Sunday, May 18, 2008

Rebuilt!

I am as happy as anyone can be who just spent three hours chewing their fingernails down. This was one of those "hero's journey archetype" games where everything worked out the way it was supposed to, but it never looked like it would. Check out the scene at the end of the game.

Paul Pierce, the captain, the only Celtic who has been here since the last time we enjoyed the C's, had the ball in his hands. New additions Kevin Garnett and Ray Allen yielded to Pierce frenzied possession after frenzied possession; it was a game that the Truth was going to win or lose; it was up to him. On a night when he exorcized his LeBron James demons, Pierce also made his return to the conference finals. He made the big plays, consistently hitting pull up jumpers that he never doubted and I never expected to keep falling. LeBron beat Pierce up and down the floor statistically, but when it counted and where it counted, Pierce reigned over King James. And again, the man who has muddled through Celtics mediocrity (at best!) the last five seasons is reborn into elusive playoff territory with a team who's rebuilding is finally complete.

How cyclical that five years after the last inspired Celtics playoff run and subsequent post-season schism, that Pierce again captains a set of contenders, that the Garden is again loud and filled with Red Auerbach's spirit, and that there is once again banner banter. Danny Ainge's self-proclaimed, widely-scrutinized rebuilding process is complete. And in slightly less time than the Big Dig took, and with one less casualty (unless we're counting Antoine Walker's career).

#34 wasn't the only hero and wasn't the only Celtic who's character arc came full circle in today's Game 7. How about Eddie House who had been relegated to a front-row spectator for the first five games? It seemed only Doc Rivers couldn't see the problem with Sam Cassell hogging the minutes and shots early in the series. House, an emotional leader and offensive spark-plug all year, literally and figuratively came to play in Games 6 and 7. To those looking back, his stats will never resemble the game he played today, but in 15 minutes House did almost everything right. A huge jumper, the extra passes to free up teammates, and the gutsiest play of the game, diving on a loose ball destined for out of bounds and turning it into James Posey free throws. There weren't enough imaginary Tommy Points that could have validated the "jump-out-of-your-seat-ness" of that play. House even made his presence felt on the bench, emphatically clapping in LeBron's ear during a wide open 3-pointer, and throwing him out of rhythm. And how appropriate that Eddie hit two humungous free throws you would expect from someone like Sam Cassell and was the one left holding the ball as the final horn sounded. Meanwhile, as House was celebrated by his teammates, Sam Cassell could be seen talking to Damon Jones, likely comparing each others uselessness.

Finally our role-players are playing the correct roles (Rondo 8 points, 8 assist, 8 rebounds; PJ Brown 10 points, each one somehow exponentially more clutch than the previous). And while no team wants to get stuck in a Game 7, this team may have been helped more than it was hurt from the extra 48 minutes. Even if two of the Big 3 Celtics headline acts had subpar performances, the team learned that it can count on some of the overlooked nuts and bolts of a well-oiled homecourt machine. Maybe we cant expect any more big games from Ray Allen (star of He Got Lame) or another career resume game from Pierce, but we know understudies like Powe, PJ Brown, Rondo, and Posey all will help the team in their way. You could argue that these long series are making our older veterans older for the worse or you could argue its making our younger players older for the better.

Detroit will be by far the best team the Celtics have played in the playoffs so far, and the most well-rounded. This is a team without one of two prime scorers and a team that resembles our own. Win or lose now, the Celtics wont have disappointed too many fans. Most, myself included, are just happy to have a hometown basketball team that makes us proud more often than it doesn't (like, in say, 4 of 7 games).

Do I feel like the last two weeks have given me more indigestion and pit-stained t-shirts? Absolutely. Have I pounded down a few more beers out of bitterness and frustration? At least 10. And now it will continue for another week, at least... and I'm pretty excited about it.

Rome wasn't built in a day, neither were the 2007-8 Celtics and even if we have to do this in stressful 7-game segments, I'm done complaining.

Monday, May 5, 2008

Snot(ty) Rocket

On May 5 2004, Roger Clemens struck out his 4137th batter, making him second all-time behind Nolan Ryan.

Today Roger Clemens made even more history four Cinco de Mayo's later. In what can timely be described as mucho douchebaggery, Roger Clemens' spokesman issued a statement on behalf of the recently disgraced pitcher. "Even though these articles contain many false accusations and mistakes, I need to say that I have made mistakes in my personal life for which I am sorry. I have apologized to my family and apologize to my fans. Like everyone, I have flaws. I have sometimes made choices which have not been right."

Um I have a lot of questions. Number one, how dare you?
Seriously how audacious is this guy? Lets get all K-zone on that last paragraph and break it down pitch by pitch:
  • Roger Clemens' spokesman- Roger Clemens did not show up
  • Issued a statement- Roger Clemens did not actually apologize
  • These articles contains many false accusations- Roger Clemens has problems accepting responsibility
  • I have made mistakes in my personal life- Roger Clemens has done some way worse stuff than has been printed
  • Like everyone, I have flaws- Roger Clemens is again passing the buck and trying to remind us of our own flaws... classy.

It's a BS apology, worse than Larry David's apology over the phone while snacking on pistachios. Its really even worse because its not an apology, he sent someone to do his bidding for him. This isn't too surprising though considering Clemens left his mark on American League batters literally, with beanballs that would be re-paid only to his teammates.


Normally this would be a good thing for men everywhere, as The Rocket continues to lower the bar for the rest of us. Oh you forgot we were meeting up for dinner? Whatever at least you didn't sleep with a 15-year old country singer... You didn't call on my birthday? At least you didn't cheat at your job for more than 10 years.

You get it. Basically this Clemens things is turning into a bizarre Mad Libs game:
Roger Clemens is guilty of ________ (a crime or one of the 10 Commandments) with ______ (person or group of people) in ______ (place).

This little trick can explain how he could commit perjury with former teammates in Washington DC. Or how he could sleep with a minor who is a country music singer in Boston. Or how he could commit adultery with John Daly's ex-wife in Texas (meanwhile odds are that if you've slept with a woman in Texas, it is probably one of John Daly's ex-wives). If we find out next that Clemens broke and entered a Labatts Plant in Toronto with Bryan Adams, or coveted thy neighbor's wife in New York with Rudy Giuliani, I am calling the FBI tipline. The options are really endless.

There's only one way this thing can end, and its not pretty. Clemens and the media need an ugly break up and he needs to face a barrage of questions and fess up to all the juicy details. That way we can get it all out of our systems, move on, and then forget Clemens into the dark shadows of our mind. There he can shamefully reside with things like 90's pop culture fads, beer goggles, all my little league errors, and the Roger Clemens Red Sox era.

Monday, April 21, 2008

Glorious Technology


It’s April, which is the perfect storm of sports. We’re just coming up for air from the NCAA tourney and if you breathe deeply, you’ll get that fresh mix of NBA playoffs, the NFL draft, and the maturation of the baseball season. If you breathe really deeply you may even catch some NHL playoff fever, although that might be pollen. I can’t tell because both make me sneeze.

Take tonight for example (Monday the 21st). The sports television possibilities tonight are enough to make even SuperSonics fans excited again. First on the docket is Monday Night Baseball between the most interesting two National League teams, (which I understand is like saying the sexiest of those Mormon Polygamy Ranch Moms) the Cubs and the Mets. Nonetheless, Carlos Zambrano is always electric and he’s on the hill, and he's against an almost American League Mets offense.

With a simple click of the remote, we’re transported to an NBA double-header between the Cavaliers/Wizards and the Rockets/Jazz. LeBron is wreaking more havoc on DC than tourists looking for cherry blossoms so that’s fun to watch from a distance. Rockets Jazz Game 2 is a snoozer on paper but as a general rule, I don’t sleep on teams that win 22 games in a row.

Click, and we’re on the ice for another double-header. On one channel, the Washington Capitals fighting to force a game 7 with the Flyers, and the Bruins and Canadiens in their own elimination game on another. Yes, hockey on two channels. The next thing you know we’ll all be humming O’Canada and putting gravy on French-fries. I live in DC and am from Boston and can confidently say that people in both cities legitimately think that they care about these two hockey teams right now. People have jumped onto their respective bandwagons so quickly that they forgot that, as a nation, we contractually signed hockey away two years ago (you were supposed to retain the pink copy for yourself).

As filler, there is more NFL pre-draft coverage than anyone knows what to do with, which is why it is scattered everywhere like King of the Hill re-runs. I think I just saw two "experts" doing a mock draft on what Mel Kiper’s next mock draft will look like. Hell, I’d rather watch Arena Football, conveniently airing on ESPN2.
So you see the problem right? Catching all of this is impossible without a well-oiled ‘Last’ button and double-jointed thumb, but this is not my main concern. How am I, a self-diagnosed sportsaholic, supposed to pretend to keep track of all these results on a television night featuring How I Met Your Mother, Intervention, and The Hills?

Well thank god for DVR or as I like to call it, God’s button. As a culture I don’t know how we didn’t create this invention earlier and as a culture I don’t know how we haven’t awarded it some flavor of the Nobel Prize. Peace Prize: How many marital fights have been avoided by being able to watch one program and record another? Medicine Prize: No more being concerned that you’re missing Scrubs because you have to see Lost. Economics Prize: C'est la vie blank video tapes and VCRs.

I’d previously used God’s button for conflicts of interest, like when Top Chef was up against The Gauntlet 3 and both would be water cooler fodder the next day. Now God’s button has come back and one up-ed itself. I can watch my favorite Monday night staples at halftimes, commercials, and postgames (and in full disclosure, first and third quarters too). I’m downright giddy to think about how I’ll soon pretend to watch Monday Night Football! My baseball fantasy team, apathy for the Bruins, and crush on Lauren Conrad can live in harmony.

Like it says in the Bible, "And God saw that it was good."

Thursday, March 27, 2008

Tuesday, December 18, 2007

Chinatown Bus Running Diary

Prologue: I am taking the Chinatown bus to go visit some friends in NYC for the weekend. I am expecting a weekend to see some Christmasy sights in the city (as typical frustrated Jew), drink a lot (as typical young professional), and watch the Patriots maul the Jets with some friends (as a typical cocky resident of Titletown). Due to the aforementioned goals and the fact that I have to work til at least 2 PM on Friday, I have decided to risk health, sanity, and comfort and "let it ride" with the Chinatown Bus.

I went to buy my ticket from the small agency yesterday. This should have been where I got a little wary about the events of the future. Lets just say I was second in line behind two police officers that were responding to a call that all of the bags had been stolen off the bus on the way down to DC that afternoon. This would have been an omen for most people, but not me, I’m the edgiest sheltered white suburbanite I know! I decided to only buy a one-way ticket.


Lets get to the action:

Friday Afternoon (notes were taken on the bus, once it was too dark to see, I used my cameraphone light)

2:30 I thought the bus was supposed to leave at 2:30 but apparently my intermediate language lesson wasn’t enough to realized that departing in Chinese really means boarding in English.

2:32 Firstly, I’d like to dispel any rumors that the busses smell like chicken coops. They most definitely are filled with odors more likely found at a stale aquarium or a polluted pond. If this is a coach bus, it’s fashioned in the Isiah Thomas line of coaches.

2:45 The bus still hasn’t left yet but on the bright side there are lots of empty seats still. I wasn’t expecting leg room but it would be a nice little plus.

2:52 First minor heart attack of the day: a seemingly scatter-brained yet official-looking Asian woman gets on the bus. I may get off the bus if they are telling me I must put my life in the hands of an Asian woman driver. How had I not considered this a possibility? Turns out she’s just doing a headcount, which she does very quickly, of course.

2:56 A woman who turns out to be the last to board sits down next to me, there goes the no-no. I really thought I was pitching the perfect game here; head down, earphones in, muttering, taking notes. In the future I think I would go with sneezing and maybe not showering.

2:58 Doors closed. Commencing countdown, engine’s on. Check ignition and may God’s love be with you.

2:59 Ironically we have driven one block and just drove by a synagogue. I should pray for my life.

3:40 I wake up from short nap with dry mouth, crick in my neck, a funny smell. Am I in a POW camp?

3:43 I cant figure out where we are. I only see smokestacks and powerlines, it must be Baltimore because there’s not enough litter to make it New Jersey.

4:09 We’ve stopped in Baltimore to pick up more people. The LA riots had better organization than this ride so far. Its not so comforting when the people getting on the bus look surprised that they go picked up.

4:40 The two college girls behind me have finished their SECOND 20 minute conversation about texting. You know that debate about whether or not cell phones cause cancer? I may have to start rooting for cancer here. I am that frustrated already.

4:47 I’ve been working on a crossword puzzle that has turned into a little league game. It was going well and I was about three quarters of the way through before it was called due to darkness. I know I could turn on my overhead light, but on this bus I don’t wanna cause a stir. Its like jail and I want to blend in, not draw any unnecessary attention.

4:56 Just passed Ripken Field in Aberdeen Maryland. I wonder what kinda of Ironman record there is for these bus trips. I don’t want to meet the record holder.

5:20 Conversation topics between the two girls behind me thus far:
-Texting (see 4:40)
-Dave Matthews Band ("I hate when Dave plays music without singing in live shows, its like just play another song")
- Chapstick ("Look I don’t want to share… its just… gross)
- Boys (No quotes here, it wasn’t funny or interesting enough)
Way to shatter those stereotypes ladies.

5:39 Who had Delaware in the pool for state in which we would have our first screeching stop where we all go flying?

6:00 Apparently the next stop is Philadelphia. Thanks for enlightening us on all of the trip details. This bus should be called Washibaltidelphiyork.

6:03 We just passed a strip club called Show + Tel which sounds a lot like the place my mom used to work, Show & Tell. Surely, you cant make this stuff up, and don’t call me Oedipus. I am now nauseous for a whole new set of reasons.

6:54 Welcome to the New Jersey Turnpike, the national syringe cemetery.

7:13 We have stopped again, this time on the New Jersey Turnpike at a gas station. This is the tipping point. Anyone who read Malcom Gladwell’s book The Tipping Point knows what I mean, especially since all the book does is restate the same point over and over and over again. Ironically chapter three of that mindless crap was my tipping point.

Anyway, I have now been on the bus for almost four hours and I am not even close to New York City. Me knees feel like they belong to Barbaro, my nose has ingested more waste than either of the Olsen twins, and there is a strong chance I will end up as the suspect of a double homicide of two teenage girls. My choices are stranding myself on the turnpike (which surprisingly doesn’t seem like that bad of an idea right now), knock my head against the window until I shatter the window or knock myself out, OR turn up my iPod, pull my hat down over my eyes and hope I sleep.

8:48 I am awake and everyone is getting out in Chinatown, for better or worse, I made it.