Putting the Wood Down

We Hawks fans have been reasonably patient (if incredibly angry at times) throughout the first half of this season, but yesterday's massive collapse to Portland was too much. As Atlanta Journal-Constitution beat writer Sekou Smith so accurately put it:

"It's beyond foolish for the Hawks to think they can routinely win games playing out of the half court sets that they've made painful to watch. They don't have the type of spot up shooters that other teams have, which would make such an approach feasible.

The Hawks are built to run, love it or leave it, that's what they are. And it only makes sense to play to that strength (they scored at will in the transition game against Portland, one of the few teams young enough and athletic enough to match them in that regard).

We could come up with countless different ways that they could have handled the end of the game. But if the Hawks had embraced the advantage they had in the transition game, the Blazers never would have been close enough to snatch the game anyway."

Now, as much as ever, it is painstakingly and brutally clear that it's time for a change.

Head coach Mike Woodson and his aforementioned half court sets have to go.

In his place, we're planning to install a man with a similar name but an altogether more ferocious gameplan:

Mr. Woodcock.

Reunited

The notion of Chris Webber going back to the Warriors is really giving me the itch to dust off the Super NES and play some old school, high scoring, nauseatingly pixelated yet remarkably entertaining computerized hoops.

NBA Live '95, anyone?

Big Willie Style

I have no idea what prompted this, but I just now started thinking about Willie B., the silverback gorilla who lived at the Atlanta zoo from 1961 to 2000. Some things you may not have known about Willie B.:

He was named after William Berry Hartsfield, the former mayor of Atlanta.

He lived for 27 years alone in a cage with a tire swing and TV.

He enjoyed watching soap operas.

He fathered no less than five gorillas.

He had a general demeanor that said "I do not take crap from any individual, be him man, gorilla or some other species from the animal kingdom."

When Willie B. died (at the age of 41), more than 8,000 people attended his memorial service.

When I told this fact to a friend recently, he said, "Dude, what's wrong with your city?"

I gouged out one of his eyes with a wooden fork.

The Atlanta Silverbacks soccer team is named after Willie B.

To date, no one I have ever exchanged words with has seen the Silverbacks play.

There are some who believe that Willie B. is still alive, and living on an island with 2Pac, Elvis, Biggie and Bison Dele.

Those people are incorrect. Willie B. is in fact dead, and has been reincarnated as new Braves utility infielder Omar Infante, who -- unbeknownst to us at this time -- will deliver a crucial pinch hit late in the month of September to deliver the Braves back to the playoffs in 2008.

Strange how these things work out.

This Just Cleared My Sinuses

Not sure I've ever seen a throwdown quite like this. Can we get a special exemption for Deron Washington to compete in this year's NBA dunk contest?

There's Been a Loss of Cabin Pressure

Bruce, I'm gonna need a fact check here: What's the worst case of airplane ear ever recorded?

I think I may be making a run at the record. And what's strange is I haven't been on a plane in over a week.

For a minute I was thinking that maybe this was my body's involuntary reaction to try to block out Troy Aikman's mind-numbing color commentary on Sunday, but I've since dismissed that as highly improbable.

Whatever the case, I now have some idea what it's like to be a crazy person -- constantly popping my ears and contorting my head to try to relieve the pressure, all the while thinking that if this condition doesn't improve soon I may have to pull a Vernon Maxwell and outright deck somebody.

Hopefully soon I'll be able to concentrate on something else, like sports. And writing. In the meantime I'm off to jab at my eardrums with an ice pick.

Either that or purchase some cough medicine.

I Hope I See None of These Lawrence Tynes-Related Headlines on Monday

"Good Tynes"

"Great Tynes"

"The Best of Tynes"

"Let the Good Tynes Roll"

"The Tynes, They Are a-Changin'"

"Crunch Tynes"

"New York Tynes"

"Right on Tynes"

"Just in Tynes"

"In the Nick of Tynes"

I'm going to be sick.

I Think It Moved

If this doesn't get you at least a little bit fired up, I'm not sure we can be friends.

When You Have To Go

In part because I felt the need to move that gruesome staph infection photo from the top spot on the site but also because I have a legitimate issue to raise here, I would like to quickly report that 2007 Bulls draft pick Jameson Curry was recently arrested for public urination.

According to the Boise, Idaho police report (where Curry is playing in the NBDL), an officer "saw Curry urinating in the alley on the west side" of a hotel.

Maybe I've just been watching too many re-runs of Season 4 of The Wire recently, but I just can't understand why public urination is, and continues to be, a criminal offense. As every one of us who has ever peed in public knows (and I'm pretty sure that every male you'll ever meet has done so), you only drop trow' (that's official public urination slang, short for "lower trousers") if it's an absolute emergency -- that being that the nearest Starbucks has a line and your bladder is about to hemorrhage right there on the corner of Houston and Eldridge.

It's one thing if the micturator has his hose out and is spraying it around in the middle of the street with little regard for oncoming traffic and passing citizens, but when someone is simply minding his own business and quietly relieving the gruesome pressure on his bladder in an otherwise secluded setting (in this case, an alley), our peace officers need to think of their own bladders and the times that they've nearly combusted and let these transgressions go.

Because if they would just wait a couple of minutes and follow the urinator closely, he'll probably do something incredibly reckless and they can bust him on public intoxication or disorderly conduct right there on the spot.

That's a free tip, officers. In exchange, all we ask is that you look the other way when we're relieving ourselves. Just assume that it's absolutely necessary, because otherwise we wouldn't do it. Unless of course we look like the sort of person who might take pleasure out of doing something like that, in which case you should bust us for public perversion -- which, if it isn't a criminal offense, should be.

Thank you and good day.

This is a Picture of a Staph Infection

And Kenyon Martin has one on his ass.

My God.

Dolphins Hire Tony Soprano as Head Coach

Wait, his name is actually Tony Sparano. I read that wrong. Never mind.

Do My (Red) Eyes Deceive Me? (Part II)

More fallout from the delirious overnight flight from Salt Lake City on which I spotted former NBA point guard Jay Williams and (most likely incorrectly) speculated that he might be coming to NY to work out for the Knicks:

I just had a recollection that during the cab ride home from the airport, I heard a radio report saying that Mary J. Blige, Timbaland, 50 Cent and Wyclef Jean were implicated in a steroid probe.

I probably just hallucinated that, right?

Apparently not. Rather confused as to why any of these entertainers would dig the long ball. But who the hell knows. One thing I do know is that it's kind of funny to picture Wyclef stepping into the batter's box, muscling up on a hanging slider and hitting a prodigious, 440-foot drive. Would really give the old MTV Rock-Jock softball game a whole new meaning.

Wait a second, do they even play that Rock-Jock game anymore? I'm starting to think that maybe they haven't played it for a very long time. What year is this, anyway? And for that matter, where am I?

It may be time for a nap.

Do My (Red) Eyes Deceive Me?

Sunday evening, I had the distinct displeasure of being on a red eye flight from Salt Lake City to New York.

In addition to myself, there was another noteworthy person on the midnight flight out of Salt Lake: former NBA point guard Jay Williams.

It's particularly interesting timing for an out-of-work former first round draft pick to be flying to NYC considering that yesterday, Knicks point guard Stephon Marbury sat out the team's win over Detroit, and now word is that Stephon might be out for the rest of the year with ankle surgery.

Was Williams flying to NY because got a call to work out for the Knicks? Or, alternatively, does he board a flight immediately every time he sees an NBA point guard sitting out a game so that he may offer his services to the team potentially in need?

Probably not -- Williams is from New Jersey originally and may have just been taking a trip home. But you have to admit, the timing is interesting.

My guess is that even if he was coming to work out for New York, Isiah will likely lose interest very quickly once he learns that Williams in fact does not still have a grotesque amount of money left on his original NBA deal.

Please Get This Man a Bandage

Today I overheard an elderly man directing his friend towards a nearby Duane Reade pharmacy. But thanks to a faulty synapse or some other minute malfunction of the brain, what he accidentally said was "Dwayne Wade."

He corrected himself a moment later.

As I walked away, I realized that this little verbal slip-up actually made perfect sense. After all, what currently suiting up NBA player is more in need of pharmaceutical assistance (if not full-blown medical attention) than Dwayne Wade?

So it is written. From this day forth, we shall no longer refer to the pharmacy by its proper name, and no longer shall we call the Miami Heat star by his given moniker. The pharmacy in question (or any pharmacy, for that matter) is now called Duane Wade, and the malady-plagued basketball player is hereto forth referred to as Dwayne Reade.

And when that gets tiresome in... oh, say... about 15 minutes, we'll switch back to the way we did things before.

Andrea Was Here

As an individual who recently received an email link from a friend that unexpectedly led me to a video clip of two people killing a bear and then subsequently having sex upon the carcass of that dead bear, I will warn you not to click on this video clip at work. There is no sex with bear in this video, but there is an overabundance of explicit language.

Now that we have that out of the way, I bring this clip to your attention because it called to mind some recent comments from Raptors head coach Sam Mitchell that made me think he might be a fan of Curb Your Enthusiasm.

On the subject of enigmatic 7-footer Andrea Bargnani and what he (Mitchell) has to do to get Bargnani to consistently rebound, Mitchell said, "Stay on his ass."

He followed that up by saying "We're going to keep our foot in his rear end until he understands he has to continue to rebound."

And finally, he added: "Go get the ball. You can say all you want but it's go get it. Put your ass on some other guy and go get the ball."

The young Raptor would be wise to listen to his coach -- and to a greater extent, listen to the words of Leon -- in this situation.

Get in that ass, Andrea.

Unacceptable

In recent weeks, a topic of a non-sporting nature has been causing me considerable ass-chapping, and I feel the need to ventilate some steam with regard to this subject so that I (and we) may hopefully move on and all be better humans as a result.

The thing that has angered me is the existence of the "unrated" DVD as pertains to many of my favorite comedies. I own several such DVDs, and on the surface you wouldn't think this is a bad thing. After all, the notion of "unrated" primarily conjures the idea of excessive nudity or other inappropriateness that would make this new version of the film completely (and delightfully) unsuitable for viewing in a movie theater.

But that is just not remotely true. In reality, all that's included in the unrated DVD is a series of extra lines and drawn out scenes that weren't included in the original version of the movie because they aren't funny. So now, all of the jokes that were previously funny get killed because they go on too long. Which is exactly why they were edited down in the first place. It's basically like taking a funny group of people and adding that one guy to the room who invariably lobs in a comedic grenade and nukes the joke just when it was getting good.

Do not be fooled, movie watchers -- "unrated" does not mean "lots of gratuitous nudity and extra crude humor." It actually means "longer, less funny version of movie."

I shall never be foolish enough to buy such a DVD ever again. In fact, I am thinking of taking the unrated DVDs that I already do have, loading them into a burlap sack and throwing them into the East River.

If that's something that would interest you, please let me know and I can probably get you a burlap sack of your own.

Thank you for listening. I feel slightly better now.

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One other thing: Last night I randomly ran into a comedian at a bar in NY. You may know him as "Inconsiderate Cell Phone Man." In real life his name is Rob Huebel. He was wearing white pants, a white blazer, a white turtleneck and a kids size "I love NY" visor. Friendly chap. Also a funny man. I went to his website. I laughed. If you have nothing better to do I recommend that you do the same.

Thank you, that is all.

Please Pass the Vitamins

So I was browsing this website www.veganhealth.org today. To clarify, I'm not a vegan. In fact, I hate them passionately.

But that's beside the point. I mention this particular website because I saw something interesting on one of its pages. The excerpt read:

"If you have not had a regular source of B12 for some time, buy a bottle of 1,000 µg (or greater) B12 tablets."

They make B-12 tablets? I had no idea. I just figured that since Roger Clemens claimed he was shot in the ass with a needle containing B-12 that tablets clearly would not be readily available. Because as much as we all prefer needles over chewable pills (which is why they have Flinstones vitamin syringes available these days), it seems that the non-injection is probably the more pleasant way to go.

I have yet to see the 60 Minutes interview on which Clemens makes his vehement steroid denials, but I know this much: Anyone coming away from viewing that interview thinking Clemens is telling the truth should be embarrassed.

As for those symptoms of embarrassment, there's really not much you can do, aside from flogging yourself for being such a pathetic Clemens sympathizer.

Though I do hear that vitamin B-12 can have certain recuperative effects.