Matt Leinart just Learns that there is a Lockout

Ultimate party-bro Matt Leinart, a back-up QB for the Houston Texans which is commensurate in title to being the Deputy Sous-Chef at Quiznos, apparently just learned that the NFL Players Association of which he is a due-paying member has been in a lock out with NFL team owners since March. The existence of 24-hour internet and cable news information and the fact that Leinart has professionally watched football games while wearing a head-set for the last 5 years caused this news to come as quite a surprise to NFL fans. But, DBSF feels it necessary to explain how this very reasonable circumstance occurred.

When the season ends for Matt in November--grant it yes, DBSF recognizes that the NFL season runs through December for non-playoff teams and into February for Superbowl contenders, but for Matt anything past week 10 is "waaaay long, bro and places like Green Bay and Cincinnati are way, way cold"--he and his best friend, "Shimbs", take Shimbs's dad's yacht for a month long world tour.



Well, actually they never undocked from the Marina Del Ray Yacht Club this year because Shimbs's dad refused to give him the key until he, Shimbs, finally covered the $85 in court fees for Shimbs's last DWI. (As with the four prior DWIs his Dad covered all other court costs; the $85 simply reflected a paternal attempt at instilling responsibility for one's actions, which usually ended up with Schimbs's dad one day finding $85 less in his wallet and Shimbs ready to contribute only $60 of the $85 to the cause and the remains of a Bud Ice thirty pack littered across the driveway).

There was also the issue that after last season when Matt and Shimbs decided they were going to drive the boat to Afghanistan to 'surprise the troops' but the 11 beers and bottle of Chambord they brought to cover the 10,000 mile-plus trip was finished before they reached the Pacific, which required them to turn around, which led to Shimbs getting his first Yachting While Intoxicated-charge--hit a school of kayakers--which he, Shimbs still, couldn't mentally process that there existed a concept, much less laws prohibiting,the consumption of alcohol while driving a boat.

Thus, without cable or internet access on the Yacht--they only had to 9 or 10 dozen porn DVDs, and the first three seasons of Everybody Loves Raymond on VHS--there was no way for Matt to know until June, at the earliest, that the Lock-out was in place.



For the last 35 days, Matt and two high school friends--Hex and Lambo--have been mountain biking in the morning (i.e., 2pm to 4pm for the rest of the world), trying to brew their own beer in Hex's bathtub (Hex is Matt's one home-owning friend, he received a substantial sum in a civil suit after a bouncer broke both of his arms outside of a club back 2 or 8 years ago), and then at night they've been working on a football-action-thriller movie script (they simply combine the plots of Weekend at Bernie's with Weekend at Bernie's 2 but the cast only wears football pennies) while bare foot skateboarding in Hex's backyard while also cleaning out 20-25 beers each until the neighbors call the police and the boys have to go back inside and play some Medal Of Honor or Rainbow Six--which Lambo is by far the dominant player so they usually stick to Medal of Honor where the tables are much, much more even--until they have to start the day again after 11 hours or so of shut-eye.

So, when Matt realized yesterday that no checks had been going into his bank account for the last 4 months and he called his agent's daughter--who no way would he date for another two years until she turns 18, but definitely, definitely not date for at least another year--it was then that he found out that no he hadn't forgot again what seasons and months football was played. The players were locked out.

DBSF rants about Michael Vick, again

Michael Vick represents perhaps the most intriguing NFL superstar of this generation. His dog fighting case exposed a racial divide (i.e., Google “Tucker Carlson Michael Vick” or “Sean Hannity Michael Vick” to gain some insight on whites' vitriolic reactions) and a Hollywood-worthy riches-to-rags megadrama. But, for DBSF it is Vick’s standing in the black—in particular, disadvantaged—community that merits him the greatest appreciation.

Before his conviction Vick was football’s version of Allen Iverson—the superstar who perseveres through adversity while always maintaining his core blackness*. (For DBSF to assign any person a position on the scale of blackness is undeniably dubious seeing as DBSF is white. To give some perspective, he, DBSF, has several “John Mayer Live” albums in his iTunes library and adamantly believes that Subaru makes the premier station wagon-cum-SUV. However, his inability to “get” Judd Apatow movies makes him only ‘marginally very white’.)

Although white people hate to acknowledge it, there’s something romantic (i.e., the third definition on dictionary.com, not the first two) about Vick coming from limited means in a marginalized, poor black community (Newport News, VA) and achieving success at such a prominent level while maintaining the culture of his past.

While commercial interests (e.g., Space Jam) might entice some athletes to shy away from behavior and attitudes deemed offensive by the mainstream (i.e., white) culture, Vick dominated professional football and was rewarded with a nine-figure contract with the Falcons without pandering to the white majority. In fact, Vick (and Iverson) were so impressive because of how explicit and conspicuous they were in exhibiting their blackness through cornrows, tattoos, etc.

Fifty years ago the superstar black athlete was expected to be subservient to white interests and culture. At most he could be a darling of the Northern liberal whites (no slavery, no Jim Crow, but stay in your schools and on your side of town). Muhammad Ali and his allegiance to the Nation of Islam changed that. After centuries of degradation and unspeakable (and sadly, largely unrecorded—shocker those two white Kentucky police officers reported that death as an accidental homicide and not a lynching . . .) violence targeted at blacks, Ali brought the machismo and Malcolm X-militancy that showed that not only would blacks passively accept blatant injustice propagated by whites; but, in fact, they’d punch whites right in the mouth for it. (This gets white peoples’ attention. As a white person, DBSF can attest that getting purposively punched in the mouth is a rare phenomenon and about as appealing as that time Murphy Brown got cancelled.)

Of course, the comparison of Vick and Iverson with Ali is extremely limited and lies primarily in that the two should be applauded for championing athletic success and their black culture. (While Ali possessed arguably the greatest sociocultural force of any American in the 20th century, Vick and Iverson fall in the Ricki Lake stratosphere of cultural behemoths**.)

This soliloquy exists because DBSF wished to applaud Nike for resigning Vick to an endorsement contract. Supposedly, this was the first time a major endorser re-sponsored an athlete after a major crime.(Also, the fact that DBSF is currently reading a biography on Muhammad Ali and his, DBSF's, infinite fascination/ desire to include content on Malcolm X and Black Nationalism/ militancy probably added two- to three-hundred words.)

Vick’s sponsorship deserves praise in particular because of his criminal past. In the 1990s, one-in-three black men between the age of 20-29 were under the supervision of the criminal justice system, and at any time approximately 1 in 20 black men are in prison. However, of state and federal prisoners black men represent approximately 50% of nonviolent offenders. Most of these men pose no threat to the community but are forced to cohabitate (and network) with violent offenders. Upon release the absence of rehabilitative services, like job training and drug treatment, considerably limits individuals’ ability to reintegrate into society. (Thanks, Ronald Reagan--the ‘War on Drugs’ makes Vietnam look like the US was in an international Women’s Softball match).

Anyone with even the most rudimentary understanding of the relationship between race and the US criminal justice system is aware of the deep injustice. It’s commensurate to the suspicious one would have going back and looking at the housing market in 2005 and wondering why one bedroom condos in Las Vegas and Orlando are starting at $400K in neighborhoods with family AGIs under $30K per year. But, the problem in the criminal justice system is worse. Multiplied. And by a lot. Thus, the symbol, albeit limited, of a formerly incarcerated young black man returning from prison and prospering is welcomed. (Next week, DBSF will return to discussing the custom basketball team Nick Young made on NBA Live 2K11 where every player on the team was Nick Young and even the real Nick Young put all the fake virtual Nick Young's passing and defense abilities at 10/100.)

*NB: DBSF should clarify that identifying “blackness” among individuals coming from limited means (i.e., Michael Vick and Allen Iverson) isn’t to suggest that blackness is inherently tied to poverty or disadvantage. No one would argue that the political or business success of the President, Robert Johnson, or Ursula Burns precludes them from being black. Rather, Vick and Iverson encapsulate a form of urban and rural disadvantaged black that whites have castigated and suppressed for centuries. But, ‘disadvantaged blackness’ or ‘rural and urban disadvantaged blackness’ doesn’t roll off the tongue quite so well and is a pain-in-the-backside to type every time.

**NB2: DBSF is not suggesting that Vick and Iverson epitomize being black or African American. Obviously the two have a pot-smoking-, bowling alley brawling-, dogfighting-past that would be an insult to assign to any racial, ethnic, gender or Dungeons and Dragons group. Rather, they were brought up in a culture resulting from structural disadvantage (i.e, few opportunities, fewer jobs) and they persevered and they maintained that culture without feeling the need to change their identity because of their success.

July 4 Weekend in Review

The Texas Rangers made the news yesterday when they signed 16-year-old phenom, Nomar Mazara, to a $5 million contract. What struck DBSF was not that a 16 year old Dominican received such largesse from an MLB team; rather it was that nobody in the Rangers organization questioned why a 32-year-old showed-up for the press conference of a 16-year-old (Nomar's pictured below). This isn't even one of those Miguel Tejada-I'm two-years-older-than-I've-actually-been-the-last-31-years-scenarios. No, Mazara legitimately looks like an early- to mid-thirties man who's experienced substantial success in importing/ exporting and agribusiness.



Last week DaSean Jackson, a hundred thousandaire probably two or three times over, tweeted that after 17 minutes at a club he had already run up a $10,300 bill. By the end of the night he announced that he had dropped $25K. DaSean missed that Twitter exists for two reasons. First, to let the world know what you thought about that Michael Bay movie. And, second to exhibit that you cannot spell "Michael", "Bay", or "Transformers". Twitter does not exist to promote the fact that you spent probably close to a tenth of your post-tax income at a club where Brittany was your waitress, and you ate a 2006 Kia Sedona with 75K miles in service charges and tax.

Also, DBSF always assumed that after dropping $10K-plus you get a special receipt, or at least the generic black-on-white receipt is placed in some leather-bound gold accented receipt book that you get to keep to illustrate to friends and hanger-ons about your supernatural ability to mismanage money. But, DeSean gets the same crinkled little receipt DBSF receives for his Admiral's Feast and two Lobsteritas (extra Sauza, thank you very much) at Red Lobster. (Perhaps DaSean can take solace in knowing that at least he's not Michael Jordan's 20 and 21 year old sons who tweeted last year that they ran up a $60K tab one night in Vegas. Good work boys. Way to spend Dad's money.)



Finally, Kobe Bryant is rumored to be planning an NBA superstar, international barn-storming tour assuming the lockout goes as long a few hundred young men, who make an average of $5 million a year and have no real interest to make financial sacrifices for, let's be honest, predominantly rich white owners that can't pay the players and turn a profit, believe. The rumored barnstormers include the likes of Russell Westbrook, Derek Rose, Paul Gasol, and Kobe among others. DBSF hopes there can be a coinciding "No Pass-Backs Tour" starring Nick Young, JR Smith, Monta Ellis, Stephen Jackson, and Matt Boner. No chance Bonner gets even one invite over the entire length of the tour to the nightly night out.

Chris Bosh likes Technology

DBSF was reading up on Chris Bosh's bachelor party, and the correspondent gets all "Hangover 3" because it was 4-days in Vegas. But, before DBSF bit on the party-hysteria bate he noticed two suspicious events. First, the bachelor part went to a magic show. Second, Mark Curry of Hangin' with Mr. Cooper fame was there.

Going to a magic show during ones bachelor party gives the event an ominously religious feeling. Not like, "Yeah I go to Temple/ Church once a week." More of the "so, I was talking with god last night" variety in the sense that the individual literally believes and expects you to believe--in fact, would be appalled at the thought that you possessed the slightest consternation much less genuine doubt/ concerns of possible psychosis--that they had a one-on-one back-and-forth conversation with their own personal god less than 12 hours ago.



As for Mark Curry. Well, DBSF will just say it--he's the black Dave Coulier. He's like the one thing--outside of the presence of the actual fiance to be and her mother--that could make an overtly religious bachelor party less cool. Him being there is like leaving the magic show to catch the end of an in-line skating half-pipe competition.



However, in the article there was a link to Bosh's Maxim photo shoot which he took part in prior to the 2010-11 season. DBSF's reaction to this televisual photo shoot was that his media rep needs to not only set-up these events, but also be there and advising Chris, and taking and destroying film when at his own discretion Chris, well, Chris shouldn't have been acting at his own discretion.

For example, he spends the first minute of the photo shoot fake eating an apple. Surely, this shtick was at the behest of the photographer, but here's where a media rep can apologize to the photog about the rapid demise of the newspaper industry and that yes, the media rep, understands that he--the photographer--was pulling Pulitzer's for photography with the NY Times twenty years ago, but this isn't the Bosnian War; this is just some 6'11" dude outside the Ritz Carolton on Biscayne Bay, and the whole purpose of the photo-shoot is to make 5'9" Italian sophomores at Rutgers with body dysmorphic disorder forget for 5 seconds who they are while taking a crap or riding the bus to class and think for just those 5 seconds that they're a multimillionaire teammate of LeBron James and Dwayne Wade. Hopefully, the thinking goes, that will entice them to patronize Davidoff cologne or whatever high-end polos Lacoste is pitching on the following page.

Then there's the look-under-the glasses thing Bosh is doing, which is a little too Dwayne Wayne for DBSF. And, that is no slight to Kadeem Hardison because Dwayne Wayne doing Dwayne Wayne is just right; when Bosh does it it looks like a mix between him needing to sneeze and him scanning a cruising spot. But, the highlight for DBSF comes around the two-minute mark when--in addition to reading and video games--Bosh announces that "I like technology", which, well, puts Bosh in good company.

Brandon Marshall--Needs Restrictions on his eHarmony Account

Former Denver Bronco and current Miami Dolphin wide receiver, Brandon Marshall, has encountered standard legal issues during his college and professional football career. He got in a fight/ resisted arrest during a Halloween party in college; was caught attempting to return stolen bed sheets to Burlington Coat Factory (link included to show that this one wasn't a DBSF creation); his Dad tried to run him over with his car (the Dad's car presumably); DUI; etc.



But, it's Marshall's encounters with ex-GFs and wives that has DBSF most concerned. For example, an ex-GF--who in Marshall's defense discussed their relationship a few years ago as if it were a money market fund or commodity she was going long on--and Marshall alleged that the other had inflicted physical abuse on her/ him after hours of fighting in 2006. A year later the same ex-GF accused Marshall of punching her and taking her purse at an Orlando hotel. A few nights after that police showed up when the two had loud--but, non-physical--arguments. Another five days later Marshall was arrested for domestic abuse and false imprisonment but this time in Denver (charges were dropped). (Editor's note: These are all separate police reports. This wasn't some single three-year event, like the War of 1812.)



For two months Marshall apparently exhibited restraint as it wasn't until June that the same ex-GF alleged that he threw a rock at the passenger window of the car she was in and then cut her thigh and punched her in the face. Charges weren't filed, which DBSF guesses probably contributed to Marshall allegedly punching/ choking/ black-eyeing the ex-GF three weeks later. Almost a year later in 2008 Marshall and ex-GF inevitably get in another fight--more mouth and eye punching (she being the recipient)--and he ends up falling on a glass table and injuring tendons and muscles in his right hand, which caused him to play the 2008 season without full feeling in his right hand. (Marshall initially claimed that the injury was the result of rough housing with his brother--kind of like that time Clint Barmes broke his collar bone either ATVing, carrying groceries or lugging dear meat given to him by Todd Helton.)



Presumably Marshall read something in the leaves as he and the ex-GF split-up in the Summer of 2008. In 2009 he gets engaged to someone else, and within a month they're both arrested for disorderly conduct after a fight gets out of hand. Marshall and that fiancee marry and exchange vows twice in 2010. Apparently, the wife had a little of the ex-GF in her--or, more likely Brandon Marshall has the same Brandon Marshall in him--as she was arrested and jailed two months ago for stabbing him during a fight (self-defense), which resulted in an ICU trip.



If you've lost count 6'4" 230lb Brandon Marshall has had to have police break up about a baker's dozen of his fights with women. It looks like in the most recent incident, his wife was abundantly clear w/r/t her approach to 'leveling the whole playing field'. Whether or not the new approach has influenced Marshall is still yet to be known (however, he's been involved in no police reports for two months), but--for Marshall's sake--DBSF thinks Dr. Neil Clark Warren might want to add a 30th dimension of compatibility to eHarmony that controls for "a penchant for hand-to-hand combat".

2011 NBA Draft Actions & Reactions

Apparently DBSF's media pass to this year's draft was lost in the mail/ 8 General Mills coupons failed to appropriately incentivize the NBA's media staff.

The draft is sponsored by Kia. DBSF fancies that Hyundai and Daewoo blew their marketing budgets on the Carolina League's All-Star game.

Adele getting played before and after every commercial break--bigger white sisters haven't got this much love in the NBA since Olive Miller was playing/ going out 7 nights a week.



The greatest inhibitor of Kyrie Irving's assists per game average will be Alonzo Gee, Anthony Parker, and Anderson Varejao. So, the rim.

Kyrie's sideburns go about an inch beyond his jaw. And, a goatee? We're talking about a half inch of bare jawbone. Just close the deal already Kyrie--go beard.

Jay Bilas says Derrick Williams strength is that he can finish by the basket. DBSF has a feeling that dunking on Oregon State's 6'6" stoner-center, who has like two hallucinogenic mushroom tattoos, is a mildly different experience than attacking Dwight Howard at the rim.

Enes Kanter's hair flirts with his eyebrows. DBSF is calling for Olympic-style testing. But, rather than checking for doping DBSF requests investigating the presence of Teen Wolfism.

This year's draft hats possess a hologramic-LA Gear effect.



John Calipari watching Enes Kanter speak in his post-draft interview with Mark Jones has the same look you see Johns give when they're in the squad car after the under cover cop busts them for solicitation AND doesn't give them their $50 back. (It's evidence/ the cop's date money that night, bro.)

Who bought all these Eastern European kids their suits? They've been playing basketball in sandals their entire Lithuanian lives. Whichever investigator Google Searched "don't say nothing to nobody; especially the NCAA" in Jim Tressel's gmail account and brought down the Ohio State Sports and at time Academic Institution should look into this.

Cleveland picks Tristan Thompson #4 overall. There's a reason the Cavaliers are the Cavaliers. (And, it has nothing to do with no one in the organization finding anything wrong with it taking Baron Davis 8 days to fly to Cleveland after getting traded from the Clippers. Okay it has something to do with that too.)

I'm sure international players, like Jonas Valanciunas, love that ESPN's staff group all non-American players as a homogeneous group that views Dirk Nowitzki as a deity. Like do they know what Dirk's native Germany did to the rest of Europe over twenty or so years in the first half of the twentieth century?

Jan Vesely gets a kiss from his GF that said "no more mail order briding". Hold onto that thought sister. Jan is about to be introduced to segment of American womanhood that you and your babooshka's cinnamon apples (literally, cinamon on sour apples' they don't have much in the Balkans) could never match.

Jan Vesely (white) described as a high flyer gets compared to no other than JR Smith (black)? No. Dee Brown (black)? No. Clyde Drexler (black)? No. Tom Chambers (quasi-obscure white player)? Yes.

Jimmer Fredette is a lottery pick. Good to see white affirmative action is still in operation. Reparations for Cam Newton getting picked over that guy from Washington who makes Joey Harrington look like Jake Locker? Who are we talking about here?

From the look of excitement among the crowd of five-foot-sixers around the Morris brothers each time one gets drafted suggests there's a sufficiently large early twenty somethings entourage that just reached early retirement.

With the seventh pick the Charlotte Hornets select Bismack Biyembo . . . because the Charlotte front office never plans on working after 8pm EST as the Charlotte Long John Silver happy hour ends at 8:30 promptly. God forbid they ever start picking after the lottery. The front office will be paying that full $1.75 on Miller Lites and the free hush puppies? Forget about it.



Do you think Markieff Morris ever gets angry that his twin brother got to be named Marcus and not the other way around?

Every time Commissioner David Stern walks up to announce the pic the crowd boos him a la a Roger Goodell at the NFL Draft. DBSF can tell Stern wants to go up there just once and yell "I'm better than you. I'm better than all of you. All."

New York fans at the draft remind the TV viewing audience of the almost supernatural compulsion that leads humans to cheer against New York teams.

More to come on the rest of the first round and second round . . .

John Wall Goes All Mrs. Nick Cannon

Apparently John Wall said he prepared for his opening pitch before the Nationals game last week because he didn't want to embarrass himself, like former Wizard Caron Butler did when he dribbled a ball to home plate a few years prior at a Nats game.

But, what DBSF doesn't get is how Wall can average over 8 assists per game in the NBA, can dish no-look behind-the-back passes while going full speed on a fast break, and can hit teammates in stride on free throw line-to-free throw line passes with a defender in his face, but he can't time the release of a baseball so it projects at an even slightly parallel route to that of the ground.

This all got DBSF thinking that John Wall has a little Mariah Carey in that wind-up. At least Mariah can blame the heels; Wall even got hooked up with his own custom Nats jersey. A bad omen for the Wizards next year, DBSF asks? Then again it might position them well for the Jared Sullinger race to the bottom in 2012.

DeShawn Stevenson: Circa Sunday Night Midnightish to Tuesday Night 10:30pm Central Standard Time

It happens all the time. Some Sunday night you're down in South Beach pestering LeBron James into 21 points and 6 turnovers and you go out to have a cocktail in celebration with a few of your mates then fast forward 2 days, 11 $500-plus bar tabs, 84 new friends, 16 new enemies, 29 forgotten or physically/ biologically impossible promises and a half-dozen costume changes--all of which you only learned about hours after having actually occurred--and you're arrested in a suburban Dallas apartment complex thirteen hundred miles West from where you took that first Grey Goose shot.

Of course, DBSF doesn't pass judgment as this is as common an occurrence as say the waning gibbous, but such unfortunate circumstances befell DeShawn Stevenson earlier this week. Two days of intense Marty McFly-time-traveling likely left DeShawn with minimal recollection (i.e., he knows he took off his shoes at one point to see if his credit card had fallen through his pocket into them but he doesn't know if it was day or night or if that was before or after he shook hands and bet a stranger $6,000 that the XFL would replace the NFL as the premier football league in the coming season). As such, DBSF will use his intuitive and investigative skills--the latter of which he earned compliments of TESST College of Technology via a 3-week mail order certificate degree in Private Investigating (in fact, DBSF was so pleased with the scholastic experience that he double-downed for a double certificate-er-major in LockSmithing)--to piece together how DeShawn's Sunday to Tuesday night transpired.

Sunday night from midnight to 5am was probably standard NBA Championship partying. You and your teammates get a roped off section of the nicest club in town, someone buys a $90K bottle of champagne and tips an additional $20K, groupies are poking holes in condoms in the bathroom and praying to God that the baby-sitter will fall asleep and not call like 50 times seeing why they're still not home yet, etc.

Around 5-6am the club is closing and all the rational or uber-horny teammates are heading back to the hotel seeing as having just finished a basketball game and a 100+ game season sleep is becoming increasingly seductive. But, not DeShawn. No. He had that fire in his heart and wasn't ready to wave the surrender flag to the party demons just yet.

After 5 or so hours of extreme power drinking in combination with the exhaustion associated with a three hour basketball game DeShawn is, well DeShawn is at a sketchy (e.g., illegal) after-hours club or party where all patrons and employees are under the influence of enough stimulants to eliminate a triceratop's appetite. Here is also where social cues should lead DeShawn to recognize that the night has reached its twilight (despite it being dawn) and he should shut down shop.

But, how can he tell DBSF? He's caught up in the excitement and the energy of the party. Easy, examine conversation. After ingesting myriads stimulants since getting off a double shift at the Hyatt, DeShawn's late-night colleagues are deep in the throes of a conversation on no other than their "brilliant" movie script, which inevitably deserves critical acclaim and instant blockbuster recognition--Lost in Translation meets Forrest Gump meets ET times the entire Fast and the Furious franchise.

Anyone with even minimal experience with abusers of stimulants knows that to carry on a 6am-8am conversation with said abuser(s), DeShawn would have had to been participating because otherwise one is trapped in the most asinine conversation where the stimulatee pontificates on the blockbuster script idea, which in fact is simply a combination of the plots of Short Circuit 2, Mighty Ducks and Cop and a Half closing with a scene for scene rip off of the last 8 minutes of Jurassic Park 2 (The Lost World).

Let's fast forward an hour or three. We can assume DeShawn is now hitting a grey zone. He is considering an IHop session but as all power-partiers know that ends the evening and this dude just won an NBA Finals against his arch nemesis, whom had Jay Z write a song lambasting him (DeShawn) when stuff got hot in Washington so what would you do?

As any marathon partier knows, for the truly epic 40+ hour party to persist sans-stimulants (cheating in DBSF's book; basically steroids for partiers), one must encounter the rare case of blind luck. At this point a teammate--likely Brian Cardinal--was driving to the airport to take the team plane back to Dallas when turning onto the interstate who does Brian see arm around the shoulder of a homeless man and sharing a bottle of Popov? DeShawn.

Brian scoops DeShawn, they catch the team plane where DeShawn proceeds to pass out the entire flight but not before ordering a shot of something "red spicy and tastes like bananas but not too much like bananas what time is it" and crashes out before the flight attendant can finish saying "pardon me".

By the time the plane lands and DeShawn wastes 2 hours and the Monday night of the entire flight staff looking for his hat (which he didn't bring on the flight) DeShawn refuses Jason Kidd's ride home because DeShawn claims--without any reason or information meriting his claim--to already have a ride. When said ride inevitablely never shows up as it never existed with the exception of a brief 8 minute window in his intoxicated brain DeShawn must decide on the next step as it is now entering 10 pmish on Monday night.

Obviously, the only logical step is airport bar. This is where the faintest memory of the bender remains for DeShawn because of the recovery that occurred during the plane ride (he spent 8 minutes trying to take pictures of children with his cell phone, which was actually the calculator he traded his cell phone for straight-up with the homeless man at the interstate ramp). DeShawn spends the next 6 hours making frenemies by A) buying everyone at the bar drinks (friends), and B) accusing patrons indiscriminately of stealing his wallet/ challenging the integrity of Tom Brokaw (enemies).

From about 2am to noon on Tuesday DeShawn has consumed such massive amounts of frozen Margaritas (with chasers of Grand Marnier) that even DBSF's exceptional telekentic/ detective powers are muted. Only thing DBSF can really pull from that ten hour window is that DeShaw spent between 4 and 6 hours taping episodes of Family Matters on a VHS he traded in for at a pawn shop for his $50K Cartier watch and then using the same tape and the same thirty minutes of film to rerecord each ensuing episode so the quality of the film was so poor by the 9th or 10th recording that Eddie Winslow sounded and looked exactly like Tom Selleck in Mr. Baseball.

From noon to about 9 or 10pm when the police were called DeShawn was essentially in a comatic state. He probably drank 2 or 3 Heineken cans and a strawberry daiquiri (which the bartender at Olive Garden didn't put alcohol in), and things got messy (i.e., peeing with pants secure around the waist made its arrival) and flagrant incoherent cussing emerged (DBSF feels that the term "shittlecock" achieved Lady Gaga top 40 rotation in DeShawn's vernacular). After that the police came, which meant it was bed time in Irving Central lock-up. Best thing is that after 48 straight hours of boozing, DeShawn slept through the entire 20 hours of holding and processing imposed on all misdemeanor offenders PLUS the additional 8 hours they make all young men wait in jail if they're black.

The Summer of DBSF's Discontent

The real tragedy of Miami losing Game 6 of the NBA Finals last night isn't that Bron Bron & Bosh didn't score any jewelry, rather its that non-MLB loving sports' fans (e.g., sports fans) have one less event to hold them over until football starts in late August. As a DBSF colleague of counter-counter-intelligence (so regular, run of the mill intelligence) pointed out after the NBA draft, we have baseball (or, as DBSF likes to pronounce it "bess-ball"), WNBA, and soccer.

As if there need be greater irony in DBSF's summer of discontent the soccer isn't even not the real kind that's played every four years but isn't the Olympics but kind of is the Olympics because who really gives a fart about the triple jump, save triple jumpers and immediate family members of triple jumpers? Rather, it's kind of like watching DIII basketball--undeniable quality effort, but deep down you feel that 2 weeks sans smoking (or, at least switching off menthols) and reducing beer consumption to a manageable 3 or fewer per night you personally would end the season in that league with some sort of plaque honoring you for individual achievement.

The irony in this already deeply ironic moment of personal DBSF introspection--and by irony DBSF doesn't mean funny, he means like the literal junior year of high school English definition of like the opposite happening of what was intended--is that the NFL doesn't even rub DBSF's marbles the right way anymore. Thanks to an epidemy of American malaise combined with juggernaut-marketing schemes run by big beer, big insurance, big private investment firms, and big mid-sized truck manufacturers the NFL has become overwhelmed by the idea of the NFL.

In other words, the NFL is becoming like a bizarre most photographed barn in america where it's popularity and appreciation is predicated not on the event but on the anticipation and obsession with what people think the event could be. In fact, DBSF believes that the Superbowl has only been played two out of the last six years. Those other four years were simply an amalgamation of Paul McCartney/ Black Eyed Peas soundbites, Tostitos ads, and pre-game commentary on what each defense or offense should do in the event the game were ever played.

In the end, this only possesses deep significance for DBSF and inner-DBSF (DBSF now counts his own personal self as 2 people starting in the 2010 decennial Census). So, until next fall DBSF will resort to regularly monitoring Twitter feeds from the likes of Brian Cardinal and Zaza Pachulia. Basketball's over; the Summer into early-Fall doldrums may commence.

Basketball is a Game of Runs/ High Drama in Game 6

Time for LeBron to show that he's not Jim Kelly or Scottie Pippen--both of whom in like the grand scheme of things are up there w/r/t best-case scenario in terms of life outcomes--or something. DBSF predicted a 24-8-9 (pts-assists-rbs) explosion for Bron Bron. Here we go.

--Mike Bibby doesn't add basketball value to the Heat. He doesn't add aesthetic value. Four-on-five can't be that much worse.

--Based on the promos for ABC's Fall line-up the network looks like it expects Google and/ or Netflix to conquer television sometime in August.

--Shawn Marion's goatee--uninspired.



--Tyson Chandler's flaming basketball tattoo on his left bicep was an epic decision in 1999. Well, kind of epic.

--Joel Anthony works harder on single possessions than the entire Washington Wizards' starting five does on entire West Coast road trips.

--Nowitzki totally gets the geometry behind the circumference of a hoop increasing with a greater arc. Doubt he ever needed to use the cosine or tangent function on his TI-81.

--Brendan Haywood is inactive for tonight's game. He was inactive for game 4 but still managed to plod around on the court for a couple minutes. Consummate Wizard.

--DBSF needs to double-check but he believes that Brian Cardinal playing in multiple games of a Final's series represents one of the 6 original signs of an impending apocalypse.



--The fact that 7'1" Tyson Chandler with those 4 foot arms can miss a lay-up is admirable. Admirable in the same way of people who beat drug charges because the cop showed up for court the wrong day.

--Somebody brought their three year old to sit court-side--great use of a $6,000 ticket.

--Brian Cardinal hit a three. A distant universe--definitely possessing complex lifeforms--instantaneously implodes.

--DWade goes down with a hip injury. Mike Miller TIME!!!

--JJ Barea will be an awesome fit with the Heat next season.

--Whoever designed the Maverick's mid-court mascot emblem has a long career ahead of him doing graphic design for the DLeague.

--Juwan Howard just made back-to-back baskets. DBSF is all of a sudden in the mood for some K-Ci & JoJo.



--Eddie House not hitting threes is a shorter, tanner Adam Morrison.

--Shawn Marion may have an ugly jump shot but its a beautiful upward chest pass.

--The three prerequisites of sitting court-side at an NBA Finals game: 1) don't watch the game, 2) text/ play Angry Birds the entire time, and 3) don't wear the complimentary t-shirt given to fans.

--Eddie House lecturing Mario Chalmers on how to guard JJ Barea is like Whitney Houston lecturing Marie Osmond on sobriety.