Tuesday Kickstart: She Got Game

Starting a day later, in reverence to Dr. King. And in reverence to Mrs. Obama (TJ with the assist):



DON'T YOU EVER STEP UP IN HER WHITE HOUSE WITH NO WEAK SHIT. DO YOU HEAR ME?

Don't. You. EVER.

Now, for another kind of inspiration...how about the nerve-tingling-hot Sophie Rose?

Yeah, I thought that might do it for you. Let's go.

See Ya at the Crossroads

As you know, my feelings towards LeBron are less than warm. I wouldn't say that I hate him, I'm just not among his droves of fanboys.

That being said, this is hilarious.


Spotted on Grantland.

Flight Time: LeBron James

I think this video is as painful for lifelong-Bulls-fan TJ as it is for John Lucas. Damn...

Just in Case You Forgot...

...Taj Gibson's a man. I guarantee Wade won't be forgetting that anytime soon.

Daily Dunk(s): Taj Gibson

Mr. Gibson got his grown man on in last night's Eastern Conference Championship Game 1. First, he abused Dwyane Wade with a second quarter slam that caused Twitter, Facebook, and my phone erupt in unison; I wasn't near a TV at that moment, but tweets, statuses, and texts from countless people alerted me to what had just happened. This included a text from lifelong Bulls fan TJ: "TAJ GIBSON JUST DUNKED WADE INTO NEXT YEAR".

Then, with the game well in hand in the fourth quarter, Gibson let loose another gem, catching a rebound and dunking the ball so ferociously that it sounded like a gunshot.

It's only been one game, but the Heat may have a problem on their hands.

The Crying Game

Jimmy Dugan: Are you crying? Are you crying? ARE YOU CRYING? There's no crying! THERE'S NO CRYING IN BASEBALL!
Doris Murphy: Why don't you give her a break, Jimmy...
Jimmy Dugan: Oh, you zip it, Doris! Rogers Hornsby was my manager, and he called me a talking pile of pigshit. And that was when my parents drove all the way down from Michigan to see me play the game. And did I cry?
Evelyn Gardner: No, no, no…
Jimmy Dugan: Yeah! NO. And do you know why?
Evelyn Gardner: No...
Jimmy Dugan: Because there's no crying in baseball. THERE'S NO CRYING IN BASEBALL! No crying!

Thank god baseball’s not a real sport. Because in sports, especially those still predominately owned, operated, coached, played, and televised by men, there’s a dirty little secret that our preening machismo normally won’t let see the light of day: We cry.

I should qualify that statement. We cry…sometimes. Sometimes it’s perfectly acceptable. For all of the male gender’s overwrought playground codes, “Respect the player whose love of the game makes him shed a tear” is one of our most guarded. We protect it to the point that, for the sake of appearances, we often appear to violate it, casting aspersions and hardhearted jokes in the direction of any man with a wet cheek. See: “Vermeil, Dick”. But if you think this unwritten law exonerates LeBron James for Sunday’s news that Heat players—right or wrong, most of us have just accepted that at least one of the players in question was Bron-Bron—were crying after their loss to the Bulls, think again.

Timing is everything. Those tears have to be earned, through the stress of years spent shoulder-to-shoulder in battles that have created a sense of brotherhood amongst teammates. What men find questionable about another man crying isn’t necessarily that he cries, but that he’s openly doing it in front of other men. We understand that men, as human beings, cry. It’s a science thing that we know we can’t control, no matter how much we wish we could (Onetrik over at "Us, Bottles, and Friends" wrote a very accurate—and funny—piece on male crying and those occasions when it’s sanctioned). We’d just prefer that it only happen in private moments. Public waterworks displays are better left to mall fountains. But we know that it’s unavoidable…sometimes. If that man has poured every ounce of his heart and soul into the group effort, for the cause of the brotherhood’s survival and glory, then as males in the sports world we absolve his “sin”. We identify with that pain.

For all of the fond anecdotes from my high school football years, including victories over rivals, improbable touchdowns, and last second heroics, the one memory that probably resonates more than any other is of the final few minutes of my “career”. Our team, undersized—and, frankly, often out-manned—had fought our way into the playoffs. In the first round, though, we ran into a team that exposed all of our flaws and capitalized on our mental mistakes, and who quickly turned the game into a rout. As the final minutes ticked off the clock, the coaches removed the starters, and we sat on the sideline as a collective of conquered soldiers. Battered, beaten, and bruised, I sat side-by-side with my fellow seniors, guys I had played alongside since we were freshmen. We watched from the bench, a place that none of us had known existed since our first days as sophomores on the varsity squad. I dropped my head into my hands, unable to bear the weight of the moment. And I cried. But before I could even begin to wonder if I was doing my image a disfavor, our quarterback, only a junior, was kneeling next to me. With his arm slung over my shoulder and his head lowered next to mine, he said, “Thank you for all you’ve given us, man. You played your ass off out there. I love ya, man.”

That’s how it works for guys: When you’ve earned each other’s love and respect, your teammates are your brothers, and every man is his brother’s keeper. LeBron has been a member of the Heat for all of about eight months now. People have been known to bond in less time than that, sure; but it does make me question just how close he is with those teammates not named “Wade” and “Bosh”.

The timing of the tears, though, is even more suspect. LeBron’s never been considered the most expressively passionate player on the court. But now he’s reduced to tears following a regular season loss? Really? Keep in mind that this is the same LeBron James who barely seemed to care as his Cleveland Cavaliers team died slow deaths in Games 5 and 6 of last summer’s Eastern Conference Semifinals. The postseason is typically the one time in sports when a man’s tears are not questioned. Had James fought to the last minute against Boston, fallen to his knees as the buzzer sounded on Cleveland’s season—and on what he more than likely already knew was his final game in a Cavs uniform—and began sobbing at midcourt, very few would have criticized him for it. In fact, I think it’s safe to assume his Cleveland teammates would have embraced him and supported him in that moment of emotional exhaustion.

Of course, less than a month later that very same Cavs brotherhood was publicly humiliated by “The Decision,” as was the team’s entire fanbase. So LeBron playing his heart out for them may never really have been an option.

I wonder how they feel about his sob story?

Tail Report: Odaymis Romero

With all respect due to LeBron and Dwyane, the only talents in South Beach that I'm interested in watching are Ms. Romero's (a Heat Dancer). Te amo, mami...

Cleveland vs. LeBron

The day has come. After the flaming jerseys, media whirlwinds, jokes, tears, and anger in the five months since "The Decision", the first page in the next chapter of Cleveland's sports history begins tonight: Heat @ Cavs.

Wright Thompson put together an incredible piece on Cleveland, its people, and what sports and LeBron mean to this city "on a precipice" for ESPN's Outside The Lines.

He accosts me for my company's role in "The Decision" -- I actually understand his anger, though I won't say that to his face -- and I tell him what he can do to himself. He likes this answer, which is as Cleveland as his rage at the four letters on my press pass. Raab motions me over to the side of the locker room and digs around in his backpack until he finds it, safe in a plastic bag: a ticket stub. It's from the 1964 NFL Championship Game -- the last title the city won. He passes it to me carefully. Section 7, Row Z, Seat 19. Carrying this stub doesn't make him strange. It makes him a Cleveland sports fan.

I recommend reading the whole story, which reveals a lot about both Cleveland and LeBron James.

I—and likely 99% of the nation—will be hoping for a Cavs win (I'll also be hoping for a win for the Cavs fans, in that no one does anything incredibly stupid or harmful at the game tonight; no need to threaten or throw batteries, folks). My boys Esq and Baby Joey, though, ever the LeBron groupies, will be waiting for James outside of the locker room at the game tonight, too. I can't wait to hear their tales of this night when they get back.

Unless the Heat win. Then I won't be so lucky as to not hear their retelling of the night.

Brandon Marshall -- NBA Superstar?

With lockout looming in 2011, NFL players are making preparations for an uncertain future. For Brandon Marshall, the Miami Dolphins star wide receiver, that means asking his agent to look into a potential NBA contract.

From ESPN.com:

"My first team will be the Nuggets and my second team will be the Heat -- I'm serious," Marshall said.

Asked to clarify whether he will pursue a basketball career if there is no NFL season in 2011, Marshall said: "Not pursuing -- I'm going to be on an NBA team. Seriously."

Marshall said he was good enough to play shooting guard professionally.

I find the idea that Marshall would jeopardize his NFL career by playing basketball almost as laughable as the idea that he would actually make an NBA team. But the thought of him playing with that Devil's threeway known as Wade, LeBron, and Bosh is interesting, in a keyboard-playing-cat kind of way.

In the Heat of the Night

At approximately 9:25 PM EST, the world got its answer: Lebron James is going to Miami. Whew, thank god THAT’s over.

Well, not exactly. As one city celebrates without actually having won anything, another city mourns yet one more moment of ruinous heartbreak in a generation of sports tragedy. But tomorrow, when the GHB-laced mojitos give way to the queasy unnerve of an uncertain future, the fans in Miami may find themselves dealing with a bit of remorse.

Miami is now the “other woman.” It’s the amoral hussy who stole away Cleveland’s one true love. See that wounded, mascara-streaked, wailing woman on the banks of the Cuyahoga River? The man that did that to her, the man she thought she would live the rest of her days beside, who would take her to a glorious future; the man who, after seven years, tore her heart from her chest on live, primetime television without ever giving her the ring she so badly wanted? He’s the man standing beside you, promising you all of those same forevers, all of the same glories.

And sure, you can tell yourself that no two relationships are the same. You can even choose to believe him when he tells you that what you and he have is nothing like what he had with his ex. But somewhere, back in the damp, quiet, haunted corners of your mind, will always be the question you desperately want to know but don’t dare ask: If he did it to her, will he do it to me, too?

Welcome to Miami

US Magazine has just reported that Bron-Bron has already booked a big party in South Beach this weekend, which would seem to cement rumors that he has decided to sign with the Miami Heat.

LeBron James has rented six cabanas at the W Hotel South Beach this weekend to celebrate his team decision, two sources confirms to UsMagazine.com

That sound you hear isn't rain; it's teardrops falling from the cheeks of millions of Cavalier, Bull, Knick, and Net fans.