Apparently, the NBA Playoffs are now where dis records happen. This might be the most interesting subplot of the playoffs so far. And there’s even a Bay Area connection.
It all started when DeShawn Stevenson decided to call LeBron James “overrated” to some media types a few games ago. LeBron responded by comparing himself to his friend and mentor figure Jay-Z and DeShawn to Soulja Boy. That got Soulja Bizzle all riled up, and I half expected a musical response. But I never saw this coming. A pre-emptive strike from Jay-Z? Frankly, I figured that Hova was too busy for Jr. Beard. But no. And not only did he go ahead and record a quick dis track, he used a Too $hort beat for it. Blow the whistle indeed. And Hova even compares The Town to Brooklyn in the intro. Sweet. But the best part might be where he debuted the cut. I’ll let Mike Wise of the Washington Post handle the particulars.
Afterward, LeBron twice said, “There is no LeBron-DeShawn rivalry.” But he had reinforcements behind the scenes, big guns that came out Friday night at a club called Love.
That’s right, in the wee hours of Friday night at Love, the Northeast club which hosted Gilbert Arenas’ million-dollar 25th birthday party last year, the deejay played a new cut by Jay-Z. The hip-hop icon actually cut it Friday and had it downloaded for a party hosted by LeBron James at the club that night. Stevenson was told that the lyrics just eviscerated him — in his own town.
Then teammate Damon Jones, who last did something to collect an NBA paycheck two years ago, took the microphone and talked junk about Stevenson.
Caron Butler, the only Wizard present, left because “he felt I was being disrespected,” Stevenson said.
I’ll bet he did. And I’m pretty sure that Jr. Beard was more than ready for the final whistle to sound in game four too. Especially, after he looked up at the scoreboard after the three-point loss. BronBron went for 34 to his 13. The Cavs and their beard of superior grooming will now be looking to close out this little chapter in game five at home. And, oh by the way, a frustrated DeShawn got a flagrant for slapping the headband off of James on a drive and almost creating major ruckus. It’s in the clip above, and isolated for further viewing after the jump.
And to think I was out running to raise money for cancer research when all of this hit the hardwood. Make the jump for the unlikely segue into the FTB fun at the Multiple Myeloma Reaseach Foundation 5K this morning in the city and more on DeS vs. LeB.
Former Warrior and patron saint of FTB Tom Meschery was known for his extraordinary toughness as a player. Shown above (at left) putting some hard-nosed D on Bob Cousy, the “Mad Russian” was a true banger on the defensive end and an underrated offensive threat. Not much has changed in the intervening years. Having recently battled multiple myeloma cancer to a standstill, he’s still got more than his share of scrap. But he’s also still got a soft touch on offense too.
This Sunday he’s going to be running in the San Francisco stop of the Multiple Myeloma Research Foundation Race for Research 5K. He’s also the honorary chairman for the event. He’s already raised more than $2,000 and we’re hoping to push that number up a bunch of ticks by the time the gun sounds on Sunday morning. The FTB crew will be there ready to run and we would love to see some of you out there. If running or walking isn’t your thing, please stop by Tom’s donation page and put some greenbacks on his efforts. This is not a kind disease and sadly, it already claimed the life of former Warrior and ‘74-’75 NBA Championship team member Phil Smith back in 2001. He was only 50 years old at the time.
A small donation or a run in the park is a great way to make a real difference. The success of the Mad Russian’s treatment, and his ability to participate in this great event, is proof positive that sometimes we can help push along the change we want to see in this world. So come on out and join us on Sunday. Putting a hard foul on multiple myeloma cancer was never easier.
Hope to see you there,
Turman
PS. In the years since his NBA career came to a close, Tom has become a highly regarded poet. YouTubelage of him reading his poem “Reunion 1994″ can be had after the jump, along with a personal message from Tom about Sunday’s event.
Last night the FTB crew joined in the big fun out at McKeon Pavilion in Moraga. There’s this college out there and apparently they have a pretty good men’s hoop team this year. But more importantly for us, we were there to help Saint Mary’s honor esteemed friend of FTB, Tom Meschery, as the baller emeritus numero uno in school history.
Tom was gracious enough to invite us out to center court with him for the ceremony, which is probably going to be the only time anyone lets my rec-league behind onto the hardwood during an actual game of any consequence. The ovation was loud and long and it was an honor to share it.
The game wasn’t so bad either. Actually, the Gaels ran their record to a gaudy 24-4. On the receiving end of the “L” were the Toreros of San Diego. Vaunted point guard Patty Mills had a quiet game, but senior Tron Smith was a one-man wrecking ball during a crucial stretch of the second half. This sets up a weekend showdown on the road with Gonzaga for supremacy in the WAC. Now if they could just suit up the Mad Russian for a little road trip. But with the Gaels playing the way they are this year, maybe the glory days aren’t all in the rear-view mirror.
Thanks again to Tom for sharing a fun ride on the Nostalgia Express,
Daniel Turman
PS. The game also featured long minutes for San Diego from Rob Jones. Why is this significant? Well, Rob Jones just happens to be the grandson of People’s Temple founder Jim Jones. Yes, that Jim Jones. Rob’s from the Bay too. Gary Smith wrote a fascinating profile for Sports Illustrated back in December. You can check it out here.
There was no rain yet, but you could smell it coming. It was a warm night and Duval Street was choked. Chasing the ghost, we went to Captain Tony’s first. I ordered a Papa Doble in honor of Hem. The place had brassieres hanging from the ceiling and smelled of stale beer and old smoke. We didn’t stay.
Shaking Tony’s joint in favor of the new Sloppy Joe’s, we stumbled into a two-man comedy cabaret. The first number we heard was a song about scrotums. It was a sing along. The basement allegedly housed a wealth of untold riches in the form of televised sports. But with the scrotum song threatening to put us off our feed, I powered down my Cuba Libre and we bolted for dinner.
After dinner, the hunt was on. Maybe it wasn’t the most likely circumstance to catch a game being played 3,000 miles away, but what the hell. Matt Barnes was going to play through the death of his mother in the city where he grew up. She had died the day before. As fans we owed it to him to try and watch. We figured that it was probably getting close to halftime. The first bar had 40 televisions but no NBA League Pass.
“The owner’s a cheapskate,” said the barman. “And he’s never here.”
The second option was a bar called Big Uns. Apparently it had been named after a fictitious porno magazine from an old TV show. It reeked of that brand of desperation particular to certain sports bars.
“Do you have the NBA League Pass,” Lil’ B. asked. “We’d like to watch the Golden State Warriors game.”
The barman snorted. “The who? Are they an NBA team?” He had the build of a linebacker and curly hair frosted blond along the top. He looked to a man seated at the end of the bar for his cheap laugh. Finally, he smiled. “I’m joking folks. We’ve got the league pass.” He picked a nearby set and started flicking through channels. He found the game and we ordered beers.
Me: They’re going to lose because they can’t make their free throws.
DT: You’re jinxing ‘em
Me: Look at the Mavs. They can’t miss at the line.
DT: That’s it. If we lose, that’s your topic and you’re writing a post.
Me: I don’t have time dude.
DT: It doesn’t have to be long.
Guthrie: It can be a haiku
Here it goes, a haiku to the Warriors using only the letters in the words FREE THROWS:
Free Throws! Free Throws! Free Throws!
O’er the roof we
shoot threes. Those two shots we throw
free? We see sorrow.
Alexander Belov driving the lane in the 1972 Olympics.
Saint Petersburg, Russia hosted the annual Vladimir Kondrashin/Alexander Belov Tournament Sept. 29 and 30th and this old Warrior was there to witness some lively—but not exceptionally inspired—professional b-ball. I noticed instantly that none of the players had beards, not even the expat brothers, so I figured therein lay the reason.
I was introduced at halftime as the first Russian to play in the NBA (eat your heart out Andre Kirilenko), which is actually the case as my Russian family immigrated to the US after the Second World War, and was asked to say a few words in the old mother tongue. Kondrashin and Belov in Russia are compared to our Red Auerbach and Bill Russell. The K & B combo won most of the European and Russian championships of their time (from 1967 to 1974) and cementing their legend by beating the Americans in the 1972 Olympics, the first time that had ever happened in b-ball history (shame on you Doug Collins). I was sorely tempted when I got the microphone to ask the 10,000-plus fans what would have happened back then if our pros had been allowed to play, say if Kareem Abdul Jabbar had been there to guard the fabled Alexander Belov when that full court last second game ending pass was thrown which Belov caught and scored. But I resisted being the Ugly American.
Basketball is huge in Russia and all over Europe these days. But I suspect they could improve their game if only the coaches insisted that at least two players per team had to sport beards. But let’s not take anything away from Alexander Belov. I watched some game films of him, and he was indeed a sensational forward, quick, with super moves and a soft touch. Had the Commies allowed him to leave Russia he would have made it in the NBA, but not before yours truly.
Good luck to Nellie and his bearded wonders this season,
Fear the Beard colleague and newly annointed contributing editor, the bearded (former) barman Dylan O’Brien, dropped this in the FTB inbox the other night. He, like several of us, spent more than a few minutes trolling around the surreal domain that is adonalfoyle.com. So please, read to achieve.
***
Perhaps nothing symbolizes the pre-Nellie/Baron Warrior futility better than the career of Adonal Foyle. Prior to his buyout/release from the Dubs last month, Foyle was by far the longest tenured, most educated, and kindest Warrior. Unfortunately he also epitomized the terrible drafting strategy and desperate contract offers of the St. Jean and early Mullin eras. His limited skill set offered nothing that Nellie wanted, and thus he was relegated to the bench all of last season.
Hailing from Canouan in the tiny Caribbean atoll of St. Vincent and the Grenadines, he was raised by his Grandmother and his Donkey (you can’t make this stuff up). He became the NCAA’s all time leading shot blocker while at Colgate in addition to graduating Magna Cum Laude (take that, Steven Jackson!) with a degree in History. Adonal was taken with the eighth pick in the 97′ draft, one pick ahead of Tracy McGrady. As a side note, Adonal was also drafted ahead of God Shammgod, one of the greatest athlete names OF ALL TIME! (See also Miroslav Satan, Dick Trickle, Buster Rhymes, Coco Crisp, Fat Lever, and He Hate Me.) Shammgod wasn’t much of a player, but why not draft him just to have God on your side?
Make the jump for the stunning conclusion in the form of Adonal Foyle’s poetry.
The seventh-annual Magpie Festival went down in Sierraville, California on Saturday. Once again, the Magpie’s patented blend of poetry and singer-songwriter acousticisms captivated those in attendance. The pine-scented air. The DIY orientation. The overall vibe. Somehow well-conceived lyricism just echoes more gracefully at Magpie.
The Mad Russian himself, Warrior-legend Tom Meschery, threw down an epic sonnet about the Western Conference-winning team from 1962/63, of which he was a member. The poem, entitled “Reunion 1994,” commemorates a gathering of the squad some thirteen years back. Tom is most likely the only member of both the Bay Area Sports and Nevada Writers Halls of Fame, so click through below to see the double double. The scoreboard? How about the career numbers, 17 and 11, racked up against one of the more demanding forms of poetic verse.
