Against Better Judgment

As pictured above, some guy from Test Icicles or Arctic Monkeys or one of those ridiculously overblown bands started a new group with some castaways from some other band called Lightspeed Heat. They're British, or at least some of them are, which I believe can account for the cheekiness of the above photo. My thoughts on crappy music aside, I'm not sure how to feel about this depiction and its implications for style. In one sense it justifies exactly how boring we've always said Dwyane Wade is. In another sense, it's annoying that the choice for one short guy at the end to be wearing the white jersey seems very deliberate.



The dull angst that I feel right now is that toward an offseason in which not a single move seems to make sense. The best moves, coincidentally made by my two favorite teams--Mike James to the Wolves and Ben Wallace to the Bulls--were more psychological than anything else. Their impact could mean as little as the difference between three or so games. Jared Jeffries on the Knicks is all face-saving for the Knicks' front office. This move, along with the Renaldo Balkman pick were all just to say, "Look we care about more than guys who made one all-star team and have some headcase flair...we need solid role players." Thing is though, the Knicks are overgrown with "Medium Forwards." Denver is investing billions in the spare body parts of shaky big men (Joe Smith's corpse, Nene's tender ankle...to go along with the brittle bones of K-Mart and Marcus Camby), while not addressing any of their real needs (perimeter defense and three-point shooting). And the Raptors/Bucks trade seemingly benefits nobody. The Raptors' point guard situation goes from unstable to more unstable with TJ Ford, questionable in health and decision-making. Meanwhile, and perhaps to Freedarko's benefit, Milwaukee has constructed the hardest soft frontcourt in The Association by pairing Bogut with Chillin Villain.

...And let's get serious, I would kill a man for an NBA game right now. I can no longer monitor Terrell Owens' daily progress or the stomach turns of the baseball Wild Card race. If nothing else, thank Jah for this Maurice Clarett debacle. Getting benefactored and sent death threats from an Israeli mobster who set you up with a fly crib in Malibu and hooked up Suge Knight's lawyer to be yours as well is perhaps the only event that could rival Mark Blount's connection to Albanian gangs as the most Freedarko thing of all time.


I'm not sure what the logical segue is here, but during the basketball-dry summer months, I watch a lot of Pardon The Interruption. Like sometimes twice a day. And I can't help but comment on the fact that the commercials for Red Stripe, PTI's primary sponsor, are unnervingly racist. The latest version of these spots features their childlike Jamaican spokesman shouting non-sequiturs in broken English. Disturbing enough for that reason alone, what's more is that these TYPE of spots--LET's GIVE EM SOMETHING WACKY (see also the Guinness Brilliant! joints and the frat-tacular Mike's Hard Lemonade joints)--seem directed particularly toward after-work consumers of sport, people who should find such irreverence (a) "hilarious" and (b) engaging as a result of having zero attention span. A couple weeks ago even Reali (Forever Statboy) made a reference to the commercial while doing the Over/Under segment on the show. Can someone raise the standards here? Scoop Jackson talk to us.


Helping us get through this trying last summer month has been slamonline.com, which we must thank for the repeated shout-outs. Also, WHAT HAPPENED WITH JUWAN HOWARD STEALING SUNGLASSES?