Violent Crime: The Helter Skelter Dismantling of a Writer and a Laker Fan

by: Justin Walsh

Kobe. Dear Kobe. Of course it's you, who else would Phil send, who else could be trusted? I... I know it's a long way to the court, and you're ready to go to work... All I'm saying is wait, just wait, just-just-just... Please hear me out, because this is not an episode, relapse, fuck-up, it's... I'm begging you Kobe. I'm begging you. Try and make believe this is not just madness because this is not just madness. Two hours ago, I came out of the press room, okay, I'm running across the gate signs, there's a deadline waiting, I got exactly 24 minutes to get to the damned word-press and I'm dictating.

There's this, this panicked beat writer sprinting along beside me, scribbling in a notepad, eyes scanning the lines separating the text like that New York Times writer looking for excuses to call Battier the god of hoops because of some crackpot equation, and suddenly- she starts screaming & I realize we're standing in the middle of a cluster-fuck of ticket holding Laker fans, the flow of the horde has sped up, there's this wall of people rushing into our pathetic excuses for athletic builds- serious groups of sketch looking people coming toward us in a hastened gait, and I... I... I freeze, I can't move and I'm suddenly consumed with the overwhelming sensation that I'm going to be witnessing a 5-25 outing by you, I feel a shroud of that playoff series I've been attempting to block from my mind, the one where you air-balled 3 straight clutch jumpers...

It's in my eyes, when I blink it's etched on the inside of the lids. It's like a coating of despair and loss and... at first I thought, oh my god, I know what this is, this is some sort of... This is what it must be like to have been a Cavs fan during the Jordan over Ehlo era... This is some sort of guilt stricken panic attack, where I remember how the Cavs could say "Oh well there was a time we won before..." Then they are pummeled by replays on ESPN Classic of Jordan murdering the humanity of Ehlo with a shaky jumper that rattles in. Nobody remembers that, do they Cleveland? They forget the rattle- they remember the fist pumps, nay, the jerks of his fists like Helen Keller back in the day... That's what this is- I'm panicking because you missed a jumper last game. And I realize oh goodness, I'm being ridiculous- this will all be fine. But then my irreverent misplacement of sanity was drowned out by the movement of feet, the chatter, the cheers, the hustle and bustle of the cattle drive to the gate entrance. This is not realization of hope, this is some giddy illusion of reassurance that happens in the final moments before LeBron comes out of nowhere, much like in this rant, and blocks your jump hook against the glass.

And then I realize no... No, no, this is completely wrong because I look back at the building and I had the most stunning moment of clarity. I, I realized Kobe, that I had emerged not from the doors of the Los Angeles Lakers media room, not through the portals of our vast and powerful press area with the horde and the wi-fi... But from the asshole of an organism whose sole function is to excrete the... the poison, the despair, the air-balls, the reminders of bullshit perfunctory let downs, the ammo of dissent. The defoliant necessary for other, larger, more powerful rosters to destroy the miracle of a parade route in Los Angeles. And that I could have been coated in this patina of shit for the best part of my years as a basketball fanatic. The stench of it and the stain of it would in all likelihood take the rest of my life to undo. And you know what I did, Kobe? I took a deep cleansing breath and set that notion aside. I tabled it. I said to myself, as clear as this may be, as potent a feeling this is, as true a thing as I believe I have witnessed last outing, it must wait. It must stand the test of time. It must stand the career of a player with 3 NBA titles, an MVP award, and enough balls to give each testicular cancer patient an even set... It must stand the test of time. And Kobe, the time is now.

Kobe, score. Kobe, fucking humiliate him.
----------

And after the thoughts left my mind, the game began. And sitting in my dark leather love-seat, it took all of 17 seconds for Kobe to score. and he scored again, and again. He scored 11 straight points. He scored 13 of the first 15. In the first half he had 18 points on 8 of 11 shooting. In the second half, he didn't just beat Brewer, he obliterated his dignity. When shooting guarded jumpers over outstretched arms got boring, he crossed Brewer over 4 times in a row, then picked up his dribble... Waited for Brewer to get close enough to tell the world what flavor of gum Kobe enjoyed, and pumped once... Pumped twice. One pivot, fade away jumper. Wet. And in that moment, I called my mom- she has no idea about the nuances of basketball - & I say to her, "Mom... Put Brewer on your prayer list, call your local city councilman in Dallas to fly the flag half staff, get his mother's contact information- you need to tell her to bake her son his favorite meal. I'll call the Jazz to get him a contract extension within the week. Have dad call the suicide hotline to have Brewer put on suicide watch in a hospital. Kobe Bryant just took his heart out and pissed on it during a live broadcast of an NBA game with millions watching."

And you know what my mom said? "Doesn't Kobe do that all the time?" And there it was, realized completely. LeBron may be the MVP. Tim Duncan may be the best player in his position in the history of the league. Chris Paul may very well be one of the best PG's ever. But Kobe Bryant is Shiva, the god of Death.




Note by the Author: While watching Michael Clayton, at the beginning there is a gorgeously insane ramble at the beginning. This entire post is basically my insane 5:00 a.m. rant to try and emulate that madness into a reflection of the emotions I felt just before Game 4 of the LAL/UTAH series, and what I felt during/just after. Obviously, I give credit of the idea to the movie Michael Clayton, but hopefully reading this, you notice my thoughts

Sunshine, Senor LD with the PSA

By Justin Walsh

Start of the week Ladies and Gentlemen!

It's your host, Mister Senor Love Daddy,

The Cavs squeek by, The Lakers drop a dandy

and Kanye West is nailin' a bald blonde...

That's the truth, Ruth.


Wait, so you're telling me STAT ANNND Nash are hurt for the suns?

SHAQ: EVERYONE CHILL THE FUCK OUT! I GOT THIS.

Shaq, you are old as balls, you know that, right?

SHAQ: I twitter more often than you've been alive. I'm the SHAQTASM.

Alright Shaqtus, just try and keep up.

SHAQ: Keep up? I'm Kazzaam, I'm a beast. I'm going beast mode.


Okay, I know what you're all thinking. Complete bull. Yeah, I thought the Suns were DONE. No Nash, no Amare, Jared Dudley and Goran Dragic get good minutes...I thought they were the Alternate Universe Suns- you know, like in DC comics where Batman is dead in one reality, alive in another, and in the third all the superheros are old - THAT kind of alternate ish. But anyway, somehow to the complete and utter awe to Me, Holly MacKenzie & Steve Nash's alien face, The Suns ran a better run&gun offense than the old suns the past few games.

Ladies 'n Gents, Berries and Cream, let's try and get some semblance of sanity here. I thought LBJ was a lock for the MVP but the past few games, he's played like shit in a bag with airballed jumpers galore. Interestingly enough, I still think he's miles ahead- even though Kobe is going bananas, his team lost to a STATless NASHless Suns team. Here's some analysis I think the whole world can agree on. The Cavs are ALWAYS best when LBJ drives into the cup. Whether he takes the shot, or dishes it out, the Cavs offense gels most effectively when driving to the hoop. So here's the question- why does LBJ shoot so many damn jumpers that ruin the offense? Yeah, he does make a few, but goodness flava-flav greatness they don't help that often. Holly and I spoke over the weekend about LBJ and his team's offense, we both figured in this stretch of the season King James needs to dominate the game by driving in every chance he gets. No more of this jumpshot business, no sir.

This brings me to point number two in what possibly could be the worst transition ever (well, besides when Chris Quinn runs the point, eh Eboy?), Reggie Miller makes my ears bleed. No seriously, sometimes I think we need to borrow some lyrics from eminem and just get him "shot in a trashcan wit' more holes than an afghan." Now I may not agree with the afghan part, let's get this done. He ruined All Star Weekend. Why would we have a 3 point shooter host a Dunk Theater event? Why would we allow the man with the 4th weirdest release on his jumpshot to talk shit about the shooting technique of Rashard Lewis or D. Cook? Last time I checked, when Reggie released, somehow god threw a big ass wrench into his elbows and put griptape on his guide hand so he'd have to make a weird shooting motion to get it in... Yeah, it went it all the time, but let's be real- he has no business breaking down shot form. 3 things should never happen- Shawn Marion can't teach shooting fundamentals, Reggie Miller can't critique shooting fundamentals, AAAAND-

Walter Hermann should never be able to have a stretch where he goes 4-4 against the defending champs. I'm sorry folks, but the lost Hansen brother needs to be shut down defensively. Besides, we all know this is the only reason young man is in the league-

Palming the ball with only your thumb and index finger is swell, but get your ass back to the bench. You wanna know what else Walty Walt has done to get in the league? In a dunk contest, he didn't lose the shirt, he lost the whole outfit. Check it. Seriously, apparently going all Risky Business in dunk contests then dunking it calmly is apparently big business.


Alright, I'm done taking potshots- he's in the league, I'm not. End of story. On to other news, I'm going to talk about the R.O.Y. award nominees. Shit is real, son. Derrick Rose has been solid for about 90% of the season thus far, and will probably win this award, but let's not forget that OJ Mayo is the truth and will be the next Kobe Bryant in our league. I'm not making comparisons, just watch these cats play. Also, two rookies who have totally said F U pay me to anybody else not named Ovinton and Derrick are Russell Westbrook and Brooke Lopez. Yep, that Nets big man. He's playing better ball in the past few months than MOST of the rookies, if not all. And I have a feeling Russell Westbrook could be a better Joe Johnson. Start the talks people!



Last, I think it's time for some choice "These players don't get their due" discussion. Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you DWADE. Young man averages more points, more assists, the same FG%, around the same FT%, more steals, within .4 blocks, same turnover rate of LBJ. People always say just HOW MUCH MORE VERSATILE James is than anybody else, but Wade has just about every stat neck and neck. And he's not nearly as physically imposing. Folks, I'm not a Wade lover by any means, but this information is just ridiculous like the back uh' yo head (MADTV yall?). Second, I lead you into the services of Josh Smith. He gets no love individually, but what sucks more is that he gets no love as a team on the Hawks- does anybody know they are currently the 4th playoff seed & only lost by one to the Cavs last night because of shitty refs? They also only get national TV play like, what, once in a monkey-fuck? Unacceptable. We must rectify this. Alright, A J-SMOOOOOVE mix to lead us out of the segment.

Alright folks, start of the week...I think we need some ridiculously hard, high, far pulled dunks. Here's HAWK. Disgusting dunks. No explanation needed my gingerbread men. Let's do this.


Alright guys, I'm gonna get you men on another level for a minute. I listen to music all the time when I'm watchin' ball. For the past week, I've made sure during every game I watch I have music on. So to leave you cats, I'm hittin' you guys up with my top 3 played ish through the games. One of these songs were on one of the AND1 DVD's. And the last one is the song I had on repeat for an entire Celtics game. Made Scalabrine HOOD.
AASIM-MONSTA MASH

MOS DEF-SUNSHINE



BIG L & JAY Z-7 MINUTES OF HEAVEN



...And we out sucka.

Mister Senor Love Daddy's PSA

*******Gather 'round the campfire, kiddies. Hibachi 2.0 has a lil' trick up it's sleeve. We have raised the bar, upped the ante, changed the game. Justin Walsh, SLAM Intern (and soon-to-be full time writer, if SLAM knows what's best for them) will be writing a biweekly column for this blog in order to keep it fully up-and-going while Hursty is gone (and after that, too). It will be a themed "Who's Hot, Who's Not" type of thing, with races included. Whatever Justin wants to put in, really. It will be current NBA news, and some of his opinions on it. Get excited! I'm gonna hand this one over to Mr. Walsh himself . . . ********



Waaaaake up!
Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!
Up ya wake! Up ya Wake! Up ya wake!

This is Mister Señor Love Daddy.
Your voice of choice. The world's
only twelve-hour strongman, here on
WE LOVE radio, 108 FM. The last on
your dial, but the first in ya
hearts, and that's the truth, Ruth!

Here I am. Am I here? Y'know it.
It ya know. This is Mister Señor
Love Daddy, doing the nasty to ya
ears, ya ears to the nasty. I'se
play only da platters dat matter,
da matters dat platter and that's
the truth, Ruth.

Thank god for Spike Lee. Thank god for Samuel L Jackson. Because without 'Do The Right Thing' in 1989, I couldn't give you my 'Bachi 2.0 blog introduction in only the way Love Daddy could. Here's the rundown- This aint your daddy's corner store & I'm not your father. I'm going to give it to you straight, you can take from it what you will. And that's the DOUBLE truth, Ruth.


ACT I: THE MOST VALUABLE PLAYER.

Ladies and Gentlemen, we can sit on a padded fold out, talkin' bout Dwight, CP3, possibly even Wade in reference to this most prestigious award. But let's be real, this is the year of the ultimate conflict. This is Harry Potter/Voldemort. This is Kobe Bryant/LeBron James. We can shoot the breeze about which is which. We can bring up the fact that LeBron makes everything he does look easy. But for each of us with that POV, we get a cat next door swearin' on the good book that Kobe does things so hard, that nobody else can do it. Pick your poison. No Kobe fan will dare say LBJ has bested the Mamba. No Bron fan would go within 10 miles of even considering Kobe being the MVP over their King. I won't lead you either way. Instead, I give you a story. You will decide for yourself which is Kobe, which is James. The winner shall be your MVP. Without further a due, Radio Raheem:

RADIO RAHEEM:
Let me tell you the story of "Right Hand, Left Hand." It's a tale of good and evil. Hate: It was with this hand that Cane iced his brother. Love: These five fingers, they go straight to the soul of man. The right hand: the hand of love. The story of life is this: Static. One hand is always fighting the other hand; and the left hand is kicking much ass. I mean, it looks like the right hand, Love, is finished. But, hold on, stop the presses, the right hand is coming back. Yeah, he got the left hand on the ropes, now, that's right. Ooh, it's the devastating right and Hate is hurt, he's down. Left-Hand Hate K.O.ed by Love.

What does that tell you? You know who you chose. I leave you with my favorite Kobe mix, and my favorite Bron mix.

FUEL TO MY FIRE (Mix by Arek Kissoyan, the lead video editor for ballislife)


LEBRON JAMES 'KING' (Mix by Tyson Johnston, video editor for ballislife)



ACT II: ACTIN' A DAMN FOOL.

Who's hot, who's not, who's win, who's loss. That's what's at stake here. Here's the nitty gritty, from your main man.

SMOOTH AS A CRUISE-BOAT FLOATS WHEN I'M WALKIN'.

1. Kevin Durant. Say what you will about the Oklahoma City Thunder. Say Clay Bennett is a bad person, say he did Seattle 7 shades of dirty & you will hear not a word of argument from me. But, then let the words out your mouth. "Kevin Durant can score. I mean drop major numbers. I mean he drops more numbers than the economy drops jobs." You would say that, and I wouldn't argue. Not one bit. For the season, he's averaging 39.9 minutes a game. In that shade under 40, he drops 25.5 PPG on 47.9% shooting, 42.9% from the 3PT line, and 85% from the FT line. Think about that... 25 PPG with percentages of 47/42/85? Damn. Also, 6.7 boards, 1.23 steals, 2.8 assists. This is his second year in the L. He's skinnier than those kids from the african poverty commercials. Seriously, Kevin Durant stood next to a few Phoenix area kids while accepting the Rookie Challenge MVP award- Holly MacKenzie noticed his arms were thinner than a prepubescent little girl wearing a pink T-Mobile shirt. 12 year olds got more beef than young buck. But he bangs in the paint, scores from deep, and doesn't get bodied. Like the special cat, Jason, who dropped 20 points and got him an ESPY nomination..."hot as a pistol."

2. Rajon Rondo. This University of Kentucky product has been hated on by you, me, your mother, your sister, your friends...Hell, my 95 year old great grandmother ragged on Rondo's game. We just figured, he's got big....colossal hands, and a shot that a coaches son could best in a shooting competition (no seriously, it really happened once). But then you watch how he carries the Celtics. Yes, I said HE carries it. Put it this way- Kevin gets hurt, the Celtics can still get to the finals as long as Paul Pierce and Ray Allen and Rajon & crew play their ass off. Pierce gets hurt, same thing. Allen gets hurt, same thing. You lose Rondo? You trying to tell me that the Celtics could still get to the finals? Sorry, don't believe it. Rajon Rondo keeps his big 3 getting the ball evenly. He gets his 8.5 assists, his 2 steals....But what really impresses me is that regardless of what deficiencies he might have, he is the integral gear to the offense. Hate on this statement all you want, but there is no way that Eddie House, Pruitt, Tony Allen, or anybody else could run the point for the C's and get them to the finals.

WHAT AINT NO COUNTRY I EVER HEARD OF.

1. Shawn Marion. I really don't know what to say. They call him The Matrix. See, that movie was the shit. This Shawn Marion isn't that Matrix. He's not even Matrix Reloaded, or Revolutions for that matter. Shawn Marion isn't even the mathematical matrix. No, Shawn Marion, in his current state, is the butt of an old Dave Chappelle joke from his "For What It's Worth" tour. Here's the part of the joke I mention:

"finally, one guy in the back snapped. I seen it. "AAAAHHH. RUSH HIM, He can't come on all of us!" And he charged up the aisle. And it was like a movie, this homeless dude seen him comin' and shot one off..."AAAAH" [imitates a...well you know] I dodged that shit like THE MATRIX. The guy behind me wasn't so lucky, yall. "No...Noooooo" [shot hits him on the forehead]. That shit was gross...That didn't kill him, but I'm sure that f*cked his day up."

That must be what it's like to have this version of THE MATRIX, Shawn Marion, on your team, screwing up the offense, calling out for more plays in the media, having all his career stats plummet like the nasdaq- I liken having Marion on my team to having a homeless dude bust one on a forehead. That's basically what Shawn has done to his career at this point. Remember when we were saying he was the most efficient guy in the league? Man, I miss those days.

2. I don't think you can possibly follow Shawn Marion in the "I'm not living up to standards" list. I think having just him in this list is fine and dandy, thank you very much.





ACT III: CONCLUSION.

SWEAR I could have died of boredom in the skills competition. That is, until Derrick Rose unveiled that pump 180. That was the best skill I saw in that whole competition. The 3PT contest left me with a gross taste in my mouth. The Dunk contest was annoyingly tedious when anybody, save for Nate Robinson & the last 2 dunks Dwight Howard had were up (Dwight took way too long for his first dunk, and to be honest with you the phone booth thing took WAY too long for me). Apparently, LBJ wants in next years competition. I say, more power to him, but he had better show me more than the yawn-fest he gave me at the McDonalds Game. He seriously did nothing but jump high and dunk hard. He had better SHOW ME SOMETHING.

For my parting shots, I'd like to give a shout to Jordan Hamilton, my boy from Compton Dominguez HS. He's going to play in the Jordan Brand Classic in April. It's going to be his first play of the year, since the CIF made a dumb mixup and made him ineligible. I'll be at the JBC, covering the game for SLAM. Best believe Jordan is going to fill it up. And that's the truth, Ruth.

-Justin Walsh aka Mister Señor Love Daddy.