Upgrade U: From the Home of Coca-Cola, I'm Not Reffering to Soda
Real quick: please take a sec to check out Shoals in motion over here. A good round table discussion of sports blogging and life in the Fanhouse.
Now, back to our regularly scheduled programming:
INT. CONFERENCE ROOM DEEP IN THE BOWELS OF THE PHILLIPS ARENA
NBA Draft eve. Men in suits that need ironing. Papers on a table that need filing. A photograph on the wall of a smirking Ted Turner, standing in front of a vintage poster for Klute. A season on the brink. Enter: a man with a plan.
BILLY KNIGHT: Jesus! June already! What's up, number crunchers!? We figure out who's keeping the lights on in this flop house?
HAGGARD FRONT-OFFICE COG: Well, Billy, we're still facing something of a quagmire there. Mr. Belkin and the Atlanta Ownership Group are still fighting like cats and dogs--
BK: I tell you guys that the last pit I bought from Big Boi's kennel ate my wife's fucking cat! Felt like I was watching an episode of Nova! So that lends that cliche some credence!
HFOC:--...That's a damn shame there, Bill. To continue; there's real gridlock, and it's paralyzing any kind of forward progress we could make.
BK: Hey, the checks clear, right? Who gives a shit who's signing 'em, am I right, fellas!
Knight lets out a chortle the echoes through the silence of the room, the kind silence made by broken men. Then, the sound of a muffled cough...
BK: Holy hoecakes! 'Nique! Don't sneak up on me like that! You get lost on the way to a Hold 'Em game?! Ha! I know you ain't ever going all in. This cat's so cheap, when we hit Magic City he throws out quarters, saying, "I MAKE IT DRIZZLE!" It's all love, nephew!
DOMINIQUE WILKINS: [stage whispers] You know I'm gonna take your job, right, bitch?
BK: Ok! Let's play who wants to be a millionaire. I pay you guys to watch ESPN and then tell me what I should do, and I get paid to disagree with you and do whatever the fuck I want. It says here in the media guide that I'm the shot-caller and I'm pretty close to certain that I'm calling on that McRoberts kid.
BK: You gotta admit, it's got a nice ring to it! You can look at the spread sheets, Egon. I look at the name...and I like Josh. And the other two Josh's.
l-r: Josh Smith, Donta "Not Josh" "But At Least A" Smith, Josh Childress
HFOC: Billy, this franchise has significant, urgent needs. We've drafted virtually identical players over the last few years. Last year we selected Shelden Williams and the next pick was the rookie of the the year...
BK: Shelden has his uses. Right now he's on Double-Watership-Down-Low assignment.
The room stares longingly...
BK: I got the kid at the Apple spot on Peachtree getting me an iPhone! Love them Duke dudes. They aim to please!
HFOC: We haven't drafted an all-star in 23 years, sir.
BK: Who picks all-stars? People. People are really good at picking shit, ain't they? They're about to sew it up so that two families will have been running this country for the last twenty years, and when they ain't picking presidents they pick whether the bald fruit from Blossom or the juicer from Saved by the Bell is the better dancer.
HFOC: We desperately need a point guard.
BK: See, this is why your wife don't love you no more. Guess what: ERIC SNOW BEEN TO THE FINALS TWICE THIS DECADE. Fuck point guards. We got Salim Stoudamire, right?
HFOC: Aside from the fact that you vetoed a trade for Amare Stoudemire on the basis that it would look stupid having two guys with the same name on their jerseys..even though their names are spelled differently...
BK: I stand by that.
HFOC: Salim is hardly a pass-first player. He's a Black Hole.
BK: Why he gotta be black, asshole?! We need a point guard like my credit rating needs another night buying out the bar at Terry Pendleton's Grown & Sexy Night.
BK: We need a resolution. Here's the 411: I'm gonna sell some Blackstone stock and hire Stephen Hawking out of my own pocket to work on the Salim Black Hole problem you're worried about.
Fuck a triangle. We're installing the quantum gravity offense.
BK: Next: With the 11 slot, take Acie Law because dude sounds like a a minor character from Gunsmoke and that shit was boss hog. If the Chinese kid will change his name to The Outlaw Josey Wales, grab him at 3, make everybody wear cowboy hats and change the name of the Philipps to the OK Corral. Otherwise take Horford because he looks he eats fucking metal folding chairs for breakfast.
HFOC: Jesus Christ. That's actually a pretty decent plan.
BK: No shit, Raymond Chandler. I got crazy visions. They thought Napoleon was crazy when he wanted to invade Russia. History will prove me, like that little fighting French genius, right. I gotta tee-time to make. If you need me, I still got my pager on. I'm expecting a call from 1983. When Shelden gets back tell him to make "Rock Yo Hips" my fucking ringtone. Hawks '08: We're the Crime Mob in Dream Team Colors.