I usually miss all the cool things, because I’m doing something else, but I happened to have the Friday Night EPSN game on in the background yesterday. What luck. The game was almost over and I was sitting around my living room when I saw a bunch of pacers and pistons crowded around each other.

I figured, it’s the usual bluster, and sure enough it was. The pistons were getting their behinds handed to them and when Ron Artest fouled B. Wallace hard, the pushing match had began. Nothing that extraordinary as they are heated rivals and it was a big game.

They were showing the replays of the foul from about 3 different angles and every commentator was chiming in about emotions and tough play when all of the sudden, the camera panned back to a scene of Artest charging into the stands. He was chasing after someone apparently, and all of the sudden you see this huge splash(some liquid, probably beer) and then masses of people swarming over each other. All of the sudden you see Stephen Jackson run up out of nowhere and lay a huge running overhand swing on someone. That was crazy!

The whole thing was pretty fast, but then they spent about the next 15 minutes showing replays and different angles. For the most part, it was the NBA player dishing it out. I don’t think that should come as any surprise. I mean these are large 6-8 6-11 240 280lbs black men in their prime. The one exception was I noticed a rather rotound black fan in a white shirt punching back and I think for the most part he was hitting security and “suits” which I imagine are general team staff and coaches.

That wasn’t the most interesting thing though. When they finally they took the players out, the pacers were escorted by staff and security through a tunnel to the locker room. Ron Artest was escorted out by a coach grabbing his throat. The guy was in one ear screaming and had his fingers firmly entrenched around his throat all while another two individuals were also grabbing onto Artest. Artest had one of those looks of submission in his face, the kind when like a parent is grabbing a child by the ear or by the hair to get them to stop fighting.

As Artest was leaving through the tunnel towards the locker room all sort of bottles and drinks were poured on him, so I guess it was necessary, just to keep him cooled. J O’Neal was also escorted out, but since he’s 6-11, he’s substantially taller than most of his “escorts.” The funniest thing was as he was walking through the tunnel, someone poured one of the extra large soft drink containers and emptied all of the contents into his face. He was super shocked and had one of those I can’t believe that just happened looks, and struggled to get out the way. But I think the escorts mistook his “struggles” as a sign of fighting so they restrained him. The end result was J O’Neal was immobilized and even more drinks were poured on him! He finally gave in and went into the tunnel.

---------------

In the aftermath though…J O’Neal, B Wallace, R Artest, and S Jackson are suspended indefinitely. Perhaps multimillion dollar lawsuits to follow? I’m saddened because J O’Neal is one of my key fantasy players and I’ll miss his 20-10-5 production per game.

On another note, there’s already spin and consternation over who’s at fault. Was it the fans for provoking? Was it the players for retaliating? Basically what set Artest off was a fan threw some beer at him. It’s hard to say. You can keep pushing someone’s buttons until they snap, but who’s really responsible for snapping and the aftermath?
To be decided soon.

[ esca | 3:08 PM | ]

 

It's time to change the pace a little bit, I've been feeling in a funk lately. Don't mean to be angry and bitter, but hell, I epitomize angry and bitter. Happy people make my ass twitch(Kevin Kline, French Kiss)

Here's a list of positives that make me happy. Because positive means good.

Blockbuster monthly movie pass.(starting price of 15 dollars a month)-unlimited rentals means you can watch all the movies(old and new) you want. Stuff to do on weekdays.

Anachronic-this guy blogs so much that you always feel like you're having a conversation with him, even when's he's not around and being flakey.

Rain-which leads to snow which leads to snowboarding

Halo 2-it's finally here..........(Yes I got my copy at midnight on monday, and yes I've beat the game already, and yes I have dark circles under my eyes)

NBA-yao ming yao ming yao ming. I even bought his book, which is interesting, but flows badly. You can read the text and actually hear the broken english in your head.

Chargers-hot damn, they only do well when there are no expectations. See, the chargers believe in chinese motivation. Stick the prospect of being replaced with someone younger and newer, and Brees is throwing the ball like he wants his arm to fall off. Do I smell playoffs? Yes I do. Yes I do.

Curt Schilling-this guy is someone who thinks his own droppings smell like roses. He's someone who's in love with his own legend. But what a legend it is. Did you know he's trying to auction off his "bloody" socks on e-bay? Because he's such a warrior and tough guy. We need more people like him, extremely cocky, extremely self-centered, but in the end, gets the job done.

Thanksgiving-family time. Best when kids have moved out and brothers have gone to faraway schools.

[ esca | 1:35 PM | ]

 

I stand at five foot four and three quarters inches. I accentuate the three quarter inches because it in some way makes me feel better.

The average height of the males of my generation is about 5’11. Between my younger brother and my cousins of both my father and mother’s side. Why am I so short? There is a government act involved in providing stamps redeemable for milk and cheese to parents of no or poverty level income. I’m not sure today if there is any correlation between a hungry youth and my height.

The greatest love of my short 24 years stands at around 5’8.

And if this is the penance that I must pay for some great evil that I have committed or have yet to commit in my life, then so be it. But this is the seed of bitterness that burns inside me.

I feel of my “peer” group, there are few far and in between that started with less than I. And, I say this with all due respect, of my peer group today, I feel that there are few far and in between that have more than I do. If nothing else, let this be a testament to my parents, and also to what is possible by a human person. I say this with a touch of arrogance, and a cold observation that for some this inspires respect, but for many others resentment.

And if it so happens that your star will one day exceed mine, then I will be glad for you. I will be the first to shake your hand because I know what your potential is.

But you will never catch my star if nothing more than because you refuse to run. Perhaps a rapid trot or an off beat canter, or like an automaton simply one foot before the next. You give up before the fight has even started and thus it is no wonder that you lose. And you must fight even when there is no chance of success, and you must fight when there is no discernable hope, and you must fight when are you losing.

I promise you this, fight like a caged animal, and no matter what happens you will feel no shame.

To my detractors, I’m glad I’m me and let it be known that I take great satisfaction that my very existence extends your feelings of inadequacy. Grovel before my feet. I refuse to feel guilty for who I am.

And to a specific detractor…

I never even spoke to you in the first place, electing to ignore your bull and self-proclaimed air of importance. But I did tolerate you. It was you who chose to shun me and chose to speak ill of me behind my back and to my friends. I did nothing to you but now again you attack me.

Let me show you now what vitriol really is.

Like a soothsayer, let me say what that ugly little voice inside your head already booms. What will you do, when your “friends” become tired of you, and find progressively lamer and lamer excuses to stop going to the shows they’ve seen so many times before? When your total of 5 different songs that you sing are weary and with the same old themes that never really change and you have nothing new to say? I don’t believe you know what life really is, or have ever walked through the fire, how can you expect people to relate to your pain if you only speak of yourself? Novelty has a time limit, and how will you, the niche player react, when another more talented artist joins the mix, and it will be revealed to you the “friends” that speak to you because its somewhat cool to have an “artist” friend, turn their wistful eyes away? Playing to exhibitions in shopping malls or places like tired bars in Newport beach, where rich people with little culture come to hear you play covers of other bands, like a windup jukebox that they pop quarters in whenever the music stops. The sad thing is, this is all inside your head, and I’m not saying anything you don’t already think about you scared little punk.

[ esca | 1:01 PM | ]