Go Directly to Jail. Do Not Pass Up an Opportunity to Interrogate the Foucaultian Surveillance Apparatus That Put You There.
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
 
As we all suspected, early reports about Gilbert Arenas' arrest were as off-the-mark as a Ben Wallace free throw. Believe Agent Zero himself, rather than those notoriously unreliable police reports: When Awvee Storey was being bound and booked, the World's Most Famous Arenas merely asked after his now-fettered teammate, rather than having made bold statements about his Wizardry and immunity from arrest. The Gilbertiad is a story of unbending character - a somewhat strange character, perhaps, but certainly not a character in the Nik Caner-Medley style.

Believe this, too: Having taken a hasty trip down to Miami and interviewed several eyewitnesses (all of whom refused to be named, because they are not snitches; they are merely enlightened souls who appreciate portraits of Andrew Jackson), your Daily Bacon has the whole story.

Here's what happened. A crowd was milling about on a South Beach sidewalk, enjoying the sights and sounds of Urban Beach Week: Discussions of the latest John Updike novel, casual games of whist and backgammon, and inquiries into the role of dialectical materialism in establishing moral obligations in a post-capitalist age, all conducted with the maximum possible amount of jiggling. Awvee and Gilbert disembark from a sport-utility vehicle and are greeted by the assembled throngs.

"Awvee!" says one, from a cafe table. "How kind of you to show up - Keisha and I were just debating whether, following Barthes, the author actually plays an active role in creating sentiment in the reader, in the context of the awe-inspiring rump that her thong is presently displaying to such bracing effect. Since your last name provides the final word on narrative thematics, I thought you might be able to provide some insight."

"What ho!" cried Awvee. "Of course I would like to engage this issue, particularly given the rump and thong in question. Clearly, Keisha plays a role in framing the debate, and yet one must also consider the less obvious agendy of the viewer in formulating a reaction."

"Doubtless," replied Keisha. "But there does seem to be quite the throng milling about. Perhaps you should sidestep them en route to joining us for cappucino and croissants."

"I believe I will do just that," replied Awvee. Meanwhile, Gilbert remained in the vehicle, finishing up a phone call with Frederic Jameson, in which the two debated whether conspicuous consumption would cause capitalism to collapse due to its own internal contradictions; Gilbert had called earlier to mock Jameson by regaling him with tales of a piece of bling he wished to purchase.

Suddenly, as Awvee attempted to make his way around the milling crowd, two policemen sprang out from behind a lamppost. "No walking on the street, and we're gonna have to cite you for an intent to discuss meta-aesthetic issues too," one officer said.

"Damn!" exclaimed Keisha, catching Gilbert's attention just as he disembarked from the sport-utility vehicle. "They're once again trying to suppress public deliberation!"

As one who respects law and order but favors justice above all, Gilbert strode over to the policemen. "What seems to be the trouble here, officers?" he inquired.

"Yeah, we're gonna have to arrest you too," the second policeman said. "For walking in the street and for attempting to question the extension of police power into every possible crevice of society."

"But I was doing no such thing!" Gilbert exclaimed. "This is hardly a street - more of a boulevard, lined with shops, in the French style."

"Prudence, Gilbert, prudence," Storey cautioned as the police slapped ice-cold cuffs onto Gilbert's wrists. "We'll blog about this later."

*

And that's what really happened. Well, I don't think they were actually discussing the moral obligations implied by dialectical materialism, because aren't we all past that line of inquiry by now? But I suppose Urban Beach Week can lead to some heated arguments.

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posted by Rex Immensae Majestatis Chapman
What We've Got Here is Failure to Communicate
Monday, May 29, 2006
 
The first night's the toughest, no doubt about it. They march you in naked as the day you were born, skin burning and half blind from that delousing shit they throw on you, and when they put you in that cell... and those bars slam home... that's when you know it's for real. A whole life blown away in the blink of an eye. Nothing left but all the time in the world to think about it.


And it's harder to execute dropkicks when you are in the hole and not in the same cell as The 'Vee.

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posted by Lamont Trellington
The Yao Stays in the Picture
Thursday, May 25, 2006
 
Exciting news from the Gossip Desk! Following last week's epochal incites, we have been so inundated with calls, emails, and crudely fashioned death threats, that we were unable to completely fact check this weekz column! Look for more incites next week, but for now, please, readers, KEEP THOSE LETTERS COMING!

Meanwhile our good friend Robert Evanz, the head of Paramount Studios from 1967-1983, was willing to step in this week and write a review of 2004's hottest entry into the sports-doc market, a bit of post-Dziga-Vertov whimsy that is currently burning up student run pan-asian cineplexes and local Hollywood Video MVP cards, The Year of the Yao! Thanks BOB!


ROBERT EVANS REVIEWS "YEAR OF THE YAO"

Everyone in Hollywood knows that a Bob Evans production is the quintessential experience in high class, but lately, something has felt wrong. Here I am sitting in the lap of luxury, only luxury's got a 10-inch erection and I forgot to bring my inflatable hemorrhoid pillow. What's the problem Kid Notorious? Where's the itch that needs a scratch?

Turns out I'm being seduced yet again by my favorite mistress - risk. That's right, she's telling me it's time to throw the dice, because when the nation's most esteemed sports bloggers come by to Woodland to kiss the ring and beg you to review The Year of the Yao, a gambler like me just can't resist such crazy odds.

"I'll do it."

"Thank you Mr. Evans."

"Call me Kid," I say. "Only don't confuse me with Jason Kidd, because when I slap my woman, she damn well keeps her mouth shut."

But that's just bluster, believe me. I'd never hit a lady. For me the game is purely touch football, no rough stuff, at least not until you've signed her to a five picture deal just north of scale and she knows you're the man who made it happen. Granted, all bets are off if she does something crazy, like tell you her connection in Van Nuys has run dry of the pleasure powder and that the FBI has been tapping this deadbeat's phone for the past two months. But that's when you call Charlie Bluhdorn and tell him Cotton Club isn't the only runaway production begging Paramount Studios for a one-way ticket to disappear-ville, you've got a first class package with killer legs and a broken neck that needs immediate delivery to the bottom of the Puddingstone reservoir.

Sorry Charlie, I guess they can't all be Love Story.

Ain't that the truth. Take this Yao film for instance. The kid who played the big Jap was very convincing, first rate stuff. I doubt Polanski himself could have done better. That's right, Polanski the actor. I always thought it was a shame the little Polock never hit it big as a leading man in America. In Europe he's as well known for being a movie star as he is in America for screwing a 14 year old. Just goes to show you can make a fortune and then some for Gulf and Western, and the Academy still won't give you your due.

Me, I know first hand how lady luck can go down on you like a velvet curtain and then vanish right before show-time, leaving your balls as blue as Margaux Hemingway's eyes and your heart in your throat as you jack off into a coffee cup at one of those Spanish-language rest stops you find on the Pacific Coast Highway 100 miles south of tinsel town.

It hurts, sure, but chalk it up to the cost of doing business. And every good businessman knows that in Hollywood you can always find an eager queer with a box full of Polaroids and a head full of dreams, if that's your style. But I've got some pride, sailor. I won't fuck a man unless it's good for business. The ladies on the other hand, that's always for pleasure. Golden time every time. Just ask Ali McGraw, the most beautiful woman in the world, at least before Steve McQueen spoiled the party.

So if these young turks of sports journalism think it's going to be an easy ride to easy street just because Robert Evans is behind the wheel, they've got another thing coming. It's always about the bottom line and the bottom line is always green.

With that in mind, let me tell you what this film is in a nutshell: "Giant Chinaman plays sport and underwhelms at every turn." Replace "Giant Chinaman" with "short prissy jew," and "plays sport" with "makes films," and you have the life of Peter Bogdanovich. And who the hell would want to sit through two hours of that?

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posted by Dr. Chestnutt
X-Zards Get Ws in D. Y?
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
 
With the Wizards out of the playoffs, the heart of a Wizznutt turns to the Wizards still in the playoffs. Specifically, three-fifths of the Detroit Pistons' starting lineup.

As a former Detroiter turned Washington suburbanite, I have always held a special affection for the sports teams of the Motor City, but this is an unnatural reverse migration from the most powerful town in the free world to a city whose mayor may have reached heights of ridiculousness equaling Marion "Addiction Keeps Me from Paying Taxes" Barry. (I said "may have.")

As he does with many obvious things, Michael Wilbon also noticed this. But unlike yours truly, who was barred from the Pistons' locker room after I appeared in all my divine magnificence and blinded Elden Campbell, Salieri's Christoph Willibald Gluck was able to get some quotes:

"We talk about it all the time," Hamilton said before Game 2 against the Pacers. "The core of our success here in Detroit came from Washington. They had all of us. I don't know what they were doing, to tell you the truth. . . . One of my friends from D.C. told me: 'We've traded all the young players we've had here: Rasheed, Webber, Ben. . . . Watch them end up trading you.' A couple months later, they traded me.

"We all loved D.C., everything about it," Hamilton said. "Everybody there is hungry for a winner and it was exciting being a part of an organization that hasn't won and was on the verge of winning. We were all on the verge of winning -- and they broke everything up. I think they were all trying to win right now and they were trading old for young. It's like a pattern. It's hard to see change there because it happens over and over again. There might be something in the water at the MCI Center."

Rip, you're right. It's lead.


Wow! If all the Wizards players need to excel is to have toxic levels of lead removed from their water supply, Susan O'Malley must be rolling over in her grave for having refused that Britta sponsorship in favor of rolling out "Singles Night 2: Party at Peter's." (Wait - Susan O'Malley isn't dead?)

Still, we Wizznutzz support anyone who ever put on a Wizards or Bullets uniform, regardless of what ignomy they may get themselves into later. So let's tour the papers from yesterday to see what the former Zards thought about the team going into Game 1, and what they learned from their tenure in the city that never sleeps (on tacking on a rider to the housing for homeless veterans bill):

  • Rip: "If you're an average fan and you're watching us play, you're like: 'What's going on? Y'all are scaring me,' " he said, "but like I always say: 'If it ain't rough, it ain't right.' "

    Whoa doggie! That sounds like the kind of shower justice you only learn when your NBA experience includes a year or two with Jahidi White! Good to see the Wizzardd legacy keepin' on keepin' on!


  • Big Ben on Shaq: "He still gets it in the block," Wallace said. "(He) puts the shoulder in the chest and a couple of 'bows in the chops.

    "I ain't worried about any personal challenges. It's a team. I don't look at it as a personal challenge."

    Of course Ben is unintimidated by Shaq! Ben was traded for one of the most dominant big men of all time, if by "all time" you mean "from 1997 through 1999 in the city of Los Angeles, but not for the good team, or at least the team that was then good"! Shaq isn't worthy of walking one foot in his cheeseboots!


  • Sheed: Probably because of the ankle he rolled as tightly as he rolled other things while he was with the Portland "Trail" Blazers, Ra had no good quotes in today's papers. But we did learn something extremely disturbing: SHAQ LIKES SHEED'S MOMS!

    To quote:

    "Actually, Rasheed's mother and my mother are best friends," O'Neal said. "Rasheed has a beautiful great mother. It's not like Rasheed and I hang out all of the time, but respect is there."


    Of course it's not like Sheed and Shaq hang out all the time, since Shaq is apparently busy hanging with Sheed's mama. If Sheed was there, that could get ugly. I would hate to think that Sheed's infamous dalliance with Connie Unseld is coming back to haunt him karma-style at this late date.


Ex-Wizzards in 6! I'll be watching, if I can stifle my tears at what might have (still) been.

__

Why do you think players become so good after leaving Washington? Is it not being near Mark Plotkin anymore, or something less obvious? Edify us in the comment section below.

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posted by Rex Immensae Majestatis Chapman
Open Season is Now Closed
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
 

And So Passes Queen Le-Bron-a-Bron From Aka-ron, Son of the Northern Ungulates.

Sadly, the playoffs lost the Clippers last night. It was fun routing for LA's other basketball team. Seeing as how the cellular biologist in the Clipper Research Labs aren't discussing splitting the nucleus it looks like the league may need to find a replacement for the Clippers of the West.

The obvious frontrunners would be the Golden State Clippers. Things just haven't been the same in Oaktown since the days of Run TMC. Unfortunately, meet and greets with MC Hammer and Shock-G (the one who put the satin on your panties - who incidentally I think is also the name of the team's mascot) before games at "The Arena" (they can't even find a company that want's to buy the naming rights to where they play) in Oakland just haven't gone over well with bay area hoops fans. No slight to the skills of the man who brought us the modern day cross-over dribble, Optic Whitey, and Mr. Fizzle, but it's not like those guys did much with the team either. Remebering back, it seemed like at least half of the 90's perenial playoff teams from the west made it to the finals or at least the western finals, all except for the Golden State Clippers.

I wonder if Mulls and Bols are still BFF? Probably not. With Chris's squeaking clean image and puritanical values I think he'd have trouble putting up with Manute's penchant for wife beating, daughter slapping, self loathing and whoring himself on the ice hockey rink. Something tells me that their oversized and double stuffed oreo bonds of friendship have splintered.

Of course, the Warriors weren't the worst team in the West this year, that would be Portland Juandixons, but looking at the number of year's the team's been struggling multiplied by Calbert Cheaney being the team's franchise player plus bogus promo deals for season ticketholders involving free leg shaves by Mike Dunleavy and year supplies of Noodle-Roni equals new Clippers of the West. And just to solidify their standing as the New Clippers of the West we can pretty much bank on the team squandering another draft pick this year - just like last year when the team selected Ike Diogu(???).

Without a doubt, the Warriors are vying hard to fill the void left by the rise of the LA Clippers.

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posted by Popeye "The Pearl" Duckworth
More Executive Cakes, Summer Malaise, and the Wilbon-Salieri-Mike Wise Connection in O'Malleygate
Monday, May 22, 2006
 
Congratulations go out to Washington DC native Elgin Baylor, who won GM of the Year. The real breaking news is that Donald Sterling rewarded his achievement by presenting him with a cake! Good scoop, Wilbon! Somewhere Irene Pollin is quietly accepting that her husband has been marginalized on the national pastry scene.

I know a lot of Bacon readers have been complaining about Mike Wise. And I can empathize. It's not enough to have to see his smug headshot in the Post every other day, but you also have to deal with his complete ignorance of Washington sports history, since he is a NY transplant and doesn't really have any frame of reference for his oft-inaccurate musings. However, I know the secret of how this hack worked his way into the local sports columnist fiefdom. Brace yourselves for some real Haywood and Bernstein investigative stylings....

In the days leading up to Abe Pollin's confrontation with Salieri, a conspiracy was brewing in the bowels of MCI Center. It seems that Susan O'Malley was upset with some negative coverage in the Post, who printed some disparaging remarks from MCI tenant and resident Executive Nacho enthusiast Ted Leonsis.

O'Malley was going to leak the news of Salieri's impending whacking to another news outlet in order to spite the Post. Spiting the Post! Yet another way she was at least two years ahead of Daniel Snyder (in addition to the marketing genius of her 1998 promotion "Dewey Beach Blitz with Rod Strickland"). Anyways, O'Malley decided that she was outsourcing the Salieri job to a young NY lackey named Mike Wise.

This great piece in the Washingtonian documents some of the actual wheeling and dealing, and features some effusive Mike Wise praise from none other than Michael Wilbon. Exceptionally fascinating since he is, in effect, praising O'Malley's triggerman in the Salieri character assasination. And we know how devoted Wilbon is to Salieri. He is a Salieri disciple on a Franz Schubert scale. Although I realize that, on the surface, the only thing Wilbon appears to have in common with Schubert is that he will die in a syphilitic-induced delirium.

The biggest revelation in the Washingtonian expose' may be that Wilbon feels Wise is "the best basketball writer in the country." Somewhere, someone we all know is reading these words and swelling with rage. Poetic rage.

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posted by Lamont Trellington
You Best Protect Ya Sack
Friday, May 19, 2006
 


Operative 'General Excellence' shares his concerns among some colleagues that he runz game with about the the disturbing frequency of the in-game punchasizing of the c-piece...



A disturbing trend has come to my (and probably any other basketball fans') attention this year that I believe must be addressed now to avoid any serious violation at our uber-competitive game this fall.

Of course, I am talking about the nutpunch.

Sure, it was all fun and games last year when Chris Paul punched Julius Hodge (although I'm sure Hodge would rather have that happen again than his recent gunshot wounds). It seemed to be one of those rare moments of insanity, like when Tree Rollins bit Danny Ainge in the first round of the 1983 playoffs, thereafter known as the "Tree Bites Man" incident.

But this year, it's gotten out of hand.

First it was Tony Skinn from this year's March Madness Cinderella GMU team punching a Hofstra player in his regional bracket, and whose deserved suspension elicited this classic quote from Tom Izzo: "You can't even punch a guy in the groin anymore."

Then came the extreme violation of alien/Clippers center Chris Kaman by Reggie Evans. This video also demonstrates why the TNT basketball analyst team is the best in all of sports.

And now Jason Terry gets suspended for Game 6 in a tight series for nutpunching my fellow Badger Michael Finley.

We all know that a blow to the groin is solid gold humor, but before this becomes a trend in basketball like headbands or nonsensical hanzi tattoos, let's all pledge right now that in our games, there will be nary a nutpunch.

Unless, of course, to the victors go the punching...

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posted by Popeye "The Pearl" Duckworth
The Art of Losing Isn't Hard to Master
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
 
For years, Bullets and then Wizards fans had to acclimate themselves to the routine, everyday disappointments of things like watching Rex Chapman attempt to play defense, or Gheorghe Muresan attempt to move. These disappointments led to routine, everyday losses: a kind of low-grade, corrosive misery that lurks in the background and aggravates the various disappointments life inevitably deals out in other, non-sporting realms. (No assists here!)

But just like E-Bishy in the villanelle from which I copped the title of today's post, we Wizznutzz are moving on up in the type of losses we must endure. Specifically, in Game 6 we were introduced to the huge, stabbing pain in the gut that results from the loss of a huge playoff game, with the nation as witnesses. How to process such pain?

If you've been a fan of a team that has achieved routine success, you probably have an idea, since you have to climb way up the tree to suffer a really painful fall. But just in case you've been a 'Zards fan your whole life (and started after '78), here's a quick rundown of proven strategies to cope with the aftermath of a big loss, along with pros and cons regarding their specific applicability.

Get soul-obliteratingly drunk.

Pros: You won't remember the loss the next day, or for a few days afterwards.

Cons: The entertainment sports-industrial complex will remind you somehow, whether through radio, cable, text messaging, restaurants, or the controversial Stephen A. Smith cochlear implant.

Blame anyone except the Wizards' own players/employeees.

Pros: Allows you to light a fire underneath what will eventually become long-simmering pots of hatred for referees, the Cavaliers, LeBron, and the entire city of Cleveland. These are typically pots of hatred into which many ingredients end up being thrown, along with the dried seasonings of suppressed resentment and remorse, making for a stew as bitter as it is soul-filling.

Cons: I have no idea where that metaphor just went. Plus when you're infirm and about to enter that Great Entertainment Sports Afterlife, you probably don't want your last words to your children to be, "Remember what I always told you: Queen James traveled!" Although if you did, that would be pretty gangsta.

Blame one or more Wizards.

Pros: While the offseason drones on, you can remind your friends that the Wizards' big men are all bums, such that you should be trading Andray Blatche, Antawn Jamison, Peter John Ramos and the 18th overall pick to Minnesota for Kevin Garnett and a barrel of used jockstraps.

Cons: Position tends to veer into intellectual inconsistency fairly quickly. The other possibility is that no one wants to watch games with you if they feature the 'Zards, which is pretty lame.

Blame yourself, for not adequately performing some ritual that, in the past, has ensured a Wizards victory, like wearing your lucky Arenas throwback jersey, exiling your wife from the basement for the entire game, or consuming no less than an entire 12-pack of Yuengling during the game (3 per quarter).

Pros: Allows you to take sole responsibility for success or failure of team, regardless of how specious that responsibility may be.

Cons: In the event that such a ritual should fail to work, you will develop additional rituals that must also be performed, to the point that your entire game-watching experience will constitute a slavish show of dedication to a self-invented sports mysticism, rather than watching the game. It's like if Native Americans performed dances to summon the buffalo to be hunted but neglected to actually hunt the buffalo.

Show no reaction whatsoever, following the Stoic philosophy, which counsels us to take no joy or despair from things we cannot control.

Pros: Results in remarkably small amount of psychological pain, assuming your spine is made of rebar-reinforced concrete, and (according to this picture of Zeno) you have no pupils.

Cons: Why watch basketball in the first place? You might as well be knitting afghans. In fact, you'd take more pleasure from that. Go back to your knitting, you knitter. Yeah.

Go to Cleveland and torch it.

Pros: Satisfying, both in the short and the long term.

Cons: How would anyone be able to tell if you torched Cleveland?

Stay here and torch something in Washington.

Pros: Just look how successful the University of Maryland men's basketball fans have been with this policy.

Cons: What would you torch around the MCI Center? Fuddruckers? The ticket booth for the Regal 14? Freaking Jaleo? I can't feel the drama.

Amortize the pain over a period of months, such that it gradually loses its valence and you forget where it came from. At some point, the original stab in the gut turns into a kind of low-grade, corrosive misery that lurks in the background and aggravates the various disappointments life inevitably deals out in other, non-sporting realms, but leaves your enthusiasm for basketball undimmed.

Pros: Proven to work!

Cons: None that I have ever been able to see.

If you Wizznutzz out theire have any further losing suggestions, drop 'em like they are hot in the comment section below.

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posted by Rex Immensae Majestatis Chapman
Who is the Nucleus?
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
 
Not that I was missed, by the DB's three and a half readers but I do need to apologize to the DB's overlords for missing my time slot last week. My plan to lie in wait for LeMoose in the White Mountains of New Hampshire with a "Bretton Woods Welcomes the Queen... Try the Swamp Grass, It's Delicious," in hindsight, was overzealous.

But it looks as though the Bullets are taking aim with their rifles even if NostRasheedus for the time being experienced murky clairvoyance. Isn't it funny how the Cavs win all the close ones. I'm not chewing sour grapes but David Stern has all but come right and said that he wants to have LeBron's LeLove Child. I can't wait for the demise of the Cavs. One of my operatives, General Excellence will be featured prominently for much like Nostrasheedus his lack of forsight could've gotten him divorced.

So there is a lot of talk about Nucleus and keeping the nucleus together or adding some ribosomes or mitochondria to the nucleus. But who is the nucleus? Most superfans probably share an idea of who the nucleus is, and I'm pretty sure I know we share an idea of who the nucleolus is. But who we think comprises the nucleus matter naught.

Earnie G, is of course the cellular biologist controlling the mitosis of the Bullets. All the reports I've seen him give would indicate that he wants to preserve the nucleus. But who does he think the nucleus is? I worry that he may think the nucleus includes a weak cell wall made of plywood.

Last week there was early talk about possible mutation to the nucleus. Like for example bringing in Brix Wilcox. It would seem only natural to bring him in here. Than all Ernie would have to is hunt down Mouton Chops and the entire squad from the 2002 NCAA champions will have taken a tour with the Zards. Byron I think would make for a good a second stringer on the Agent Zero whipping post players squad.

While Wilcox is a tremendous athlete who has only improved as a player in his three years in league I'm not sure he is the missing puzzle piece to this team. While some pundits have said that guards are in and big men are out the total absence of an inside game for the Bullets is killing them. Instead of just complaining lack a whining ninny her is my scout report for who is available and if Earnie decided to hold a summer 2 for 1 sale our bullets could be much improved. Or, and I'm not sold on this idea, there is always possibility of dishing off Jarvis Handiman Hayes. I like his game but unfortunately he's got a real taste for hospital food than I can’t understand.

So here are some options that I see making some personell changes would worth dealing for. And if all else fails Ernie should call Cubano, lord knows that that guy has helped the Bullets get out of some bad contracts in the past.

(Here are two players I feel would be an ideal fit, but both are under contract to their teams)
Mark Blount T-Wolves good rebounder, quick in the post.
Brad Miller (Sactwon Kings) similar player to Blount only whiter.

(those available)
Nene from the Nuggets is probably the most reasonable options the bullets have.
Kenyon Martin. He's got a hefty pricetag but could be post presence we need.
And wouldn’t this be sweet: The Return of Big Ben.

I'm no GM and I'm clearly not a cellulogist but I know something’s gotta change if this nucleus is going to produce.


And a note on dealing Jeffries – don't get me wrong I like Jared and his Galleria of jewelry but I think that he has the highest market value and Brenda, who sadly has reached his potential is just a tad bit a saccharine to sweeten any deal for any team who realizes the potential in Jared but doesn't think he's worth taking on his own. Ernie could at least offer Zero percent financing for the first two years of the purchase of the Haywood.

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posted by Popeye "The Pearl" Duckworth
The Days Grow Dirk-er
Friday, May 12, 2006
 
Greetings again from the Daily Bacon Gossip Desk! Following last week's overwhelmingly positive response, we return with more gossip and incites. Today we start with a burning question left over from the fallout of the Wizz loss in game 6, wherein Hubie Brown was heard clearly stating to a national television audience, "He evades the defender and then gets hammered from the rear." This reporter demandz an investigation - is Jahidi White back in the league?

In other news, another week has brought us more lackluster NBA playoff action, only this time it's the 2nd round and the realization has started to slowly dawn on most fans that one of these crappy teams is going to soon be called "champion." Sources close to the scene tell the Daily Bacon that David Stern sobs like a child as he watches Queen James' castle dismantled piece by piece at the hands of the proletariat Detroit Pistons. For a league that worships at the altar of docile product promotion, this has raised all sorts of uncomfortable issues about bourgeois freedom and human self-estrangement, and it is said that Stern believes if the collective might of the Pistons triumph over his Golden Child it will bring aid and comfort to the enemies of individualism and personal freedom throughout the galaxy. New League Motto under discussion: "A win for Detroit is a win for Al Quada and the Borg!"

Meanwhile in the West, aka "The League of Skilled Whites and Foreigners," the Mavericks are busy bitch-whipping the lackluster Spurs, clearing the path for a Teutonic takeover of American basketball's highest honor. Sources tell us the NBA is terrified of the potential marketing debacle if the league is suddenly associated with a 7 foot tall pissed-off German holding a giant trophy above his head like a lost trove of third Reich gold. Various sponsors have already declared off the record - "No Gypsys will buy our shoez if Nazi Nowitzki is allowed to reign!" Accentuating the positive, as always, word has it that Mark Cuban has already hit up his filmmaking pals to produce a High-Def remake of The Boys From Brazil, only this time with less emphasis on the negatives of sadistic nationalistic movements furthering the megalomaniacal fantasies of evil dead men, and more on the idea of cloning Germans as not such a bad thing. Reaction from the UN and the MPAA was muted being that no one watches the Hi-Def channel, but the plan was unexpectedly set back when the lonely wags from the world-cinema community recently weighed in - "Dirk looks like the bad guy from The Vanishing!"

Stepping away from the NBA, most sports fans were either riveted to their screens or desperately rummaging through discarded exacta receipts on the floor of their local OTB in celebration of the 132nd running of the Kentucky Derby, an event steeped in the warm nostalgia of chronic alcoholism, big floppy hats, and the age old tradition of the wealthy enjoying the shade while the poor burn in the sun. Barbaro won, paying off at a lusty 7-1, but the real excitement of the day was watching corporate zombie/NBC uber-hack Bob Costas drinking $1000 mint juleps made with overpriced Kentucky Bourbon and ice imported from the Arctic circle. This shameless display of excess was evidently a pretense to raise money for a favorite charity of the stinking rich - providing homes for pricey thoroughbred horses they grown tired of. Think Tommy Mottola and Mariah Carrey, Richard Mulligan and Rachel Ryan or just think Christopher Reeve and insert your own joke here.

Everyone who plays the ponies knows, however, that outside of the brave teenagers and elderly persons working the betting machines, the real heroes of the Triple Crown are the jockeys. It is well documented that a jockey's life is a lonely one, like JD Salinger's or someone who spends all night in an X-Files chat room wondering where all "shippers" have gone. These little men are steeped in the vice and minor criminality of a touring rock band, only without the loose chicks or the opportunity to travel outside the Western hemisphere. We here at the Daily Bacon salute their little hearts and yearn for the better dayz when small men were treated with dignity and respect.

See you next week! Go Edgar Prado!

Death to the Dead Horse,
-Dr. Chestnutt

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posted by Dr. Chestnutt
Uncle Wes' Summer Reading Lists
Monday, May 08, 2006
 
It's a well-established fact amongst the literati that Washington's professional basketball team was the first to assign mandatory summer reading material. Wes Unseld Sr. pioneered the trend, creating his first Uncle Wes' Summer Reading List in 1982, years before Phil Jackson would steal his thunder by forcing Kobe Bryant to read Rashomon. Wes even formed a No Girls Allowed: Father/Son Reading Club with Wes Jr. at MLK library!

Without further ado, here are some incites into the summer assignments of some of your Washington Bullets!!

Party John Ramos

Party John is making an effort to save his native Puerto Rico, which is collectively filing for bankruptcy.



PJ is bolstering the local economy by making his annual migration from his beloved Park club in downtown Roanoke to the Shining Star's wondrously non-bankrupt Condado Plaza Casino!

Assigned reading: "Disco Bloodbath"

Hiram Fuller

Hiram is taking his annual trip abroad to the Hiram Fuller International Conference and Expo, the Parisian event that celebrates Hiram's namesake, the Hiram Fuller who traveled abroad in the 19th century to espouse the U.S. confederacy in his Grotton Papers!! His Uncle Wes Summer Reading List assignment is Ike Austin's infamous Crouton Papers!! This is even more amazing of a revelation since most of Ike's written work centers around intergalactic boogiemen who co-molest mankind, which was inspired by some long, hot Boca Raton summers with Duane Causwell and Voshon Lenard.

Assigned reading: "The Crouton Papers"

Donell Taylor

Donell is headed down to Birmingham to spearhead the re-naming of the UAB team nickname with his twin brother Ronell. It was determined that the UAB mascot, Blaze, connotes violent imagery. Especially after UAB undergrads started burning down churches in hate crimes! D/Ronell have suggested that maybe the team nickname Blazers should be renamed to Dragons. Other UAB faculty recommendations include Express, Sea Dogs, and Stallions.

Assigned reading: "The Bobbsey Twins and the Mystery of the Antisemitic Mummy"

Etan Thomas

The Poet spent most of the last month finalizing his own list of assigned reading, which he submitted to Uncle Wes for approval. I'll only list a few of the titles in order to save time. He is also working on his much-awaited follow-up to "More Than an Athlete," which is rumored to contain more critical pieces on Doug Collins, like his seminal work "Haters." He is also petitioning the NBA league office to make "conscientous objector" a qualified condition to go on injured reserve.

Assigned reading: "What's My Name, Fool? Sports and Resistance in the United States;" "Homage to the Lame Wolf: Selected Poems;" "

Doug Overton

Doug is currently running player personnel for the Philadelphia 76ers. This summer, he is going to help neophyte Sixer Shavlik Randolph by cutting his steak for him and helping him develop a comfort zone with girls! Doug is participating in the Correspondence Summer Reading List via a special request to Uncle Wes for works that will help him mentor young Mr. Randolph.

Assigned reading: "Success through Failure: The Paradox of Design"

Wes Unseld Jr:

Wes Jr. is slightly uncomfortable with his assigned summer reading, although he said it is better than the 80's, when Wes Sr. made him read the same book every summer.

Assigned reading: updated Cleveland scouting report

That's all the info that I will share at this time. If you have any suggested reading material for a Bullet player, send it along and I will pass it on to Uncle Wes.

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posted by Lamont Trellington
The Bell Tolls For Us All, But Especially Wilmer Valderrama
Friday, May 05, 2006
 
Today was supposed to be my debut as a Daily Bacon gossip-columnist intern, but various interpersonal problems have forced me to write this from a Jiffy Lube waiting room in New Haven Connecticut where the lone TV is controlled by the two former gang members who switch constantly between "La Tormenta" and Antiques Roadshow. Like most Americans they chaffed noticeably when I suggested we watch NBA, thus, my incites are being transcribed with ignorance and under duress, much like when Steve Blake learned that a "league mandate" involved a lusty Jahidi White look-alike in a nice suit who enjoyed mortifying nipples other than his own.

Anyway, these "all time best playoffs" are a truckload of suck, if you ask me, particularly in the East. Outside of Nil-Bert and the Wizz, the teams are all pretty much personality-free and torture to watch. The Miasma Heat and Shaqy-Dick are just the embarrassing urine-stained underwear of a once great Man, like Fassbinder when he made Querelle or David Blaine when he was born. The Nets are so pre-9-11, the Cavs are prissy prima donnas, and no one even knew the Bucks were playing.

If this barrel has a bottom, however, the Indiana Pacers are found somewhere beneath it. They are the most tedious mixture of aging talent and underachievement seen outside of the British Royal Family or a Sci Fi Channel production meeting. To watch them over a seven game series is to know the gentle mind numbing drift of highway hypnosis or a bad cold. Without Artest, even the Hindenburg principle is lost, and Friends, it's only so interesting to watch a zeppelin floating in the sky without the chance of an explosion. Remember when people used to say Stephen Jackson was "the last piece of the puzzle"? Oh the Humanity!

In other news, my sources tell me Queen James is set to be honored by the league with a complex opera of praise and thanksgiving based on the opening Vorspiel from Das Rheingold, with a libretto featuring transcribed moans from David Stern's many LeBron centered wet dreamz, all sung in Spanglish by the hot or not chick from the Black Eyed Peas. Look for a bonus DVD featuring a rock version by Franz Ferdinand, a jazz version by Wayman Tisdale and a free-skronk noise version by the newly reunited Harry Pussy!

Also, rumor around the league is that Mark Cuban is so swollen with hubris and delusional corporate group-think that he will blow up the Mavericks if they don't win the title this year and invest his ill-gotten internet lucre into a nearby island nation that sounds like his last name, transforming it from a backwater communist hell-hole into his latest Total Entertainment Experience. It will be like Kane's Xanadu only without the pretense of building an opera house, and it will feature many ex-cheerleaders wearing tank tops proclaiming that "Marksist Cuba" is a Click Fraud Free Zone! All former Section Eight employees will live there free of charge and in the offseason Adrian Griffen will serve as "glue guy" for the new government. An all-white-stiff team will tour the impoverished neighborhoods and the racist elan of Vitaly Potapenko will be featured in Steven Soderbergh's next lo-budget feature entitled "Stubble." Not since Free Cleveland Steamer Night at a poorly attended Cavs game in 1983 will an NBA promotion change so many livez!

Speaking of life-changing, I propose a new punishment for interns in the mothering hut: watching back to back episodes of new MTV hit "Yo Mamma!" This show is the BEST. Wilmer Valderrama gets his gangsta on as he stalks around in $500 jeans and a chain wallet, calling embarrassed urban teenagers "dog," and slyly promoting his new East Hollywood restaurant. I'm told he asks everyone who wins and even those who don't if they want to head back to his "crib" and "hang" and "really bring it" and watch re-runs of That 70's show and they all generally say no thanks they have homework to do. Even Nick Lachey has the good sense to avoid him, and he needs all the friends he can get since all his regular friends are currently lined up outside his ex-wife's bedroom with righteous boners and dubious offers of acting work. Someday soon a kid on "Yo Mamma" is going to win the 1000 dollars by saying "Yo Mamma's such an insecure and untalented poseur she actually enjoys this show" and Will won't understand That The Jape Is On Him! You see, having Wilmer host a program about quick wit is about as misguided as allowing Karen Carpenter to chair the steering committee of a celebrity telethon promoting Healthy Body Image! What I'm saying is, he's not too bright... DAGGER!

Go WIZZ!

-Dr. Chestnutt

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posted by Dr. Chestnutt
Cleveland Rots!
Thursday, May 04, 2006
 
So some folks from some pissant Cavs message board have apparently decided to come raid Wizznutzz. They haven't attempted to fry the Daily Bacon yet, but one assumes it's only a matter of time before their simian minds (prematurely addled by years of drinking water from that crystalline Cuyahoga {1}) manage to figure out that the site has content beyond the front page. I would hate to let them think that the Daily Bacon is not in the business of serving up red meat to even the least deserving stragglers. Herewith, everything I know about Cleveland:
  • Last World Series championship: 1948. But only because Boston started Denny Galehouse in the one-game playoff.

  • Last Super Bowl championship: Never.

  • Last NFL championship: 1964, back before Jim Brown decided that being a movie star was a better life than being a running back. Question: Would he have decided differently if he had starred in a less pathetic city? Answer: Yes.

  • Last NBA championship: Never.

  • Most racist mascot in major team sports history: People love to lord this over the Redskins fans of Washington, but they've apparently never seen this sucker:



  • Rock and Roll Hall of Fame: Overpriced and boring.

  • Painted guitars I saw on streets during my 8-hour visit to city: Bunch of sellouts.

  • Food: Funny-tasting.

  • Presence of road called "North Marginal": Yes.

  • The three rows of dimly lit luxury boxes in Jacobs Field make it look like: Hobbiton.

  • Drew Carey: Never funny.

  • Most sickening thing I saw during 2004 Midwest road trip:



  • Even worse than that twentieth White Castle burger at 2 am watching some Ben Stiller crap-o-rama on TNT.

  • Great chokes in Cleveland sports history: Ehlo, Byner, Mesa and Nagy. And coming soon: QUEEN JAMES!


{1} Yes, I linked to the EPA. That's how I roll!

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posted by Rex Immensae Majestatis Chapman
Moby Shaq, Part Two:
Evil Queequeg Dreamz of Hunting the Whale
 

We'll for the moment shy away from rehashing the actual text of Moby Shaq and travel like Terminator X to the edge of panic, desperate for two more wins so that Gilbert might get his chance to finally harpoon the Great Black Whale, Moby Shaq. We'll just grab a few snippets in from the Great Melvillian Gospel, which prove that King James must and will stand aside, lest Moby Shaq swim free and forever haunt the Ocean's depths:

Page 33: Atlantic, Pacific, and Indian oceans. One and all, they were harpooned and dragged up hither from the bottom of the sea. Can King Queequeg James perform a feat like that?

Page 61: But being in a great hurry to resume scolding the man in the Cleveland Uni, who was waiting for it in the entry, and seeming to hear nothing but the word "clam," Mrs. Kobe Bryant hurried towards an open door leading to the kitchen, and -- her blingy ringz gleaming, bawling out "clam for two," and then disappeared. "Queequeg James," said I, "do you think that we can make out a supper for us both on one clam?"

Pages 175: I, Gilbert, was one of that crew; my shouts had gone up with the rest; my oath had been welded with theirs; and stronger I shouted, and more did I hammer and clinch my oath, because of the dread in my soul. A wild, mystical, sympathetical feeling was in me; Coach Eddie Jordan's quenchless feud seemed mine. With greedy ears I learned the history of that murderous monster - Moby Shaq - against whom I and all the others had taken our oaths of violence and revenge.

Precisely, we think. One clam does not a supper make. And one player does not the Moby Shaq slay. We need a boat with many harpooners, not least of which is I, Gilbert.


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posted by pbdotc
An Overdue Reading from the Newly Revised King James Bible
Wednesday, May 03, 2006
 
from Manute 24:24-28

Then if any sneaker company shall say unto you, Lo, here is Basketball Christ; believe it not.

For there shall arise false Basketball Christs, and false Profits, and these shall show great signs and wonders; insomuch that, if it were possible, they shall deceive the very elect.

Behold, I have told you before.

Wherefore if they shall say unto you, Behold, he is in the city whose river was once afire; go not forth: behold, he is in his secret chambers of fear; believe it not.

For as the lightning cometh out of the Golden State, and shineth even unto the capital of a great nation; so shall also the coming of He whose number signifies nothing be.

And wheresoever the carcass of a false idol is, there will the zebras be gathered together.

--

Here endeth the lesson. Next lesson tonighte!

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posted by Rex Immensae Majestatis Chapman
The Merits of Disrobing and Reapplying Fresh Clothing
Tuesday, May 02, 2006
 
Sometimes the Black President (Aka Black Fever, Hurricane, The Assassin, the People's Champ or Gilby) plays poker during halftime. Sometimes The Black President hoses down Awvee Storey like an East Berliner while he takes a deuce. And Sometimes Gilbert strips naked douses his uni, shoes, socks and all, in gasoliine and lights it on fire while he watches the burning pile from his favorite couch in the player lounge.

Gilbert's rough first half on Sunday, combined with Caron spilling a quart of tough juice in his lap during a tv timeout in the first quarter and having received ample dousing of Eau d'Ilgauskas left Gil feeling, um, soiled. He is not the first person to engage in the ritual of shedding ones garments in order to get a fresh start and ensure victory.

Prague 1419: In preparation for the defenestration of the town council, Hussite militants gathered in a local pub stripped themselves of their Czech outter garments and put on fresh track suits. The comfortable and athletic costume change eased the Hussites ability to defenestrate the town council which led to the Hussite War. Much like Gilbert, the Hussite Infantry were extremely effective at defeating their opponents with deadly long range shots (from beyond the arc).

Paris France 1797: The French refused to engage in diplomatic talks with John Marshall, Elbridge Gerry and Charles Cotesworth Pickney to sure up the Franco-American alliance following the French Revolution. Disgusted with teir inability to make any headway the American contingent ceremoniously disrobed, removing powdered wigs and and all, and burned them in from of the Sacre Couer. The group than redressed in fresh clothes and disguised themselves as wealthy Swiss financiers and bribed the French with bagguets, Asterix and Obelix cartoon, Grey Poupon and Ike Austin Brie to maintain their alliance. The incident would forever be known as the XYZ affair.

The LA Collesium: After Struggling in the first half of Super Bowl 1, vince Lombardi, famous for motivational half time speeches, opted for silence and merely stripped naked before his team and coaching staff. Moved by the physical spectacle of Lombardi's naked body and his ability to read the plays designed in Lombardi's liver spots, Bart Starr dressed his head coach in fresh clothing and led his team to outscore the Kansas City Chiefs 21-0 in the second half.

Gilbert was just following a time honored tradition.

More shots of the moose to come.

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posted by Popeye "The Pearl" Duckworth
Zero Sum Game
Monday, May 01, 2006
 
The Dagger is sounded at 2:12, Queen James exits at 2:00. Gratuitous courtside footage of Gil Sr ensues. Yes, it was too early to sound the death knell Sunday night.

Around halftime it seemed like this would be an unenviable morning to log my first thoughts as a Daily Bacon intern. When I met the other interns at the derelict F street Kemp Mill last week, I had some apprehensions. First of all, I may have caused an uncomfortable silence with my sweaty proclamations about Dave Branch. In honor of the NFL draft, I brought and shared my scouting notebooks from previous NBA drafts (i.e. 2002 - Rod Grizzard - "Can jump out of the gym" "Middle name: DeWyane" ). Then we received our weekday assignments, and mine was Monday.

I shuddered at the thought that I'd be even vaguely associated with Peter King's monday morning quarterback column. Then I composed myself and vowed that my work will be less biased. And, hopefully, less homoerotic. I also grappelled with the debate of whether or not to use the Wizznuttz' signature vernacular. Bacon. Incites. Self-flagellation. Luckily, Dana Ham intervened with a vintage 2002 Blue Nun upside my dome that I inferred to mean I can insinuate my own words into the lexicon at a gradual pace. In the meantime, I will crib from the Wizznutzz dialect.

My mind is still swimming with the possibilites of Chinatown Cinco de Mayo, but I managed to scrape together the following odds and ends. If it pleases you...

- It is still difficult to see the playoffs reunion of the Bacon Brothers on the court.





Though I think it is safe to say that we'd take Agent Zero over Queen James any day of the week. I've noticed that the Phone Booth has stopped playing the Nelly/L.dot jam "Dilemma" this season now that Cold Mtn is an expat. This is a win-win since Nelly is caught up with Pimp Juice. And everyone knows that Tough Juice beats Pimp Juice. And M.Ruff could have recorded a better duet with Tim McGraw if he wasn't so busy chemically engineering his way around the lane.

Larry can always fall back on his new professional relationship with
pop-star/Cavalier co-owner Tevin Campbell. Although I have no further desire to watch him throw up faux Cleveland gang signs or rip off justin Timberlake ripping off Michael Jackson.

- A fortuitous chat with Ivan "The Terrible" Carter last week turned up this fresh nugget. It seems Agent Zero splits his time evenly between partypoker.net and Superfly Snuka:

Before the last game at Philly, Gilbert had the ballboys betting
whether he'd lay a flying drop kick on Awvee Storey. So a little while
passes and Awvee's sitting there doing an interview with a guy from
Philly when I notice Gilbert with his head poking around the corner of
the trainer's room, watching Awvee. He had this goofy grin on his face
and then he sprung out and got Awvee right in the chest. One of the
ball boys paid up.


Gilbert administers drop-kicks to Awvee!! It's too bad Gil has this season-long game of locker-room brinksmanship with Awvee. This is the same type of behavior that drove Doug Overton to write his fringe manifesto about the bloody Balkans dispute and refuse to room with Robert Pack on road trips. Please to enjoy the rest of the Daily Bacon incites this week. I'm looking forward to spreading the Gospel of Grizzard all summer long.

And if anyone has video capture of Gil Sr. interview with Chick where he says he can play the big screen role of Doug Williams or Magic Johnson or Mike Tyson, and does his Mike Tyson impression, please send it in.

The Harvey to your Horace, the Brent to your Mark, the Frank to your Sylvester,

Lamont T.

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posted by Lamont Trellington



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