I think that, societally, we can all agree with one another that we could use some more emojis in our day-to-day lives. What are these intricate, decipherable little images, if not a chance for us to communicate with one another more effectively. Right? Right.
So, with that being said, and with all the excitement of the NBA Playoffs Eastern and Western conference finals engulfing the sports world, we thought it would be a good time to debut some NBA conference final emojis. Here they are with a Rosetta Stone style explanation to help you out with their translation and day-to-day usage. You’re welcome in advance.
Definition: The Cutest
What it is: A picture of Steph Curry’s adorable little daughter that he brought with him to the press conference after the Warriors’ Game 1 win in the Western Conference finals.
How to use it: If there’s something so cute that you really can’t describe it? BOOM. Emoji that piece. Just make sure, whatever you do, that you don’t send it to Brian Windhorst.
Used in a tweenage text-sentence:
Guy: “I totes LY babe.”
Girl: “Our love is like ”
Definition: This was supposed to be easy, but I keep F-ing it up. HELP!!
What it is: An image of Houston Rockets center, Dwight Howard, after he continues to shoot 40% from the Free Throw line.
How to use it: ever have something that’s supposed to be, like, super-easy but for some reason you struggle with it? Like remembering which direction is East when your inside your office building? Or reading a non-digital clock? Get your emoj on.
Used in a tweenage text-sentence:
Dude #1: “Come pick me up. I’m on the East side of the building.”
Dude #2: “Which side is the one on the East? I suck at directions.”
Dude #1: “The place where the Sun rises, idiot. THE EAST.”
Dude #2: “”
Definition: OMGOMGOMG: RUN FOR YOUR LIFE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
What it is: An image of Kyle Korver running directly out of LeBron’s path with the stupefied look of pure terror that usually only accompanies someone getting stabbed from behind in a Friday the 13th movie while they’re in mid-coitus. Korver, appearing for all the world like a man who knew his time had come, treated Bron-Bron like an Ebola patient having a coughing fit and cleared out of his vicinity with all the haste his legs would allow.
How to use it: Anytime you think that the S is about the hit the F. The end of days is nigh and you need to get out. Here’s the emoji to warn everyone in the most dire of circumstances.
Used in a text-sentence:
Guy: “Hey, baby. I managed to sneak in your window and I’m up in your bed. . .;)”
Girl: “You did?!? My Dad just pulled up in the driveway! ”
Definition: I’m cooking us food.
What it is: James Harden’s celebratory cooking dance.
How to use it: Are you getting ready to make a delicious meal (*Author’s note: and then post the obligatory photo to your Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter feeds in an effort to show people that you are both handy in the kitchen and so above eating out.) and you want someone to know? Harden will handle that.
Used in a text-sentence:
Girl: “Hey, girl. I’m hungry. You wanna come get some food?”
Girl #2: “Actually, why don’t you come over here and let’s ?”
Girl #1: “As long as we can post it with my favorite IG filter. I like Valencia when I’m showing the food I’m eating.
Definition: You’re cursed, son!
What it is: The great voodoo shaman, Lil B, curser of NBA players and scorcher of the earth! Bow before his might and wrath! (*Author’s note: Lil B was not consulted in the writing of this article and I would greatly appreciate it if he spared me from one of his legendary curses.)
How to use it: Are you worried that someone is stealing a patented dance move of yours to celebrate hitting a clutch three pointer in the NBA Playoffs? Do you think that someone has disrespected you or has horrendously bad luck? Then this is the emoji for you.
Used in a text-sentence:
Dude #1: “Man, so I just shattered that mirror I keep underneath my ladder when I walked underneath to open this mummy sarcophagus. My black cat won’t get out of the way either. lol.”
Last year I went on record, declaring 2013 to be the weirdest sports year ever. I firmly believe that that will continue to hold up. But, damn, 2014 was a year for the record books, too. If 2013 was Wilt Chamberlain’s 100-point game, then 2014 is definitely Kobe’s 81-pointer.
I stand by my statement that Dennis Rodman, international peace-keeper and Manti Te’o, international catfished-doofus wil always hold down 2013 as the weirdest year ever, but 2014 came hard for that number one spot. Ladies and Gentleman of the jury, take a moment to stop live-tweeting events and let me present a month-by-month breakdown to you as to why 2014 was the second weirdest sports year in history.
January:
Richard Sherman yells, internet panic ensues!
The 49ers and the Seattle Seahawks really don’t like each other. When the two teams met on January 19th in the NFC Championship game, with the stakes at their highest and the lights at their brightest, one man somehow managed to single-handedly overshadow the entire game (*Author’s note: and a fantastic game, at that.) After making the play of the game and potentially the play of the year, outspoken defensive back Richard Sherman had something to say to Erin Andrews in his post-game interview.
Yes, it was Richard Sherman, professional blow hard. And he was blowing. Hard. He was blowing like Louis Armstrong in the middle of a wild solo at a packed Harlem Jazz club. The craziest part? He probably deserved to have that reaction. They shoved the mic into the face of a phenomenal shit-talker while he still had more adrenaline in his system than the post syringed-in-the-heart UMA Thurman in Pulp Fiction. It was just a strange scene, seeing him howl into the microphone like a WWE Heel who just bodyslammed the good guy through a table. Some hated it. Some loved it. Everyone had something to say about it. 2014 was picking right up where 2013 left off. By being weird as hell.
Nine Year Old Stars on her High School’s Varsity Basketball Team
During January, video surfaced of a ridiculous nine-year-old girl, all 4’7” of her, crossing up and driving by her high school basketball competition. It was Jaden Newman, the pint-sized University of Miami recruit, establishing dominance over girls twice her size and twice her age. When I was 9-years-old I was getting crunk about dinosaurs, crushing Surge, and trying to figure out how to make a bounce pass. The craziest part of this story? This somehow ended up being only the second weirdest “Jaden” related story of 2014.
Peyton Manning Shouts Omaha, Omaha Immediately Demonstrates Why It Can’t Have Nice Things
This is video of Peyton Manning’s favorite audible call. It’s the word “Omaha.” The nation became obsessed with the call, and the fact that Peyton was repeating it more than Mike Jones shouting his name back in 2005. But no one took more weird pleasure out of Peyton Manning’s favorite disc-skipping phrase than the city of Omaha, Nebraska. The Omaha Chamber of Commerce, believing that Peyton’s checks at the line would be met with checks in their pockets, vowed to donate money to his charity should the Broncos signal-caller continue to use their name and all of Nebraska — having little else to do in January, other than sit inside while winter bore down on them like a ravenous predator — stumbled all over themselves to fawn over having their name mentioned by a celebrity like a blushing high schooler named “Jane” seeing a Maroon 5 concert.
February
Super Bowl XLVIII is XLVIII Times Worse Than Anyone Thought It Would Be
Courtesy of: bleacherreport.com
We should’ve known that this game was doomed for unintentional comedy immediately after they had a pimp-coat wearing Joe Namath try to hijack the coin flip. The aforementioned Richard Sherman and Peyton Manning met up for Super Bowl XLVIII in a showdown, pitting the Broncos’ high-powered offense against the Seattle Seahwaks’ tough defense. A Lamborghini and a Hummer going toe to toe with millions upon millions of eyes watching and breaths being held captive. It was all Gone in 60 Seconds (*Author’s note: Hiiiiii-ooooh!) as the Broncos immediately botched their opening snap and proceeded to melt down into a steaming pile of high-def horse manure. The game ended up being 43-8 and even Joe Buck’s commentary seemed exciting by comparison. If you found yourself wishing that Beyoncé would show up and shut the power off on this one for a while to give your eyes a break from their corneal curb-stomping, you weren’t alone. Thank goodness for the weed jokes, or this would’ve been a complete waste of time.
The Eyes of Costas Are Upon You
Image courtesy of: Foxnews.com
In February, the Olympics swept across the sporting world. Pomp. Circumstance. And creepy, zombie-eyed Bob Costas. (*Author’s note: ever play that game, “One of these things is not like the other?”) In an Olympics full of plot-lines – corrupt Russian officials, poor athlete conditions, Shaun White’s pasty ass going for a repeat – Costas’ raging eye infection stole the show. It lead to a myriad of conspiracy theories on why the announcer looked so much like a stoned Mr. Peabody despite Bob’s insistence there was nothing malovelent about his eyes. Here was my theory, centering around Costas and Shaun White working as XXX-Style secret operatives in Russia to try to take out Edward Snowden, written out as a screenplay.
And speaking of stoner-eyes at the Olympics. . .
Olympic Skiier Torin Yater- Wallace Takes Our Hearts (And Approximately 13 Quarter Pounders From McDonald’s)
Photo courtesy of: Deadspin.com
At the Olympics, McDonald’s is known to offer up free grub to the athletes. They single handedly kept Jamaican sprinter Usain Bolt alive when he was eating 100 McNuggets a day in Beijing. They slap their corporate logo on anything they can get their Ronald-loving hands on. And they provide the perfect eats for a clearly sticky-ickied up 18-year-old Olympian who’s looking for some major chow after blazing some Chron with the Russian ice dancer girls in an effort to get laid.
Marcus Smart Gives us Malice Jr.
Gif courtesy of: thebiglead.com
With Oklahoma State losing late in an early February game to lowly Texas Tech, one-time top-5 NBA lottery pick, Marcus Smart, became incensed by the taunting of a fat James Caan impersonator and went into the stands to give him a two-handed shove. We don’t know exactly what was said, but we do know that any man who doesn’t wear an undershirt beneath his XXXL sized polo can’t be trusted. Smart’s season continued to spiral downwards, getting suspended for his transgressions and slipping down in the draft after an inconsistent year with an under-achieving Cowboys team. (*Author’s note: the best part about this GIF? The lady on Faux-Caan’s left. She can’t stop pointing her finger. She points at Smart like she just fingered a mob boss for the prosecution in court on a soap opera. Outstanding.)
David Stern Retires
image courtesy of: usatoday.com
Although few believed this grizzled veteran commissioner would ever relinquish his iron-fisted rule over the NBA, at least not until he was 6-feet under the soil in a posh, cozy coffin, NBA Commish Stern willingly ceded his position atop the Iron Throne to his next-in-line apprentice, Adam Silver. Was this a case of game recognizing game? Was Stern such a big fan of the way Silver handled the “Targaryen Deal” that he felt compelled to promote him up to take charge of the league? (*Author’s note: If you’re unfamiliar with Adam Silver’s biggest business transaction as liutenant to Stern, see the below picture).
image courtesy of: ouchpress.com
March
Wichita State Continues Their Miraculous Run, Then Promptly Gets Screwed by NCAA Tournament Selection Committee
Image Courtesy of: stltoday.com
Wichita State’s undefeated season was one of the single most fascinating subplots of the 2013-2014 College Basketball season. An unlikely story, this band of permanently underrated players from the middle of the country somehow continuing to win and win some more, that planted itself somewhere between Thunderstruck and Like Mike on my BBI (*Author’s note: Basketball Believability Index). But the weirdest part of all? Somehow they got seed-screwed into playing Kentucky in the second round. Because, weirder still, was the fact that Kentucky was an eight seed. A MOTHER-FING EIGHT SEED. KENTUCKY?!?! However, it ended up being the game of the year, with the Wildcats prevailing down the stretch in spite of both Harrison twins somehow reminding me of LeVar Burton.
Oregon Proudly Introduces Their “Newest Recruit”, Celebrating by Cramming Him Into Their Extra Schmedium Sized Jersey
. . .as if Bill Cosby’s year could get any creepier, right? J-E-L-L-Nooooooo! You might want to do a background check on this “new recruit” before you let him on campus. Also, please make sure he’s in the all-male dormitory. Please.
Mongolian Sumo Wrestler Kakuryū Rikisaburō is promoted to yokozuna
Look, March was kind of a slow month, okay?
Minor League Baseball Team, The Kalamazoo Growlers, Announce They’ll Wear “Selfie Jerseys”
A really slow month. The Jerseys, which debuted in July were probably the most obnoxious uniforms I’ve ever seen. When a pitch came in high and tight and the manager shouted “Duck!” everyone just assumed he was talking about the girl pursing her lips to look like waterfowl on the batter’s left sleeve. (*Author’s note: Alright, so maybe I made that last part up.)
April
Former Florida Atlantic Coach, and Older Brother to Recently-Fired Nebraska Head Coach, Carl Pelini is Shopping a Book
Yes. Apparently Carl hasn’t only been rolling papers and smoking them. He’s been penning a novel. Not just a memoir or a sordid tell-all. This is fiction. Will it be straight Gonzo, drug-fueled insanity like Hunter S. Thompson? Will it be tweenage angst wrapped up in the loving embrace of high school football? Or will it be about a crazed, revenge-seeking egomaniac hellbent on getting his own white whale? Watch out, Shawn Eichorst.
Donald Sterling Proves to be Exactly as Horrible as We All Thought
Image Courtesy of: latimes.com
This April audio came out from Donald Sterling, released by his vulpine-faced mistress V. Stiviano, in which the Los Angeles Clippers owner basically went on a racist tirade that sounded like leftover dialogue for Leonardo DiCaprio in Django Unchained. Sterling’s awful audio immediately put new-commissioner Adam Silver in the hot seat and the league’s new head honcho didn’t hesitate to drop the hammer, banning Sterling for life from any NBA activity. Silver delivered a message and it was clear that the NBA wanted Sterling to give up his franchise. As per usual, the cantankerous curmudgeon tried to sue his way out of things, but eventually folded and the team was later purchased ba kajillionaire Steve Ballmer. Do I really think Sterling won’t try to sneak in to make racist jokes at the Staples Center with an underaged floozy? No way. Here’s a few of the disguises I predicted he would try to use to get in and watch the team.
Northwestern Football Attempts to Unionize, Immediately Confuses Idiots Like Me (*Author’s note: but luckily for you, I’ve created this handy flowchart to help you figure out how all the legal proceedings would go.)
I literally think that chart is the closest I came to making sense of the whole thing. A college football team trying to unionize? 2014 for ‘ya. The only thing that could’ve made it weirder would’ve been if they picked Derek Fisher to be in charge of the whole thing and he did next to nothing for them.
May
The NFL Draft Gets Weird, 2014 Style
Image Courtesy of: scoreboardtx.com
Johnny F. Heisman Football slipped down the draftboard after an offseason spent partying with rolled up $20 bills in Las Vegas bathrooms, dropping to #22 and to the Cleveland Browns. An undersized, hard-partying QB slipping down draftboards isn’t weird. What is? The he apparently text the Browns GM and told him to “hurry up and draft me.” I speculated about who else might be texting the Browns on Draft Night, too. Another highly-touted QB experienced his own free fall, with the Vikings selecting Teddy Bridgewater with the final pick of the first round. Needless to say, it was the worst night for Teddys, Bridges, and Water since Chappaquiddick in 1969. South Carolina’s JaDeveon Clowney went first overall and promptly did nothing in his rookie year (being injured virtually the entire year). How typically 2014 of you, the NFL Draft.
Diego Costa Whispers to Horses, Asks to Borrow Their Placentas
Image courtesy of: independent.co.uk
Yeah. This headline alone is enough to make you gag. I understand that. However, when Atletico Madrid striker Diego Costa tore his hamstring this April those wacky Europeans decided that instead of heating, icing and Ibuprofen, they would try something a little. . .different. So, utilizing an Island of Dr. Moreau sounding therapy, involving electro-shock and horse placenta ointment, Costa went in for treatment. If anyone needs me, I’ll be the guy rushing to the bathroom for a good old fashioned dry-heave.
Somebody Get Me A Starter Jacket: The Charlotte Hornets Are Back, Baby!
Image courtesy of: bringbackthebuzz.wordpress.com
Unforunately, Mugsy and Larry Johnson aren’t on the bench anymore. But the Charlotte Bobcats finally caved in to the massive demand of all the ’90s enthusiasts like myself and re-branded back to their God-intended franchise name: The Hornets. So as I sip my Amazon-ordered Surge, smashing on my French Toast Crunch while wearing my snap-back hat and listening to a bunch of boy bands on the radio, I can also watch the Charlotte Hornets get after it on the court. The 90’s are back, son! Somebody get me a Warhead and turn up the Will Smith songs!
50 Cent’s First Pitch, Worth Approximately A Quarter
Speaking of Nostalgia: remember 50 Cent? He’s still around. And apparently all those curls he was doing at the gym during his In Da Club music video shoot didn’t translate well to his 2-seam fastball. Here he comes with what many are arguing is the worst first pitch in history. The sad part? The Chicago Cubs probably tried to offer him a contract immediately after this toss. “G-g-g-g-g-g-get the hell out of the way!”
Nebraska Linebacker Josh Banderas Steals a Whole Peloton of Bikes
University of Nebraska Linebacker Josh Banderas was arrested with a pickup full of stolen bikes in May. Why? Reducing his carbon footprint? An inescapable urge to juice up and become the next Lance Armstrong? Who the hell knows. The above photo is my best guess as to what he was planning on doing with a bevy of hijacked Huffys.
June
Luis Suárez Goes Hannibal Lecter at the 2014 FIFA World Cup
Image Courtesy of: telegraph.co.uk
So, in 2014 the World Cup was back on the scene. It was fantastic. There was weirdness all over the place. From Brazilian governmental conspiracies to a hilarious pump-up speech from Will Ferrell and Teddy Goalsevelt. From the US somehow managing to escape the Group of Death, to a bizarre wasting of US Goalie Tim Howard’s game for the ages. It was all outstanding, fascinating, and very strange. However, no story topped the flesh-eating zombie known as Luis Suárez and his diabolical dentures. Suárez, the hyper-talented Uruguayan national team striker, ignored the billions of eyes that were watching and just couldn’t help himself from gnawing on the shoulder of Italian player Giorgio Chiellini. He was suspended 4 months for what turned out to be the latest in a long line of attempted cannibalism. Plenty of time for him to enjoy some Fava Beans and a nice Chianti.
The AC Goes Out, LBJ Goes Down
GIF Courtesy of: thebiglead.com
In game one of the NBA Finals, the air conditioning went out in the AT&T Center in San Antonion, Texas. What happened next was a Twitter dogpile on LeBron James, as they oft-criticized Miami Heat star cramped up and had to limp off the court, watching the game from the sidelines in pain. Was it Greg Popovich, pulling the ultimate mind-trick? Was known sporting-event-power-surger Beyoncé in the building with Hova to watch the game? Was LeBron shrinking in another huge moment (*Author’s note: an unfair rap, in my opinion, even though I love to hate on LeBron.) or was this simply a case of electrical malfunction at the exact wrong time? We may never know. But it was certainly weird. Also: nice work on keeping LeBron hydrated, Powerade. (*Author’s note: ironically enough? They’re called “drops.”)
In case you were holed up in a mountain shack somewhere getting your Ted Kaczynski on for the past few days, there was big news in the sports world yesterday: Clippers owner Donald Sterling has been banned for life by the NBA for racist comments that were caught on tape.
The internet promptly blew up harder than a Michael Bay movie set and everyone with 140-characters to burn proceeded to speculate wildly about what exactly a “Lifetime Ban” entailed.
One thing’s for certain, though, Donald won’t be going to many home games anymore.
In fact, he’s not allowed to be involved with the team in any way, shape, or form. Which is a really good thing for the Clippers. And for fans of human decency everywhere.
But guys like Donald Sterling don’t go down quietly. They don’t just sit back and let the Adam Silvers of the world kick them in their surgically tightened chops and get away with it. No. If you can bet on one thing: it’s that Donald Sterling won’t take this sitting down. He’s going to get onto his orthopedic-inserted velcro shoes and stand up and fight. In the courtroom and in the court of public opinion.
But what about his former team, the Clippers? Will he do as he’s been instructed and stay away? My guess is this: hell no. I bet it won’t be long before Sterling is having his Bentley driver cruise past the Staples center, while playing James Blunt breakup songs. And then I bet it won’t be long before Donald Sterling finds himself hatching an evil plan to get back in to watch his team play.
But how could someone who’s now universally reviled, and universally recognized, manage to get into a tightly secured facility? Two words: in disguise.
So, I’m doing the security at the Staples Center a favor today and letting them in on what will, in all probability, be Sterling’s plan of attack.
Here are the 4 high-tech disguises — and their elaborately thought out backstories — they need to watch for that Sterling will probably try to use to get in and watch the Clippers’ playoff run.
1. Secret Alias: Donna Schmerling
Backstory: Donna Schmerling has literally nothing in common with Donald Sterling. She’s just a loving widower who has showed up to bake the team some cookies and make sure that the young man who jumps up so high to put the ball in the rim smiles a little more. After all, he is playing a game. She’s not here to try to bribe her way into the owner’s box so she can remove secret documents detailing years and years of chronic racism and misconduct, she’s just here to putter around and make sure that all the lovely dearies are playing nice with one another.
2. Secret Alias: Unknown Klansman
Backstory: because, at this point, you might as well just go full bigot and hide in plain sight. Will everyone know that it’s probably Donald? Yeah. Will they be expecting such a brash maneuver from the man who just Paula Deened his way out of an NBA franchise worth half a billi? They actually might. The good news? Donald’s always wondered if those robes were as comfy as they look. Now, if he goes undercover as a grandwizard in the Klan, he’ll get his chance to find out.
3. Secret Alias: Bruce Jenner
Backstory: As both men go in for their bi-weekly plastic surgery sessions at their same high-priced clinic, the switch will be on! Let’s be honest, it only takes about 15 minutes for a plastic surgeon to cobble together a face that looks like Jenner’s with hot glue, pipe cleaners and a little blush and so it shouldn’t take long before Sterling is ready to head back out. Let’s also be honest about this: Bruce Jenner would probably rather be Donald Sterling at this point than Bruce Jenner anymore. It’ll be kind of like Face/Off except way older, grotesque-er, and with a more plausible storyline.
4. Secret Alias: Cliff Paul’s Racist Uncle, Ron Sterling
Backstory: Everyone loves the backstory created by State Farm marketing gimmick, Cliff Paul. Supposedly he was separated at birth from his identical twin. Yeah, somehow they have the same name. Sure, it’s never addressed why such a horrendous felony was perpetrated on the Paul family or how Cliff would battle out of the throes of deep depression when he realized that his brother had lead such a charmed life. But what if there was another layer? What if the man who separated Chris and Cliff in such a mid-afternoon-soap-opera-ish twist was actually the Paul twins’ very own uncle? And what if that very own evil uncle had a twin himself? And what if that evil uncle was actually the identical twin brother of now-banned-for-life Clippers owner, Donald Sterling?
A complicated backstory to be sure, but this is no small matter, attempting to circumvent the NBA’s lifetime ban and watch your team play.
So keep your eye out! Citizens of Los Angeles, be vigilant. For you never know when Donald Sterling may be walking among you!
So, you’re Donald Sterling. You’re a multi-kajillionaire who loves lawsuits and lousy basketball teams. You own a franchise that through your own ineptitude miraculously landed Blake Griffin and were then gift-wrapped a hall of fame point guard in a sign-and-trade of your soul to the devil.
Despite your out-and-out stumblefuckery that led your team to being one of the laughingstocks of professional sports for decades, you’ve finally managed to rid yourself of your horrendously hired Vinny Del Negro, land a great coach, and find yourself poised to deliver a deep playoff run that will pay massive dividends.
But it turns out you’re racist. Like, really, really, virulently racist. We’re talking cheering-for-DiCaprio-in-Django Unchained racist. And you just got nailed for it. Your liver-spotted, billionaire hands were caught buried up to your wrists in your Paula Deen cookie jar.
Here’s the audio of that “private” convo you had with your girlfriend.
Uh-oh.
Now, most people already were highly aware that your were a Grade A douchebag. For most people, this audio tape is more like the crappy plot twist at the end of Hide and Seek with Bobby De Niro than the holyshitTHAT’SKeyserSoze?!?! moment from The Usual Suspects. But still, this isn’t good, Donald.
So the question is, what do you do? It’s time to choose your own adventure, Donald Sterling!
If you choose to take your private jet to your Cayman Island tax-shelter-home and lay low for the rest of the playoffs: Go to Page 1.
If you decide that you need to put on a brave, highly plastic-surgeried, face and take this thing on head-on by going to your home playoff game on Tuesday night: Go to Page 2.
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(*Author’s note: once you’re in the gallery view, use the “ESC” key to get out and select the next page.)
As you may or may not know, Russell Westbrook (*Author’s note: or as I like to call him, The Russell West-B in Apt. 23) tore his meniscus in the Thunder’s first round matchup against the Houston Rockets. As you also may or may not know, The Russell West-B in Apt. 23 also likes to dress like an insane cocktail of Lady Gaga and LMFAO. We here at Burnpoetry were able to obtain an exclusive look at his one of a kind hospital gown he was rocking during the aforementioned surgery. Enjoy.
While gorging myself on the NBA finals I’ve gotten accustomed to the advertising overload. Since I normally DVR anything and everything, opting to watch literally anything that we have on on-demand over any live television shows (*Author’s note: here’s looking at you, My Big Fat American Gypsy Wedding) I can’t handle much in the way of advertising. I’ll look for obscure reasons to pause the T.V. (*Author’s note: “I’d better pick up the cat so I can compare his weight to this 2-liter of pop.”), just so I can fast forward through a T-Mobile Ad and a McBerry McSmoothie commercial featuring people inexplicably dancing because their food tastes so good.
Sporting events are different. They have to be enjoyed live. It’s not because we now live in an information-gorging age where, within two touch-screen pushes I can confirm the Mayan Apocalypse by finding out the sex of Snooki’s baby and discovering exactly what a dude from Nashville thinks about the whole scenario in 140 characters. That’s a piece but not the entirety of the equation.
There’s something about sports that lives in the moment. It can pull you in, yanking you right from your gravitational core, like a benign blackhole. You find yourself on the edge of the couch, standing in your living room like you’re courtside at Madison Square Garden, or gripping your Wife’s hand like you’re about to offer yourself as a hostage to a group of criminals in an act of cinematic selflessness. When I watch sports with any more than the two second uh-oh-did-Kobe-really-just-F-bomb-the-cotton-candy-guy-we-better-dump-out delay, I don’t feel that connection. That electrical current that somehow passes from arena’s to HD cameras to my TV in a jolting, wild ride seems to be missing.
For that reason, I have to watch sports live. For that reason, I have to endure commercials during the NBA finals.
Which puts me in a strange position. Here I am, watching the commercials designed for a set audience over and over. And over. There’s a unique demographic that allegedly tunes in for these kinds of things and when you’re stuck powering through the fourth Coors Light ad in 20 minutes you find yourself asking weird questions. Here was my latest of these odd lines of thinking.
If you put together a starting 5 based on the fictional, hyper-repetitive commercial characters that we see, who would be on the roster? I’ve given this (too much) thought. Here we go.
At the starting PG:Uncle Drew
If you’ve been watching the NBA finals, I’m sure you saw this one coming. Here’s what it looks like:
He’s sneaky good for an old geezer, has a nasty crossover, and can shoot from deep downtown. In short, Uncle Drew is a true baller. In his own words, he gets buckets. His only downfall is that no one actually drinks Pepsi Max. I think I speak for the masses when I say, quit f-ing around with Pepsi Max and bring back Pepsi Blue! What’s that? You don’t remember Pepsi Blue? Neither does anyone else but me. (*Author’s note: Uncle Drew is actually NBA Rookie of the Year Kyrie Irving. This ad also has doubled as my favorite commercial of the NBA finals.
At the 2-Guard: Phil Shifley
He’s a master of disguise, an expert at blending into the crowd and emerging at exactly the right moment, and he’s clearly okay with not hogging the spotlight (since the Mob is clearly trying to murder him). His eyebrows and Mark-Twain’s-illicit-love-affair–with-Colonel-Sanders hairstyle make him a white-man’s James Harden (at least in the looks department, if not on the actual court.)
The question remains: can Shifley hoop? Will he be able to knock down the open looks created by Uncle Drew’s slashing style? We can only hope.
At the Small Forward: Ice Cube
In “It Was a Good Day” Cube definitely raps about messin’ around and getting a triple double. If he’s capable of doing that on the mean streets of Compton, CA, with Jheri Curl juice staining his shooting hand and his Raiders snap-back slipping down over his eyes, what could he do in the league? (*Author’s note: I know, rap purists, he wasn’t rockin’ the Jheri when this song came out.) Sure, he’s gotten old, soft, and cornier than a bowl full of Berry Berry Kix, but can Cube still hoop? I think the best way to ask this question is, “Is he there yet?”
He can ball. He’s got that tough-guy mentality that this team needs. But is he completely insane? He’s prone to making terrible TV shows and arguing with inanimate objects. Hey, it worked for Rodman.
At Power Forward: Lieutenant Ripley
The Ads for Prometheus have been in full effect for the NBA finals this year. Here’s just a taste of what Ripley’s made of:
Wait, what’s that you say? Ripley’s not even in the newest installment of the Alien movies? F-ing A. I guess we can just start this guy from the new Batman movie:
He’s big, burly, and clearly angry as a mofo. Just the kind of post presence that most teams are looking for. The biggest question? Can he lay off the ‘roids long enough so that he can avoid a substance abuse suspension from David Stern?
At Center: Shaquille O’Neal
I know, I know. He’s washed up and porking out. Towards the end his body seemed to be held together by toothpicks, tissue paper, and pipe cleaners. But he’s still one of the best of all-time. Here’s his Buick commercial. Check out the exceedingly creepy/awkward bugeyed-and-point manuver that he pulls at the end of the commercial. I can just see the director on the set of that commercial taking a long, deeply depressed pull on a bottle of some kind of dark liquor and saying, “You know what!?! Just free-style it SHawqk. Just fressstyleit.” And the end result is right here:
In the scheme of things, this is actually only Shaq’s 3rd worst acting performance behind Kazaam and his sex tape.
(*Author’s note: I know. Nothing more cliché than a steaming pile of memes. However, I can’t resist. If you know me, you know that I love corny-ass jokes mixed with strange photos. And, in a blatant and weird homage to 1999, I’ve decided to glitch the Matrix and repeat the picture with slightly different captions. I took this photo, much to my Wife’s disgust who finds my love of photographing the T.V. to be utterly absurd, during game one of the NBA Finals. Here we go. . .)
The NBA finals are finally upon. This gloriously inglorious, cluttered to the point of brutality, NBA season has finally reached a head.
On one side we have the Miami Heat.
On the other the Oklahoma City Thunder.
The self-glossed, self-inflated pomposity of a team with the audacity to promise 7 NBA titles before they had played a game and the skill-set to make some immediately nod their heads in agreement when they heard the bold proclamation.
The young, hungry, terrifyingly athletic group lead by a modest wunderkind, a supremely confident point guard and a beard that would make Rick Ross say, “Wait. . .what?”
Oklahoma City has Kevin Durant, the best scorer in the world. Miami has LeBron James, the best player in the world. Durant is relatively new to the spotlight, or as much as any 3-time scoring champ who was the 2nd overall draft pick can be, while LeBron’s chef’s third cousin is completely and thoroughly accustomed to being a topic of heated media discussion. (*Author’s note: Skip Bayless would verbally attempt to impale him and Stephen A. Smith would slam down the race card like he just hit Blackjack at a million dollar table.)
Both have elite level talent at the top-end of their rosters. Both have coaches that are, at the very minimum, serviceable in most situations and have been proven to be very good at times. In short, the NBA finals this year should be fascinating, dramatic, and a great watch for sports fans of all makes and models.
Here are a few key storylines that I’m interested in watching during this year’s NBA Finals:
The Big 3²
(*Author’s note: please excuse me. I’ve just discovered how to make the “squared” sign on a PC. ². Sorry. Last time.)
At this point we’re all pretty tired of hearing about the “Big 3” on each of these teams, but their impact on their teams cannot be overstated. On Miami it’s James, Dwyane Wade, and velociraptor mongoliensis Bosh. With the Thunder it’s Durant, James Harden and The Russell West-B in Apt. 23.
We know Durant and James will be gigantic in this series. But what about the other parts of the equation for each team?
Will the VeBoshiraptor be healthy? Or will he play like he just got capped by Robert Muldoon? Will anyone put up with me continually yelling, “Shoot heeer!” everytime Bosh makes a play? The key to the Heat’s resurgence in the Boston series was Bosh’s return and, eventually, his return to form.
Will Harden continue to wreak havoc off the bench, or will the Heat’s athletic, swarming perimeter defense slow him down? Will his beard trump LeBron’s moving beard-tribute to the 16th President of the United States. (*Author’s note: I’m still 94% convinced that LeBron’s beard is somehow an elaborate cross-promotion for the Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Slayer movie.)
(*Secondary Author’s note: that’s still the second best tribute to Abe in the NBA. Here’s the first.)
The Russell West-B in Apt. 23 and Dwyane Wade will play crucial second-fiddles in this series. While I have no doubt that Westbrook can score with Wade, it will be interesting to watch his matchup with Mario Chalmers and see if he’s able to be his usual explosive self.
The Coaching Matchup
It’s been well-documented that Heat coach Eric Spoesltra could be on the hot-seat. He’s found himself in the wholly unenviable position of being damned if he does, damned if he doesn’t, and totally f-ed if the Heat don’t deliver this time around.
Scoliam Neebrooks is facing his own kind of pressure. While not nearly to the submarine-hull-at-Marianas-trench-bottom PSI that Spoelstra’s facing, this dead ringer for Liam Neeson needs to conjure his inner Col. Hannibal and come up with a plan that comes together. How do you slow down LeBron, his go-to-gyu (*Author’s note: intentional typo alert) Dwyane Wade, and the VeBoshiraptor? Seeing how he utilizes the young talent off the bench and his bigs will be something to keep an eye on.
The Refs
I’m not normally one to harp on the referees. I’m not one of those people who think the league is rigged (*Author’s note: *cough* *cough* New Orleans wins the lottery *cough*) and I’m one of those people who thinks that as long as we keep trying to seamlessly incorporate technological advancement into the refereeing of sports we can cut these guys a little slack.
However the free throws could play a huge role in this series. Will LeBron be at the line longer than a virgin waiting on The Hunger Games to come out? Or will Durant get more freebies than a college football player attending USC? Hopefully the refs stay the hell out of the way, like good refs should and can keep the flopping to a minimum.
2-3-2
It’s not a defensive formation that will automatically elicit a technical foul, nor is it some weird lingo for a new reality show that features a group of two bros, three frenemies and two hipsters who are all piled into a shack in the wilderness, a handgun, and a potential alien that is hidden among them. (*Author’s note: but I’m sure that Fox has that one in the works)
What that refers to is the NBA’s championship format. It’s different from the other rounds and lends itself to big trouble for the Thunder should they lose either game one or game two. The team that wins game one wins the series 72% of the time. OKC has a great home crowd. Miami has a crowd. The Thunder have a significant homecourt advantage and it will be interesting to see if this format helps or hinders them in their quest.
I’ll have more coverage of this, hopefully, amazing series. Keep tuning in and I’ll keep gushing.
Do you hear that? That deep, timpani roll just off the horizon that’s cascading our way? Reverberating, humming deep into your solar plexus like you’re standing too close to a didgeridoo? That’s the sound of the Thunder. That’s the sound of youth morphing into experience and a building, tempestuous roar that, like a stormy sea slamming into eroding rock cliffs, signals the passing of time.
The torch was passed last night.
Not willingly. It was ripped from the aging, championship-ring-wearing hands of the San Antonio Spurs who, mere games earlier, had looked to be unbeatable; an unstoppable, silver and black clad tide that was rolling in and nothing and no one could stop them on their way to the title.
Successions to the throne are rarely clean. There’s poison, vitriol, and if you watch Game of Thrones, incest (*Author’s note: a whole lot of incest). The Spurs are a far classier bunch than the Lannisters, but they still gave the Thunder their all. And somehow the kids from OKC prevailed.
I’m torn on the Thunder. They bring all kinds of positives to the court, but I still am not entirely on the Thunder bandwagon. It’s an enigma to me, because I can’t fully jock the Thunder without coming up with a list of why I shouldn’t. There’s this whole Yin and Yang thing going on, with an occasional Ying Yang Twins thing sprinkled in. Just trust me, it’s complex.
So I decided to present you, my 4 readers, with a list of 5 reasons to root for the Oklahoma City Thunder and 5 reasons to root against them.
5 Reasons to Root for the Oklahoma City Thunder:
1. Kevin Durant
Kevin Durant may be the best basketball player on earth. You could argue that LeBron James has that title, and his MVP performance and more-multi-faceted game certainly would back that up if you wanted to present the case. But make no mistake about it, Kevin Durant is the real deal.
He’s 23-years-old. When I was that age I was jamming on wrinkly jeans from the floor of my bedroom and brushing my teeth with Diet Mountain Dew on my way to an already-5-minutes-in class lecture. He’s led the league in scoring 3 times.
He’s humble. He’s well-spoken. He’s 6’10” and can handle the ball like a guard, shoot 3’s like he’s playing NBA Jam TE on easy mode, and attacks the rim with a ferocity that seems suicidal given that he looks to weigh about 108 pounds.
If he hadn’t gone to Texas I might like him even more.
2. James Harden
Even though my wife claims that his beard makes her “want to punch him in the face”, a claim which I find to be particularly amazing (*Author’s note: I’m a lucky man) I still like Harden. He does everything. Scores, distributes, comes off the bench without complaining and plays good defense.
Guys like Harden are what make championships possible. Guys like Harden are what make teams great. His progression this year may be exactly what has helped to get the Thunder over the Western Conference Finals hump. Even if he looks like a mutant-spawn of an illicit Rick Ross/lumberjack mountain-shack affair, the guy can flat-out play and you can’t help but root for him.
3. Substance Meets Style
The Thunder are just a damn fun team to watch play. They can score. They can defend. They have 3 guys who could literally jump up take a quarter off the backboard, make change for it, then play a now-suddenly-overpriced $.50 game of Pac-Man before they hit the ground. They do all of this while winning, which is the most impressive part of the equation.
When the Thunder are in the open court on a fast break even the whiter-than-Wonderbread crowd in OKC suddenly finds itself standing and preparing to get funky.
4. Scott Brooks. . .Looks Exactly Like Liam Neeson
Here’s a quick side-by-side:
If you think you’re going to kidnap Liott Neebrooks’ chance for a title you’re sorely mistaken. He’s a man with a definite set of skills. And he’ll use all of those considerable skills to hunt you down and find you.
5. They’re Not the Heat/Celtics
5 Reasons to Root Against the Oklahoma City Thunder
1. Don’t Trust The Russell West-B in Apt. 23
Russell Westbrook. He’s definitely one of the top 10 players in the league. In his own mind he’s a top 1 player in the league. When the line between reality and whatever’s floating around in his Chris-Brown-looking head.
While I’m completely in awe of his ability I generally get the feeling that somehow he believes himself to be every bit the equal to Kevin Durant, who is a once-in-a-generation talent. Where Harden and most of OKC knows their roles, The West-B in Apt. 23 often times appears to be the Thunder’s version of Joe Pesci. Phenomenal as a #2 but at his best when offsetting Bob DeNiro.
2. Kendrick Perkins
Perkins stumps around on court looking with the grace and the general demeanor of the title character Blackenstein.
He’s borrowed every scowl, dirty move, and faux-anger-that-gets-very-un-faux-technical-fouls manuver in the Kevin Garnett: Anything is Possiiiiiblllleeeee Guide to Overblown, Theatrical Intensity handbook.
3. This :
4. This:
5. And this:
These guys can shoot pretty good, considering they clearly have a team-wide vision problem.
I’m not a fashion expert. In fact, I don’t understand anything that’s trendy or cool anymore. I feel like we’ve fallen through a portal to some kind of alternate dimension where it’s cool to dress like Willy Wonka; a terrifying land where Superman wants to be Clark Kent.
The Thunder are at the front of this brutal assault on our 1080-p’s. They step to the podium with glasses that would even cause a hipster to stop sipping his Latvian-imported micro-brew, that he can’t pronounce but knows deep in the soul-less chasm of his heart that it just has to be better than anything made in America, and spit it out onto his carefully wrinkled pants.
This atrocity cannot go un-recognized, but compared with the Miami Heat, who’re equally stylistically inclined? This final piece of the un-rooting puzzle might just not be enough. Go Thunder!
Burnpoetry 