Blanco

To my left was a barbershop called Pablo’s. Liking the name and needing a haircut, I walked in with no clue that getting a cut would never be the same again. I sat down and surveyed the layout. There was an older dark-skinned man with long, curly, slick hair doing something to a woman’s head involving pink paste and a lot of pressure. It looked like a project. Was he Pablo?

Standing closer to me was a younger, lighter-skinned man with a lot of tattoos. He was bobbing up and down at his station, working his razor on a young child’s head. His face scrunched up and eyes squinting from focus, he bobbed and weaved like Sugar Ray Robinson. He leaned back like Fat Joe, he was the only one who could hear the beat. Inspecting the scalp, he stood on his tip toes like a boy trying to peak over a fence and survey the world. The father of the kid in the chair sat on the couch next to me with two more sons. They all had the same cut. I wondered whether I could pull that off, the Cristiano Ronaldo coif on a manlier, less athletic face.

The barber circled the kid. The dad started talking about boxing. The barber nodded as he slowly spun his son in his chair. He opened the back door so that the kid was now bathed in sunlight from the front door and back. It was as if he was saying  fluorescent lights were not good enough for him. He was an artist and he would not let his latest work off the chair until he inspected it from every angle and under every ray of sun. He circled the chair from the right while spinning it slowly to the left.  Chasing it. Stalking it across the ring. That was Blanco.

He powdered the kid off, turned to the dad and said You think HE’s bad!? Tyson, now that dude…NOBODY badder than Tyson, B. The dad ambled up to the chair with his arms open and reasoned “Well, shit. I KNOW Tyson’s bad. But Holyfield beat him, didn’t he?” The barber jumped into a reenactment of Tyson-Holyfield II with the only two details he remembered being that Holyfield deserved to have his ear bitten off and one does not mess with Tyson, B. The dad opined “You know who really messed it up? Mills Lane. He was the ref that night.” I did not know that. The barber replied with I stopped watching boxing after Tito, man. When Tito fell off, I said I’m out. Now I wanted to get involved so I said that I bet he was happy when Trinidad robbed De La Hoya. He said he was. The dad got him talking about all kinds of sports and it was incredible because both the dad and I knew more about sports, but he was the barber and we were in his pulpit so his word was God. Talk turned to the Knicks and he said Please. You know who the baddest was, right? JORDAN. Maaan, that dude was unstoppable! We both agreed that yes, Michael Jordan could play. Meanwhile, Blanco was averaging about 45 minutes per haircut. The dad noticed the time and remarked that he was surprised that it was so late. The barber replied that people who want some quick-cut, they don’t come to him. Come to him only if you know and recognize that he takes his time. YO, I CHILL. To me, I gotta get it perfect and I’m gonna CHILL. He followed up with an anecdote about how some fool tried to rush him and he told him “YO.” Like the works of Terrance Mallick and Axl Rose, Blanco’s was a pursuit unbound by time, no matter how their fans clamored or how long I waited on that couch.

Still, I couldn’t be happier. After getting my hair cut in one sterile salon after another, I had finally found my spot. I didn’t even care how my hair cut was going to be (when I got it). Then the man called me up. I took the throne and he put the cape over me and said “So what’s up? How you like it?” I said short would be fine and he got to work. I wanted to get him to rant like the dad did. At that point my feelings would have been hurt if he got me out of there in less than 30 minutes. I sat and tried to think of a topic to peak his interest. He was doing his bobbing and weaving routine behind me when we heard the TV set and a girl said to her man “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll be back at the end of the summer and I’ll call you every day.” And Blanco immediately said Yo he is f*cked! Homeboy bout to get cheated on. DAMN. Believe ME. I KNOW, ya know what I’m saying? I KNOW.  I had no idea who they were or what show it was (neither did he) but of course I said “Oh hell yeah! You can tell.”  UM HMMM. I can see it in her eyes, dawg. Women yo. You married? ( No.) NEVER TRUST A WOMAN. TRUST ME, NEVER TRUST WOMEN. What could I say? I couldn’t argue with him. I was on his turf.  He had a razor to my head.  So I said ” Oh Hell no!” and he then told me that his ex had cheated on him with his friend and at that moment this heavily tattooed diminutive Puerto Rican John Leguiziamo-looking barber started spinning around the barbershop with his arms open wide to the sky with his scissors in one hand and a razor in the other shouting WHAT DID SHE THINK? SHE THOUGHT I WOULDN’T FIND OUT? IN THIS TOWN WHERE EVERYBODY JUST LOOOVES TALKING BOUT OTHER PEOPLE’S BUSINESS? 

I thought to myself this is the best hair cut of my life. I averaged 3 or 4 hair cuts a year before Blanco. After meeting him, I was at his place every 6 weeks or so. He was not one to slave for the man though. I’d swing by at 5:30 in the evening on a Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday and the place would be closed. Their posted hours were the opposite of their real hours, all day, everyday versus never, never. I would drive by Pablo’s during especially good weather, on the day before a holiday, anytime that I could rationalize to myself a barbershop would and should be open. My logic could never match their’s but sometimes I would drive past by chance and run in when  I would see the man in white gliding around the shop. Once, as my man was performing the pre-game ritual of spraying that water bottle thing into my hair, I casually remarked “Been here a bunch of times. You guys been out-of-town?”  He pirouetted away from me , turned around and his eyes ablaze, he said YO I love my customers but for real you n*ggaz is crazy! I’m here all the time! Nobody comes, then I got to go take care of some stuff and THE WHOLE WORLD STOP BY!? Come on man! You guys is a TRIP. I was embarrassed by my stupid remark but at the same time proud he called me n*gga.

Aside from the enormous entertainment factor, this dude’s haircuts were the best I ever got. And he knew it too. He was not lacking confidence. He used to cut all his friends as teenagers and they all told their friends and he became a barber by default because of the demands of everyone he knew. This followed the Good Will Hunting script where his friends realized he had a gift and although he wanted to do other things,  damnit, he didn’t owe it to himself to be a barber, he owed it to them to give them all free haircuts for life. Or so they said when they showed up on his porch every Friday after work.

We talked about everything at Pablo’s and the best days were in the summer with a bunch of scruffy heads talking about anything not worth talking about, which of course are the best things to talk about. There was the time I said Denzel Washington is overrated. I argued that Matt Damon was better and that Jason Bourne would kill Alonzo from Training Day in less than a minute. Questioned what the hell happened to Michael Jackson. Suggested that the Fellowship of the Ring didn’t really need Gimli. Okay, I did not bust that one out.

A few months ago I told him the Knicks had added Jason Kidd. No reaction. Someone said Kurt Thomas was back. Barely a shrug. I mentioned Marcus Camby’s name to some other guy and before I could finish my sentence, Blanco left his station and was popping off imaginary jumpshots, fadeaways even and yelling Marcus Camby used to drill those threes! Swish! Swish! Knicks got him!? Damn. He eventually calmed down, resumed his cut and remarked that this was the first time in a very long time that he had heard the name Marcus Camby. I wondered if he was thinking of Reggie Miller.  People were vague and confused a lot. Someone would say “Yo, who’s that guy? The guy with the sick jujitsu?” and everyone would guess random names until someone got it. I would wait each time for someone to bring up Floyd Mayweather so Blanco could instantly contort his body into a weird hunchback stance with his shoulder to his cheek and say repeatedly BOY’S DEFENSE IS TOO GOOD! You can’t touch him! Nobody can! Hit me! Hit me! It’s impossible!! MONEY! Look at this stance! And he can knock a guy out from this stance! 

Nice sunny day today. Went down for a cut. Walked in and sat on the couch. There was nobody there. Ghosttown. Tumbleweed. Things felt off. Pablo walked in and said to take the seat. Dude, where’s Blanco? No Longer Here. I took the seat and Pablo asked me how I wanted it. I wanted to say “Like Blanco does it! I hate you Pablo! Where is he? I wanna go there!” but I just said short. He asked me if I want a 1 or a 2. I wanted to say “What are you, a robot? Blanco didn’t throw numbers at me!” but I just pointed at a photo of some guy and said ‘like that’. Pablo gave me a really good cut. Probably just as good as Blanco. It’s his name on the shop after all. Still, it wasn’t fun. He didn’t say a thing, although I didn’t want him to.  He didn’t use a toothbrush to even out my fade like Blanco used to. He didn’t talk sports or do impressions. All he did was give me a damn good haircut in a short amount of time and for a reasonable price. Lame, Pablo.

I walked out of there thinking that’s it. Never going to see Blanco again and all I have to remember him by are those eight business cards sitting on my desk that he asked me to hand out for him.  No goodbye, no see you later. Good barbers are hard to find nowadays but good characters even more so. And both in one? Irreplaceable. I have to remind myself that some birds aren’t meant to be caged. Their feathers are just too bright. As Pablo cut my hair and the curls accumulated on my cape, I was going through a Blanco’s Greatest Hits montage in my mind and I remembered something else he said.  One day his cell phone rang a few times and he looked at it angrily and he said STRAIGHT UP, I been through so much f*cked up shit, I can’t even tell you dawg. Prison. Women. CRAZY SHIT.  Like, you wouldn’t believe it type things, but what all those people who tried to bring me down don’t know is that out of the darkness comes the light yo, I BELIEVE THAT 

Two minutes later, he told me it was his father trying to reach him on the phone because he wanted a ride. Blanco said he had forbidden his dad from driving because Yo some people drive bad, my pops is TRYING TO HIT MOTHERF*CKERS ON PURPOSE. He got anger issues dude but for real if he calls me one more time I’m gonna knock old man the f*ck out when I pick him up!  Scissors and comb in hand, he threw a  jab-jab-uppercut combo into the air of the barbershop. BAM! 

Advertisements

Kobe Bryant: The Best Ever ? Better than Gandhi?

By now, I am sure you have seen Kobe Bryant’s miraculous game winning shot against the Miami Heat. On Saturday, in front of a raucous crowd (Yes, Laker fans are capable of becoming raucous in the last ten seconds of epic games), Kobe “Black Mamba” Bryant was locked in an epic duel with Dwayne “Flash” Wade, known in Los Angeles circles as a “poor man’s Kobe”. Said one Hollywood producer sitting court side, “Kobe is the best ever. He is better at his job than anyone else in the world is at their job. Kobe can do anything. In fact, I could have Kobe play Malcolm X and it would be great. Wade? I wouldn’t let him do a guest spot on Malcolm in the Middle.” Now, it’s common knowledge that the Miami Heat won a championship a few years ago and that Wade is in no way as good as Kobe, this game was close in score only because Kobe’s supporting cast and coach are  inferior to Wade’s. That being said, anyone who hasn’t been in a coma for the last decade could have told you how it would end. Indeed, how it always ends. Kobe doin’ work. The Laker legend beat the buzzer with an off-balance 3 pointer to win the game by one point. And then he did that thing where instead of smiling or looking happy to win the game, he stood there scowling hard as hell, eyes squinting, overbite dangerously intense. Just letting you know, if you still don’t get it : “I’M  A  BADASS”. Upon my tenth replay of his gamewinner, I actually listened to the question that ESPN’S Scott Van Pelt was asking. On the highlight reel, as Bryant’s shot goes in off the glass, the news anchor asks in bewilderment and SHOUTS as if this has just happened live “IS THERE ANYTHING HE CAN’T DO!!!???”

It’s a valid question. Is there anything in this universe that he cannot do? Hyperbole aside, he is obviously the most accomplished man on this planet at this moment. So, I decided to compare this Maestro of the hardwood to previous giants of history, even though it goes without saying that Kobe would shit on them all in a game of one on one. For this, our first installment, let’s see if Mahatma Gandhi can stand up to KB24.

Kobe vs. Gandhi. 

WORLDLINESS: Gandhi went to South Africa and earned his law degree. He applied his education and the lessons he learned here to come up with a course of action to remove the hated British empire from India.

Kobe grew up in Italy and used his Italian macking skills to pick up chicks when he moved to grimy ass Philadelphia. Soon after, he would take Brandy to his high school prom. Nowadays, Kobe speaks to Pau Gasol in Italian because everyone is too scared to tell him Pau is Spanish.

EDGE: Kobe

RESUME: Gandhi, known as the father of India and synonymous with non-violent struggle, his is the story of a man who defeated an evil empire single-handedly. His face is on every Indian bill of currency. One negative is swirling rumours of being an adulterer.

Kobe, known as the father of Natalia and Gianna (Italian names of course) and  loyal husband to Vanessa, has won 4 championships, 2 scoring titles, 1 Finals M.V.P, 1 regular season M.V.P, 3 all-star game M.V.Ps and been named an All-Star 11 times. He is the face of the N.B.A, sports and America.

EDGE: Kobe

INTANGIBLES:

Kobe showed he can roll with the punches when he transitioned flawlessly from the Shaq era to The Kobe era. He never hung his head, belittled his owner or insulted his teammates – instantly becoming a beloved leader and role model.  He kept Laker fans happy by scoring 81 points against the defensive minded juggernaut Toronto Raptors in the most important game in Laker history. Gandhi, on the other hand,  rode Jawaharlal Nehru’s coat tails (yes, the Nehru suit’s)  too long and looked lost without Nehru’s sage wisdom. Basketball wise, it would have been like the Mahatma lost his big man and resorted to chucking shots up from 3-point land. Ignoring open teammates. Being a gunner. Being SELFISH.

While Gandhi refused to amend his principles of Ahimsa (non-violence) and peace, Kobe has adapted and improved his game each summer. While Gandhi fasted for weeks and walked all the way to the ocean to make his own salt, Bryant has hired Tim Grover, formerly Michael Jordan’s trainer and nutritionist. Says Grover, “Kobe doesn’t fast or take long walks because I have  him on a high protein diet that results in superior energy levels that we schedule his workout regimen around. Kobe probably burns in one hourly session with me the same number of calories Gandhi burned in his entire trek to the ocean. And I will tell you this- Kobe would have gotten to the ocean maybe twenty times as fast as Gandhi. FACT. And with a lot more left in the tank. The guy is a FREAK OF NATURE. His motor just keeps going…”

The task of comparing two of the giants of the last century is by no means easy but there is a source who knows both men well. Phil Jackson has coached Bryant for ten seasons and has read the book Gandhi six times (even giving it to Lamar Odom for Christmas 2007). Phil’s take on the debate was as objective as possible, “Well, it’s always tough to compare different eras. Different rules. Different challenges. However, I will say that the things Kobe is doing right now, I would say that we haven’t seen this kind of sustained excellence since the Beatles run in the 1960s.  And think about this…The Beatles changed their sound in late 1965 because they realized that the best are always trying to improve. They keep tinkering. They keep working at it. That’s what makes Kobe Kobe. This summer he added an array of new post up moves. Last summer, he improved his mid range game. He is relentless. Quite frankly, Mahatma should thank his lucky stars that Kobe wasn’t fighting for the British.”

EDGE: Kobe

Millenniums from now, it will be painfully obvious that Kobe Bryant was far more accomplished, successful and well-rounded than Mahatma Gandhi. For now, people will act like it’s close. Still, realists know that Gandhiji could never swagger like this.

Next week,  MAMBA VERSUS EINSTEIN: THIS TIME IT’S RELATIVE.

#7 Vova Galchenko: Going for the Juggler

Vladimir Galchenko is a 20 year old sophomore at California State University. In his mid-teens, he immigrated to the U.S from Russia where he was a resident of Penza. As a boy growing up, his father enrolled him in “circus school” when he was four years old in the hope that Vladimir would be able to make money and survive as an entertainer. The boy would grow into Vova, widely considered the best juggler in the history of the world. Interestingly, he steadfastly refuses to wear any kind of make-up or costume at any performance deeming such attire “gay”. He became a web phenomenon ten years ago (yes, at the age of 10) Magicians across the world reached out and asked Vova to come train with them. After years of travel and practice, he eventually settled on the west coast and earned a Green Card based solely on his juggling skills. Today,he is in Cali and loving life to the fullest. He can not only do every juggling trick ever, he continually dreams up new ones that leave people scratching their heads. He is the TRUTH. His first taste of commercial success was in a Fatboy Slim video and he has also been featured in Time, the New York Times and a Florida Lotto ad.

He is a funny dude who posts his own blog (everybody’s doing it) and he is quick to tear into people ranging from himself to his classmates to Lenin. Watch his juggling in Penza where he juggles on top of a tank as well as at a Lenin statue that he eventually throws balls at.
In the world of juggling, 3 clubs or balls is cake, 5 is tricky, 7 is almost impossible and anything else is unimaginable. Galchenko is at the 7,8,9 level. He has practiced three hours each and every day for the past ten years and he is now a machine, a machine that defies gravity and speaks with a russian/cali accent. Vova’s got crazy skills…

#4 Latrell Sprewell: Milwaukee’s Best

I got my lawyer on speed dialheres some mustard for ya mofo               Latrell Fontaine Sprewell aka “Spree” was born in Milwaukee in 1970. After a decent college career, he was drafted in 1992 by the Golden State Warriors. It was over there in Oakland that the voices in his head started calling the shots. Up until December of 1997, Spree was considered a good player, an intense high energy guy. However, that was until practice one day where Spree just snapped and went buckwild on his then coach, PJ Carlesimo. PJ was riding his players as usual and Spree was not in the mood. PJ pushed a little too hard when he said to Spree “Put a little mustard on those passes.” That was the last straw. Sprewell ran upto his Coach in front of the entire team, threw him on the ground and proceeded to choke him with both hands for about 15 to 20 seconds before his teammates pulled him off. Spree immediately left the gym, leaving behind only his horrified coach and shocked teammates. Twenty minutes passed and as the men tried to figure out why he snapped, Spree himself came through the gym doors with a bat in hand. The team got the bat away from him but this crazy son of a gun still threw a punch and clipped PJ. Long story short, Latrell was kicked off the team and wound up being traded to the New York Knicks after sitting out a year.

He vowed he was a changed man. Of course, he was just bullshitting. It’s not like anyone cared anyway. He was nasty as hell and carried the eighth seeded Knicks to the NBA Finals. Still, signs started poppin up that this guy wasn’t all there. First, there was a report that his pit bulls had flipped and had bitten his young daughters, severely injuring them. Spree responded by saying that he was keeping his dogs, they were part of the family. A few weeks later, the team could not reach Sprewell and began frantically looking for him. His agent and manager, nobody knew his whereabouts. People began to fear the worst. After 3 days, Spree showed up in NY and explained that he had driven cross country (without telling anybody) Then, a few days before the season started, Spree came in and said that his hand hurt. Upon getting x-rays, Spree’s hand was clearly broken. Reports circulated that he had snapped while on his yacht “Milwaukee’s Best” (classic) and had started punching the yacht itself. Seriously. Even better, he could have had surgery a month earlier but he hid his broken hand from the team until the season started.
\
After going AWOL again the next season, the writing was on the wall. This guy was nutso. The team traded him to Minnesota where his legend only grew. After becoming a core part of the team and earning some respect back, Spree was rewarded with an offer of 3 years at 7 million dollars per season. That would be 21 million greenbacks. Famously, he angrily turned down the offer claiming “I got a family to feed.” He never recovered from that one. Spree was eventually released from the team but with his hakuna matata mentality, he figured he’d get that loot later. He was even offered a 5 million dollar one-year contract from several contenders but he said he would “not stoop to that level”.  A year later, in the midst of a championship campaign, the Spurs offered Spree half a million to play out the remainder of that season. He called their offer “a slap in the face.”

They won the championship without him.

Latrell Sprewell never played in the NBA again. In May 2008, his home was foreclosed on and his yacht had been reposessed and sold. His legacy will be that he was the first player who went beyond thinking about choking his coach. He actually went and did it! Also, he will go down as the only NBA player to have rims named after him. Those ridiculous rims that spin, they will forever be called Sprewells. Still, it must be said that although the man is totally insane, he was awesome to have on the Knicks. That’s because he was absolutely fearless. Crazy dudes are usually fearless.

Buzz Bissinger: “Blog , i must break you.”

dude is crazy!    This was the most intense sport related stand off I have seen in the past month and it had nothing to do with hoops or hockey (It never does). It took place not on a court or a rink but in that bastion of intense testosterone filled dudes, the Bob Costas show on HBO’s cleverly titled “Costas Now”. This was a serious showdown in every way. It was the good ol’ boys of newspaper journalism repped by “Buzz” Bissinger versus the new kids on the blog repped by Will Leitch, founder of Deadspin. I will admit at the outset that I have been a fan of deadspin.com for a year or two. It is not my sports source but it is a site i check out to have a few laughs at the sporting world and more specifically to laugh at the corrupt beurocracy that controls it. To me, when a story is being ignored intentionally by the large media companies, I can trust Deadspin to be all over it. In today’s media, sportswise, ESPN is top dog. They make the schedules, they call the timeouts, they write the stories. Those stories decide hirings, firings, signings and departures. So they are the sports police. SO who polices the police?

 fans police big business           The fans. They are the only ones who can do it which is why the Deadspin blog is great. Deadspin is the voice of the fan, the intelligent nerdy fan as well as the drunk, obnoxious fan. It toasts (and roasts)everybody because fans love (and hate) everyone. Buzz Bissinger, the Pulitzer Prize winning author hates blogs and said so in an incredibely crass and vicious fashion at the media roundtable on Costas Now. Naturally, he feels that he is in a better position to “evoke the feeling of sports” than a random blogger. I disagree. Bissinger contends that from his press box seat, he can capture the spirit of the game more so than a blogger sitting in his dirty frathouse living room. Maybe, maybe not, maybe $#@& yourself. The best anyone can do is try to capture their own experience. The rest is up to the reader to decide, isn’t it? Maybe I live in a frat and i want to read about people having an experience like mine. I am not getting into the press box anytime soon. While sports journalism is a great art (and I have long loved David Halberstam and Jerry Izenberg), people should also have the option to write crass stupid things like “Derek Jeter Sucks A Rod” and people should have the option to laugh at that as well. Whatever puts the wind in your sails. Whatever floats your boat. The irony is that it is usually the professional reporters (especially on tv)whose interests are compromised in the business of sport.

           For instance, Disney owns ESPN and ABC so you will never read an ESPN column saying that the coverage on ABC sucked for an event and you will absolutely never read ANYTHING NEGATIVE about espn in any major media publication. As long as business entities weild power over sports, the Yahoos and Sports Illustrateds and CNNs will never want to get into a truthful appraisal of sports coverage in America. God forbid corporate synergy takes a hit. Seriously, this synergy nonsense could be fodder for it’s own Coors Light Six Pack of Cold Hard Questions. I am not blaming Pete Coors by the way, he is a good man. I am blaming the owners and commissioners since it was them who decided to sell out COMPLETELY. Sport has sold it’s soul conjuring images of the time Bart sold his to Milhouse for 5 bucks. However, Buzz can’t point the finger at Big Money because they sign his cheques. (or sign his boss’ cheques) So, this sensationilist and exploitive world we live in is not a result of the media or society itself, the apocalypse has come in the form of…blogs?
when bloggers attack
             Buzz argued on the Costas show that Deadspin was immoral and unethical because they celebrated the embarassment and humiliation of athletes and he offerred as proof pictures of Matt Leinart drinking beers at a pool party and posing with college girls. How is that embarassing in the first place? Even so, one could argue that this is an invasion of privacy and that is true. Buzz is correct there yet the problem is that the almighty ESPN ran the same pics on TV again and again. Yet, his beef was with a website that can only reach a fraction of the people that espn does. So why does he choose to attack “the blog” instead of espn? I suppose it’s because he is somebody with sports television but he is just another clown (like me) on the web.

           Buzz’ claim to fame is he is the man who wrote Friday Night Lights, the story of high school football in Odessa, Texas. His book was optioned into a movie and afterward a TV series. Hence, he is no stranger to the sports television collosus. In fact, the movie version of his story follows all the usual tricks that modern sports coverage use in that the film’s primary tool to attract young male viewers (the core demographic for any football movie) is very short cuts and fast editing featuring hard hits and spliced with slow motion/ fast forward moves that eventually stop at yet another enormous hit. Throw in some rah-rah speeches and some rock anthems, microwave 30 seconds and you have ..Rudy on STEROIDS.

         I find it strange that a writer of such repute can embarass himself as he did speaking with Will Leitch of deadspin. His first comment of the evening is ( 2 minutes into the show) “I need to interject here because I feel very strongly about this. (looks over to Will ) I think you’re full of shit.” He goes on to say that he think blogs are dedicated to cruelty, journalistic dishonesty and speed. So is the modern media, genius.  When was the last time the media wasn’t cruel? Cruelty sells and every network serves it up in spades. Your 30 years of humanitarian work are washed away the day you are accused of a crime (who cares if you are innocent?). When was the last time that every single news source in the world was proven HONEST?  Do you hold the media to the same standard you hold the blogosphere you blowhard?? and SPEED? Today,  every news source in the world rushes its stories out to the point that they are proven untrue the next hour and there isn’t even the slightest bit of embarassment about it. It wasn’t that long ago that ESPN reported that Terrell Owens had committed suicide. Here was a national network owned by Disney reporting that a high profile athlete had killed himself intentionally by overdosing on pills. Yet, TO turned up at training camp looking very alive. But speed on a blog is an embarassment to journalism?  Buzz added ever so eloquently “it pisses the shit outta me.”

Bravo Shakespeare!  

           Let me make it clear that I am a newspaper reader. I appreciate the skill and I still love reading sports in the Star Ledger as well as the New York Times. Today, scores and articles are posted instantly and I believe it takes real skill to get people to read the paper. It is an art, it really is. However, I still completely disagree with Bissinger and his disdain for blogs. His fear that his forum is dying does not justify his attitude and his holier than thou arrogance. I would love it if everyone in the world read the newspaper and was well-informed. However, reading Buzz Bissinger or any other reporter does not make me more intelligent than a blog reader. And that arrogant assumption is why I think Bissinger is crazy. Dude is crazy.
here\'s to you pal..
         His attack on blogs is weak and irresponsible. The modern media (particularly television) has failed the people and the dumbing down of society has been happening for a long time now. To scapegoat blogs for momentum that has been gaining for years is a cop-out. For your information Buzz, I would be no more intelligent if I read your books. I’m hoping nobody’s dumber for having read this blog either.

Therefore, I hereby dedicate this blog to Buzz Bissinger. I would like to think that this would really piss the shit outta him.

that dude is crazy!

In recent times, it’s becoming more and more common to find absolutely insane people living the crazy life to the hilt. And often we see these people on Tv or in the newspaper and we focus on their insanity because of their “stature” or maybe I should just say “money/influence”.  Well, I do aim to get those people in the crosshairs and put them on blast. That’s not to say that I am going to ignore the average joe and his increasingly batshit antics. On the record, I promise that I will feature ALL who do whatever I deem crazy enough to write about. Whether they be rich, poor, liberal, conservative, black/white/brown/yellow/blue, fat, skinny, tall, short, smart, dumb or of average intelligence, they will all be roasted based solely on the level of crazy that they are. Full disclosure: dumb people do seem to get made fun of more often than smart people, it just seems to work out that way.

 More often than ever, I find myself thinking “wow, that dude is crazy.”

No longer will that sentiment be voiceless.The Scream by Edvard Munch (1893)