Tag Archives: Brandon Jennings

Kareem Abdul Jabber

A Photo of My Old Mom

An Old Photo of Abdul Jabbar


You can see the resemblance, right? That isn’t all they have in common. They’re both famous. They’re both Hall of Fame NBA players. Ok, that’s not true, but that’s not really my mom, either.

But what IS true is that Kareem Abdul Jabbar speaks on NPR, and my mom listens to NPR. That makes her a qualified commentator, doesn’t it? My mom (whose likeness does resemble this one in that she is pretty, brunette, has a toothy smile and just screams pro-sports fan) gets to hear all about my life. All about it. Triple how much I ramble about myself here and you may have a drop in the bucket of how much I jabber at my mother. So, naturally, I felt the need to share with her the greatest news in the world!:
Today’s a good day for lying, no?
But what I did tell her was that I was actually at the sold out Lakers/Nuggets game at the Pepsi Center Friday night. Being less than dedicated fans (evident in the infrequent blogging), we missed the line-up-at-dawn opportunity to snag 5 dolla tickets the day of the game and were left looking at single seats for nearly 50 bones, standing room only tickets, or sad mugs and mugs of beer at a bar. Luckily, The Ham manned up and we went for the SRO and stood for more than two hours in the handicapped aisle behind all the wheelchairs. Now, this carries the risk of sore feet and the horrific possibility that I will spill an entire beer on a cripple (This nearly happened, actually, my clumsiness is nearly a handicap of its own, these days.), but you’re nearly on the court, the bathrooms and concessions are but a few gallops away and you get to stash your stuff under a wheelchair. Pret-ty sweet.
CBG: It was so fun, even though we had to stand, we didn’t mind.
Mama: Because you could spin the people in front of you around during the game?
But seriously, being at a live game, especially one where my team is executing a team as vile as the Lakers, exorcising a bitter loss in the semi-finals last year and solidifying our status as a team to reckon with. The stadium was thundering. For all the Benedict Arnold Laker fans in Denver who showed up decked in their garish purple and gold (are there were loads), we sure rattled the roof offa that center.
M: I think they have a chance this year.
CBG: What? Who?
M: The Lakers.
CBG: What? Are you directly quoting Kareem Abdul Jabbar?
M: He thinks they have a chance.
CBG: Of course they do, Mom, they’re the Lakers, they’re defending champs. But Kobe didn’t even play in the fourth.
M: And who does he play for?
CBG: The Lakers, mom.
And indeed, KAJ does think they Lakers are in good standing to repeat. But you can’t believe everything Kareem Abdul Jabbar tells you, even if he is well-spoken and one of the greatest players of all time and diagnosed with leukemia. (We’re rooting for you KAJ, BTW.)

He may have a pretty face, but it masks the face of a devil!

In case you all are even less impressive Nuggets fans than myself, I will go ahead and tell you: we ran the Lakers’ asses off, we came after them, picked their asses up and handed them back to ’em. That nasty man Kobe didn’t even make an appearance in the 4th, taking a seat with the rest of the Laker starters for a nice leisurely ride along the bench while we served it up to their second string.

Noting that the Lakers loss last year on our longest playoff run since I have been around (born?) is fuel for the Nuggets’ fire, George Karl gave this quote to NBA.com, “‘Everybody got a taste of the wine or the food that we all like,’ Denver coach George Karl said. ‘It’s a special taste.'” Oh, George, you are so articulate. I couldn’t have said it better myself.

But it was not just the fearsome intensity with which we brought the game that got us there Friday night, nor the lingering absence of Pau Gasol for the Lakers but a back-to-himself showing on the part of J.R., whom the hometown welcomed like a war hero/sexy vampire heart-throb and a massive performance by our fabulous and personal favorite for Rookie of the Year, Ty Lawson. Less-than-tall Ty has proven to be one of the greatest catches of the rookie batch, chasing after preternaturally good and undeniably unattractive Brandon Jennings (who slammed down 55 points in one game over the weekend, if the message hadn’t been clear enough already) with a fantastic performance and a dunk–Lawson is 5’10? 5’11?–that got my up on my feet. Oh, wait…I was already on my feet. But as you can imagine, this is where the beer entertained spilling on the aging lady in front of me.

Awesome Lawson (for UNC..barf)

He is small but mighty and I love him despite his attachments to UNC, a natural-born enemy to the Jayhawk, though some coaches like to think that the people they abandoned in Lawrence have forgiven them. Come on, Roy. So you conflicted with some people at KU? So you dad and your sister were in poor health in NC? Wah wah, some things are bigger than ourselves. This is BASKETBALL we are talking here!

Where is the sarcasm font when you need one?
But, really, in the spirit of my two favorite teams being pitted against two defending champions in two boiling rivalries (one long-standing and one only growing–we’re lookin at you, Jackson) I look forward to the opportunity to face off again against both UNC and the Lakers (not facing the Nuggets again till February), possibly challenge them in post-season play and maybe, just maybe, bring to life last year’s dream of a home-made T-shirt that shows Kobe’s creepy face and reads “Where’s the beef?” Or, “Beef, it’s what’s for dinner!” Or is that too abstruse for the NBA?
Anyhow, tonight showdowns on both the fronts: Kansas v. Memphis, a game that we will surely not deliver with a 36-pt slaying as we did with Hofstra Friday night, and the Raptors at the Nuggets, a game that, if history repeats itself, is destined to be a whooping.

 Only down side? NBA at 7, NCAA at 8, GWD at 8. So much round ball, so little time. What’s a Celebrity Ball Girl to do?


Prom Puppies


Kid n' Player

Dear Basketball Diary,

Pardon the tear stained pages, it has been a rough few days. I try to keep the crying to my bedroom, the shower, long highway drives and bathroom stalls, but sometimes I am just too overcome. The whole office doesn’t know what to do with me weeping in my cube.

This is just like the time I didn’t get invited to the prom.


Sorta like this sad prom-goer, only more tragic. (Funny how everyone has the same tacky living room furniture in at least one dance picture, right? Barf-colored florals and taffeta. Sigh)

I had a great plan: witty lines, glittering smiles…a pink outfit. But, just like that fateful day in 2001 when I DIDN’T have a date cop a feel while trying to pin a corsage that I didn’t get onto the dress that I didn’t get to wear, Wednesday night ended in disappointment, heartbreak and chicken wings.

And I was gonna lay one on ya’ll bout how, though no good luck charm is perfect, it was pretty darn clear that the Nuggets do better when I am around. They are improved by my presence (if only figurative, over-the-airwaves-backwards presence). Then we were both going to laugh and I was going to add, “As most men are,” and then clench my teeth together and laugh with my nostrils flaring and jab you in the ribs with my elbow. It was gonna be priceless.


Tragic like this, only not a biological male, right?

But no. I have been robbed. And I do consider this loss to the Bucks a larceny, a petty, petty larceny. Who are the Bucks anyway? If it weren’t for sometimes-flat-topped, horse-faced and grimacing but undeniably freaking good Brandon Jennings, would we even know who the Bucks were and where they came from? I know I’d hear Buck and think broncos and 6 pronged deer faces.

But for the time being, they are the team the Nuggets chased like jumpy amateurs for 2 hours Wednesday night, missing easy lay-ups, dishing out lazy D and forgetting, it seems, that if you are down in the second, you should make BOTH your frees. CoughBirdmanCoughCough.

Of course, in my desperate attempt to make a real, readable biz of this feeble little blog–and in my current and naggingly consistent poor, cableless state, the Bucks Nuggs showdown found me seated alone at a bar. A Redwings bar at that, but they have a good happy hour special. A chubby grey-haired thing in a stripey shirt feels the need to give commentary on the Nuggets’ controversial victory over the Bulls the night before. He has no problem with the white-knuckled hail Mary shot in the final tinypartofasecond but takes issue with the foul itself. I personally see the controversy as more like, should we have won when that shot was not in time? Or should we have won .39722123 seconds before that when time would’ve run out if not for the slow fingers of the hometown officials. The Bulls had to foul or eat an easy 2. Kirk Heinrich himself would’ve called it a foul. I know, he is a good Kansas boy, if a tall Lurch-y one. Shut your pie hole and get back to the puck, guy, some of us are here for TODAY’s game.


Holy crap this dog is cute. Apparently, it had a sad prom, too.

Some of us are here, at a bar, alone…again. Is there such a thing as becoming and NBAlcoholic? Could it be that, years from now, when I am all sallow and sagging, psoriatic, having lost love, loot and lively hood to the drink, I will look back and say, “I blame in on the NBA?” Nah, that won’t happen to me. I’m only gonna do meth once. I’m not going to end up like that guy. But, it does dawn on me that with all the money that I spend at bars feeding my need for sweaty athletes palming their balls, I might actually pay for a monthly cable hook up. I ponder this. But it would give me so much less material. I would no longer be able to conjure up the sexy and citeably credible image of a sad, drunk girl, shoveling Buffalo wings into her face like a little piggy (or a not so little one) and grunting with frustration as we waste yet another possession in a game against a young, spunky team that isn’t gonna let us get away with THAT. Melo, Chauncey, we are lookin at you.

The spirit was low, that is for sure. Wednesday’s game had me feeling like the Bucks had rode us hard and put us away wet. We did avoid a total spanking, and, on occasion, the Bucks seemed like they were gonna take a dip into the dark side. Halfway through the 2nd, a nameless Buckaneer (I couldn’t pay attention to the names I was so blinded by the hideous jerseys) threw a bounce pass that was straight out of my 4th grade four square championship. And, if my 4th grade memory serves, his behavior looked a lot like a temper tantrum. Or maybe he had some kinda elbow twitch. You know I don’t know jack about this game.

In the end, the highlight of the game for me was the fisticiffs I almost got into with a old gal at the bar who hadn’t a shine to my funfun game time antics. She and her other time-pudged and jeweled-shirted friends were having a little chat and gaping at the only gal at the sports watering hole to actually WATCH a sport. Naturally, the best choice was to catch her eye, pop a googly eye at her and drop my jaw like a bomb. I do so love mocking lesser-than me, middle aged, hater women.

She told me I was doing great, she loved me. I think she might have been facetious. But you know what they say, many a truth…

Anyhow, apologies for the delay in posting. It is worth noting that I have been so scatterbrained lately that yesterday I put my cellular telephone in the freezer. For two hours. Don’t even ask.

I do so hope you enjoyed the visit. Please, come again. Features and fun to follow. I may not be an athletic scholar, but I am a card. If you don’t agree, well…In the immortal words of Off The Record: Everyone in the world is an idiot, except me and you.