. From basketball-reference.com. Hehe.
*****
2-1 Spurs. Game 4 in San Antonio. See you Tuesday. As Tim Duncan said, some "comments" were said between games, but, we'll talk about that some other time.
*****
Yun lang po. Bow.
By Bill Simmons
Page 2
Editor's note: This column appears in the May 18 issue of ESPN The Magazine.
My father visited me last weekend for two reasons: He wanted to see his granddaughter, and he wanted to finalize his will in case he drops in a heap after David Stern says these words: "The third pick of the 2007 draft goes to ... the Boston Celtics." At one point during Dad's visit, I was discussing possible column topics for the issue you're currently reading. Tim Duncan's name came up.
"Would you read a column about how underrated Tim Duncan is?" I asked.
Dad made a face. He played with his hair. He seemed confused. "A whole column on Tim Duncan?"
"You wouldn't read it?" I continued.
"I don't think so. I'd see the headline, skim the first two paragraphs and flip to the next article."
"Seriously? He's the best player of the past 10 years!"
"Nahhhhhhh," Dad maintained. "Nobody wants to read about Tim Duncan. He's not that interesting."
Duncan's prowess has been a sore subject with my dad and me since the 1997 lottery, when our beloved Celtics had a 36% chance to land the No. 1 pick, and San Antonio plucked it away. Helplessly, we've watched him carry the Spurs to three titles, a number that could have been five if not for Derek Fisher's miracle shot in 2004 and Manu Ginobili's stupid foul of Dirk Nowitzki last season. No Celtics fan can assess Duncan's career for more than .21 seconds without remembering he could have been ours. With the franchise facing another make-or-break Ping-Pong moment on May 22, it's safe to say that not getting Duncan set the Celtics back 10 years.
But what did we really miss besides a slew of 58-win seasons and a few titles? Well, the chance to follow the most consistent superstar in recent NBA history, for starters. Duncan's averages from his first year (21.1 ppg, 11.9 rpg, 2.7 apg, 2.5 bpg, 55% shooting, 39.1 mpg, 2,967,840 USD*) are nearly identical to those of his just completed 10th (20.0 ppg, 10.6 rpg, 3.4 apg, 2.4 bpg, 55% shooting, 34.1 mpg, 17,429,672 USD* ). His placid demeanor hasn't changed even a little; he looks exactly the same. His trademark 15-foot banker off the glass hasn't changed. Nearly 900 regular-season and playoff games have worn down his legs a little but not much, and he's made up for the erosion with an ever-expanding hoops IQ. If there's a major difference between the 1998 Duncan and the 2007 Duncan, it's his defense. He's gotten better and better as the years have passed, not just as a help defender but as an overall communicator.
Whenever I watch the Spurs in person, that's the first thing I notice: how well they talk on defense. It's a friendly, competitive chatter, like five buddies maintaining a running dialogue at a blackjack table as they try to figure out ways to bust the dealer. Duncan is the hub of it all, the oversize big brother who looks out for everyone else. During breaks in the action, you can always count on him to throw an arm around a teammate before dispensing advice or to wave everyone over for an impromptu pep talk. He's their defensive anchor, smartest player, emotional leader, crunch-time scorer and most competitive gamer, one of those rare superstars who simply can't be measured by statistics alone. Fifty years from now, some stat geek will crunch numbers from Duncan's era and come to the conclusion that Kevin Garnett was just as good. And he'll be wrong. No NBA team that featured a healthy Duncan would have missed the playoffs for three straight years. It's an impossibility.
Now ...
I'm not a fan of the whole overrated/underrated thing. With so many TV and radio shows, columnists, bloggers and educated sports fans around, it's nearly impossible for anything to be rated improperly anymore. Everyone is constantly searching for fresh topics to dissect, so could anything slip under the radar at this point? Think back to when Duncan entered the league: The web was still rounding into shape, sportswriters weren't screaming at each other on TV, radio hosts were confined to talking about their local teams and everyone read their local columnists. That's it. Ten years later, a hyperactive sports world means that, if anything, underrated players (like Ben Wallace, for instance) quickly become overrated because everyone spends so much time discussing how underrated they are. Well, I say Tim Duncan is underrated. You know what else? He's wildly underrated.
Assuming the Spurs win the 2007 title and Duncan captures his fourth Finals MVP award (both decent bets), his first professional decade will have concluded with four rings, two regular-season MVP awards and nine first-team All-NBA nods. His best teammates have been David Robinson (who turned 33 in Duncan's rookie year), Manu Ginobili (never a top-15 player) and Tony Parker (ditto). In fact, Duncan has never played for a dominant team; the Spurs have never had quite enough talent to roll through the league. Trapped at the top of the standings, they've been forced to rely on others' failed lottery picks, foreign rookies, journeymen and head cases with baggage. Zoom through San Antonio's past 10 rosters on basketball-reference.com some time. You'll be shocked. Tim Duncan has never played on a great basketball team. Not once.
So how can he remain underrated? For one thing, he's always had a little too much Pete Sampras in him. Even last month, when Joey Crawford tossed Duncan for laughing on the bench, everyone seemed most shocked that Duncan was the guy involved. It was like watching an AP history teacher flip out on an honors student who never speaks in class. Duncan certainly doesn't have Shaq's sense of humor, Kobe's singular intensity, KG's menacing demeanor, LeBron's jaw-dropping athleticism, Wade's knack for self-promotion, Nash's fan-friendly skills or even Dirk's fist pump. If there's a defining Duncan quality, it's the way he bulges his eyes in disbelief after every call that goes against him, a grating habit that was old about five years ago. The other "problem" has been his steadfast consistency. If you keep banging out great seasons with none standing out more than any other, who's going to notice?
There's a precedent for this: Once upon a time, Harrison Ford pumped out monster hits for 15 solid years before everyone suddenly noticed, "Wait a second, Harrison Ford is unquestionably the biggest movie star of his generation!" From 1977 to 1992, Ford starred in three Star Wars movies, three Indiana Jones movies, Blade Runner, Working Girl, Witness, Presumed Innocent and Patriot Games ... but it wasn't until he carried The Fugitive that everyone realized he was more bankable than Stallone, Reynolds, Eastwood, Cruise, Costner, Schwarzenegger and every other competitor from that time. As with Duncan, we didn't know much about Ford outside of his work. As with Duncan, there wasn't anything inherently interesting about him. But Ford always delivered the goods and, eventually, we appreciated him for it.
I think we'll say the same about Duncan someday. Over the past 10 years, he's been overshadowed by Kobe and Shaq, LeBron and Wade, Nash and Kidd, Nowitzki and KG, even C-Webb and Iverson ... and yet, Tim Duncan was better than all of them.
Just wait, he'll have his Fugitive moment. It's coming. Maybe even next month.
*****
*PS. Salary data my own input. Obviously, not everything is identical, or underrated. From basketball-reference.com. Hehe.
*****
2-1 Spurs. Game 4 in San Antonio. See you Tuesday. As Tim Duncan said, some "comments" were said between games, but, we'll talk about that some other time.
*****
Yun lang po. Bow.
Friday, May 04, 2007
No contest!
Golden State 111, Dallas 86
What can I say, except "No contest"? With a deficit as long as Dirk's chin and as wide as Jerry Stackhouse's forehead, well, Dirk's chinny-chin-chin said it better, "...this season is pretty much over."
You guys might be asking why I don't like Dallas a lot. It can't be because I love the Spurs, because--Mark Cuban's money-making, rivalry-mongering insults aside--there really is no bad blood between the two Texas teams. I don't have anything against Dirk either, except I can't deny that his chinny-chin-chin (and yes, that's how I'll refer to it from now on) is a bit longish and Jerry Stackhouse does look like a Neanderthal. But wait...
Flashback. Last year. Playoffs 2nd round. Spurs vs. Mavs. Game 5. Jason Terry punched Michael Finley in the balls--and I don't mean basketballs. Yep, now I remember why I hate Dallas. I mean why I really hate them.
I won't even mention that Mark Cuban--especially with this new The-playoffs-is-so-intense-I-don't-have-time-to-shave-and-Look! -My-hair-is-turning-grey! look--looks like something I'd mop the floor of the Oracle Arena with. (Count how many "look"s were in that sentence.)
So, where was I? Oh, right. No fuckin' contest.
What can I say, except "No contest"? With a deficit as long as Dirk's chin and as wide as Jerry Stackhouse's forehead, well, Dirk's chinny-chin-chin said it better, "...this season is pretty much over."
You guys might be asking why I don't like Dallas a lot. It can't be because I love the Spurs, because--Mark Cuban's money-making, rivalry-mongering insults aside--there really is no bad blood between the two Texas teams. I don't have anything against Dirk either, except I can't deny that his chinny-chin-chin (and yes, that's how I'll refer to it from now on) is a bit longish and Jerry Stackhouse does look like a Neanderthal. But wait...
Flashback. Last year. Playoffs 2nd round. Spurs vs. Mavs. Game 5. Jason Terry punched Michael Finley in the balls--and I don't mean basketballs. Yep, now I remember why I hate Dallas. I mean why I really hate them.
I won't even mention that Mark Cuban--especially with this new The-playoffs-is-so-intense-I-don't-have-time-to-shave-and-Look! -My-hair-is-turning-grey! look--looks like something I'd mop the floor of the Oracle Arena with. (Count how many "look"s were in that sentence.)
So, where was I? Oh, right. No fuckin' contest.
Fight Night
Because it's the NBA Playoffs (Go Spurs! Go!), and there's that Dela Hoya-Mayweather, Jr. fight on Sunday. And of course, elections are nearing in the Philippines--
It's time to count the score.
It's time to count the score.
- In a few minutes is Game 6 of the Mavs-GSW matchup that nobody expected to come out the way it has. But then again, playoff season is the time for surprises. As one GSW fan says about the Mavs' last minute win in Game 5, "Wow Dirk, wow. By the hair of your chinny-chin-chin you escaped." As for me, I'll be having another lunch-out I can't afford just so I can catch Baron Davis and his Warriors send Dirk--chinny-chin-chin and all--packing home. SCORE: GSW fan 1, Dirk 0
- I am not a boxing fan, so I may have gotten my facts wrong--or it could be one of those stranger-than-fiction things. Floyd, Sr. once trained Oscar dela Hoya. And is only now siding on his son's corner for this fight-of-a-lifetime/money-making-venture. And only because Dela Hoya refused to pay him $2M for training. Wow. Talk about fatherly love. SCORE: Oscar $23M, Floyd, Jr. $10M, Floyd, Sr. 0, Freddie Roach $1.3M
- I thought Ilonggos had enough to be embarrassed about with Miriam Santiago and her awful accent, hair, pretensions, etc. Who knew that good ol' Raul could actually dethrone her and take the "brain-damaged" (si-raul-o) title for himself? I haven't been home to Iloilo in quite some time, but the food there has always been excellent. But maybe it's time we have the DOH check for mad cow or red tide or just plain "foot-in-mouth" disease--because Raul, Sr. is foaming at the mouth, Raul, Jr. is Iloilo's congressman, and I see Miriam on TV again these days. SCORE: Miriam +1, Raul, Jr. 0, Raul, Sr. -100,000
- It's always been nice walking around the Katipunan area, but now it's entertaining too, what with crazy jingles from people running for office. There's Banal with his "Banal-Banal-Banal. Banal-sa-Konsehal." to the tune of that old folksong or something that's used in old computer game tunes (Helpful, Drey. Very helpful.) and Wency Lagumbay's adaptation of the "Aaaaaah-awitin mo, at isasayaw ko" by VST&Co or whatever that Eat Bulaga bunch was called before one became a senator, and the others, well... But what topped it all was Pichay's slogan and poster. When I first read his "Pichay: Itanim sa Senado" slogan, I wasn't sure if it was stupid or brilliant. But when I noticed that the poster background actually had a drawing of a pechay, well, that fuckin' killed me. SCORE: Pichay 1, Pechay 0
- I was walking along Katipunan one day, deaf to the world for the Rolling Stones screaming in my ear, when a street kid tapped me on my elbow. Thinking I knew what he wanted, I shook my head No-I-don't-have-money and continued walking. He stuck with me for a block or so, and all the time he was tapping my arm, and I was saying no. Finally I took off my earphones in exasperation, and for the first time, heard the kid ask, "Ate, anong oras na po?" SCORE: Kid 1, Andrea 0
And so, life goes on. Or, "That's life," as someone famously put it. Now, let's talk basketball.
Joey Crawford, for all his "suspended indefinitely" crap, has actually achieved something for that Dallas-Phoenix rivalry people are hoping for in the Western Conference Finals. The Spurs in losing that last game to the Mavs in regular season stayed in the #3 spot, and now will be facing Phoenix early morning Monday for their first game of the second round. What all these people forgot is that the Spurs can easily win against the Suns when they have control of the game's pace, and--no this has to be in all caps--AND, IT MIGHT NOT EVEN BE DALLAS WAITING FOR EITHER TEAM AT THE OTHER END. NYAHAHAHAHAHAHA! or, [Insert Evil Laughter here.]
And there, my friends, is the rub.
It can't get any better than this.
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