It's the Shit That Happens While You're Waiting for Moments That Never Come.
"When you say you love me, it doesn't matter."
Allow me to throw on my new Phallocentric Asshole fitted (from New Era's Spring Fever Objectification line...COP), and celebrate a sub-sub-genre of lady that you may or may not be up on.
God protect the bike messenger girls of Boston.
I don't know if any of you have ever had the pleasure of experiencing a Boston winter, but if not let me awaken your senses. It's basically an 8 month-long night of sitting in your bathtub tearlessly crying while listening to Townes Van Zandt/Joy Division mashups, half-heartedly trying to cut your wrists with the Lady Bic of some jawn you were hot for that you just found out gave brain to Mr. Len in the bathroom during some poetry slam in Central Square. No. It's really like that. For everyone. 8 months.
But hope springs, weathermen. And during my five year bid stacking chips and telling assorted Bro's and Brah's where the Bro's & Brah's Section was at Newbury Comics, you could always see Spring walk right through the door. Nothing made me hornier, feel more inadequate and subsequently make me hornier then the re-appearance of these 8-speed goddesses.
Look: these jawns were rarely over 5"2, but they TOWERED OVER BITCHES. They rocked lo-top Chucks, rolled up Carharts, V-neck T's, AND WORE MOTHERFUCKING CHAIN LINKS OVER THEIR SHOULDERS. You understand that shit? That's like...
HER (the boo from Rad)
They had names like Beth and Lexie. They did not laugh at my jokes. They looked bored at June of '44 shows. They drank shots and beers and bought limited edition post-hardcore LPs. They were always from New Hampshire. I'm probably in still fucked up over two or three of them.
Beyond the details above, the reason these girls were able to walk around that fucking pain cave of a city and scream, "AIR RAID, BITCHES!" is because of one simple thing: they knew exactly who they were.
And this is why Kobe Bryant--who you may know from his recurring roles as AN ASSHOLE in a series of advertisements, as well as minor turns as an accused sexual predator and amateur poet--is my new favorite player not named Iverson, Garnett or Steve Logan.
Kobe on Sunday...it was like the Dirty Dozen; one great warrior leading a rag-tag group of thrift store finds into battle. But instead of having John Cassavetes, Charles Bronson and Jim Brown, Kobe had the equivalent of Matthew Lillard, David Schwimmer and the dude from Onyx who wasn't on The Wire. He was fucked three ways to the weekend.
In the beginning of the game he was on some only child shit (a personal favorite). After getting some not-so-subliminals sent his way about ball hogmanship, Kobe played hot potato and handed out 13 assists.
"I like seeing my teammates being in a rhythm. I like seeing their confidence. I like seeing them smile."
Hey! Nino Brown bought Thanksgiving turkeys for the pipeheads! I like seeing them smile? Sweet shit, baby! Why not just declare Smush as a dependent on your taxes, God!? Whatever, Kobe knows better than I do. His generosity illicited 14 points from Andrew Bynum, 8 from Jordan Farmar (fresh of a D-League appearance earlioer that afternoon) and 13 from Smush (fresh off paying only 20% over dealer's price for a Aston Vanquish the color of dandruff...THE CHAMP IS HERE!).
PS- SHAMMOND WILLIAMS: DNP (FUCK YOU, PHIL!!!!)
Kobe looks comfortable as the underdog. He looks comfortable as Lee Marvin leading the rag tag group of miscreants. Like the bike messenger biddies at the Other Side Cafe, Kobe NO. LONGER. GIVES. A. FUCK.
I heard him on Dan Patrick a couple of weeks ago. D.P. was trying to bro up, asking about how Kobe felt about being namechecked in a Three 6 song. Kobe didn't even know about it! He's got three rings on one hand and Luke Walton's one-hitter in the other! Fuck a Juicy J!
After a life of being an international teenager of mystery, of BMOC'ing at Lower Merion High, of snitching on the Shaq's seed distribution, of speaking Italian, of likely being a lonely social retard stuck in an apparently hellish marriage, of being an accused rapist, of all that shit, Kobe has become a human. And by becoming human HE IS BECOMING KINDA FUCKING HEROIC. That's for the English Majors!
This is why Mary J. and Monica go through personal tragedy, dye their hair blonde and become stars. This is why A.I. means more to people than Peter Vescey can comprehend. To err is to be human. To rise above is to be something more. Kobe is starring in the Bad News Bears. He's finally found himself. He is, without fucking question, the most valuable player. But he's also the comeback player of the year. Who could've guessed this shit would happen? Next time some jagoff at the air hockey table asks you how you could possibly watch/like/care about the NBA, tell them about Kobe. Tell them about the glory of seeing someone get their shit together.