ChillSpot Online: Our Art is Life

The LA Lakers and the Boston Celtics are in the NBA Finals, again, and for the next few weeks, a bunch of dead or nearly dead former greats will unearth themselves to bask in the leftover honor the current teams will find heaped upon themselves.

Let’s not harp on the fact that these two storied (another word you’ll hear a lot) franchises have been among the most fortunate and talented in history. (The Celtics haven’t been to the Finals in 21 years. I’m sure that puts them on level with the Cubs in baseball, or even the Saints in football, who either have never been, or haven’t been in so long that the grandchildren of people who were waiting to see a title are now having kids who are, of course, waiting to see a title.)

Now, I like the Lakers. I’ve liked the team for some time. I inherited my like of them from my old man. So, it’s not like I’m bandwagoning or frontrunning.

I don’t like Boston. That one has come from my experience as a Cleveland sports fan. Patriots, Red Sox, Celtics … all have come to Cleveland and brought with them that pretentious, self-absorbed, disillusioned (they think they’re not like New Yorkers, when in essence, they’re just the same, only without as much winning) selves and force-fed our teams humble pie like they even know how to make one. Also, quite a bit of their success has come as result of things Cleveland-based. Belichick cut his teeth here, lost a lot, then took that lesson to the Super Bowl. Manny Ramirez played his early years here, and led the Sox to victory.

Despite KG and Ray Allen, the presence of Paul Pierce (who spit on the Cavaliers floor and more famously and recently, nearly took a slap upside the head from Gloria James, LB’s mom) makes this team unlikeable.

But the Lakers, well, they’re difficult to dislike, even with Kobe’s past indiscretions included. Kobe doesn’t even echo MJ anymore, he reflects him. He’s built like MJ, he moves, excuse me, glides like MJ, he’s clutch like MJ, he plays D like MJ, and he pretty much has mastered the game like MJ. Watching him feels like watching MJ, because he’s crafted himself to be like MJ. With Jordan as a template, Kobe can surpass his records, and carve his own niche in history. He may not average 30 per game like Jordan (mainly because he played so little early on, his current career average is 25 per, so he may be able to catch J, but he’d have to gun it), but he’ll stand side-by-side with J, and that’s quite a feat, and in and of itself something to be proud of.

So, I look forward to Kobe smacking Pierce, and tossing the Celtics aside for a title of his own, with his team. I’ll feel bad for KG later, but too bad. The Lakers are taking this one home, in 6.

Melinda. That’s my girl right there. She’s the one who went and got me the EPT when I thought I was pregnant with Will Jackson’s baby. She’s the one who kept me calm during finals week, senior year, when I let the pressure drive me into my father’s liquor cabinet one night, drinking some of the most awful-burning stuff ever. She’s the only one who knows me well enough to see through my steely-façade of black womanly ass-kicking to the woman I am when no one is watching. She’s the one who I’ll invite over to watch “Steel Magnolias” on VHS, because I refuse to buy it on DVD. And everytime Sally Field’s character starts in with that “Not MY SHELBY” crying, raging meltdown, we cry together, then laugh when Olympia Dukakis tells her to “Take a whack at Weazer!”

My girl. And her secrets. She thinks she’s SO SNEAKY, with her intimations and inferences, and flat out avoidances of questions bout situations she’s been in, or allegedly been in! But I know more about Melinda than she knows I know, and I think she loves me for not pushing. But, as much as she and I click, the fact that she can’t come to me with those things she thinks I don’t know serves as a barrier that I fear will ultimately keep us apart.

For example, she don’t think I know that she made a move on my Homecoming date second year in college. Hugo Billups, a wannabe intellectual, with dreams of being a yuppie player. I know, right! Anyway, he had a cute face, and a cuter little butt, and he had a knack for being able to make me laugh (sometimes with him, sometimes, at him). So I decided to let him escort me to Homecoming. One day, he came over to my place to drop off my cell phone, only I wasn’t there, just Melinda. She let him in, and everything was ordinary, but she started turning up the heat on him, in that way we ladies do when we KNOW we need to be discreet, but can’t help ourselves.

Hugo was a little too dense to pick it up, even when she took five minutes too long to clean up the sitting room in her sweatshirt and spandex shorts. But when he told me the story, I could smell her scent all on him. He was glowing and grinning like he’d done something wrong, even though the story sounded completely benign, or would to someone who didn’t know better. When I saw her again she never brought up the fact he’d come by, and when I brought it to her she sidestepped it.

“Julia, you know that brother wouldn’t know a hug from a handshake if someone didn’t tell him!” she said.

Yeah, right, Melinda, and your big titties on his chest wouldn’t tip the brother off, huh? Okay then.

So I marked that off as the first, but nowhere near the last time she showed questionable judgement. And the killer is that I wouldn’t even have been mad if she HAD moved on Hugo. I thought they could have made a good couple, but for the fact that neither could seem to be straight with me about anything, especially their attraction for each other. Do I think they hooked up at some point? Likely. But then, with my girl, there’s always a bit of doubt sprinkled in with the trust, which, really, ain’t trust at all is it?

As Memorial Day approaches, it’s easy to trivialize it, as many of us (including myself) have done. Instead, consider the essence of the day through the struggles of those who lost their lives defending ours.

One life which I personally will honor, for longer than Memorial Day, is that of Sergeant Merlin German (USMC). This young man lost his life on April 11, after being burned over 97 percent of his body from the explosion of an IED (improvised explosive device) in Iraq.

This young brother, only 22, is gone from the Earth, and it pains me that so many like him have lost their lives in combat, senseless or not. These brothers should be playing basketball, or video games, or in college someplace, or anywhere, but not dead.

This isn’t like gang members who should be incarcerated, these men are trying to do something with their lives, even if we don’t agree with the overall agendas. Merlin’s story resonates courage beyond what you’d expect, the courage to face a stranger in the mirror for 3 years, knowing that the quality of your life has been altered forever, and that no matter how much you struggle, it’s a battle you’ll likely lose. Merlin faced it with a dignity a 22-year-old shouldn’t have to demonstrate, and for that, I cannot express enough respect. Please click the link on his name above and read his story, and honor his achievements.

Remember men like Merlin German on Memorial Day, so that their sacrifices will not have been in vain.

Marry you.

I wanted to marry you.
I wanted to hold you here –
where my core is –
and keep you safe.
These are the things I still think about,
in the afterglow.
You didn’t want it back.
You hurt, and I healed.
Your wounds improved,
but your heart stayed hard.
I got left behind, ring and all.
I never forgot this; I feel it to this day.
You did what I do: You set the charges,
measured the fuses, and detonated our love.
Or at least mine, who knows where yours was.

I gave you insights into me,
unlocked doors which had been marked private,
then handed you the keys for easy access.
When you were done, you simply threw them in the mud,
didn’t care who came in after you,
or what state you left the place in.
You tossed aside all the good things you’d said,
as if they no longer mattered.
Do they matter now?
Why should we catch up?
Are you hoping for something,
or simply being polite?

I still love you. Who knew?

But why does that matter?
You discarded me.
You listened,
you said the right things,
and then,
when the mood suited you,
you abandoned me.
I would have worked with you,
for you, as hard as I could.
All that I had was yours,
even though I knew inside you weren’t ready
to involve yourself in what I had to offer,
even if you believed you were.

There was a “duel for the ages” on Sunday, if you ask the headline writers for espn.com. LeBron James and Paul Pierce went mano e mano, scoring 45 and 41 points respectively. The Celtics won the game, ultimately, by a score of 97-92.

But it wasn’t the Big Three (Garnett grabbed boards but was not a factor offensively, and Ray Allen … well, two free throws and nothing else) who beat the Cavs. It wasn’t the propped-up corpses belonging to Ben Wallace (3 points, 5 boards, 5 FOULS) and Wally Sczcerbiak (0 points, 1 rebound, no heart and 4 FOULS) who lost the game. It was LEBRON JAMES. Read it again.

LEBRON JAMES LOST THE GAME FOR THE CAVS.

Am I crazy, you must be thinking. How did LeBron (45 points, 5 rebs, 6 asts, 2 stls) LOSE the game for the team when he was pretty much the only player hustling? Well, that’s my point.

LeBron is capable of wearing his MJ hat, or his Magic hat. And when the team is most successful is when he plays his Johnson, not Jordan, game. He needed to dish and die with the results. He should have had 15 points and 25 assists, and won. He should have had 10 points, 15 boards and 15 assists, and won. 45 in a loss means what? It means the rest of the team only scored two more points than he did! That’s a recipe for disaster with this particular bunch of scrubs (who all looked petrified from the tip).

LeBron covered his heiney with the game; no one would dare say he didn’t give his all, but I can’t let his game pass. He has to learn to DIE with his teammates, not run off alone on a personal scoring binge, which only served to neutralize his team, while Pierce’s numbers nullified its significance. Kobe learned this lesson the hard way, but in LeBron’s defense, Kobe still has better teammates (even without Pau Gasol).

I wonder if LeBron even noticed that the Cs were LETTING him get off until late? Posey or some other Celtics scrub defended him until the end, but the game was already set by then.

So, whoopie, LeBron had 45 points in a series where he stunk with shooting until the end. What he needed was a few more assists.

It was all in my head.
The way she looked at me,
That special glimmer in her eyes
when she laughed at my jokes.
The way she grabbed my arm tightly
when she spoke to me.
When I looked at her I felt alive,
Like how I always imagined someone felt
After a near death experience.
Alive, like how a parent feels after
Seeing their child being born.
Alive, like breathing the air at the summit
Of a difficult mountain climb.
That is how I feel in her presence.
But it was all in my head.
She invited me over to her place,
And while I didn’t want to go,
I was compelled by her voice,
Beckoned into a situation that
Spelled something less than
The thoughts in my head could accept.
I went anyway,
As a fool walks to his death into an inferno
Or as a man offers love to an oblivious object of affection.
I went, and I saw.
Saw what my mind would not accept
What the reality was.
Or just enough of it to snap.
Back in the light.
My head is clear,
But the truth is not.

There’s nothing more to say than that …

http://sports.yahoo.com/nba/blog/ball_dont_lie/post/LeBron-James-scolds-mom-during-Cavs-Celtics-game?urn=nba,82089

It really does hurt me to say this, so I’ll just say it:

LeBron James is not as good as he (or many people) think he is.

He’s not Jordan or Magic, he’s not Jerry West, Oscar Robertson or Earl Monroe. He’s not Dr. J, Larry Bird, Karl Malone or Scottie Pippen. He’s not even Clyde Drexler or Dominique Wilkins. Even if a bunch of overweight sportswriters and has-beens selected him to some All-Everything NBA team, it’d be a lie. He’s not that good.

Now, I’m a Cavs fan. From the days of Tree Rollins, Larry Nance, Mark Price, and Danny Ferry’s ridiculously-large (for the time) contract. I remember Terrell Brandon, I remember Danny Phills and Chris Mills. Robert “Tractor” Traylor? Yeah, him too. So, you must understand just how much it stings to say those things about LeBron. Sorry LB, but you’re getting swept out of the playoffs again, along with your suddenly non-existent game. You won’t even see the Finals this time, the Celtics will see to that.

Don’t fret though, because you had a lot of help (or a little, depending on your perspective) in getting to this point, straight from the top down. Danny Ferry, who now collects ridiculous contracts from other teams, instead of his own (see: swap Larry Hughes for Ben Wallace, the human Afro statue); Mike Brown, who probably wears LeBron James underwear to bed at night (no doubt irking the crap out of his wife) and couldn’t design an offense if he passed gas while that annoying dog puppet Triumph, fed him lines; and of course, the team itself, with the twin ball-movment killers AnderBen or Verellace (neither name really works, like the players, huh?) and whoever they’re trotting out as “shooters” who are supposed to unclog the lanes for LeBron. Funny how that never seems to work? Why, because you gotta be able to SHOOT for the plan to work. And like the Spur did, the Celtics simply crowd James with players, many in number and tall in stature.

The shooters, who stand around like hookers on the point (or on the wing, or in the paint, or wherever) may as well be charged with loitering.

And to LeBron himself, who followed up the biggest stinker in his career with a comparable turd of foulness, who makes the bull in the china shop look nimble, by fumbling and bumbling away career high turnover numbers, while never thinking, “Hmmm maybe I should try something else?”

It all spells the same thing: LeBron is not the best thing since … the last best thing. He’s young, more inexperienced than he believes, and has no one around him to check him. Jordan needed Pippen AND Phil Jackson to help him harness his abilities and competitive fires into titles. LeBron has neither, and likely needs a Phil first. Good luck with that…

Too young to be this angry
Now, I’m annoyed when some old person, or someone on the phone, or doing their makeup slows me down on the roads, but this woman took it to a new level. Read on:

INDIANAPOLIS – A woman was arrested Wednesday night in a road rage beating of an elderly driver earlier in the day, police said.

Jessica Vasquez, 19, was taken into custody after she assaulted Evelyn Page, 81, who she thought was driving slowly in the 6200 block of South Meridian Street, on Indianapolis’ south side, according to Indianapolis Metro police.

Vasquez left the elderly woman beaten and broken (a leg, in particular, in 14 places, and a knee which will need to be replaced). Then, if you haven’t seen the video, she’s sticking her tongue out and mocking the old lady. Here’s a bit of knowledge about dealing with slow drivers, from someone who was once as impatient as anyone: There are two ways to avoid this situation. You can go faster (around the offending driver) or go SLOWER. Doesn’t make sense, till you realize that both achieve the same goal: You’re AWAY from the annoyance. And through all of this, the woman would have only been a few seconds or minutes behind where she’d been if the women had not been slowly driving in front of her.

The story said that this woman had kids in the car with her. Nice touch there. Maybe one of them will beat her head in when she can’t do anything about it.

More bad ass young people:

ERIE, Pa. – A 10-year-old girl admitted in juvenile court that she assaulted a classmate by pulling her off a set of monkey bars and stomping on her, breaking the victim’s hip.
The girl admitted one charge of aggravated assault at a hearing Thursday. Simple assault and harassment charges were dropped.
The girl and another classmate attacked the victim, also 10, on an elementary school playground after school hours April 3. The victim attended the hearing in a wheelchair with her mother, who said she approves of how the case is being handled.

Apparently they’re learning from their big sisters, like the woman above… George Carlin joked that not all children are meant to make it to adulthood, and I tend to agree with him, when I read stories like these. And there are a hundred more easily. Just type in teen road rage, and reap the carnage.

Suspend the entire team!
The NBA playoff series between the Washington Wizards and the Cavaliers has been chippy. Alright, it’s been a damn-near mugging of Lebron James in particular. He’s been slapped upside the head so much he might think he’s one of the Three Stooges. Brendan Haywood, Darius Songalia, DeShawn Stevenson, among others, have gotten cheapshots off on LB’s dome, yet Songalia (a benchwarmer) is the one who gets suspended? Huh?

Stu Jackson, league disciplinarian, may be fearing another Spurs/Suns series from last year, when he suspended two key Suns, basically swaying the series (and ultimately, the title) toward the Spurs. His may have been the only shot which WAS inadvertent. But I doubt it. Haywood’s shot was a virtually a chair over the head, and Stevenson took a real swing AT LeBron’s head, and neither gets suspended. Stevenson got fined, but for making a throat slash gesture! Because pretending to kill someone is much worse than a borderline assault. These players are critical to the Wizards chances, but the precedent had been set. Jackson needed to show the Wizards that their antics would not fly. By not suspending Haywood, he served as enabler for the rest of the team. And he should count himself lucky that another Pacers/Pistons brawl didn’t spring up, or that LeBron remains upright and able to play. Or else he’d be facing some rather uncomfortable questions right now.

Side note
Brendan’s mocking of LeBron was still pretty funny, if totally off-the-mark. By the way, here’s a link to the video of the foul. Still searching for the whiny Brendan vid. Shoot me the link if you find it.

Random Thought
The shoe does not make the foot. Sarah Jessica Parker, for all the hoopla about her famously sophisticated footwear, her feet themselves are unremarkable.

In fact, they’re not attractive at all. Carrie from “Sex in the City” has been overcompensating for jakked up feet with slick shoes! Who knew? When a man does this (buying a Porsche, a motorcycle, or a hairpiece), we get reamed about it, but women do it all the time, and are rewarded.

Another surprise (at least to me it was) is that Iman, that timeless beauty (who is married to David Bowie, which I find as weird as the Seal/Klum hookup), has some JAKKED up feet. I have photographic evidence to this end, but as I like Iman (her role in House Party 2 just floors me! I’m only slightly kidding …), I’ll hold off on publishing it, for now! I may make this a running segment, or something. Damn jakked up feet are hiding everywhere, just waiting for a gentlemanly cat like myself to offer a (GASP!) foot rub. Ugh….

Bonus Note

“We had a lot of things go on besides basketball in this series, which was fun. But at the same time, we took care of business. Soulja Boy, DeShawn Stevenson, my big brother ‘J,’ myself, the crowd, ‘overrated.’ All that. It comes down to us winning a really gruesome series.”

–LeBron James, summing up what the series meant, after dropping 26-13-13 on the Wiz in Washington.

The new crusades …

Sorry I’ve been gone so long. The new crusades began, and there was plenty opposition to be had. I was felt on the Broadcast, swam in the Creek, and had lobster in Chinatown. What does all this mean to you? Likely nothing, because you weren’t there! But to me, it meant one thing: killin. Yup, killin. The Creek was a bit intimidating at first, with all its snipers unseen and a lack of cover from above. But once I got the hang of things, me and my new best friend, the Barrett .50 Cal, made us many enemies around there. Barrett and I got so close I even no-scoped a couple unlucky bastards who tired of having their brains blown out and ran through my claymores to get at me. The kills piled up quickly. On a visit to Chinatown, I picked up a shotty, and finished a quest with it, right after finishing a quest with the M14. Needless to say, it proved to be a fortuitous expedition. This may be getting close to the end of my transmissions from the field, as we’ve lost some fighters to Liberty City, but I’ll hang in as long as I can. Shane03 out.