In a Missionary Position

The negativity is rampant here at Gheorghe lately, and I've been guilty of it myself. Not sure if it's because we just had Tax Day (and if you took a beating like I did despite not making a fortune, I feel your pain), if it was the Masters meltdown, or just "Dancing With the Stars" not going the way you dweebs want. But the frenzy of "I hate ____", "I wish ____ would die," and "_____ is a pasty, goofy, upstate New York Spicoli wanna-be with huge feet, a five-year-old's diet, and a wardrobe like Screech's" is starting to get over the top.

G:TB contributors are mandated to have a hard copy of our Mission Statement on them at all times, no matter what. G:TB readers are strongly advised to follow suit. (Zoltan, Shlara, Geoff, KQ . . . we can get you laminated copies for your use.) It helps keep you in touch with your "inner Gheorghe"; when you hit those crossroads in life, asking WWGD? is always a fine idea. Let the big guy steer your ship.

Wherever Gheorghes go, whatever they do, the Mission Statement is right there on their person. Even while playing croquet, handball, smear-the-queer, or snooker. While fishing off the pier, company or otherwise. While hang gliding over Jockey's Ridge, ballooning over Pike's Peak, or peeing over the third rail. Yes, even while showering, and yes, even during the physical act of love with spouses, girlfriends, or cousins. (The lone exception is when making love to oneself, 'cause that's just weird. Keep it in the other room with the television on while you do your thing.)

Rob has his G:TB mission statement attached to his remote. TJ uses his as a bookmark in his copy of If I Did It. TR wallpapered his bathroom with it. Mark has his tattooed on his forearm. I've made a series of cocktail napkins and beer koozies with it printed on them. In each of these cases, you can imagine what banged-up state the mission statements are now in . . . but it matters not.

It's ingrained in our heads, and also in our hearts. Dennis knows it in Latin. TR knows it in Pig Latin. Rob can recite it forwards and backwards. TJ can only recite it backwards (Rain Man). The point is that the very reasons this vehicle was launched 5+ years ago are words to live by, and words which we typically do live by. And yet . . . sometimes it can get away from us.

(As an aside, using "it just got away from me last night" as a euphemism for "so sorry I drank a liter of Jameson, called you the wrong name in public and in bed, punched your uncle in the throat, and vomited in your car's A/C vent" is a handy utensil.)

So, in an effort to get back to what this endeavor is really all about, we are re-printing the words of founding partner "rob" from way back in 2003. Here's hoping the cock-eyed optimism that it encourages will pervade our upcoming posts.

Mission Statement, or What's a Gheorghe, and Why Should I Care?

I don't trust anyone that can't laugh at himself. I think that Crash Davis was dead on, right up until he started talking about Susan Sontag, at which point I tuned out. I'm hopelessly addicted to the Boston Red Sox, even though I know it's not good for me. I believe that sports, like society at large, is full of self-important, egomaniacal windbags at all levels, and I intend to use this space to tilt at the windmills that threaten to suck all of the joy out of the things that I love.

This space is named, with love, for the most fun athlete ever to draw a paycheck from a professional franchise. Gheorghe Muresan, late of the Washington Bullets and New Jersey Nets, stood 7'7" and weighed 330+ pounds. He shuffled around a basketball court like a slightly more mobile version of Frankenstein's monster, with a splay-footed gait and elbows and knees that flailed about as if independently operated. His elongated, comically expressive face conveyed the unmistakable glee and amazement with which he viewed his place in the NBA’s firmament, even as he made the often numbing journey from rookie to veteran. He played a handful of NBA seasons with a modicum of success, being honored as the NBA's Most Improved Player in 1997-98. Most importantly, though, he played basketball and approached life with a pure, unadulterated joy that was, and is, unmatched by any other professional athlete.

Gheorghe's spirit and the joy with which he appears to approach life offer lessons for all of us about the important things. This space will celebrate those in sports and elsewhere that live with Gheorgheness, and skewer those that think they are more important than the game - be it sports or life. Gheorghe: The Internet Magazine, had a brief, meteoric run several years ago, flaming to earth in a blaze of apathy amidst rampant rumors of financial mismanagement. Gheorghe: The Blog rises like a phoenix from the ashes, or at least like a Weeble, to carry on the Gheorghian mission.

I'll take the first step in this new Era of Positivity™. Let's see . . . be positive . . . okay: Although I have never met Mark in person, I am positive that he is an incredible douchewhistle. (Just kidding, Mark. I am positive Greg's wrong.)

And finally, we are unveiling our newest official Gheorghe. She's Romanian, a singer/model, and she looks nothing like Gheorghe Muresan. Her name: Elena Gheorghe. Enjoy (and click on the picture to get the full, blown-up effect).