Legend has it that the Headless Beardman, who lost his head in a mighty battle, will return to the scene of the fight on the night before All Hallows Eve in a quest to regain what was lost. Ichabod Kiralenko beware, for the Headless Beardman rides for thee!
Turman
Game one Halloween fun begins tonight. Check this post again later for updates from the Oracle.
Turman’s Call
There are plenty of possible explanations for what went down at the Oracle tonight, but I’ll take an obscure one over the obvious. Let’s leave alone the Stack Jack thing for a moment, even though his points and let’s say, demeanor, were missed. I’ll also happily forget the déjà vu on the glass. Likewise, the equally familiar officiating, which favored the monotonous over the adventurous.
No, I’m sticking with the earthquake. The freaky-deaky, first-half 5.6 that had me doing some serious math up in the section two ought six. Like how long will it take to get downstairs to the parking lot. Under perfect circumstances. That was the turning point. Punch through to read the FTB take in full. Read More »
I need some help finding my game shoes. I thought the community at large might be able to help identify something suitable to rock with my throwback. What’s the call?
1. Warriors NBA Superstars shell toes.
A classic choice with little downside, but I’m not clear on how I feel about the reptilian finish.
2. Custom Warriors ecko unltd.
Sneaker freakish fo’ sho. But Marc kinda’ bugged me with that Barry Bonds 756 ball asterisking stunt.
3. Samurai warrior kicks by Puma.
Inspired by the folding Tatami-do armor of the Ashigiro warriors the foot soldiers of the Japanese Samurai.
4.Custom Warriors Nike Airs.
Look like these may have been hand painted by Thunder. “A” for effort, but, watch and learn.
5. Brown gator especial.
J. Rich, sorry, but I just can’t go there with ya.
Last night’s open practice at the Oracle Arena had many spirited moments. Cap’n Jax getting T-up, while mic’d up was my personal favorite. Obi Wan Nelson earned about $100 worth of cigar money from an assortment of infractions. And Monta showed everyone that he’s all the way back from his neck injury by running the point effectively and scoring thirty-something.
But the highlight without question was the post-game rookie hazing, which this year featured a Soulja Boy instructional. With kids from the crowd leading the learning and Al Harrington as the veteran presence getting nice, it was up to the rookies to do their thang. And the results? Not a single Bo Ryan among them.
Let’s just say that Kosta has one more thing to work on in Bakersfield.
They have a different dollar, different bacon, a different health care system, and now this - a different Jesus! And to make it worse, he doesn’t even look like Jesus. In fact, he looks like Steve Nash. Steve Nash is the Canadian Jesus!? Imagine my outrage this morning when, before going to church, I read this in the NYTimes:
“Steve Nash” the self-effacing Canadian long shot whose life story had been puréed into an edifying fable about Chasing Your Dreams and Working Hard and Always Giving Back, and in some parts of his home country had been polished to such a saintly sheen that people called him Can-Je, short for “Canadian Jesus.”
Can-Je? Are you serious? Does that sound like an appropriate name for the Son of God? The son of Hello Kitty maybe, and that’s still blasphemy. Will these Canadians stop at nothing to offend us? Next, they’ll be calling Feist the Canadian Susan B. Anthony. And the Phoenix Suns organization is just as shameless. I know many sports teams like to believe they have God on their side, but this is ridiculous - God running the point?
I could list the many reasons why Steve Nash is NOT Jesus, like, for example, leading the league in assists three years in a row does not constitute a miracle. But the most obvious is Steve’s lack of facial hair. I don’t care if it’s Black Jesus or crazy blue-eyed James Caviezel Jesus, we all know Jesus has a beard. No beard, no beatitude. So, in light of that, I could think of a strong candidate for an even better point guard Jesus hailing from California (in the God-fearing USA). Let’s just call him Cal-Je.
Plenty of folks are doing the Soulja Boy. So what if Bo Ryan is a 60-year old white dude. Who lives in Wisconsin.
Okay, so he’s also the coach of the University of Wisconsin men’s basketball team. And coincidentally, he’s also the owner of a prestigious statistical honorarium: Bo is the current leader in overall winning percentage among NCAA coaches with at least 20 years of head coaching experience. Ordinarily, I would get witty or something now, but let’s just let Bo do his thing. Go ‘head Bo. And Superman.
Thoughts?
Turman
PS. That other school, The University of California, and their men’s football team, will not be discussed at the current time.
Devendra Banhart, the bearded bard of freak folk with Bay Area ties, has just released another album called “Smokey Rolls Down Thunder Mountain” which could also be the name of a ride at a Six Flags in West Virginia or a pretty cool acid trip, or both. I wanted to post his latest video I found on Youtube, “Sea Horse,” but I thought it was a bit too stoney for a basketball related blog. I’ll save it for my blog on Bonsai trimming.
From the looks of it, these guys are still taking the bearded hippy thing pretty seriously. Do you think if the bass player showed up to rehearsal with a little Sugar Ray goatee (like the one I have), he’d get pummeled with a rainstick and vegan jerky strips? Probably. What would you expect from a guy whose last single was titled “White Reggae Troll?”
Joking aside, despite the ethnic pirate get-up and all, this is good music.
In the foamy wake of the post about the Warrior Girls’ shoot I present the strange and oddly compelling case of Doug Christie. He’s not really bearded. Nor is he from The Bay. He went to school down the road a bit at Pepperdine. His most well-documented years were spent up the road a bit in Sactown. Some of you will remember him as the original Kobe stopper, a role which endeared him to many. Others will remember that his wife Jackie came to his aid during a preseason fight with Laker Rick Fox, pummeling the Oz-acting, Vanessa Williams-marrying pretty boy with a deadly weapon of a purse in the process.
The story is thus. Doug Christie is almost as old as me. And he wants a job in the NBA. Fair enough. So he’s blogging about it. And he’s making a concerted effort to appeal to teams that might figure his wife to be a distraction. Why would that be, you ask? Well, their relationship is, well, like really really super loving. See, first off, they get married every year. Yes, every year. Guests, tears, the whole samoleon. They had a reality show on BET. The book thing. Lots of love between them, publicly professed. Often.
But there’s the team-chemistry things. She goes on the road. Rides in a car behind the team bus. Then there’s the thing about him (well, probably Jackie really) not really digging female reporters in the locker room. So Doug dresses alone, presumably somewhere nearby. And she kinda, like sits near the bench, if possible. No matter though. Regardless, Doug signals to her (”I love you”) after every made bucket, assist, steal, rebound free throw, inbounds pass, scorer’s table check in or Gatorade sip. Allegedly, when he was traded from Toronto to Sactown, reporters from the T to the O counted 62 hand signals. In one game. Okay. But then you think, “If I need a Kobe stopper, maybe. What the hell? Karl Malone counted to 100 between free throws. J-Kidd blows kisses. Not a bad price to pay for a veteran presence right?
Allrighty then. Make the jump to join the fun! Read More »
Okay, BD and S. Jax may have started a book club, but, let’s watch the video about the making of the new Warriors Girl calendar.
Yes, this post is a shameless attempt to get more blog readers. But, like, I totally just got my hair done. Got on my bathing suit, and now I’m like totally ready to, like take a turn in front of the camera.
Oh, and nice overtime win. Perhaps a bit later we can discuss Monta’s 3 assists and 8 turnovers or Mickael’s 9 points and 6 personal fouls. Humph.
Heh-heh,
G. Dolin
Update:
Despite the potentially inflammatory tongue-in-cheek post above, the Warriors new “Blog Squad” features a column from the singly named, Alexis.
While Biedrins has turned in a rather abbreviated first entry, Alexis provides an in-depth report on training, auditions, routines, photo shoots and even some insight to the inter-personal relationships of the dance team.
Alexis is currently in her second year with the Warrior Girls, the ultra-talented 16-member dance team of the Golden State Warriors. Throughout the season, Alexis will blog about her experiences with the team. From her community service events to practices to the games themselves, Alexis will provide fans with a unique and inside look at the Warrior Girls.
Andris Biedrins spends some time with the Euros at the horseshoe pitch. That pretty much sums it up. Rumor has it that Kosta is already designated for the Bakersfield Jam. I doubt that this alleged truth has anything to do with his horseshoes performance, but lacking much in the way of empirical evidence from the hoop court I can only guess. Strangest of all is that Jim Harrick (who, as the head coach at UCLA, once got in trouble for allegedly selling a ‘91 Chevy Blazer on the cheap to the sister of a certain bearded point guard) is the coach of the Bakersfield Jam. Who knew?
Oh, and pour something out on the curb for Pat Burke and Tierre Brown, training-camp casualties in the latest cuts. Good luck gentlemen, it was a pleasure.
I will admit to having watched a few episodes of VH1’s Celebrity Fit Club. Okay, more like a few seasons, but that matters not. The spectacle of seeing celebrities who are well past their “sell-by” date is captivating by itself. But catching up with the ones who have been demolishing the buffet line at John Ascuaga’s Nugget in Reno between stand-up sets for 15 solid years? Getting warmer. How about watching them whine and wheeze their way through a quarter-mile run? Sounding more captivating yet? That’s right, it’s some damn-fine television.
On the show, it’s not Ian, but the ex-Marine Harvey Walden IV who really busts some people right in the onions. The yelling. The whole drill-sargeant thing. Harvey is well meaning, but frankly he can be a bit of a tool sometimes. Dr. Ian is the yin to Harvey’s yang. He administers his doctorly advice with equal measures of informed gravitas and genuine concern. At least I always hoped the concern was genuine. Until now. Because it seems that it is. And his concern extends far beyond the myopic world of semi-scripted reality shows. You see, it turns out that Dr. Ian, in partnership with State Farm Insurance, has started the 50 Million Pound Challenge. Their mission?
The 50 Million Pound Challenge is an historic opportunity for African Americans to come together against a growing health crisis. Our challenge is to collectively lose 50 million pounds and reduce the very real risks that being overweight poses to our community.
Make the jump for more on the event and a link to sign up and smash some fat. Read More »
