You'd Think Jason Kidd Would Be Able to Drive Drunk

Jason Kidd is regarded as one of the best passing and rebounding point guards in NBA history. He is second all-time in the categories of assists and steals (behind John Stockton in both categories). He led the NBA five times in assists, and his 107 triple-doubles leave him behind only Oscar Robinson and Magic Johnson. As his career progressed, he even learned to shoot from outside. This isn't news to anyone, but I'd just like to review the facts: Jason Kidd is a gifted athlete with astounding reflexes and keen peripheral vision. He also has an uncanny ability to judge how moving objects are going to behave. If anyone could drive drunk, it would be him. But, obviously, this is not the case, as he just received probation for  a DWI incident where he ran a Cadillac into a utility pole.

Now I'm not espousing drunk driving, but if I were going to let anyone who'd had a few too many suds get behind the wheel and drive me around, it would be Jason Kidd. Think of his vision! Over 12,000 assists! As a requirement of his sentence, Kidd has to talk to Long Island high school kids about the perils of drunk driving, and I think he should use the aforementioned tack. If he can't drive drunk, then who can?

The crash still boggles my mind, and I wonder if there was some other element at play. Perhaps he was drugged, or maybe someone fouled him as he went into the turn. I think I would still trust him to drive me around, even if he was a little tipsy. The man made nearly 2000 three pointers! There's something fishy about that utility pole. Or maybe I'm just an idiot.

Still . . . though it might not be logical and responsible, there are certain folks who you trust to do a good job, even if they've knocked back a few adult beverages. The Replacements could still put on a great rock show, even if they were three sheets to it. Drunk, sober, or hungover . . . Mickey Mantle could still swat one out of Yankee Stadium. Rob will play a mean game of zoom (have one) at the OBFT, even though he can't walk a straight line. I'll be slurring my words, but I can still throw a dart or a beanbag with deadly accuracy. And despite being well over the legal limit, Clarence will drink you under the table.

What am I trying to say here? I'm not sure. Should we have drunk-driving road tests, to ascertain who is allowed to drink and drive, and who is not? That's probably not a good idea, although that road course (and affiliated bar) would be a fun place to hang out. I guess this incident is just a reminder that things aren't always as they appear, and they are even less so when we are drunk. I really thought that girl I was talking to was cute. And for a few moments, late at night, in that college bar -- she was!

The Slowest Neophyte Suddenly Runs More Swiftly

If you are a man living in Northern Virginia, chances are your sneaker situation consists entirely of a pair of grey New Balance trailrunners or a pair of white leather Reebok crosstrainers. It's time to step your shoe game up and rob's Slingblades aren't the answer.

I urge you to step outside your comfort zone (pun!) and try something new and exciting like Nike's new Free Flyknit running shoes.

Before you get apoplectic about wearing sneakers with color go check out Nike's website, they have some more staid colorways to choose from.

If you really want to push the envelop, get a pair of Free Hyperfeels.



You can avoid looking like an old man without having centipede feet like rob. Get out there and pretend you're cool. You might even run swiftly!

Role Model

Ricky Gervais is, unquestionably, a brilliant comic mind. He's prolific, fearless, and unique. And yesterday, I accepted him as my new professional mentor.

Gervais published a post on his eclectic blog about creativity and value of time spent, as he says, 'dicking about'. From the post:

I'm loving having a YouTube channel to dick around on. I know I've always dicked around, whether on radio, TV or at the Golden Globes, but with this it's actually expected of me.

I discovered that this is the best thing about Twitter too. Just playing; mucking about for the hell of it. Although, I could technically count that as work. Dicking about should be tax-deductible for me.

Let me explain. Scientific studies of creativity have basically concluded that it can't be taught, as it is a "facility" rather than a learned skill. Putting it very crudely, creativity is the ability to play. And, to be able to turn that facility on and off when necessary. This makes perfect sense to me. Everything I've ever written, created or discovered artistically has come out of playing.

Fast Company connected the dots in a business context, noting that, "It's safe to expand this point from art to other creative fields, like business, especially the kind that's preoccupied with innovation, as we at Fast Company incessantly are. To that end, there are two points for us to unpack here:

• that creative work requires exploratory mistake-making
• that exploratory mistake-making won't happen regularly unless systematized"

You could, I suppose, accuse me of cherry-picking a theory that justifies my penchant for procrastination, for wasting time, for, well, dicking about. You might well even be right.

But you'd better believe I'll be showing this to my boss the next time he catches me blogging at work, and explaining to him how important Gheorghe is to our team's success. I'll let you know how that goes.

You've Got to Have Money (To Have a Midlife Crisis)

A friend of mine recently bought a triathlon bike that cost over three thousand dollars. I was impressed by the expenditure, but relatively speaking, it's pretty cheap for a midlife purchase. In fact, his wife had absolutely no problem with the amount he spent (though she did claim that "nothing on earth has less purpose than a forty year old man.") Sarcasm aside, triathlons will keep you in shape, and they are far safer than motocross. As far as midlife crises go, buying a nice bicycle is pretty tame.

Now a cigarette boat or a high-performance car is going to run quite a bit more than a high-end bicycle, and there's more inherent danger. None of my middle-aged friends have made a purchase this bold. And it's not that I don't think they're capable of it, I just don't think they have the money. Sadly, the archetypal male midlife purchase is going the way of the dinosaur. Why? You could blame it on the weak economy and the collapse of the housing market. Or you could attribute it to changing gender roles. Women are often the main breadwinners of the family, or at least pulling in equal pay. And women don't covet cigarette boats. Perhaps people aren't as ostentatious about their materialism these days. And, of course, there's the rising cost of college. It's hard to buy a dune-buggy when you've only saved .1% of your children's tuition. These are rough times for expensive impulse buys that demonstrate machismo.

There are still wonderful stories of midlife excess from people who have money to burn.  James Hetfield took a  vodka-clouded bear hunting trip to Siberia. He missed his son's first birthday party. Whoops! But most of the guys I know buy a Bose bluetooth speaker or some high-end tequila and call it a day.

And then there's the final level, which is really expensive. I'm talking mistress level midlife crisis. Very few folks in my crowd have the balls and wherewithal of Roger Sterling. I don't know a single dude who puts up a "gumad" in a city apartment, so she's always at his disposal. Where have all the good times gone?

I labor over any purchase, so this is purely hypothetical . . . but if I were to do it, I think I would go with something fairly cliche. A motorcycle, chopper style. This is not going to happen, of course, since I live in central New Jersey, and riding a motorcycle on the roads I travel is akin to suicide, but if I lived out West and a rich aunt left me some money, I imagine I'd spend it on something like this:

I doubt I could handle the motorcycle and I certainly couldn't handle the accessory, but a man has to dream.

I learned something vaguely related to this theme recently from some colleagues. It seems -- and this is a total generalization based on anecdotal evidence -- that people around my age (43) don't have college debt. People a few years younger do. These people with college debt are from middle class families -- just like mine-- but they missed the cut-off (just as many of us missed the cut-off for good pensions, cheap land, strong unions, collective bargaining and early retirement). This cohort is definitely not going to make any crazy purchases when they hit middle age, because when they finally get out of debt, they'll need the money for a house, a new car, or home improvements. This is the new middle class. Doesn't seem fair, but, course, there's more than two billion people living on two dollars a day, so it's hard to complain that you can't get that jet-pack you've always wanted.

All this depressing stuff may sound like ridiculous fodder for a song, but The Moving Rocks are always up for a challenge. Enough introduction, it's time for some music:




You've Got to Have Money (To Have A Midlife Crisis)

You wake up most mornings, feeling lost.
You cannot lose those stubborn thoughts.

But you woke up this morning, feeling found.
You could not wait to get your feet on the ground.

You woke up this morning, with an idea.
Buy a motorcycle and ride out of here.
Buy a motorcycle and ride on out of here.

But it's not that kind of song.
If you think so, then you're so fucking wrong.

Because you've got to have money to have
a midlife crisis. Yes, you've got to have money to have
a midlife crisis.

You've got to have some cash to burn,
the only way a grown man learns.

Wake up most mornings, you feel like dirt.
Put on your pants and go to work.

Maybe someday you'll pay off your loans,
until then you're stuck at home . . .

Because you've got to have money to have
a midlife crisis. Yes, you've got to have money to have
a midlife crisis.

While we wait on SummerDave...

...I stumbled upon a pretty interesting link on Tumblr (for once not nude chicks or dressed up pets). And given that SummerDave's next post is likely about music or perhaps the unveiling of a new song, this link seemed to fit as filler.

A Brazilian design student has created a product called Sound Track, "a mash-up that aims to teach kids how music works while it simultaneously teaches them motor skills." Now, I do not have children nor am I musically-inclined, but this seems pretty genius to me. Is this something you G:TB parents would get your kids?

I Like the Way You Walk, MmmHmm

It's a semi-well-known fact that we've got sneakerheads in our community. Zman dropped science about the awful Air Obamas released in 2009. And just today, Mark nodded approvingly at former Gator Joe Haden's impressive collection of kicks:

We've also got a couple of runners in our number. Danimal's a damn Ironman, I log a few miles when not loudly suffering from poison ivy, Dave's run a marathon, and Clarence has worn a mean path from his couch to his fridge.

I don't think either group will have many kind things to say about Adidas' new offering. The Springblade (pictured below) will go on the market on August 1, retailing for $180. The shoe will immediately serve to identify poseurs who have both way too much disposable income and a substantial need to have people make fun of them behind their backs.

According to Adidas America's Director of Running (setting aside his support for these abominations, that seems a cool job) Mikal Peveto, "Six years in the making, Springblade provides one of the highest energy returns in the industry." Six years in the making, and nobody looked closely and said, "Dude, it makes me look like a millipede"?

I get the need to innovate, and I understand that true trailblazers run the risk of looking like idiots. You're talking to the guy who's leading the 'rugby will be America's sport' bandwagon. And wore seersucker pants to a biker bar. Truly, I get it.

I'm also a huge Adidas fan - I like their styling much better than any other major athletic brand. I own multiple pairs of their shoes, several pairs of shorts, multiple shirts, and even a golf jacket. I'm pro-Adidas, in a major way. (Note to Adidas: I'm not one of those bloggers averse to taking free stuff to say good things about products and/or companies. Hit me up. We'll talk.)

But I'm not wrong about the Springblade. Those things are awful. Bookmark this post, because it may be the only place you can see a picture of these shoes.

Other than Mikal Peveto's closet.

The Moving Rocks Roll On

For quite a while now, my fans have been requesting a song about community college. And not community college like on the show Community. Real community college. So I took them up on the offer, and though I don't like to brag (actually, I do like to brag . . . but it's because I have self-esteem issues, so it's okay) but I think this may be the most rocking song about community college ever written. It may also be the only rock song with the word "registrar" in it. It is definitely the only rock song with the word "bacteriophage" in it.

This song-- like the one I recorded a few months ago (Cutter) -- is definitely inspired by Hanna Rosin's book The End of Men and the Rise of Women.  I am starting to think that Team Male is in serious trouble. Read the book to learn why, but all I can say is: we've had our turn, and we really fucked things up good, so maybe the women will do a better job. Maybe things will end up like Charlotte Perkins Gilman imagined. Boring, but peaceful. In the interim, things will be like this:




Brittany's Going Back to School

Brittany got pregnant at her high school prom,
raised up the baby with some help from her mom.
Twelve years later and the kid is getting old,
wants her own phone and a closet full of clothes

She was making ends meet, working at the bar,
but working at the bar won't get you too far.

She's got to take a trip to the registrar.

Brittany's going back to school.
Community college never looked so cool.
No drunken parties on the lawn.
She's got to commute home, to relieve her mom.

And she just wants to pass.
She caught her Calc teacher checking out her ass.
All these kids seem half her age.
She needs to define bacteriophage.

And if you're wondering where the dad went,
I'll give you a hint.
He's playing Call of Duty in Tim Kerr's basement.
That's where he went.

He really wants to lend a helping hand, be a good man.
But he's trying to so hard to make it in his punk rock band.
At least that's the plan . . .

And Brittany's going back to school.
Community college never looked so cool.
No drunken parties on the lawn.
She's got to commute home, to relieve her mom.

Bacteriophage: a type of virus that infects bacteria

This Won't Suck

On July 22nd Springsteen & I, a documentary created by and for Bruce Springsteen's loyal followers, will be simulcast to cinemas around the globe. In anticipation, Rolling Stone has five minutes of exclusive footage from the long-awaited documentary, produced by Ridley Scott, which puts into sharp focus the camaraderie and common ground that Springsteen disciples share.



Web link is here.

(h/t to Rollingstone.com)

Culture Up (Out?) Your Ass Thursday

Say what you will about Chinese sculptor Chen Wenling (just the other day, talking to some colleagues, I said I found him shallow and pedantic, but I may have mistaken him for someone else), his work is certainly striking.

Take, for example, his 2009 series, What You See May Not Be Real. The painted fiberglass works skewer (below, literally) the Wall Street culture that berthed banking crisis of the late 2010s. In the work below, the figure pinned to the wall by the gas-powered bull (according the The Design Inspiration, farting implies bluffing or lying in Chinese culture) is intended to represent disgraced financier Bernie Madoff.

 

Subtlety, it seems, may not be a Wenling attribute. 

But if you like your art muscular and flatulent, Wenling's work is available through Ode to Art Contemporary Singapore. Pick up a couple for the team next time you're there.

(Face) Fashion is Dumbbbbbbbbbb

Sent to me by FOG:TB @dumbartonsbeer here comes the latest, and possibly dumbest, entry in our actually recurring "Fashion is Dumb" series. Seriously, Maison Martin Margiela, I hate you:

Frankly, since no one asked, if I were to unveil a line of fashion face masks, this seminal classic from my youth would be the inspiration:

OBFT: The Wordle

The 20th Annual Outer Banks Fishing Trip is approaching, and if you've been on one of the previous nineteen trips, then you know what to expect. If you haven't been, but want an idea of what it's like (and this is ersatz at best) then check out the Wordle below. The important thing to remember is this: there is no fishing on the fishing trip. Two decades of this joke, and my parents still think it's amusing.

To create this Wordle, I plugged in my Sentence of Dave OBFT synopses, some Gheorghe posts that tangentially mention the trip, and a few of the pertinent e-mails. It is by no means the definitive Wordle on the OBFT, and I encourage you to make your own, but it turned out to be fairly accurate. 

I especially like the serendipitous sentence "Whitney needed mustaches."

Drink like a fish, fish like a drunk, and tackle box.

This is real, and it is spectacular

Following in the footsteps of Sharktopus and Jersey Shore Shark Attack comes this absolute doozy...

 

This airs Thursday night.
Bless you, Syfy network.

A Half-Assed 2013 Wimbledon Men's Finals Preview Containing Several Botched References to Scotland and England

rob asked me for a Wimbledon men's finals preview and a preview he shall have, albeit a half-assed one. As you likely already know, Novak Djokovic and Andy Murray are set to square off for the Wimbledon title on Sunday. Djokovic has beaten Murray in 11 of their 18 meetings, including the last three in a row. The two have met in Grand Slam finals four times, with Djokovic winning three. But Murray has some odds in his favor. For example, won the only time they played on grass, the 2012 Olympics which were held at Wimbledon. And Wimbledon is in England, which is where Murray is from ... well, not really. Murray is Scottish, and an Englishwoman that I used to work with explained that Britons from England didn't consider Murray to be a true Briton until he won the Olympics, despite the fact that there's nary an animal alive that can outrun a greased Scotsman. After that they decided to acknowledge his Brittitude with the hope that he could be the first Brit to win Wimbledon since Fred Perry in 1936 blah blah blah. I'm not sure why the Brits are so enamored with Fred Perry, he seems to spend all his time designing clothes for emaciated sallow foreigners who look like they fell out of an Irvine Welsh novel:

Perry certainly lost his fastball from the 70's when he designed for mustachioed men with feathered hair and tube socks:

Speaking of clothing, Djokovic rocks UNIQLO gear, and Amanda Warner (half of MNDR) is a UNIQLO spokesperson. So don't front on what the Djoker's wearing on Sunday.

Sartorial asides aside, I expect Sunday's match to be a slugfest. Two of their last three Grand Slam matches went 5 sets, and the third was a 4-setter. More importantly, both play a similar defensive/counterpunching style, and by that I don't mean to suggest that their games lack offense. Both play consistent, relatively high percentage tennis by keeping the ball deep and high over the net, moving their opponent around, and crowding the baseline to the extent possible. Sure, they will take advantage of a short ball and put it away, but typically in a high percentage manner.

By contrast, Juan Marin del Potro is more of a gunslinger. He likes to rip backhands down the line, which is a lower percentage shot than crosscourt because the net is higher and you have a shorter distance in which to land the ball. He also likes to force his opponent to hit a short ball in the center of the ad side of the court so that he can unleash what is probably the nastiest inside-out forehand in the game. Check out the shot at 0:37.



Against Djokovic he went for a lot of insanely angled short inside-out forehands from the ad side and hit many. But he missed many too. I suspect that this shot was less painful to hit with his hyperextended knee than the backhand was, and that he wanted to end points as quickly as possible given his injury.

While we're doing short post-mortems on today's matches, GTB's favorite son Jerzy Jankowicz fell in love with the slice forehand/drop shot, of all the improbable shots to develop a crush on, during the third set of his match against Murray and it was his undoing. He should have stuck with what got him to the semis: big serve, big forehand, big Pole.

I once asserted that Andre Agassi would've been one of the greatest of all time if he worked hard and gave a shit. I think Djokovic's skill set is quite comparable to Agassi's and the Djoker certainly has more heart. He also has similarly bad musical taste; according to Wikipedia, "His favorite songs are Carl Orff - Carmina Burana,Vangelis - Chariots of Fire and Pulp Fiction Soundtrack - Opening Theme." Djokovic has the remarkable ability to produce offensive shots from defensive positions--even when he's forced to hit an out-of-position shot, he creates something that puts pressure on the opponent and get him out of position. Watch this sequence.



He plays smart tennis and his base game has no visible weaknesses ... and he really really gives a shit. Taken together, I think Djokovic could wind up a top-10 all time great, becoming what Agassi should have been. He'll probably beat Murray on Sunday in 4 sets.

Murray came back down 0-2 to Fernando Verdasco in the quarterfinals and at the time I felt like that would get him over the hump, along with the home crowd backing him while eating crumpets drenched in HP sauce and pounding pints of Samuel Smith's India Ale. Then I watched Djokovic beat del Potro and realized that Djokovic simply has better stuff right now. Every man, woman, and child in London could attend the match and cheer for Murray, but it won't be enough. Not even his Felicity Shagwell look-a-like girlfriend will be enough to derail Djokovic, not the way he's playing now. Murray's a damn fine counterpuncher, but unless he suddenly grows to be seven feet tall and learns how to shoot fireballs from his eyes, Djokovic has the potential to run him over on Sunday. Simply put, Murray cannot stop the Djoker.

That said, rooting for Murray is the right thing to do and I encourage you to do so. Just yesterday we celebrated our independence from Britain and the subsequent asswhooping we meted out upon them. Britain has been a steadfast ally ever since and their opportunity to fete a native son for vanquishing a foreign invader is long overdue. Freedom! And all that good stuff.

America, Fuck Yeah

'There is nothing wrong with America that cannot be cured by what is right with America.' - Bill Clinton

 

The 27,000 Reasons Why Candlepin Bowling is Better Than Ten Pin Bowling

I am forty-three years old, and for most of those years, my family has vacationed in Chatham, Massachusetts. I consider myself lucky that I've spent so much time on the Cape. It is scenic, historic, and full of natural wonders. And while it's not my favorite seaside destination, it has moved up in the rankings recently -- and sadly, this should have happened many years ago. Though the Orleans Bowling Center has been in existence for my entire life, just a few miles up Route 6A, it wasn't until yesterday that I tried my hand at candlepin bowling. And now everything is different.

It is hard to explain how much better candlepin bowling is than regular ten pin bowling, but I will try. Now that I have bowled candlepin, I want to do bad things to my ten pin bowling ball. That's right, I  have my own ten pin bowling ball. Sixteen pounds. I even have my own shoes. And I HATE ten pin bowling. I gave it the "college try." Went Monday night with some buddies. Drank beer. Rolled the ball. Tried to learn to hook it into the pocket. Hurt my wrist. Drank more beer.

But now I want to chuck my ball out of a moving car. I want to hit it with a wrecking bar. I want to hurt it. Sodomize it. Fill the holes with cement and toss it off the Donald Goodkind Bridge.

Now that I have experienced the thrill and convenience of candlepin bowling, I hereby swear -- with Gheorghe as my witness -- that I will NEVER ten pin bowl again. NEVER! I might drink beer in a ten pin alley while my friends bowl, but never again will I stick my sweaty fingers into one of those giant ten pin balls and try to spin it down the lane. Instead, I will sit back, quaffing my lager, and expound upon the merits of candlepin bowling, until my friend's either kick the shit out of me, or convert to my frame of mind. Frame of mind. (There is the problem that there are no candlepin bowling alleys in New Jersey, but I'll cross that bridge when I come to it).

For those of you who have never candlepin bowled, let me try to explain what makes it so great. And don't get me wrong: it's not THE greatest thing. I'd still rather play soccer or darts. It's just that it is so much greater than regular bowling. Here are some reasons why:

1. Everyone uses the same ball. It looks and feels like a bocce ball. There are loads of them, and they are interchangeable. You can't even tell the difference between them. There's none of that interminable walking around the lane, trying to find a ball that fits your fingers. And there's no advantage to bringing your own ball. So there's none of this business:

2. No finger-holes to worry about. I sweat a lot, and I have a thick thumb. This is a dangerous combination: I'm either worried about getting my thumb stuck in the ball or losing my grip completely. And I hate holding my hand over that little air-vent.

3. After you bowl, you don't have to wait for your ball to return. Just grab another one from the rack and chuck it! This is great for my ADD.

4. You get three tries. Three is the magic number of jokes and darts and Star Wars trilogies. Two is not enough. Five is right out. The number of the counting shall be three. That's three, sir.

And you bowl two frames at once. So you get six rolls on your turn, which is enough to get a feel for things. Two rolls and then your turn is over? That's just stupid. The number of the counting shall be three.

5. No ball weights to worry about. I own a sixteen-pound bowling ball, because I'm a real man. I used to bowl with it on Monday nights. Tuesday mornings, my elbow always hurt, because not only was I a real man, but I was also a real idiot. If I used a lighter ball, I probably could have been a decent bowler, but I wasn't going to sacrifice my machismo for skill. Candlepin bowling removes the testosterone factor.

6. The fallen pins aren't cleaned from the lane. They just lie there, and you can use them to knock down the other pins. Sometimes, the best thing to do is roll a gutter ball, because it will hit a dead pin and consequently knock down a corner pin (I'm not sure about the legality of this move, but it works like gangbusters).

7. Three, count them three foul lines! One foul line is lame. Two lines aren't quite enough. Four foul lines would be ridiculous. Five . . . right out. But three foul lines is perfect. There's a foot fault line, of course. Then there's the lob line, ten feet out -- so you have to roll the ball, not hurl it softball style. And finally, there's the fantastically named Dead Wood Line . . . if a pin rolls two feet forward of the head pin, you can't knock it into the other pins with the ball, but if it's "live wood" then you can use it to knock down the remaining pins.

8. Candlepin bowling is impossible. The highest score EVER recorded is 245. If you can bowl over one hundred, that's a good game. No one has ever bowled a perfect three-hundred. So every time you head out to candlepin bowl, you might set the record.

I, for one, am sick of hearing about people who have bowled a three-hundred game (unless, of course, it's Homer Simpson. You can do it Otto! You can do it Otto! Make this spare and I'll buy you free gelato!)

I've had several students do it, and a good friend of mine. It's annoying. What's left once you bowl three hundred? Nothing. You might as well off yourself, because you've achieved perfection. The rest of your life will be a complete let-down. An exercise in futility and disappointment. But if you're a candlepin bowler, there's always something to shoot for . . . two forty-six, baby, two forty-six.

9. Kids are just as bad as adults at it. Among the five of us who bowled yesterday, my nine year old son Alex had the only strike. He followed it with a "one." I was the only person to get a spare. I followed it with a gutter ball. Men, women, children, cripples, the blind . . . everyone sucks at candlepin bowling.

10. Even though you'll suck at it, the motion is smooth and easy. It's essentially like pitching a softball. And who doesn't love a softball pitcher?

I'll leave the 26, 990 other reasons for another post, but follow my advice: get in the car and drive to Cape Cod, toss your ten-pin bowling ball into the Nantucket Sound, and give candlepin bowling a whirl. I promise you'll never go back. And if you ever catch me in a ten pin bowling alley, drop a sixteen pound bowling ball on my testicles and remind me of my promise: that I will never roll a ten pin ball again, as long as I live.

P.S. I'd love to open a candlepin alley in New Jersey. I am guessing once you read this post, you'll be willing to financially back me. Who is in?

Don't Get Cocky, Bed

With the return of Summer Dave, and recent appearances by Mark and TR, we won't need as much filler for the next few months, but sometimes there is filler too good to pass up. Such as the out of this world item below:

And, don't forget, if you want to enjoy Star Wars bedding outside, there is always this option.

Advice for Young Men

You and I never met Robert Littell. He passed away in 1963 after a career in letters, highlighted by a run as the senior editor of Reader's Digest (which meant a bit more then than now). But I think we'd get along with Mr. Littell handsomely.

In 1933, inspired by watching his then-seven year-old son climbing high into the branches of a tree, Littell penned a lengthy meditation on the things a young man should know to be a successful member of society. As he himself put it in an essay in Harper's, "What are those abilities, skills, or accomplishments, those extra-curricular proficiencies that every man should have in order to be rounded and self-sufficient, and when can he acquire them, and how?"

Many of Littell's 'extra-curricular proficiencies are those that would come immediately to most of our minds. Things like cook, drive a car, swim, and speak in public seem somewhat self-evident.

But Littell had an advanced sense of what it takes to be a man, whether during the Depression or now. As he writes:

American social habits being what they are, there is one indoor skill which seems to me not only far more important than bridge or dancing, but actually compulsory — drinking. A young man who could convince me that his lips really would never touch liquor might be let off my required course in drinking. But he would be an exceedingly rare bird, and alcohol is so much more evident a liquid in the United States than water that it is probably quite as necessary for a young man to learn how to drink as it is for him to learn how to swim. If the youth of the country had been taught how to drink, just as they were taught not to eat between meals or swallow before they had chewed, we should never have had Prohibition. It is a more difficult art than most, for every man reacts differently, and every man should know, long before the time when (according to our customs) he indulges in his first collegiate binge, whether liquor goes to his head, his legs, or his morals, whether he is the type that sings, fights, weeps, climbs lamp-posts, or pinches the girls. Furthermore, he should learn his capacity and stick within its limits; he should know something about the different kinds of drink, and which drinks produce chaos within him when mixed. By all means let him leave drink alone if he wants to. But since, nine times out of ten, he will drink, let him do so sensibly. 

Other than the 'stick within his limits' nonsense, I endorse Mr. Littell's advice wholeheartedly. Bear this great American in mind this week, gentlemen (and ladies, be sure to stay away from girl-pinchers), as you celebrate our great nation's independence. Since ten times out of ten, we will drink, let us do so sensibly-ish.

There Are at Least Eight Types of RISK Players

One of the joys of fatherhood is that you can return to those childhood activities you love, but can't do as an adult . . . because doing them as an adult-- alone, unaccompanied by your own children-- would be weird and creepy. Things like going to the zoo. Sledding. Snow ball fighting. Riding a Ripstik. Hanging around elementary school playgrounds in a windowless van. And playing RISK.

I played a lot of RISK as a kid, and I played a lot of RISK in college. As a kid I played the traditional board game, but in college I was lucky enough to have a fraternity brother who possessed  a super-computer. Which looked like this:

It was 1991.

And this fraternity brother was willing to lend out his super-computer just to get it out of his room, because where ever the computer was, the RISK players would soon congregate. And why not? This was so much better than the board game. This was the future. The screen was nine inches on the diagonal; the colors were black, white, and gray; and you often had to squint, BUT you didn't have to worry about sloppy dice, lost pieces, klutzy players, or a sore loser knocking over the board. It looked like this:

Notice the heart pattern in North Africa and the swastika pattern in Venezuela.

I am always looking for holes in the Internet that need filling (insert mom joke here), but when I searched "types of RISK players" I was disappointed to actually find a post on this topic. Once I read the post, I realized that this particular gap in the internet still needs serious filling. 

Andy Brownlow -- and that's very unfortunate if that's your real name -- you may know some things about politics, but I don't think you've played much RISK. 

Brownlow, in his post "The Politics of RISK," lamely divides RISK players into the following categories:

America represents this player. If the Diplomat proves timid and refuses to retaliate after individual opponents attack, they will soon be the feasting ground upon which all other players seek to expand their territories.

America is currently being tested by the four other types of Risk players. I call them:

• Eurasia Dominator (Russia)
• The Behemoth (China)
• The Vassal (Venezuela)
• Australasian Death Marcher (Iran)

Then, after he lauds the merits of being "The Diplomat," Brownlow denigrates all these other methods of Global Domination. I'm not sure he realizes the object of the game of RISK. The object is not diplomacy. It's global domination.

I am on vacation with my family in Chatham, which is a town on the elbow of Cape Cod, and we are having some genuine Cape weather. Foggy and rainy. So I am mired in a game of RISK with my family (though my mother nearly overturned the board last night and we nearly bit her head off).

Despite Mr. Brownlow's hard work on this topic, I'd like to take a shot at categorizing the different kinds of RISK players, but I promise not to be condescending towards the different strategies, as I realize that everyone is trying to win the game. 

The Lucky Roller: this is my wife's role in the current game, and she is controlling Europe simply on the merits of her hot dice. She doesn't even like RISK, and rarely plays. She barely knows the rules. She doesn't know that no one controls Europe this early in the game! The rest of us are a bit sore about this. My eight year old son, a grizzled veteran of exactly two RISK games, said to me: "I think mommy is having first timer's luck." I have to agree with him, but this is a surefire way to win the game, because it all comes down to the dice.

Some pundits say America succeeded for similar reasons; Tyler Cowen calls America's good luck "low-hanging fruit" and I highly recommend his e-pamphlet The Great Stagnation: How America Ate All the Low-Hanging Fruit of Modern History, Got Sick, and Will (Eventually) Feel Better if you are interested in politics (Mr. Brownlow!) but if you are interested in RISK, then you can skip it. All you need to know is: hot dice defeat all the strategy in the world.

The Juggernaut: this guy keeps his armies very close together and tries not to bother anyone -- he simply wins one battle a round, and collects a RISK card. Once he has enough cards, he finally turns them in and forms one massive army, which he uses for a one-shot attempt to knock someone out of the game for good, thus stealing the defeated players RISK cards. I have used this strategy, which looks a little like a suicide-rampage, and it makes people who are biding their time -- playing diplomatically -- very very angry when you destroy all their handiwork with one death march -- because whether or not you are victorious and wipe out the other player and capture their cards, you have weakened them entirely and set them up for defeat by someone in the next round. It is an all-or-nothing strategy, but it can work. More on this later.

The Dude Who Hangs Out in Australia Amassing Armies and Chastising the Other Players for Not Policing the World:  the master of this strategy was a dude named Bobby C. Once he'd conquered Australia -- and no one fights that hard for Australia -- he'd hole up there, win a quick battle in SouthEast Asia, get his two measly bonus armies, collect his RISK card, and pass his turn. Then he would say, "Hey, you guys better do something about Clarence in Africa. He's going to control the continent if someone doesn't do something." This is a brilliant strategy and I've adopted as my own. I have found it to be very effective, Mr. Andie Brownlow. In fact, I'm wondering if you were often defeated by a player using this tactic, because your tone is unnecessarily demeaning towards this style of play:

The Australasian Death Marcher is a weakened player, similar to the Vassal. He's the one who "kicks the board over" in defeat and ruins the plans of other players. Instead of doing the bidding of another player, he worms his way over to the smallest, easiest to defend, least rewarding territory on the board (Australasia) and builds his army.

Just as other players start to make their move, he combines his reinforcements into one big army and leaves a line of destruction across the board to disable players from earning troop bonuses for holding whole territories. He ensures his own defeat when doing so because he expends all troops in this last, vengeful act.

Brownlow, you confuse what you call "a vengeful act" with a valid tactic. I've never had to "kick the board over" when using this strategy, and I never saw Bobby C. kick over the Macintosh. In fact, he often dominated the globe and won the game. Which is the point, whether you like the method or not.

Yellow Fever: The seven bonus armies for controlling Asia is a tantalizing reward for a difficult task, but in all my years of playing, I've never seen anyone shore up the multiple borders of the largest continent early in the game. My college roommate Jason was close -- he was doing a phenomenal job of fighting off five other players, all encroaching on his empire, and he looked so happy and comfortable doing this -- he was set up in front of the little Apple monitor, wrapped in a heavy comforter, a plate of cheese-fries in his lap, settled in for what he thought would be three hours of tactical fun, and I just couldn't stand it -- plus, I wanted to go for a run -- and so I piled all my armies into North Africa, and ran a juggernaut suicide mission through his carefully placed troops. My self-immolation was well worth it, as his tirade towards me was prolonged and wonderful: he insulted my intelligence, my attention span, my upbringing, and my mother. 

My younger son Ian has a case of the yellow fever, and he's spreading his armies thin, desperately trying to control Asia . . . despite the fact that I flat-out told him: it leads to insanity. Think of the some of the rulers that have come out of that continent . . . Genghis Khan, Hideki Tojo, Chairman Mao, Pol Pot, etc. 

Vizzini says it best:

No One Will Notice Me Over Here: this player attempts to "hide" across the Atlantic in North or South America, and the borders of these countries are fairly easy to shore up. My son Alex is taking this route, but these players often forget about Kamchtka (and who can blame them). To play RISK, you've got to remember the words of Sarah Palin: "I can see Russia from my house."

Out of Africa: Mitochondrial Eve came storming out of Africa, and in the ultimate underdog story, a tiny population of homo sapiens burst through this population bottleneck and globally dominated the world. Our species is the ultimate RISK player, and you can mimic our virally global success by hiding your own tribe down in Madagascar, and then bursting into Europe, Asia, or even South America. This strategy works especially well if you're black, because people will let you alone in Africa, for fear of being called prejudiced.

The Pact-Maker/Pact-Breaker (Betrayer/Backstabber) My son Ian approached me after dinner last night, out of earshot of my wife, and said, "Let's gang up on mommy." I agreed to this pact, but he's going to learn a valuable lesson once he's finished knocking her out of Europe.

Mr. Brownlow might not agree with my tactics, but they have been used in RISK games and realpolitik for time immemorial.

The Guilt-Ridden German: eighty years ago, Germans were great at RISK. They were naturals. Now they have trouble bringing the noise. Use this to your advantage. If you are playing someone of German descent, say things like: "Wow, you stormed right through Southern Europe. Do you want to put those conquered armies in the microwave and melt them?" They will fold up inside of themselves, pondering past national crimes, and no longer be a threat in the game.

That's enough of this for now, but if anyone knows any other RISK player types to add to the list, please feel free to describe them in the comments. Unlike Mr. Brownlow, I embrace all types of players, strategies, and tactics. And if you have a problem with this, Brownlow, then I challenge you to an on-line game of RISK, as Richard Loxely has resuscitated the Mac version with what he calls a "Mac Plus emulator."

We'll see how well your diplomacy works against my aboriginal juggernaut.

Love Wins

Upside is the Best Made Up Word Ever

It’s been some time since I contributed anything useful to this blog. Which makes me like most of the other members of G:TB. We all have our excuses, and they’re all crap. We’re busy and we’re lazy and by the time most of sit down at night we’d rather pour ourselves a drink than type up a blog post. I wish this wasn’t the case for me, but it is. Now that I don’t work in front of a computer screen, my ability to (semi) consistently churn out mediocre content is significantly hindered. But, its summer so there’s next to nothing on TV and not a single sport I want to invest 2+ hours of my time in. So, maybe I’ll write some more stuff that you guys won’t read. Or maybe I won’t. I’m not here to make promises, or talk about the past, or even fully read Summer Dave’s long winded posts. Yet, despite my obvious attitude problem, I wasn’t willing to let the NBA Draft pass without putting something together.

The NBA Draft is great. Easily my favorite non-sporting sports event of the year. It’s got the Jay Bilas drinking game, Stephen A. Smith eating Cheez Doodles , guys coming out of the stands to hug David Stern and, when we’re lucky, ridiculous outfits from guys like Samaki Walker. For all of these reasons, and plenty more, the NBA Draft also happens to consistently be one of the better nights of the G:TB year. Plenty of boozy participation, tons of comments, some of which are mildly humorous.

And, as always, in anticpation of this event, I’m going to give my opinions on some of this year’s potential draftees.

Quick aside before I get started: You’ve surely heard pundits refer to this year’s draft as the worst draft in 20 years. That’s pure crap. It will be a long, long time before we see a draft worse than the 2000 Draft. Just look at this. I forgot half those guys even existed.

Yes


Victor Oladipo: The Dwayne Wade comparisons are obviously a bit much. He’ll never be the type of impact offensive player that Wade was in his prime. He can, and will (IMO), become the same level of impact defender off the ball. On top of that, I believe Oladipo will be a much better on ball defender than Wade ever was. Some have compared him to Tony Allen defensively. Allen’s only the best defensive guard in the NBA. I think that’s a fair comparison defensively. However, I think Oladipo will be a much better offensive player in 3-4 years than Allen ever will be. Oladipo didn’t even average double figures during his senior year at DeMatha, and he became a 14+ ppg scorer (and 40% 3 PT shooter) for one of the better college teams in the country this past season. He has plenty of room to grow offensively, is said to be an insanely hard working, competitive guy and despite being a junior just turned 21 last month. Will Oladipo ever be the second best guy on a NBA title team? No. A top four player who’s an offensively efficient double digit scorer and First Team All-Defense while also being the type of high character individual organizations build around? I think that’s definitely possible. (Side note: This may be the Magic’s pick at #2 if GM Rob Hennigan is building the franchise using the San Antonio/Oklahoma City model as it appears he is. It’s either Oladipo or Ben McLemore in my opinion.)

Nerlens Noel: We’ve all heard everything that’s wrong with Noel. Skinny with a frame that doesn’t look like it will support significant weight gain. He’s coming off an ACL tear and he’s possibly surrounded by some shady characters. And all of this is at least partially true. Should that give GMs pause? Sure. Is he still one of the best prospects in the draft? Without a doubt. Noel is a force defensively. Jay Bilas has gone so far as to call him a “defensive savant”. He averaged over four blocks and two steals a game last year. Four blocks is obviously impressive but the two steals per game stand out just as much. That’s an absurdly high number for a Center and evidence of the tremendous motor Noel has. Energy and enthusiasm are a skill in basketball. A skill that many big men lack. Furthermore, Noel is a better shot blocker than last year’s #1 pick, Anthony Davis, and history has shown that shot blocking almost always translates from college to the NBA. Finally, I don’t see Noel’s frame as being as big a deal as others. The NBA is changing. The Heat just won a championship playing Chris Bosh and Chris Andersen at Center. Not exactly the Natural Disasters. Noel’s athleticism, motor and mobility actually should be an advantage in the new pick and roll heavy, drive and kick NBA. He may get beaten up by a few centers but not enough true centers exist to scare me off from taking him due to concerns over his weight. And his ability to move laterally will be a major advantage in defending high screen and rolls. He’s going to be very, very good defensively early on in his career and having one great skill is often what matters most early in a player’s NBA career.

CJ McCollum: I don’t buy the Damian Lillard comparisons. They’re lazy and based largely on both guys being small school guards who shoot the ball well. McCollum isn’t a pure PG like Lillard. He’s a combo guard who can play some point. On a really good team he’d be the third guard who provided instant offense off the bench and could team with either the starting PG or SG depending on the matchups. He’s somewhere between a better creating Ben Gordon and a better shooting Rodney Stuckey in my mind. One thing we know about McCollum is his one defining NBA skill, he can shoot extremely well. That and his creativity off the dribble should make him a contributor in the league for a long time. (I heard a comp that I like for McCollum today. George Hill. Personally I think he can be better than Hill, but its not far off.)

Otto Porter: I love Otto. But enough about our favorite prophylactic eschewing Twitter personality. I love Otto Porter too. He’s your prototypical small forward in that he’s good at everything without being great at anything. This is in no way a criticism though. He possesses an extremely well rounded, cerebral game and should be able to contribute immediately to an NBA team as a result of this. Also, the basketball nerd in me loves that his family is largely responsible for turning the high school in his small Missouri hometown into a dynasty of historic proportions. I doubt Otto Porter will ever be an All-Star but I’d bet my house on him playing a decade in the NBA (barring injury) and being a major contributor to a title contender at some point in his career.

Gorgui Deng: He’s probably not a starting center on a good team but he’s a great rotation guy off their bench. He’s a fantastic shot blocker and a really underrated shooter from 15-17 feet. He’s dramatically improved as a passer in the past few years as well. If you can grab Deng in the early 20s, I think he’s a steal.

Dennis Schroeder: I’ve only seen him play once, during the Nike Hoop Summit, but he was very impressive in that game. Schroeder is 19 and a really good athlete who showed natural PG instincts and shot the ball well in the game and, reportedly, the practices for the Hoop Summit. On top of all that, he’s this year’s captain of the Troy O’Leary All-Stars. (Pic)

No

Steven Adams: Big men always rise around draft time. And there are always some very regrettable decisions made on these late rising big men. Adams is my pick for this year’s biggest bust. He has all the physical tools GMs look for in big men. Here’s the problem: He averaged 7.2 ppg and 6.3 rpg as a freshman at Pitt. I don’t care how bad his guards were or what his cultural adjustment was like…I have no interest in a 7-footer with great physical tools who can’t average double figures in college. His apologists will tell you he’s extremely raw and has a huge upside as he’s new to basketball having grown up in New Zealand and (presumably) spent most of his childhood watching Flight of the Conchords. I don’t’ care. I want nothing to do with him. Speaking of Flight of the Conchords, remember when TR’s name around here was Rhymenocerous? What a tool bag.

Kelly Olynyk: I said it during the NCAA Tournament and I’ll say it again here. He’s soft. I’m less concerned with his slight frame than I am with his unwillingness to mix it up inside.

Shabazz Muhammad: This hurts because I’m always in favor of guys named Shabazz. But there are just too many red flags with Shabazz. His Dad is a crazy sports Dad who lied about his son’s age and when that came out, among other things. When the news of Muhammad's real age came out, he didn’t really own it and essentially blamed his Dad. Weak, you know how old you are. If you’re caught lying about your age, just admit it. So despite being older than most of the top prospects, he’s not any more mature. Did I mention his Dad (Ron Holmes) gave him his name because he thought it was really marketable? Well, yeah, that too. It doesn't really matter but it's fucking weird. He's supposed to have a great work ethic but he spent much of last year out of shape and, from what I can tell, has no right hand (not literally). All that is bad. Do you know what’s worse? He had 27 assists last season. As in, the entire season of his freshman year. Oh yeah, he doesn’t seem like a super awesome teammate either.



Cody Zeller: After falling down draft boards, Zeller’s stock has recovered over the past couple months. Thanks in large part to his really impressive athletic testing results. He measured nearly 7 feet tall and has a 37” vertical, which is really impressive. My problem with this is I never felt like he was that kind of athlete at Indiana. It didn’t show up on the court. Remember him getting rejected at the rim multiple times during Indiana’s NCAA tournament loss to Syracuse? In every sport, there are guys who aren’t able to effectively translate their athleticism to game situations. Zeller feels like one of those guys to me. If he develops a reliable jumper he could become a nice high post power forward but I can’t see him scoring on the block in the NBA.

50/50

Anthony Bennett: He’s a bit of a tweener. He measures at 6’7” but is a good enough athlete and strong enough to get away with that as a power forward. The problem is that he fancies himself as a bit of a small forward, a position where he doesn’t have nearly the lateral quickness to keep up on defense. For a player who isn’t exactly an enthusiastic defender to begin with, this is problematic. If he can be convinced that he’s a power forward, learn to embrace defense just a little and continue to develop then he’s got a chance to be really good. I’m just not sure that’s happening.

Ben McLemore: McLemore is probably the player best equipped to become an All-Star in this draft. He has everything you want from a shooting guard from a physical standpoint with his size, strength and leaping ability. Unfortunately, there are major questions about McLemore otherwise. He’s reportedly not been in great shape for his workouts and has some less than stellar people advising him. Now, McLemore is young and in the right situation could easily mature and clear up these issues. By all accounts he’s a good kid, if somewhat naïve and immature. Personally, what worries me most about McLemore is his inability to create off the dribble. Surely you’ve heard talk about how passive McLemore was in many big games for Kansas this year. Some of that can be attributed to the mental side of things but just as much is a result of his inability to put the ball on the floor when defenses close out on him. If McLemore matures and develops a good handle, he’s an All-Star. If not, he’s probably at the end of someone’s bench for most of his career.

Trey Burke: This has as much to do with where he’s being projected as anything. I like Burke and think he can be a decent NBA PG. I don’t think he’s ever making an All-Star team or becoming one of the three best players on a title team. He’s small, just an average athlete and a streaky shooter. In an NBA filled with elite PGs, that’s an awful lot to overcome. In my opinion, Burke’s a lot closer to Jameer Nelson (though he’s much better defensively than Nelson) than Chris Paul.

Giannis Adetokunbo: He’s 6’9”. He’s a fantastic athlete. He’s 19 and he handles and passes the ball unbelievably well for his size. One problem: From what I can tell, he was playing the Greek equivalent of Division III basketball last year. If he’s going to be a good NBA player (and I think he might) it wont be for a few years.


Glen Rice, Jr.: You and Sarah Palin recognize the name. Like Palin, you may not have heard of him. He’s spent the past year in the D-League after being kicked off the team at Georgia Tech during his junior year. He averaged nearly 15 a game in the D-League and didn’t have any of the problems that caused his unceremonious exit from Atlanta. More importantly, he was fantastic late in the D-League season and led his team to the championship while averaging 29/11/4 in the Finals. He’s not short on ability but has to prove he can continue to mature if he’s going to be a contributor in the NBA.

Sleepers

Ricky Ledo: Lots of talent, possibly the best shooter in the draft. Never played at Providence due to academic issues and attended four high schools in four years. Obviously he's not a sure thing but it speaks to his talent that he's projected to go late in the 1st round.

Ray McCallum: Good size for a PG (6’3”). He’s a coach’s son who attended University of Detroit to play for his Dad despite being a McDonald’s All-American coming out of high school. McCallum has NBA skills but has played a lower level of competition.

Pierre Jackson: I made my annual “time to file for your passport” joke about Jackson on Twitter earlier this year. I was wrong. Jackson’s a freak athlete who really improved his jumper during two years at Baylor. He’s tough, runs a team reasonably well and can score enough to be a backup PG and sparkplug off the bench.

Nate Wolters: I know the Teej loves him. I can't decide if he has a meaningful NBA career or he's in Europe within a year or two and dominates Spain for a decade. He's got decent size and is talented creator for himself and teammates. Can he defend anyone in the NBA?

Tony Mitchell: He should probably go in the 50/50 section. Originally a Missouri commit, he ended up at North Texas due to academic issues. If he would’ve left school after his freshman year he would’ve gone in the top 15. Instead he went back to school and was worse in every statistical category this past season. He’s 6’9”, 240 with a 38” vert. If he goes to the right team and is convinced by his coaches to focus on rebounding and running the floor for dunks he could be a steal in the mold of Shawn Marion. Or he could end up sucking dick for crack.