Hat tip to Spencer Hall over at the Sporting Blog. Um. I'll let him explain his thoughts on this very short video.
I broke two bones in my back last week and was given a generous dose of prescription painkillers to use. I like to think they haven't affected me, but when you're busting out in full giggles at Hamlet 2, you know the loopy has kicked in full force.
So ... um ... someone who is totally sober at this moment please tell me if this is as bizarre as I think it is?
My two thoughts: The voices for LeBron and Z sound like the garbled voice you always hear used for ransom calls in the movies. Varejao's voice, on the other hand, sounds like the brother from Napolean Dynamite.
If you're like me, you have oodles of old baseball/football/basketball cards around the house — some in binders, some in shoe boxes, some in those nifty little cardboard boxes you got from the card collector shop. And if you're like me, once every two years or so you'll stumble upon them and spend a couple of hours flipping through them.
"I paid HOW MUCH for a Shaq rookie card?"
"Man, I really really thought Penny Hardaway was going to be in the HOF someday."
"Look at how skinny Jim Thome was."
One of the surprising subplots to the media's coverage of the Eastern Conference Finals between the Cavs and Magic has been the enormous microphone used by Brian Windhorst and Mary Schmitt Boyer in the postgame video wrap-ups appearing over at Cleveland.com.
Cursed Cleveland noticed it and provided perhaps the best analysis:
Lost in all the Game One storylines is the Cleveland PD’s attempt to land in the Guiness Book of World Records in the category for most unnecessarily long microphone. Even Bob Barker thinks it’s overly lengthy.
It even made Truehoop's Wednesday bullets.
So imagine my surprise today to check out the game five video wrap-up and, what... what is that.... a normal sized mic? Congratulations, Windy.
The Inside the NBA on TNT guys (Ernie and Kenny and Charles and Reggie) got the Mike Polk treatment and take it in good stride. Apparently TNT asked Polk to make the video and he obliged, riding on Ernie (he looks like your creepy uncle), Charles (he's from Alabama and won more pie eating championships than NBA championships), etc. Just watch. (Skip to 2:03 for the start of the video.)
"Reggie lives in the shadow of his sister." — Best line. (Hat tip to Jodie Valade over at the PD)
This blog is taking a spontaneous midweek break. We'll be back here Friday morning with all the Cleveland nonsense you can handle.
One of our Classifieds guys, Joe Strailey, likes to put keyboard to screen every once in awhile and try writing. After I tell him that's a good way to destroy a monitor, he puts pen to paper, and I transcribe his words here. These were his thoughts after the devastating loss to the Orlando Magic on Tuesday night.)
By: Joe Strailey
I am Cleveland.
I know heartache. I know what it's like to see more vacant spaces for lease than actual businesses. I know empty parking lots that used to be full. I know rusted semi's that no longer move freight. I know picket lines. I know unemployment lines. I know how to tell someone they are being laid off. I know the feeling of hugging someone who just heard that news. I know how to watch an entire sporting event with my head down. I know where 'rush hour traffic' went. I know the current unemployment rate. I know a shrinking city. I know the look on a child's face when they look at me and wonder why I'm so sad after a game. I know punch lines, all of them. I know being the other team in a highlight reel. I know how the movie Major League really ends. I know Jose Mesa, John Elway and Micheal Jordan. I know what it's like to avoid ESPN for weeks at a time after a series. I know bewilderment. I know to 'wait until next year'. I know the definition of; almost, so close, choke and "here we go again". I know let downs, factory shut downs and thumbs down.
I also know heart. I also know fortitude. I also know curses can be broken. I also know camaraderie. I also know what a real day of work is. I also know how to keep my chin up. I also know the value of 1 second on a shot clock. I also know Bob Feller, Jim Brown and LeBron James. I also know that 'next year' will be here sooner than you thought. I also know the value of a handshake. I also know team work. I also know it's never over until it's over.
I am proud to be Cleveland.
This is my review of Lance Allred's book. The article appears in this week's issue of Scene, but is here in advance for all you bloglovin' types.
Lance Allred was active for 17 games with the Cavs during the 2007-2008 season. He actually appeared in only three of those games, logging a total of 10:05 played while going 1-4 from the floor, 1-2 at the free throw line, and grabbing one rebound. So you can be forgiven for not knowing who he is. A 10-day contract-type player doesn’t merit the fans’ attention, especially when the team is pushing towards the playoffs behind LeBron James.
But there was much more to Allred coffeebreak-length pro career. Plenty of media outlets wanted to tell his story, including this very alt-weekly. Lance was not just a nameless, faceless big white guy on the end of the bench. Lance had grown up in a fundamentalist Mormon compound in Montana before becoming the first deaf player in the NBA. And he was plagued by obsessive-compulsive disorder.
Allred had baggage.
After an NPR report, Harper Collins came calling. They wanted to send a ghostwriter to help him write an autobiography. His agent, John Greig, laughed. There was no way Allred would have that. Lance, in addition to being a damn good basketball player and history buff, was a fine writer, and if anyone was going to write his book, it was going to be him. In fact, he had already started, sort of a cathartic process in the midst of one struggling season.
The result is Longshot: The Adventures of a Deaf Fundamentalist Mormon Kid and His Journey to the NBA, which is on sale now, a harrowing and moving look at Allred’s life growing up in a polygamous compound, his family’s escape to Utah, his travails of living a hearing-impaired life and his improbable if brief pro basketball career.
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