What’s up with San Jose? Seriously, are they so desperate for another professional sports team that they’re willing to piss off, not only some hardcore Oakland A’s fans and The San Francisco Giants organization, but also Bud Selig and pretty much all of Major League Baseball. Plus, on top of that, I just read this which basically describes San Jose as The Jersey Shore but with guys who scored 800 on their Math SAT. I also recently learned that San Jose is known as “Man Jose” because it’s a statistical fact that there are 5,793 men for every 100 women there. It’s like Alaska if Alaska were filled with guys who scored 800 on their Math SAT.
It makes it even worse because San Jose is, for the most part, just kicking Oakland when we’re down. They know that they have a large population of overpaid “geek/bros” (see above) who would be more than happy to shell out top dollar to watch baseball and high five each other until their hands hurt too much to play World of Warcraft. The Oakland A’s, on the other hand, even despite having Money Ballin’ Brad Pitt in the house this summer, are pretty much the Cleveland of baseball teams. I mean, if Cleveland wasn’t the Cleveland of baseball teams (see attendance numbers). So, in terms of chasing the almighty dollar, you could see why “Scrillacon Valley” would be more appealing to Lew Wolff than “The Town.” But, like Cleveland, we have a small but scrappy fan base that’s not afraid to let its opinions be known. Check out this excellent slide show for proof. So, c’mon San Jose, does another poor Volvo need to be ghostridden just to get you to stop this assholery? Don’t make us bring back Ben and Nate. Seriously, Don’t make us do it. Okay, you made us do it. (With apologies to Big Cleezy)
Among the many salient pieces of excellent advice recently given out to the new owners of the Golden State Warriors, improbably enough in the SF Gate’s baby-rearing blog, one stood out. Have Chaka Khan sing the national anthem. Every night.
Submitted as evidence, was this mind-bending tour through our 3/4 time waltz of a national jam, replete with all the stadium echo and questionable acoustics a real pro has to deal with to make the rocket’s glare get into the red zone. I say yes. Chaka Khan. Pay her. To sing this. Every night. We would be the envy of hoopdom. The rest of the advice wasn’t too shabby either. But seriously? The 1:50 mark? ‘Nuff said.
Turman Approved
PS. I once enjoyed two sets of Chaka at a local venue. Front row. She was relentlessly being courted between songs by an aging quasi-pimp in a suit and a mesh shirt. About halfway through the second set, she cracked a sweat and asked a roadie for a towel. But no. Mr. Pimp stood up, approached the stage, and offered her his pocket square. She smiled, gave in momentarily to his advances and took the pocket square. She wiped the sweat from her brow. She returned the pocket square. What did he do? He held it to his nose, took a deep inhale, looked away in thought for a moment and smiled. Then he put the pocket square back in his jacket pocket and left. Exited the venue. Before the next song even started. Chaka shook her head and counted off the band. No lie.
The Warriors can never have enough cult figures. They’re the ones who keep butts in seats during garbage time, light up the room at community events, and quietly sell jerseys. But when that cult figure is the only American-born Asian player in the league, playing half an hour from his hometown, for the team he grew up rooting for, you have the makings of a Koresh-level cult. Ladies and gentlemen, say hello to your newest fan favorite: Jeremy Shu-How Lin (林书豪).
Not often do you get to announce the signing of a free agent backup point guard out of Harvard with the fervor of a top-tier free agent, but Lin is different. Watch the video above. Listen to the hyperventilating play-by-play from C-Webb. But this is the type of buzz that he’s been generating in summer-league play. This is the type of buzz that he generated while captaining Palo Alto high to the CIF Division II state title. This was the type of buzz that accompanied his revitalization of the Harvard (yes, that no-scholarship-having, hard-as-hell-to-get-in Harvard) hoops program. And perhaps he’s ready to once again be underrated, yet somehow playing at the next level, with a hint of a swaggerish chip on his shoulder, and balling his ass off.
Based on what he’s doing to number one overall pick John Wall (playing summer-league ball for the Mavs) in the video, it doesn’t seem far fetched. Oh, and I think I just heard some jerseys selling.
Turman
PS. Here’s a link to Dan Steinberg’s fine account of this game’s action over at his DC Sports Bog.
PPS. Since you can’t have a cool nickname soon enough, after an afternoon of pondering, I submit “The ABC Killer.” Serial-killer overtones with a surprise (and innocuous) ethnic twist! Prize to the first he or she who can decode this for those not knowin’!
Thanks to the work of FTB, a few years back the first “Beard Night” was held at Oracle Arena (albeit an unofficial event). Paper beards were distributed to fans. Fun was had by all. Dare I say, it was a great time out.
Last year, The Powers That Be saw the influence that stylish hair, facial and otherwise, can have on a crowd and held their own CJ Watson “Mohawk Night.” For a quiet, unassuming, back-up point guard, that’s not bad public recognition. But then again, most of our starters were injured, so it was either that or “Wear a Suit Like Your Favorite Warrior Night,” or “Guess Which Warrior is Raja Bell Night.” Seriously, CJ Watson was a Fan Favorite, so he will be missed along with other Favs, Turiaf, Randolph and, of course, our own “Chocolate Rain,” aka Anthony Morrow.
So, this leaves us with some questions about the swagger level of the current Warriors roster. And when I say swagger, I mean take a look at the picture below. I never thought I’d say it, but yes, I lightweight miss Stephen Jackson. Okay, well, maybe not enough to poison a fragile locker room ecosystem with BP-levels of toxicity, but you get the point. I guess as long as we’re winning games, it doesn’t matter how much flavor our squad has, but I don’t know if David Lee’s goatee or Steph Curry’s mouthpiece is going to get it done. Monta can’t get any more tattoos to carry this thing. So, listen Lacob, trade for some swag, smell me? James Harden’s got a nice little Baron 2.0 beard thang going on. Any other possibilities? Feel free to post ‘em in the comments peoples.
When, in the course of your day, a newspaper reporter calls for your response to a current event, it is an exciting moment. When that request seeks comment on today’s change in ownership of the Golden State Warriors, if you are me, you become a blathering idiot. Then you collect yourself, realize that this is the traditional form of public record and try to get the dude on the other end of the phone to help you not get sued.
I didn’t so much rail against Chris Cohan He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, as much as I railed against the pattern of serial incompetence that dismantled an exciting, winning team that was finally showing real potential after years of futility. Then I railed against that history of futility, of its origins. Of what that meant to someone who was obliged to care, but yet couldn’t bring himself to sit at the keyboard again until this particular transaction was complete. And now it is. And so I will break my self-imposed exile.
He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has sold the team. That means that the entire seven-volumes of serialized basketball-team-ownership futility is finally over. And I never have to write of it in the present tense again. The team has apparently been sold to a consortium headed by two individuals, one of whom is actually a season ticket holder. His name is Joseph Lacob. He is a managing partner at the venture capital firm of Kleiner Perkins Caufield & Byers. He has probably heard me scream out defensive switches at the arena at least once. The other is Peter Guber, Hollywood exec and CEO of Mandalay Entertainment Group. So far as I know, he has not heard me scream. I wish these gentlemen the best of luck and complete success. Watching the local news as I type, Joe Lacob, who appears to be speaking in the voice of majority owner, is saying that we should, “expect major changes.” This is good. So is the manner in which he got the job done. He stuck it to Larry Ellison in crunchtime. How he did so is anyone’s guess, but frankly in so doing he has earned my immediate attention. Not too many on this earth can do this. It’s a good sign.
Now, back to being called by a reporter. I was quoted as saying that Larry Ellison was the “more appealing choice” in the Oakland Trib. This was but one quip in a long and borderline incoherent rant. What I was getting at is that Ellison was the people’s choice because he had a long conga line of bankers behind him and an irrepressible desire to win. What I didn’t say was that most of the personal and anecdotal accounts of the man that I’ve heard were less than flattering. And apparently, he didn’t file his offer in time. Really. A $450M bid, and you don’t get to the post office in time? Maybe we don’t need that type of fail either. But after many moons of an irrepressible “fail instinct,” many of us were willing to trade some fail for a lot of win and a side order of Mark Cuban-style self-absorption slash assholery. Maybe there’s no need.
Hope here is that we have done none of this. I still have some research to do before I can even comment intelligently on either of the new principal owners, but I am relieved to be able to care again. I am glad that there is now a man in the corner office who actually cared enough to purchase season tickets. I am glad that he’s actually saying things in the media. And I’m glad that I got to provide the “money quote” in the local fishwrap as the designated “disgruntled fan.” This is actually quite an honor. Such as it is, oddly enough, it made me realize that I owe He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named a curious debt. And not just for this.
Thank you for the 2007 season and playoffs. Thank you for clarifying my voice of dissent in the wake of same. Thank you for giving this quasi Harry Potter a villain to lash out against. And most of all, thank you for relinquishing. It was time. Finally, I’m going to pay this one forward and thank you in advance for not suing us for the Photoshop work that adorns this post. It was a magical day, so we made a magical joke. Thanks for understanding. Your kids will think it is funny. Trust! Jokes, dog! Parody! And generally protected against litigation. So. For all of us, and with apologies to John Steinbeck, who wrote about real anomie, I close with his motto.
Ad astra per alia porci (to the stars on the wings of a pig),
