Don't Touch Me
I write this with heavy hands and a trembling heart. Quoth Emynd, “I hate when real life gets in the way of online life. It's so inconvenient.” I was supposed to be Freedarko’s go-to-guy on the WallyZ-for-RickyD trade. Unfortunately, I found out about the trade just as I was stepping off a plane in Palm Springs, California, a town I was forced to stay in over the weekend and a town apparently without internet. Upon my return to FD headquarters, interpersonal misfortune (the details of which I will spare you here) clouded my thoughts on the trade for another 48 hours. Embarrassingly, 7 DAYS have passed between the deal going down and my response. Even more painfully, I have very little to say. I didn’t have to watch the Wolves blowout of the Celtics the other night to know that pretty much everything professional blogger, Bill Simmons, wrote about the trade was wrong.
I know it’s cliché to diss Simmons at this point, but when you’re wrong, well…just because you right for Page2, doesn’t mean you can get a key fact incorrect: Boston will NOT be under the salary cap next year and hence--and I'm STILL not even a huge proponent of this trade--but Minnesota got the edge. Slightly. Potentially more pertinent is the fact that this trade singlehandedly made Minnesota a TOBFF whereas Boston is now a TOWFF. I wish I could say more about the black-white tradeoff, but these two centerpieces do not fit the paradigm as well as you’d like them to. Ricky D (real name Tyree Ricardo Davis IV, no joke) grew up in Moline, Iowa and recorded the first dunk in his high school’s history. Wally Z is one of those white son-of-a-ballplayer guys like the Barry Brothers, so there’s at least something decidedly un-lame about him. What this trade is really about (and what this post should really be about) is TYPES of second options. You have your classic spot-shooter (Wally), your classic slasher (Ricky D), your soft center (Yao), your do-it-all/do-nothing guy (Odom), your Euro (Manu), your fading star (Webber), etc. But no, this post is not going focus on second-option types, but instead on types of female NBA fans. Initially, my plan was to do a general NBA fan subtyping that would include much self-mockery, but I was spurred on towards a different task by the comments made two days ago. Apologies if this is redundant, but see I didn't really get to say my piece on the topic. And when it comes to gender commentary, I'm like the Kevin Harlan of this shit. So I ask to all our female readers: What TYPE are you?!?!?!?
(But first a quick public service announcement:)
MIKE BIBBY COULD CARRY THE WHOLE LEAGUE ON HIS BACK RIGHT NOW. THIS GUY HAS DONE SO MUCH FOR SO LONG FOR SO LITTLE AND IS THE HEART AND SOUL OF A HEARTLESS AND SOULLESS FRANCHISE.
On to the femmes…
One preambling note is that I have chosen to focus on a younger demographic. Another preamble is that this is normally where FD would say something socioculturally relevant about gender and sports. Something to justify these prejudiced (in Shoals’ terms “ostensibly sexist”) generalizations. I’m sorry, I can’t really say anything better than what Burns’ said in the comments of the other post. I guess more than anything I just wanted to "get at" gender since we had never done much of that before two days ago. And now I give you:
Oil Can Boyd
To AGAIN restate Ken’s now immortal remark—“who really wants a woman who knows all about Oil Can Boyd”—yeah, you’re right. This is the type of female fan who despite all of her charms and beauty may actually repel the opposite sex with her wealth of sports knowledge. I liken this to a situation in my youth, in which my friend and I were both obsessed with this gorgeous redheaded chick who knew all the words to Aceyalone’s “Headaches and Woes.” When a different rap-loving friend proclaimed that he never wanted to date a girl who liked hip-hop, adding “I want a girlfriend who listens to Mazzy Star,” it became clear. I grew up a lot that day.
I Have Hung Out With Matt Leinart
Hello you. Hello communications major. You make Halloween parties fun. You are a peculiar type. Because you went to a Big Ten University, you have a deceptively high basketball IQ. While dining at the TRU on your birthday, you glanced over and said, “That’s Chris Duhon! (now whispering) Remember that game when the Hoosiers beat Duke in 2002. THAT is the little guy I was talking about having a crush on."
Former high school basketball star. Big on sweatpants and those wire thin headbands. You're asexual in a very cool way. Makes you easy to hang out with. But when it comes down to it, you're a more extreme version of Oil Can Boyd.
Euro Female Fan
A part of you believes that all 7-footers are descendants of Croatian folktale character Fedor, a god-like prince with magical powers to grant wishes. Knowing this, second round picks often try to take advantage of you. You are friends with some of the strippers to whom Darko gave Pistons Starter jackets as gifts.
Read to Achieve
You don't really like basketball. When you grow up you won't really like basketball or sports in general. But when you are 17, you will have some huge fight with your parents about them not letting you go to Diane's cabin for the weekend. You will storm into your room and see this photo on your night stand. You do not know who the man with the funny hat is, but for some strange reason, this photo makes you feel all better.
Male Fan In Touch With Feminine Side
Congregated on the East Coast. Most likely a fan of one of these three Finals-losing teams: (a) The J-Kidd Nets teams that lost in the Finals twice, (b) The Camby-Sprewell Knicks, (c) The Iverson Sixers that won that miracle first game against the Lakers. You really know your shit about one of these teams, but you lack full-scale league-wide knowledge. And since the early 2000s, your interest in the game has waned. Like us, you think Euros are funny. Holler at Sarah Lawrence.
(Skidmore is in the building)