The Power to Prosper

Sometimes a guy just wants to promote a video game. But don't that to the people at Fox News, who hit Josh Smith, Andre Iguodala, and Russell Westbrook hard with questions about whether or not they want to see the Bush tax cuts extended. Smith is noncommittal, Iguodala steadfastly supports Obama, and Westbrook is about as Thunder about it as anyone could be.

As you try to look past how bizarre it is to see these three in the same studio as Robin Leach's illegitimate son and Rick Santorum, please note that this is likely the first time in their lives that these athletes have been viewed as valued money-earners only, not role models to be held to a higher standard. It's a bit disgusting to expect someone to care about nothing other than their own self-interest, but at least it's a different form of immaturity than what we usually see out of sports journalism.

(via @jose3030)

Days of NBA Lives: September 30

At this point, seemingly half the NBA is on Twitter. It's a wild world of training updates, questions as to which movies they should go see, and explanations of their Call of Duty prowess. Every so often, though, you also get a picture into the more interesting aspects of NBA life. This feature is your window into that world.

Terrence Williams: Welcome to NEWARK I love it it reminds me of the BD at home #wordaapp

Brandon Jennings: I'm done with twitter............. Peace Ya'll!!!

J.R. Smith: This movie is stupid funny! Beverly Hills Chihuahua! http://plixi.com/p/47884107

Rudy Gay: No 1 lives forever, no 1. But w/ advances in modern science & my high level income, it's not crazy 2 think I cn live 2 B 245, mayB 300.

Bryon Russell: support Mitch Richmond and his partners Deon Taylor-Director and Robert Smith-Producer and watch horror movie "Chain Letter"

I'm Eric Freeman. You can also read me at Early Termination Option.

The Year Glass Broke

Whopper of a Works today, in which I tackle Vick/Gil; Kevin Pelton and TZ tell you what teams are worth watching; and the Works continues its team previews. I learned that Donte Greene is a lost cause (despite what I had believed) and Francisco Garcia is about to blow up (which I had long ago given up on). Glad I could provide the springboard!

Bonus: An earlier FD post about Vick, from last week.

Days of NBA Lives: September 28

At this point, seemingly half the NBA is on Twitter. It's a wild world of training updates, questions as to which movies they should go see, and explanations of their Call of Duty prowess. Every so often, though, you also get a picture into the more interesting aspects of NBA life. This feature is your window into that world.

Michael Beasley: i still am SUPERCOOL!!!!!!

John Amaechi: Ongoing series of sh*t my Manchester Magic academy players say. Enjoy! Tom: So, you are like king of the gays, right? Me: Indeed.

JaVale McGee: appreciate all the love at midnight madness shoutout to my mans who gave me a book

Jason Thompson: Watchin Lingerie Football League. I Must Say its Mad Entertaining Not jus cause of Outfits, BUT They B Makin KRAZI HItS!! #LFL

Nate Robinson: Sup y'all what it do? On this bus wit da team, the NBA where sleeping #CELTICS happen #WORDAAPP LOL http://plixi.com/p/47522852

I'm Eric Freeman. You can also read me at Early Termination Option.

Surgeons of the Short Robe

Above, watch an ad you've probably seen many times before. In case you haven't, here's a primer: early in his rookie season, Chris Webber dunked on Charles Barkley and embarrassed him. Nike made this ad part of their "Barbershop" campaign, but Barkley didn't take to kindly to C-Webb and Spree's mockery and eviscerated the Warriors in their first-round playoff series. The ad is a part of these players' careers, a touchstone in Chuck's badass story and an important part of Webber's history of youthful mistakes. The spot even gets a mention in our forthcoming book.

But it was just one of many pieces of the complete "Barbershop" series, and now you can watch them all on YouTube thanks to user jellyhelm. Check them all out below, with commentary.



This Gervin ad is the most famous one of the bunch after Barkley/Webber. Pay close attention to the co-opting of ABA style -- Artist Gilmore is also present -- for a new breed of stars. At the time, the ABA was making a popular comeback as cool history, although it's use in ads wouldn't reach its apex until the Roswell Rayguns spots later in the decade. Also, I have no idea why everyone laughs at Gervin's finger-roll comment at the end. Either I'm missing a joke or am way whiter than I ever thought possible.



Oh look, another ad about Webber dunking on people, this time because he was constantly mocked for his shoes as a child. Nike is obviously trying to sell him as a ruthless competitor, one who will steal your lunch and pull down your pants whenever you slight him. That's interesting to consider in light of his perceived failings in the clutch with the Kings, as well as his infamous timeout for Michigan just a year earlier.



Or maybe Webber was actually a quite and collected gentleman who makes the ladies swoon. It's odd that these two spots would essentially say completely different things about a player. Is he a reserved assassin? A deadly sweetheart? Make up your mind, guys. If I've learned one thing from watching Mad Men, it's to be clear in your argument, and also to make every campaign about nostalgia.



Here's Dennis Rodman, at the height of Wormdom with San Antonio, saying he's a lunchpail blue-collar player who just loves the game and wants to play his best. Timmy Hardaway calls him out on his faux humility, but Rodman is actually being very honest about his in-game style. What he'd later realize, of course, is that you don't sell a personality to the public based on dirty work. Can you even imagine the Rodman of the Bulls visiting an old-time barbershop? Didn't he get his hair cut on a dirigible manned by pygmy elephants?



David Robinson is boring and can only be made interesting with weird hair.

I'm Eric Freeman. Read more from me at Early Termination Option.

Days of NBA Lives: September 22

At this point, seemingly half the NBA is on Twitter. It's a wild world of training updates, questions as to which movies they should go see, and explanations of their Call of Duty prowess. Every so often, though, you also get a picture into the more interesting aspects of NBA life. This feature is your window into that world.

Jeremy Lin: I'll cover for @stephencurry30 and @reggiew55 tonight. Theyre still savin up to get a toyota camry like mine

Avery Bradley: Im abut to bring starter jackets back in style

Donyell Marshall: This lady was just jogging the streets in Philly and just tripped over a tree branch. She had to see the branch WOW LMAO

Jack McClinton: wow dude that created the super soaker water gun was black,, thats chilllss,,, im bout to come out wit something

Rudy Gay: Man I just saw the funniest AXE commercial

I'm Eric Freeman. You can also read me at Early Termination Option.

The First Shall Be Last

Read today's Works even if you have a problem with certain other FanHouse material. It's about LeBron and race and sure to get some real howlers in the comments section. Okay, now that we've settled that ... time for some football!

I got back into basketball pretty organically. It just sort of happened one summer. Once it took over my life, it wasn't long before I wanted -- or saw that it made sense to be -- a generalist. Year-round sports, more material to mine, and the ability to hold my own in any basketball convo that, you know, veered off into another pastime. Comparisons are the devil, but if it weren't for parallels, life would have no movement to it. If I'm being totally honest, and tired, I'll have you know that the rush of fantasy sports had something to do with it, too. But I was lazy, uninspired, and it didn't stick. I don't think I got that every sport was special in its own way -- perhaps too special.

My brother, bless his soul, gives me shit for saying that I miss the NFL of eight years ago. He's a Steelers fan, which might be part of the problem, but really, I'm saying that I hate platoons and love dominant players with staying power. Even if the league is less that way than it used to be, still, that inclination shows that I never really got it to begin with.

That said, I've somehow started watching football again. I don't even know what I think about, or look for, on Sunday this season. I guess that's called learning, or humility. Who knows, maybe I will eventually form a coherent FD doctrine for the NFL -- if that's not an oxymoron. The reason this matters, though, is that it's more than a fraught narrative than Michael Vick is now the starter in Philly. Let's get this out of the way: Vick did a terrible, indefensible thing, even if you point out that he's hardly the Great Man of organized dog fighting. Talk about the banality of evil; I think that Vick's maturation as a football player is far more revealing than his so-called dark side. That's dull agency, further proof that people are at their worst when they work together mindlessly in groups, pressuring each other and softened up enough to be influenced by the world around them.

I am not sure what the implications of that theory are for sport in general, and any particular sport, so I'll leave it to someone else to go there.

Anyway, Vick was pure 2002. I used to base my travel schedule around nationally-televised games of his. His return last season, as wildcat wild card (is that redundant?), was totally 2002, at least as I remembered that time. That it was with the Eagles made the flashback personal to me, since I lived in Philly at that time. And, as such, I couldn't help but see a faint parallel with Allen Iverson -- who, coincidentally, was making his own abortive comeback with the Sixers as Vick's post-jail career began.



Allen Iverson never killed any dogs, spent time locked up that he actually deserved, or otherwise violated the public trust like Michael Vick has. AI probably would have enjoyed a far more quiet reputation if he had developed a taste for online roulette games or an online blackjack game. There's the crucial difference between the two. But at the dawn of the 21st century, these two products of VA's Tidewater area were the baddest thing going in their respective sports. Iverson's revolution was more cultural than basketballular, and Vick's dynamism on the field wasn't so explicitly linked to some sort of "hip-hop moment" in football. That's also probably why Vick had an easier time getting endorsements. Still, the two players were both positively enthralling and utterly maddening, rare talents with tools out the wazoo who, depending on how you saw it, pointed toward the future or just refused to embrace The Right Way. Oh, and in case you're a total moron, both signified race so loud you could hear it a mile away. Vick was the quintessential "black quarterback", and Iverson was, well, Iverson.

And Philly was, well, Philly. Race in Philly was, well, race in Philly. If you need a primer on that city's complicated relationship with the Answer; prepare to spend a day combing through old Inky columns. Vick was only peripherally related to this discussion, in the sense that McNabb was in the process of trying to change his game -- away from multi-dimensional threat that Vick took to a ludicrous extreme. When the Eagles beat the Falcons in the 2003 playoffs (after Atlanta's upset of Green Bay at Lambeau), it felt like a vindication of McNabb's development. Insert race and style as necessary here.

That Lambeau win was Vick's high watermark as a pro, the rough equivalent of the Sixers' 2001 victory over the Lakers in the Finals. He did it his way, and however fleetingly, bore truly grandiose results. Actually, that MVP year for Iverson was a lot like Vick's 2002, the season when, if he didn't "put it all together", at least he made believers of us all. Even if we knew we would crash sooner rather than later.

Now Vick is back, a changed player and one would guess, a changed man. In Philly, the same city that bickered over Iverson for a decade. The cultural baggage of it all is enough to make your nose fall off. Not to mention the sentimental lure of seeing Vick back in action, felony or no felony. What seems key to me, though, and why I started with my own passive return to the NFL, is that Vick's no longer the kind of boom-and-bust player who keeps passions high. But that makes him -- dare I say -- an inspirational figure instead of a looming outlaw. For the sake of his professional future, and his aging body, he's a combination of wiser and diminished. Come to think of it, he's living out Donavon McNabb all over again. Except, of course, with higher stakes, far more tension in the air, and a better white back-up for talk radio to clamor over.

Days of NBA Lives: September 21

At this point, seemingly half the NBA is on Twitter. It's a wild world of training updates, questions as to which movies they should go see, and explanations of their Call of Duty prowess. Every so often, though, you also get a picture into the more interesting aspects of NBA life. This feature is your window into that world.

Anthony Morrow: I hate driving in new york, ima have to really get used to this

Chris Douglas-Roberts: Yo, Mo Williams is like 27 & considered RETIRING!! Not due to injuries, due to hurt feelings! Ahahahahahahahahaahahhahahaahahahahaahahahahaa

J.R. Smith: I might get my eye lids done! ... 90% of my tats come to me when I'm already at the shop!

Amar'e Stoudemire: Finished eating a kosher dinner, now on the Foam Roll & watching MNF. I have a early start tomorrow. Knicks Nation !! Learn about it. Gone.

Brandon Jennings: I've lost all respect for Mo Williams after that. It's never that deep man!!!! Guess you dont love the game. #C'mon Son

I'm Eric Freeman. You can also read me at Early Termination Option.

The Blue Period

Last night, the art event of the fall hit the Twitterverse with a vengeance. I speak of the revelation of uber-bust quarterback Todd Marinovich's quite impressive foray into painting. Marinovich's pieces vary from assumed portraits of football legends to abstracts, yet no matter the subject, his work evinces the depths of his soul as only visual art can. Let's take a look and see what can be gleaned from these works.



"Defeat" is the first piece on the site, which isn't surprising considering Marinovich's public image as a failure on the field. However, he seems to accept this public image as an opportunity to show his audience the pain within. The silhouetted, disconsolate figure stands out against a mess of strong, textured color. Marinovich suggests that an athlete becomes easily defined as a type -- without the important specifics that actually explain a man -- in defeat. But even as his public image becomes clear, that person feels deep pain within, the kind that can't be easily expressed with relatable subjects. In other words, losing creates anonymity and frustration.



Before his troubles with the Raiders, Marinovich starred at USC. So it makes sense that he would pay homage to Trojan legend Marcus Allen with a portrait. Except nothing about this image says "Allen" -- it's all about the overpowering garnet and gold of Marinovich's alma mater. A great player fades into anonymity (again) against the overpowering tradition and dominance of a storied program. Whether you read this as a positive chance for man to become part of something greater than himself or a negative example of individuality getting lost in the crowd depends on your own preferences and view of Marinovich's time at USC. Were they his glory days or the beginning of the end?



If "Defeat" shows agony, then "Magic" displays the joy that can only come with victory. The emotional brushstrokes of "Defeat" have now been absorbed into what is an easily identifiable Larry O'Brien Trophy, and Magic himself appears as a full man, his winning personality on display for everyone to admire. That the technique is so similar to the disarray of "Defeat" suggests that the feelings involved in winning and losing are often similar, or at least equally strong. Except, in victory, they're challenged into a relentlessly positive display of human possibility.



This is a painting of dogs playing poker.



"Baugh" is the most basic portrait in the gallery, and for good reason. Marinovich was a product of a disturbingly modern sports environment, one in which his father could attempt to turn him into an All-Pro from birth and at least initially be championed for his commitment to creating a better life for his son. When the dream died, it was as much an indictment of the system as Marv's personal defects. "Baugh" depicts a time when things were much simpler. At the same time, it would be wrong to mistake this simplicity for a yearning for same. Marinovich is restrained -- his portrait of Sammy Baugh only shows the difference between two eras, not the superiority of one over the other.



I was initially flabbergasted that Marinovich would choose to paint Nick Cave -- after all, he's a musician rarely associated with the travails of a blond quarterback from SoCal. But upon closer inspection, there's an obvious kinship. Cave has made a career of writing about the conflicts between his adult self and a youthful indoctrination into the ways of organized religion. In other words, he has a tortured relationship with his childhood teachers and mentors. It's only natural that Marinovich would feel a kinship with someone like that. When the lessons of father figures don't work out, confusion and anger follow.

Who Owns Hate?

Here's the deal: I'm back from vacation, and telling you to go read The Works today. I weigh in on Casspi, anti-Semitism in America, and what it means that Nate Robinson likes the WNBA. Ziller explores the concept of defensive hangtime. It was a lot of fun and now I need to hit the gym.

I am left wondering, though, if the swastika somehow "belongs" to anti-Semitism above all other forms of bias. Minus Casspi, it certainly connotes all sorts of hatred. But it's very difficult for it to, ahem, transcend its historical significance and express, say, some asshole's dislike of blacks or Latinos.

This is understandable; it's pretty hard to dispense with the enormity of WW2 (note: I didn't say "the Holocaust", because deniers happen all the time). Yet it also shows just how potent (and striking) Nazi iconography was. I almost think that a lot of Jew-hating is just an excuse to sport swastikas and lightning bolts. Who wants to wear a stupid white robe and drag around burning wood? Flip, I know, but obviously Hitler was far better at "branding", which is why his evil racist movement has had more staying power, in terms of look and rhetoric -- even if this means getting caught up in a cloud of translation.

Fun fact: Tris Speaker was a member of the Klan, but later went on to be the most important mentor Larry Doby had as he adjusted to life in the (white) majors.

Am I trippin'? Someone set me straight.

Days of NBA Lives: September 16

At this point, seemingly half the NBA is on Twitter. It's a wild world of training updates, questions as to which movies they should go see, and explanations of their Call of Duty prowess. Every so often, though, you also get a picture into the more interesting aspects of NBA life. This feature is your window into that world.

Von Wafer: im the type of dude that will sneak 3 empty bottels of ace of spade in the club fill em up with sprite and stunt threw the club like a boss

Devin Ebanks: I wish i could SAY WATEVER I WANTED ON TWITTER. Damn yall are so lucky. lol

Sean Singletary: #rememberwhen #BillClinton caught the dome in the Oval Office ?

Mo Williams: Damn them ants powerful

Kelenna Azubuike: Just got to this US weekly event. Why did this dude on the red carpet tell us to put our hands together like its a basketball??? What??

I'm Eric Freeman. You can also read me at Early Termination Option.

DR. J'S SUPER THINK TROLL ASSOCIATES

What do Patrick Ewing, Rumeal Robinson, and Wayne Marshall have in common? They all went to high school at Cambridge Rindge and Latin, and they were all born in Jamaica -- except for the Wayne Marshall who submits the following "imaginary archaeology" of a mysterious recording by Dr. J; he does share his name, however, with a Jamaican singer and has written extensively about reggae (and hip-hop, reggaeton, and global club music) at his blog, wayne&wax. Follow him at @wayneandwax.

On one very merry late 70s Christmas morning, a young Markie D, yet to rise to local stardom as one of Boston's several answers to Doug E. Fresh, found in his stocking a cassette boasting amazing contents: basketball "SUPER THINK" according to Julius Erving. Released by the suspicious but nonetheless seemingly credible TROLL ASSOCIATES, Dr. J's informational and inspirational spoken-word performance had a reportedly noticeable effect on Markie's ability to penetrate the perimeter. But when those dividends dried up around the same time hip-hop came to town, the tape was -- somewhat ceremoniously -- taped over, scotch guarding the knocked-out knockout tabs that tell cassette-players to keep their heads to themselves. (As noted clearly on the cassette, duplication was prohibited, but the word was mum on overdubbing.) For several years the tape played host to the latest greatest raps one could catch on the airwaves, or copy via visiting cousins from New York.

Eventually, it served as the eye-popping receptacle of 9 minutes of beatbox fury, bragadocious cautionary tales, and reverb freakouts, carefully packed and mailed to DJ Magnus, whose "Lecco's Lemmas" radio show on WMBR (and later WZBC) was fast becoming the primary platform for the Bean's aspiring rap talents, including a young, recently-relocated-to-Brooklyn M.C. Keithy E (aka, the late, great Guru of Gang Starr).



The broadcast of these 9 minutes may have warped more minds than the TROLL ASSOCIATES' original and perhaps even taught more listeners the proper method for driving the lane despite that the wisdom of Dr. J had by this point been encrypted into a series of throat clicks, pursed-lip bass bombs, and allusions to famous German automatons counting in Spanish. Recently rediscovered by vinyl librarian Pacey Foster, Boston's premiere hip-hop historian and assistant professor of management, now you too can learn how to dunk like Dr. J, or at least maybe rock the bells like Markie D.

Now That You Told Me

You people exhaust me sometimes, especially when I'm suffering from stomach flu and dementia on my anniversary.

Here are a few thoughts I wanted to get down hard, after yesterday's feelings-gasm, the sort of post that makes everyone angry and really only serves as catharsis for yours truly at the exact moment it happens. Then regret, and defensiveness, and asking, "how could I have done better?" So here are some official FD Team USA 2010 talking points:

1. We were going to win anyway, so it didn't matter who we played. Team USA ran away with all but one game they played. Does that show that Coach K is that perfect? That this particular group was positioned just so to run away like clockwork? Sorry, Craig from High Point, it's proof that (as milaz sort of put it) America is the world's greatest except for when we aren't. Look at the rhetoric. We went from "FIBA-style pros" to changing what that meant, to deciding to just screw it all and make no illusions about going with athleticism and length. Like I said, is anyone saying "I told you so?" This is hollow, and boring, and the Worlds only matter this year because Nike told us they did, and because in a far-off galaxy failing to win could have kept us from the Olympics.

So fine, Coach K knows it all. But he didn't have much of a tall order here. I mean really, he put in Love for one game and got a double-double. Same for those times Eric Gordon snuck in. He didn't build those "secret weapons," they were stashed away on the bench. I gues it's cool that everyone wasn't going for self, but playing together is the new individual glory. Didn't anyone catch LeBron, Kobe, and Durant all agreeing on this in the last years? It was SO too easy, I'm not exactly inclined to think this required every single bit of his coaching wherewithal to put it all together. After all, one game of mortality does not a challenge make. Which leads me to . ..

2. As far as Positional Zaniness is concerned: Fool's gold, I say! Granted, my line-up was overly traditional. I guess the pick of Curry at point probably either trying to confuse people or make up for my past hatred of him. Westbrook probably was the guy. Maybe even, as much as it pains me to say it, better than Rondo for it. But what I would like to see from basketball—and when there's a non-stop blowout in the offing, I will stand up and talk about the style I like to see—isn't lots of a multi-skilled guys reduced to athletic role players who orbit around Durant. Really torn on Odom. I really underestimated his value, but really, hasn't Odom's basketball genius been in decline since he came to the Lakers? That was my point about so many other Odoms. Lamar Odom, doing dirty work? For that I would rather see Kevin Love! Andre Igudala was, I repeat, the only guy who really managed to sublimate his game and come out on the other side a more interesting player.

3. Kevin Durant is amazing. That cannot be denied. Really, though, did you ever see a more contrived story arc than this one? I didn't need FIBA to show me that KD can work wonders. I've seen it in the pros. I know he was treating it like any other high-stakes competition, but for anyone who NOW believes him to be up there with LeBron and Kobe, well, hold your horses until you've watched him in the NBA. I mean, did you see dude in the Goodman League back in 2008? HOLY SMOKES!!!!!!!

4. By that same token, does this officially mean that Danny Granger stinks?

5. And yeah, the Rondo thing did leave the worst taste in my mouth.

Workin' My Way Back Home

So it was with something far from eagerness, and even a wistful glance over at the first day of full NFL action, that I build my first day of vacation around the FIBA gold medal game.

I'm more than finished with the "Durant saves the globe" narrative. Woj took the moral high ground and flushed it down the toilet last night, which is sort of like when an infinitely dense point in space collapses on itself and creates a black hole of meaning. The doomsday scenario of a non-NBA qualifying team (discussed in the "Averting Disaster" section of this Works) is less frightening, and more colorful, than anyone else has bothered to notice. What's more, while America's best and brightest languish on the couch, it's not as if every international of note is risking life and limb to martyr his summer off. For all the parroting of the "more important than the Olympics to everyone else" line, we're not seeing it in the teams other countries have brought. Or maybe it's that, in those parts, individual is smaller than the collective—not ideologically, but in terms of their effect on outcome.

Really though, I just hate this team. Hate, hate, hate this team. Anyone who thinks Durant will walk unmolested into this same role next season, or on the 2012 team, is guilty of the kin of wishful thinking—or is it cynical—that's threatening to turn his name into an basketball adjective completely separate from on-court performance. The fact that Durant has taken on such a central role, from the second possession changes until someone—usually him—gets or denies the bucket, shows you what a headless, faceless, aberration of a team this is.

I've discussed this on the The Works previously, but Rose and Gay are two peas in a pod. I can think of a thousand Lamar Odoms I would rather see play center than this one. Forget innovation and revolution. This team is a grab-bag coasting on one superstar's limitless potential, amplified by his teammates' limitations and the lesser competition, and the ability of Rose and Gay to stay active. All those guards, including shooters like Curry and Gordon? They might as well be Kevin Love—the logical choice to get most of the minutes down low, but someone who has nonetheless had to make due with being a "sleeper". This team will win, but they wouldn't be such an abomination if they went with a point guard who could think, vital shooters, more versatility (other than then "sure, I can do whatever" variety), and a real big man. Does Curry, Iguodala, Granger, Durant, and Love sound so bad?

Other than Durant, Andre Iguodala is the only player coming out of this looking like he's earned some new acclaim, and that's largely because he looks far more natural in this role (stopper, skilled scavenger, feel for the game that suppresses his athlete's need to make big plays at all times) than he has at any time on the Sixers. He would be the perfect complementary piece to find his way onto the 2012 Olympics.

I frankly don't understand what Coach K is doing, especially without D'Antoni to whisper in his ear and slip him peyote, or a strong player cabal to lay down the law. There's a team buried in this morass that doesn't defy logic, nor require all sorts of new-fangled explanations to come to its defense. Nor one where we can only feel good about it relative to its performance in the tournament, which when we know that America always expects nothing less than supremacy, and Team USA has had very few close calls so far, makes the "see, they did it!" moot. I'll watch today because my wife likes Turkey, and there's the off-chance that something unexpected will happen. It sure has in all these other countries' games, which I wish I could get into—I somehow blame college basketball. Ultimately, though, today will be a day like any other: I'll hold my nose, watch Durant drop 40 and Team USA dunk the ball, and then wonder exactly what it means if anyone bothers to say "see, I told you so!"

P.S. Hey, who want to read and see the new, revamped, classic Z-graph?

Back to School

Cribbing off of FD's Days of NBA Lives series, Jay Caspian Kang presents College Basketball Tweets: Future Lotto Picks Edition. Read Jay’s latest work over at The Awl as he tries to answer the question: Who is the Greatest Diva of the Past Twenty-Five Years? Follow Jay at @maxpower51.

Kemba Walker UCONN: lol my teacher don't speak English lol

Kyle Singler DUKE: Anyone know what time the duke lacrosse team plays today?

John Henson UNC: oh lord she's drawing cards of peoples name in the class to answer the questions...lol.. I have a feeling my card is coming soon =|

Perry Jones BAYLOR: i see these new snacks at wal-mart, Mcdade cream pies lol

Josh Selby KANSAS: Done with class, that's was an exciting class. Happy to be at ku.

Kyrie Irving DUKE: RT: jhairston15 On The bus with @kyrieirving heading to the first class of the day...Intro to Acting! Should be fun...

Vocals First, Drums Later

Here at FreeDarko, we're all about weird stuff no one knows or cares about, even though they should. That's why I want to talk about the latest Old Spice ad, featuring Ray Lewis. Actually, I don't want to talk about the campaign, or Lewis (although it's amazing he never won an MVP). I'm amazed at how much this resembles the best kind of work Wieden+Kennedy used to do for Nike. Then that stopped; players wanted to be taken seriously, Jordan cast a long shadow even in retirement, the NBA had an image problem, and there simply wasn't space for either fun or mischief. Even those Roswell Rayguns ads haven't aged so well. But here we have Ray Lewis, an older athlete who no one associates with playfulness, from a sport known as the No Fun League, in a truly bizarre spot that even makes a gratuitous, if compelling, one-line commentary on fantasy sports. The whole commercial becomes that for one second, in fact, and then it's back to the fun house.

Yes, I know that all this going against the grain might be exactly why this ad was possible, and part of why it works so well -- and would work in far clumsier hands. However, the irony is that, with Ray Lewis and football as premise, or the foundation, W+K are able to simply port in the kind of ad we once might have seen from Nike. Note: "The LeBrons" or the "Book of Dimes" are among the last spots in this tradition, before James's ads set out simply to prove that he wasn't a clown. We've been down this road a million times: Advertising with personality helps the NBA, whether or not the people in charge realize this. The Hyperize joint was an encouraging sign. Still, seeing an athlete used like this and have it be a football player -- much less advertise basketball products -- is a real bummer. It's the medical marijuana, or struck-down Prop 8, of a great advertising tradition.

Semi-related and probably deserving more space: There's a misconception floating around that FD likes underdogs. We don't. We like star players, weird players, and players who aren't afraid to be candid. We are also huge snobs who all cut our teeth in various realms of music snobbery. When players we jock, like Julian Wright, turn out to suck, it's an embarrassment. We're looking to catch the next big thing before you do, celebrate the unjustly ignored forces, or pick up on the glorious outliers who just might sneak in and transform the sport in small ways. We love potential. But potential, as it should be, is a burden -- for players in real life, and in terms of the way this blog views them. We don't root for lesser souls; we're all about those who deserve to be, or become, something rare and cunning. A screw-up or drop-out isn't FD, he's the antithesis of it. This isn't Slackerball, it's about making sure we're up on the best the league has to offer. J.R. Smith? He's not a patron saint, he's the prodigal son.

If You Used Twitter

You would know about my new music blog, which contains no sound-files and is only barely about music. Another post later, this one on Yahweh ben Yahweh might be of special interest to you readers.

Also, check out the latest The Works, especially for the words on the Atlanta Dream's Angel McCoughtry, who could change the league as we know it. That's a theme QMcCall picked up on early this morning, wondering if McCoughtry, as currently constructed, wasn't at once revolutionary and regressive. Assuming, of course, that you consider all of basketball one big conceptual continuum. And ignoring, for the moment, the "WNBA is like classic NBA" trope (trope or meme? is a trope a grown-up meme? is a meme the destruction of all possible tropery? do you want to see my hands?), which otherwise raises the question of whether the NBA itself hasn't regressed, on and off, ever since the dawn of the Celtics, Wilt, and Elgin Baylor. I wonder if there's a way to place prop bets on the currents of history. That's some online betting I could get down with!

Hoping to get a post up here later and underdogs vs. fledglings.

Days of NBA Lives: September 7

At this point, seemingly half the NBA is on Twitter. It's a wild world of training updates, questions as to which movies they should go see, and explanations of their Call of Duty prowess. Every so often, though, you also get a picture into the more interesting aspects of NBA life. This feature is your window into that world.

Brandon Jennings: JAY WILLIAMS GIVE ME THE NICKNAME "PAC".... HE SAID I ACT LIKE PAC ON THE COURT!!!!! LOL.... I'M RUNNIN WITH THAT

Nick Collison: Watching the last Mad Men. If there was an Emmy for "Most Realistic Sounding Puking in a Drama" Don Draper would win in a landslide.

Jon Brockman: I 2nd this RT @AndrewMBogut agree 100% those receiving public asst should have 2 work in return, if only cleaning parks, litter etc. Agreed

Shawn Marion: Is it me, or does everyone wish Best Buy was open24 hrs

Patrick Patterson: I can understand n officer wantin to serve and protect. But if ppl won't listen to u. Let the piranha eat em. I highly recommend Piranha 3d.

I'm Eric Freeman. You can also read me at Early Termination Option.

THE TORLEOF: Earth Without Sorrow or Flesh

The other part has been canceled, so I had to further misspell the title. Thank you.

I had a landlord once who used to say "thank you" after everything, especially the most dick-ish things he said. He said a lot of those. This was an enormous Colombian mathematician, and despite that odd combination was just a boring piece of shit who complained about us leaving a cooler in the yard and yet wouldn't acknowledge there was a cute local gang selling drugs out of the apartment building across the street. We got back at him by having a yard sale that started so early that a crazy man and tranny on meth came and bought all our spare wires and cables.

This was a terrible NBA season, and I blame it all on LeBron James. Well, not all on James himself, but on the long shadow his free agency (and Wade's, and Bosh's, and whoever else became a franchise player just by being on the market this summer) cast over the actual season.

Even if these players and their mini-maxes had, as they say, changed the game -- arguably for the better, or at least more noble -- they also proceeded to hold the hostage throughout the season. Not to retreat to what's fast becoming a cliche, but Durant and the Thunder provided relief from this climate, flushing out the stale air and giving us a team that, ostensibly, didn't need to worry about contracts, or money, or personnel, or brand, or media overkill. Sure, that's a really shallow take on that team, but compared to the Knicks and Nets and LeBron, they were unencumbered. At the same time, OKC was part of the next generation. Kobe, Garnett, and Duncan won't last forever, as we begun to see this year. The subject of Dirk remains open to discussion.

But even more disillusioning than the build-up to free agency was what's passed for NBA coverage, and fandom, in the wake of The Decision. Blanket statement: It was all a huge moralistic, lazy bore, that obscured the fact that we're about to see a team in action that could change everything we thought we knew about basketball. If you think that statement is overcooked, please find words to disagree with it. There has never been a team this grandiose; nor one that offered so many possibilities on the court. How many games the Heat will (or need to) win, whose team it is, and whether karma will rear its ugly head are continuations of a post-Decision mindset. Can we please, for fuck's sake, all stop whining and pointing fingers and get ready for the ride of our lives? If you're about to bungee jump into a Buddhist temple with a bag of coke in your pocket, you don't spend your time worrying about someone breaking in line.

There are two basic questions to answer here. One: do you love basketball or are you a miserable asshole? The second, which has very personal implications for me: Do you come to the game with an agenda, or turn on the television hoping to see meaning created?

Thus we arrive at the small matter of whether FreeDarko (noun) ever be FreeDarko (adjective) again. At some point, FreeDarko turned five years old, which makes us one of the longest-tenured sports blogs going. You think I would have noted this milestone before now, but I didn't—and not just because of Shoefly's early struggles with Blogger (he's back on Boxiana and pure as ever, by the way). FreeDarko is somehow both an experiment that should have burned itself out a long time ago, and a scrappy survivor. The latter doesn't suit me, and the former makes a mockery of the fact that I still write for a living.

You can say that we take the NBA too seriously, traffic in obscurities, or are out of touch with the average fan. But you can't accuse us of not being open. And that's why I'm looking forward to 2010-11 in a very special way, with an amount of gusto greater than or equal to the dread I felt in 2009-10. For FreeDarko, then, the Heat are the gift to end all gifts. I just hope the rest of the world hasn't gone so far that this team blows up in their face. Or wait, maybe I do.

THE TRIOLOGY: He Never Loved You

When Craggs did Durant, (my response, if you're interested) he asked us to acknowledge that no athlete is without ego. The nature of competition practically demands it, even if you're on an offensive line -- one big chain reaction where credit, and blame, ping-pong back and forth with only minimal concern for the point of origin. A point guard runs his team; leadership like that practically demands self-assurance and charisma. Durant, supreme scorer who holds the entire Thunder squad together, has more than quiet confidence going for him. When Durant says he wants to be remembered as the greatest ever, it may be more about process than entitlement. He's motivating himself through the belief that the goal is within reach.

Stop me if you've heard this one before: there's a modesty and restraint to Durant that sets him apart from other superstars. Yet there's simply no way to look on Durant mid-game and not see something vicious, even tormented, in his eyes. Sometimes, Tim Duncan gets riled in the playoffs; otherwise, he glides along the pathways to victory with a detachment often mistaken for disinterest. That in no way describes what it's like to watch Kevin Durant play. He possesses all the swagger of his peers, it's just been sublimated, or shoved deep down inside so it's even more combustible. Durant isn't a throwback to some genteel sporting past. But, it should be noted, that past never really existed the way people want it to today.

We can all safely assume that Durant doesn't stroll through the OKC mall thinking he's the baddest. In a twist that must intrigue David Stern, this NBA backwater has turned into an incubator, or haven, for players not overly interested in the glamorous life or the other distractions their job brings. Yet the intensity of his play can be unnerving, turning a smooth, thoughtful game into something downright spooky. Folks sometimes dare to call Durant the heir to Jordan's demeanor, but it make more sense triangulate him with MJ and Kobe (once he found his own voice). Kobe said he was "chasing perfection"; he never said that he had achieved it. To be the player he wanted to be, he had to always be peering over that next horizon. For Durant, those horizons are a successions of MJ-like carnage.

Help is on the Way

Really, that video holds the key. This Wikipedia entry does not.

Now, some links:

-Spencer Hall wrote this piece about college football, humanity, and time. Then Brian Phillips wrote about David Foster Wallace's Federer and Pele-as-comedian. Yesterday was a great day to have internet access and a computer. Seriously, it gets no better.

-Some guy named Eric framed the whole "Artest and mental health, and the joke inside" thing just right. I give it the mentally ill stamp of approval.

-At Culture Breach, Jay Caspian Kang takes part in a Jeremy Lin roundtable, along with (to name a few) Hua Hsu and Oliver Wang. In the words of the organizers, Jay "was quite the battle-ax in our dialogues". Free Rashad is on hold, but he got up some nice thoughts on Mike Tyson (part 1, part 2) that might interest you.

-Read today's Works if you like Ziller's charts or issues of Kevin Durant, representation, and authenticity.

Days of NBA Lives: September 2

At this point, seemingly half the NBA is on Twitter. It's a wild world of training updates, questions as to which movies they should go see, and explanations of their Call of Duty prowess. Every so often, though, you also get a picture into the more interesting aspects of NBA life. This feature is your window into that world.

Julian Wright: #offensivecompliments -a mother says to her son, "You know you was an accident right?! But you were the best thing that happened to me!"
Joey Litman: @dinowright14 dwight howard's got a nice hook shot for a player who can't score naturally #offensivecompliments
Julian Wright: @straightbangin interesting!

Josh Childress: #offensivecompliments you're pretty smart for an athlete...

Muggsy Bogues: You know what's not cool? Confederate flags. You know what is cool? Horses. [It seems that Muggsy's account was hacked today. Whoops!]

J.R. Giddens: jus saw a movie talkin about ow they did the jewish people everytime i think about what they did jus makes my stomach sick

Shelden Williams: Just got off the plane and no one is giving out leis!!! What is going on?? I want the same experience like the people I c on tv

I'm Eric Freeman. You can also read me at Early Termination Option.

House of Mirrors

Tonight, I'll be at Storm-Mercury, a game I strongly urge you to watch. I devoted much of a recent Works to Lauren Jackson's brilliance; tonight, she'll be crowned the league's MVP. It will be her third such award. The Storm do some unreal things when they really get moving, and the Mercury, who are every bit the WNBA's answer to the Suns, will certainly encourage that. The Mercury may have lost Cappie Pondexter, but are greatly improved defensively -- albeit in a totally weird, kickstart-the-break way that Seth Pollack explained earlier in the season.

Bill Russell has once again shown up to grant the Storm his blessings, and on the off-chance that you've never seen Diana Taurasi play, this SI article from a while pretty much captures why you'll be pleasantly stunned.

Now then. In the wake of my recent flurry of WNBA posts, I've found out -- the hard way, mind you -- that appearance and the WNBA are touchy issues. This sentence: "Jackson is the league's most dominant player, a tough-as-nails, strong, athletic center whose garish make-up and terrible red dye-job are somewhere between war paint and a kabuki mask," was a faux pas, because it sounded like I was insulting LJ's appearance. Never mind that I was also saying Jackson was capable of things on the court that yours truly had never seen before; "garish" and "terrible" were just too harsh. I guess I could have toned it down, at the expense of what I was trying to build up writing-wise. And, as if it weren't readily apparent that "war paint" and lookin' good suggests a complicated dance of signifiers, I spelled it out in a later FD post. But then I suggested that Cappie's crazy 'do might be better for her image than a ponytail, and was accused of objectification or trying to limit CP's life-horizons.



Okay, now we're wandering into that murky realm where, depending on the situation, a double-standard can be either good or bad. Gendered bodies, and the work they do, are at the forefront of any discussion of women's athletics. I know this. I can't help but wonder, though -- hasn't anyone noticed how much the appearance of male athletes is discussed, almost as a matter of course? When are the Nuggets brought up without their tattoos sneaking in, usually as a punchline?

Iverson -- who, as I mentioned earlier, had his hair braided before every game to look his best -- was often discussed in terms of bodily attributes. While we rarely discuss how attractive NBA players, or any male athletes, are or aren't, sports are really, really homoerotic. Sorry. No one has ever bothered to explain how "man-crush" isn't totally gay. We ooh and ah over the bodies of LeBron James or Amar'e Stoudemire, as if this were the essence of their being; "stud" is a really weird word to throw about so casually, since it evokes both slavery and sexual performance. And yeah, some dudes get called ugly -- primarily white ones, but that might just be a coincidence. The point is, athletes are aestheticized, even objectified. Because of our very sexist outside world, bringing this into the WNBA sets out all sorts of alarms. At the same time, the way bodies -- especially the black ones -- is discussed in basketball should make us no less comfortable. And let's not even get into the peculiar role fashion has played in shaping the league's image over the last decade.

Here's the caveat: NBA players make millions upon millions of dollars. They can deal with it. They can take it. In the WNBA, pride and dignity are part of all they have. If you like that reasoning, walk away now, and revisit that entire William Rhoden-inspired debate that came out of a certain Comic Sans outburst.

I'm not trying to draw a false equivalency. Women and men have different attitudes about their appearances, and these will invariably manifest themselves in the way they present themselves as athletes -- both on and off the court. It's more complicated for them. However, to suppose that male athletes face none of these same issues, and in some cases (like Iverson) find themselves as physically scrutinized as any woman would be, is some serious tunnel vision. I don't want to say "it comes with the territory," nor do I want to deny WNBA players their woman-hood. At the same time, though, their situation doesn't stand in opposition to the coverage of male basketball players -- in fact, it's a chance for us to be a little more self-aware in the way we discuss all athletes.

Days of NBA Lives: September 1

At this point, seemingly half the NBA is on Twitter. It's a wild world of training updates, questions as to which movies they should go see, and explanations of their Call of Duty prowess. Every so often, though, you also get a picture into the more interesting aspects of NBA life. This feature is your window into that world.

Ronny Turiaf: He taught me english mate! Very sad RT @AnotherBanga: them dudes is nuts, but nothing beats the Crockodile Hunter RIP. He was the Originator

Stephen Curry: yoo just turned on the TV at the hotel and i found my all-time favorite gameshow...The Weakest Link...that lady was crazy intimidating!

Charlie Villanueva: Enjoying my favorite Aerosmith song, I" Don't Wanna Miss A Thing". Classic. The Palace is Rocking! http://twitpic.com/2k4dvc

Jonny Flynn: This lady I'm sitting by just pulled out a map of the airport. Vents and all. Hmmmmmm

Chris Douglas-Roberts: When you grow up in the hood, some how, you're subconciously forced to fall in love w/a fatty. Hahahahaaaa. It's no real explanation.

I'm Eric Freeman. You can also read me at Early Termination Option.