Mark Blount Underworld Vol. 2
I'm sure many of you have been left reeling by the stunning news that everyone's favorite under-achieving center (and that's saying something) has ties to Albanian gangland. For those of your relatively ignorant of the finer points of Albania, let me break it down like this: it's a Balkan state that shares a border with Italy and has been known to produce Islamic extremists, meaning it's kind of like the Sebastian Telfair of mob, if Bassie were a power forward with the sweetest signature shoe ever. Given the brief overview of the Blount affair and its major players offered yesterday by the Recluse, I have consulted some people in the Bureau of Licorice Complaintants and concluded that Blount's erstwhile guardian probably is closer in aspect to an Albanian boss like
than he is a member of the so-called Albanian Crips that have recently taken to menacing parts of Detroit.
The bottom line is that these cruel people are among the most up-and-coming crime-doers on the face of the globe, proficient in everything from baby vending and pimping to poppy trafficking and counterfeit Burberry. They cannot be stopped and, if ever a Boston fan wished Blount's countract could disappear like so many plumes of ashen smoke, just hope he keeps making news with these connections.
That's right, I'm threatening that someone else might dead Mark Blount, solely on the basis of their ethnic affiliation. Or would you rather I remind you that Joey Johnson is not a true point guard, and that there may not be enough shots to go around in Miami?
Oh, and one thought about Cheryl Swoopes: I'm too sick in bed to bother with finding quotes, but I think ESPN quoted her as having said, roughly, "people are so hung up on there being lesbians in the WNBA. There are just as many straight woman as gay ones in the league." I'd still say that a 50/50 split is pretty remarkable.
And at the risk of raining on liberation's parade, which WNBA players are or are not lesbians is kind of a moot point. This stuff is as much about gender roles as it is bedroom praxis, and for most Americans, most women playing ball already, in one way or another, have managed to locate themselves somewhere outside of the heterosexual norm. It's like, if the gay rapper turned out to be someone universally respected for their sheer realness and masculine power, or a professional athlete came out who routinely killed competitors on the field of battle, would it really make that much of a difference?
Case in point:
Though with an athlete whose success depends on their leadership and intangibles, like, say, a quarterback, things might get more complicated. Same for a coach.