Photo of the Week

From the NBA draft, former Stanford player and newly minted Phoenix Sun, Robin Lopez, tries on his new team hat:



Hmmm, so this explains why Sideshow Bob never wears hats on The Simpsons.

From Predator to Capitol Hill

From my friend Duke:

The entire cast of Predator will be leading our nation!

Former tough-guy actor sets sights on US Senate

What should Carl Weathers and Bill Duke run for?

He's right. First Jesse "The Body" Ventura is elected governor of Minnesota, then Arnold Schwarzenegger follows suit as governor of California, now little-known Sonny Landham is making a run for the Senate.

All I know is one thing... the cast of Alien really needs to step it up. That's right. I'm calling you out Sigourney Weaver. Yes we can!

Happy (Belated) Father's Day

Since I wrote an entry about my mom on Mother's Day, I figured it's only fair to honor dear old dad for Father's Day. Sorry to my pops for getting around to this entry a little bit late, but as a Laker fan, he can certainly understand why I was a bit preoccupied earlier this week. Dad, we choked. And yes, Pau is soft.

In any case, of the many traits that my dad has passed along to my sister and me, one of the habits that we try the hardest to shake is our packrat mentality. My dad is the ultimate packrat. A small sampling of his madness:

• He has kept nearly every pair of shoes he and I have ever worn. You know, in case I need those Air Flight II's with the hole in the sole.
  
• He will not allow us to throw away broken electronics, hence our garage is filled with old clock radios, handheld radios, bulky walkmans, cassette decks, cheesy 80's stereo systems, and an 8-track player. If that kid from Hereos comes over and touches everything to fix it, we'll be set with radios for about 9 lifetimes.
  
• He has numerous screws, bolts, nuts, and washers from various projects begun since the advent of his time in the U.S. This collection encompasses about 400 jars and boxes labeled and displayed in the garage.

And the strange packrat syndrome isn't limited to the house. No, it extends outside as well. Like what? Well, I don't think a mere description does this justice. Let's take a little tour of our backyard, shall we?


This is just a small sampling of the various basketballs I have had over the years. There are about 3 or 4 more in the garage itself. Look at that one on the top left:


Yes, it actually has no cover. That is a completely bald basketball. I'm glad my dad is holding onto it for safekeeping.


Someone gave me this cuckoo clock when I was around 8 years old. It now resides in this tool shed that my dad built. But that's not all that's in the shed...


Hey look, it's my old blacklight-ready Twilight Zone poster. Looks great framing the chainsaw and Easy-Off, doesn't it?


And ok, maybe my dad wants to display his golf button. I mean, he does love golf with all his heart. But why the need to display the pink plastic Happy Birthday sign? I think that came from some flowers I sent my mom about 4 years ago.


You know how sometimes you buy souvenirs on a trip and you have no idea what to do with them? Well, I bought a conch shell when we went on a family trip to the Caribbean about 12 years ago. When I brought it home, I really had no idea where to display it. But apparently my dad did. In a random corner of the garden. Sitting upright on a wooden post. Gorgeous!


Of course I saved the best for last. You see that thing in the bushes over there? No? Wait, let me get closer...


Do you see it now? It's right there. Still no? Ok, let me take one more step...


What is that, you might ask? It's a green dinosaur that my sister made in pottery class back in high school. Now it sits at the base of this little bush. Why? Your guess is as good as mine.

So there you go. Grand tour over. Did you enjoy yourself? I know I did. I actually don't mind the packratting so much. It's somewhat interesting to see where the things you owned back in the 8th grade are going to end up next. And my dad is one of the most organized people I've ever met. Although he keeps virtually everything, he can tell you exactly where any of it is should you ever need it. Will I ever need the free giveaway Quentin Richardson poster from that random Clippers game I attended in 1999? Who knows. But if I ever do, I know who to call.

Happy Father's Day, Dad!

The NBA Mole

Have you ever seen that ABC reality show, The Mole? The basic premise of the show is that a group of strangers are brought together to complete a set of missions in order to win big money. The catch? One of the participants is "the mole" -- someone who's job is to secretly sabotage the group so they do not complete the mission.

The mole must be covert in order to avoid detection while they slowly unravel the group's morale. Sometimes the mole outwardly throws competitions. Other times if enough teammates are doing poorly, the mole can just sit back and watch the team lose without having to get involved. Every so often, in order to throw people off the scent, the mole has to put forth a strong effort, just to make it look like he cares about the team's well being before he goes right back to the sabotage.

After watching the first 5 games of the NBA Finals, I think I've figured out who the mole is on the Lakers. His name? Kobe Bryant. There can be no other explanation. How can a team that decimated their more powerful Western Conference counterparts be down 3-2 to a squad that was taken to the limit by the Atlanta Hawks?

The untrained eye may spot someone like Lamar Odom and think he's the mole. After all, he puts his head down and sloppily charges over people, misses wide open looks at the rim and always misses at least one of his free throws with every trip to the line. But you can see in Lamar's eyes that he could never pull off something as complex as being an NBA Benjamin Arnold. His nervous demeanor would never be able to conceal his treachery.

So could it be newcomer Pau Gasol? He did come late to the Laker party, after a mid-season trade from Memphis, so he might not care as much as everyone else about winning. I did suspect Pau for much of the Finals, given his soft rebounding, porous defense and scraggly beard, but reviewing some of the previous games this season proves that his lack of heart is merely an affliction of his Euro-league training.

Could it be members of the bench mob? Sasha Vujacic, Jordan Farmar, or Ronny Turiaf? Nah, none of those guys plays enough to really be able to determine an entire game. Vlad Radmanovic? Too obvious. Derek Fisher? Come on.

No, the mole has to be Kobe. Why? Well let's examine the reasons:

• After two lopsidedly refereed games in Boston, Kobe knew that all he had to do was drive to the rim every single play in order to go to the line. It worked for Dwayne Wade when the Miami Heat came back from an 0-2 deficit to win the title in 2005. But what does Kobe do? He just stands 18-20 feet away from the basket and shoots fade away jumpshots. Kobe's not throwing his body into the paint like Boston counterpart, Paul Pierce, even though the refs are rewarding offensive aggressiveness.


• On the sidelines, rather than listen to instruction from his coaches, Kobe berates and demeans all of his teammates and then sits away from the huddle during timeouts. Red Sox pitcher, Curt Schilling was close enough to the bench to hear Kobe's remarks, which he then blogged about for the world to see. As we said, the mole tries to unravel the group's morale. Check.


• During defensive sequences, Kobe freelances much of the time, drifting off his man and just wandering around the court trying to make steals. Many times, this leads to defensive breakdowns since the other players are rotating late while trying to pick up the slack.


• Kobe Bryant is the only one cold-blooded and calculated enough to pull this off. Even during his sexual assault trial, Kobe was so detached from reality that he complained about the quality of the plane the Lakers chartered to bring him to and from his Denver trial.

I'm onto you, Kobe Bryant. I'm not exactly sure why you're sabotaging your own team -- did someone promise you a date with Vanessa Hudgens, Vanessa Williams, and Vanessa from the Cosby Show to complete your "I Heart Vanessa" collection, but only if you throw the Finals? Who knows?

All I know is you're the mole. I dare you to prove otherwise this week, Mr. Bryant. You have two games left.

A Sporting Reason

I am a sports fanatic. Anyone who knows me knows this. From the Lakers to the 49ers to UCLA athletics, I will go out of my way to catch a game involving my favorite teams. At the same time, I know quite a number of people who don't know the first thing about sports. And at first glance, I used to look at them with disdain. Really, you don't follow sports at all? What's wrong with you? But upon further analysis, I think maybe they're onto something.

When it really comes down to it, I can love the Lakers with all my heart, but do the Lakers really care about me? Likely not. And in the grand scheme of things, does my cheering from my living room in NYC really have a bearing on the outcome of the game? No. Doesn't make much sense, does it?

Jerry Seinfeld once made a joke that when someone's on your favorite team you cheer for them, but once they leave, you boo them. You're really not cheering for anyone in particular. Basically you're just rooting for laundry. And when distilled in those terms, sports seem like a silly exercise.

If all of this is true, what is the point of sports? When rooting for laundry brings about heartache after a big loss, does sports really mean anything? I argue that it does. What exactly? Well let's start with community. Sports bring people together.

A NYC construction worker and a Fortune 500 CEO in their midtown office may have absolutely nothing in common on the surface. But get either of them going on the topic of the Yankees, and suddenly their worlds become much more relatable. Following the stats of men dressing in matching uniforms becomes a daily ritual. As much as talking about the world at large, sports become a springboard that propels a conversation.

Sports also serve as a non-verbal tie. Strangers wearing the same team colors can give each other a knowing nod as they walk by each other on the street. It's almost like being in a gang, only without the need to shoot other people and be jumped in. Well, unless you're a Raiders fan.

What else does sports bring us? How about a proxy for life in general? Grandiose claim, you say? Hear me out. Sports teach us at a young age about competition and teamwork. In order to strive for the big prize, you have to work hard and keep focus. And even then, it's really difficult to succeed unless you can also be a great team player. Everyone has their strengths and weaknesses, and sports teach us about how to maximize our own strengths and exploit the weaknesses of opponents. Is any of this so different than understanding what it takes to succeed in the workplace?

Sports also teach us that even the best talent can lose and lose badly. David can outduel Goliath. For every New York Giants team beating the previously undefeated New England Patriots in the Super Bowl, there's a real world corollary. Think Michael Ovitz joining Michael Eisner at Disney only to see the stock sink to record lows while tiny Pixar comes out of nowhere to create box office magic. You never know what the outcome is going to be until you play the game.

In order to truly feel both the wins and the losses, one needs to become fully invested. That's why the heartbreak of losing a 24-point lead in the NBA Finals can reach far beyond the players on a team. The sheer amount of investment in the team is like owning stock in a company. Winning can pay dividends (in the form of smack talk and team pride) and the longer you hold on through the lean years, the larger the reward when victory is achieved.

In the end, I'm not sure that any of this fully encompasses why sports mean much of anything. But I like to believe it does. If not, I've been wasting a hell of a lot of time following a bunch of laundry.

Big Brown not as disappointing as his team

I'm not a fan of horse racing. Let's just get that out of the way to start. I actually think it's pretty strange that we care if one random horse can run faster than other random horses. Does the horse itself really care either way? Probably not. But all of the hype surrounding the final leg of the Triple Crown, and the fact that the Belmont Stakes is run here in New York, led me to watch today's race.

For those of you who are not versed in horse racing, a quick primer. There are 3 major races every year -- the Kentucky Derby, the Preakness, and the Belmont Stakes. A horse that wins all three races in one year is considered a Triple Crown winner. The last time a horse has pulled off the feat? 30 years ago in 1978 with Affirmed. So any time a horse wins the first two races, expectations are high coming into the third and final race.

This year, a horse named Big Brown won the Kentucky Derby and Preakness without much trouble, and thus was a huge favorite to win the Belmont Stakes today. How huge? He was a 1-4 favorite, meaning that if you put up $100, you'd only stand to win $25 if Big Brown won.

Well, guess what happened? Big Brown lost. And not only did he lose, but he lost badly. He finished dead last. Over 120,000 people came out to watch this race, with about $6 million dollars alone being bet just on Big Brown to win. Needless to say, a huge disappointment.

In ABC's coverage, story after story was created to add drama to the event. However, rather than making me like the Big Brown contingent, I ended up wanting to root against them. Don't get me wrong, I have nothing against the horse himself. He seems like a nice enough equine. No, my dislike is for all of the people surrounding Big Brown.

For instance:

• Jockey, Kent Desormeaux, had a story about his son, Jacob, who was born with a rare condition called Usher Syndrome. This disease leaves sufferers with hearing loss and vision loss. The sad tale was supposed to be hopeful because if Desormeaux's son loses his vision he'd always have the visual of Big Brown winning the Triple Crown to get him through the tough times. I did feel bad for his son, but the story was done so poorly it evoked little emotion and just seemed like it was exploiting Jacob's disease to make the otherwise cantankerous jockey look more sentimental. At the end of the story, they showed Kent watching, likely to get a teary-eyed visual, but he really didn't look all that emotional about it. When asked about the story, Kent made odd comments, something along the lines of God giving his son this disease so that the spotlight can shine on their family in times like this. And when asked if he would be thinking of Jacob as he rides, he said he definitely would not -- once his legs were over the horse, nothing else matters but the race. I'm sure he didn't mean these words to come out so callously, but it didn't help me feel good about Big Brown's jockey


• It was clearly stated that Big Brown was given steroids by his trainer regularly as part of his training program. This means that Big Brown was juiced for the first two races which he won going away. While it's not exactly illegal in horse racing to use steroids (for what reason I don't know), not all horses use it, so the ones that do draw a suspicious eye. In order to deflect any criticism, trainer Rick Dutrow decided not to inject Big Brown leading into the Belmont Stakes. Were steroids the reason Big Brown was so good in the first two races and so terrible in the third? Hmmm...


• Speaking of trainer Rick Dutrow, they showed a story about his personal life, where he talked about how he was a hard living guy who loved gambling, expensive women, and drugs. It was set up as a heart-warming tale of how was able to dig himself out of his excesses and train a Triple Crown contender. However it came off really strangely. Dutrow detailed how the mother of his child, a former beauty queen in Jamaica who had a terrible crack habit, was murdered by a crack dealer. Dutrow seemed to have little to no emotion about the event. Even worse, they talked about how he then took his daughter, Molly, to live in a horse barn up through age 3 because they couldn't afford any other place to live. Then at age 3, he sent Molly away to live with her grandmother because he couldn't take care of her. Classy statement of the day? Dutrow laughs and says, look I still live a hard life, do you really think I can take care of Molly? I can barely take care of myself! And then oddly the story closes with a note that Molly is now living with him "for better or worse" (yes, the voiceover actually said that). Heartwarming! Dutrow closes the story with a brash guarantee that Big Brown would win. Oops.

All in all, the day was highly anti-climatic, and ABC's coverage was pretty horrid. Perhaps I'll watch another race one day when another Triple Crown hopeful comes to light, but I'll definitely steer clear of the pre-race schlock that comes along with it.