Jun 2008
Stroke Me, Stroke Me
Okay,
so the weekend of golf turned around 180 degrees.
Amazing. Everything you could want in a sports
matchup, even if you don't like golf. Freakin' great
from top to bottom. Made it hard to go to work later
that day and cover the Lakers. Although the boys from
LA saved their faces and their souls by stopping the
Celts. Congrats to Tiger and Rocco on an epic golf
game. 91 holes in all . . . it sounds like Gene
Simmons of Kiss describing one night backstage.
There's lots going on with the refs, by the way. From my viewpoint, it's all bullshit. There's too much scrutiny on the refs ever since Tim Donahue opened his money-grubbing trap. The NBA isn't run by idiots; they know exactly how to protect their business. And screwing up the score from the floor is just too dangerous.
Now I'm sitting in Revere, about half an hour outside of Boston, waiting to go drinking with some old friends before the game on Tuesday. With any luck, I'll be in a bar right up until an hour before game time.
There's lots going on with the refs, by the way. From my viewpoint, it's all bullshit. There's too much scrutiny on the refs ever since Tim Donahue opened his money-grubbing trap. The NBA isn't run by idiots; they know exactly how to protect their business. And screwing up the score from the floor is just too dangerous.
Now I'm sitting in Revere, about half an hour outside of Boston, waiting to go drinking with some old friends before the game on Tuesday. With any luck, I'll be in a bar right up until an hour before game time.
Game Four Foreplay
It's
great covering a championship game that lets you
drive back to your own house after the show. But
watching the Lakers get schooled by Boston last night
in Game 4 was a lesson in severe man-pain. Pierce
delivered another Oscar-worthy performance, and this
one was actually on the court and not in a specially
designated handicapped zone.
Did the Celtics make Kobe their bitch? They did, indeed, forcing LA to give up the biggest halftime lead in playoff history. It wasn't pretty, and Kobe probably was having flashbacks to that night in the Aspen hotel. Only this time around, he was on the receiving end.
But I digress. I don't cover golf in my work, but I love the game. And yesterday's start to the Torrey Pines "extravaganza" did not live up to its advanced billing. It was like a wet dream where you wake up before the payoff. It was such a tease that you could get blue balls just by watching how crappily those guys played. It was just no fun. And that's just me. It probably sucked even more for Tiger and Phil.
Did the Celtics make Kobe their bitch? They did, indeed, forcing LA to give up the biggest halftime lead in playoff history. It wasn't pretty, and Kobe probably was having flashbacks to that night in the Aspen hotel. Only this time around, he was on the receiving end.
But I digress. I don't cover golf in my work, but I love the game. And yesterday's start to the Torrey Pines "extravaganza" did not live up to its advanced billing. It was like a wet dream where you wake up before the payoff. It was such a tease that you could get blue balls just by watching how crappily those guys played. It was just no fun. And that's just me. It probably sucked even more for Tiger and Phil.
Deals On Wheels
I
was in Boston last night covering the first game of
the NBA finals. I have to tell you, Paul Pierce
showing off his version of a courtside lowrider was a
brilliant bit of theater. It wasn't much more than
that, given how incredibly miraculaous his return to
the court was. Final score: Boston 98, Los Angeles
88. Pierce's score: Oscar-worthy. Yes, you heard me
right. Oscar-worthy. Give that man an award for best
supported actor.
Hillary's going down, which is proably something that hasn't happened in the Clinton household since before Monica Lewinsky began delivering hand-rolled cigars. Hillary may be on her way out, but as we all know, it ain't over until the lady in the fat pantsuit sings.
Oh, and a shout out to my boys in Pittsburgh for almost making the Igloo the new home of the Stanley Cup. Maybe next year, guys.
Hillary's going down, which is proably something that hasn't happened in the Clinton household since before Monica Lewinsky began delivering hand-rolled cigars. Hillary may be on her way out, but as we all know, it ain't over until the lady in the fat pantsuit sings.
Oh, and a shout out to my boys in Pittsburgh for almost making the Igloo the new home of the Stanley Cup. Maybe next year, guys.
