Sports! Plagues!

It took me two days to come up with a viable Passover gimmick post, and as it turned out, it was totally unhinged and offensive on unexpected fronts. But I would like you to read it, because it is fun, and because I live to dispel the myth that everything I write for AOL is corporate crap.

"Why Are These Nicknames Different From All Other Nicknames?"

Someone wrote an email into whatever WNYC show is on now saying you should send in your census form, but undercount your family members to STARVE THE BEAST. I could feel Dale Gribble tapping on my shoulder and yelling in my ear.

Has anyone seen Mother yet? I keep trying to see it but the showtimes are fucked. Your friend, Shoals.

How Can You Find It?

I'm still in Rome. Behold my long conversation with Rick Telander, on the subject of Heaven Is a Playground and the anniversary photo show.

A Place Fit for Standing

You don't even recognize my face. That's fine. Some stuff I wrote you might like:

-GM Swagger Power Rankings, with Ziller

-Unpacking "Change of Scenery"

-This Evans/Martin Break-Up Was Good for Martin, Really

A brief word about the last one: An earlier draft contained a reference to Martin's light skin, which I cited as another reason some people might be under the impression that he wasn't an aggressive player. But as Q McCall pointed out in a chat, in a context like AOL, it's hard to broach the concept of skin tone stereotypes without either:

1) Appearing to condone them
2) Having to exhaustively lay out the phenomenon
3) Giving a reader the opportunity to say "I don't think that way", thus weakening the argument
4) Meet with steep resistance to the very idea that such prejudice exists.

I finally decided that this point, and the meta-media question surrounding it, belonged here on FD—where, I think it's safe to assume, most of us have at least heard of this form of prejudice. But it was strange to realize how hard it was to write that sentence about Martin in a way that the general audience on FD would have found accessible, and would have had the desired effect.

Speaking of Martin and skin tone, I think we've seen something similar happen with Stephen Curry. Now that Curry's gotten comfortable, we're seeing what his game will look like at an NBA level, and it's pretty nasty. He penetrates, shakes defenders, crosses over at random, and doesn't fear disaster. In some ways, he's not that different than Monta. But since members of the media never watch the Warriors, they talk about him as a pure shooter with stellar basketball IQ and a airtight sense of right and wrong on the court. The Kevin Martin-syndrome, as much as anything else, explains the disconnect between the discourse surrounding Curry and the player you see on the floor.

I've Been Around

This game is making me shiver.

I've written some good shit at AOL in my first week. Like, things that would do just fine on this site. Don't believe me? Take a look at these responsible links.

-Exporting the Positional Revolution to the masses, for OKC/ATL and then as the saving grace of All-Star Weekend.

-Why the NBA's "observance" of MLK Day bugs me.

-And, reunited with Ziller, the comic gem "Why DeJuan Blair Went So Late" and a graph-heavy, theory-laden extravaganza on the subject of individuality, morality, and free will.

If you liked any of that, here's the feed for my posts.

Yours,

Shoals

He Will Take You Away

If the following video doesn't hit you on a number of levels, be dead and be gone from my sight:



Meanwhile, keepin' up with the future:

-Language and coverage of Gil. You know you love it.

-Eric Freeman coins the term "reverse-tanking," which I predict gets big.

There are some guest posts in the works, but for now, reacquaint yourself with my new home. And watch that video over and over again.

Google Reader Will Outlive Us All

READ ME. Twilight of the gods, more Gil, some loose ends, and an x-ray of my face.

Do a Little Paintng

Really, I had no idea the decade was ending. Perhaps that's because, like most people with brains, I subscribe to the notion that decades are a fairly useless way of demarcating stretches of time and tend to get in the way of defining epochs. Except when it comes to the NBA, where history splits itself up into ten year chunks. More on that when the book comes out. So it's only natural, like the hair on my arms, that my personal favorite sports moment of the decade is the 2000's at their fulcrum: T-Mac/Bron on Xmas 2003.

Also, Ty Keenan busts loose with an exciting, sad, and definitive BELIEVE reminiscence.

The Meal of the Wicked

March 10, 1976: Colonel at Spurs, Gilmore and Gervin, through my brain right now.

The only good thing about having a fever for days is that after a point, you stop being exhausted and end up floating and all creative-like. I have so many things to add to the book today, and also wrote a 1200 word opus on why, indeed, small forwards matter for The Baseline. It could've easily appeared here, but it happened there. Check it out.

Also, don't forget to check out the last days of the Bill Simmons Book Club. The heat hath really been brought in the second round, and I kind of wish we could drop Simmons and just form a basketball-and-culture blog with this roster of writers. I know, keep dreaming.

Grief is Swift

I can't lie, I'm up to my nose in book. But I'm trying. Maybe later this week.

Speaking of book, here's my latest for the Vulture Reading Room, convoluted but completely from the gut. Some other real big ones on the way.

Hold everything... Jonathan Bender comeback? With the Knicks, of course, but still hard to pull time back around itself like this.

McSweeney's gives you The San Francisco Panorama, me and Big Baby have something of note in it. I loudly protested the Curry poster.

My Icing for a Cake

First, the podcast:



Dan sat down (enter the virtual sitting space?) with Kelly Dwyer, who needs no introduction. He also once penned (meta-finger carved?) this beyond-the-moon classic of an FD guest post. They discuss Kelly's hustle, his m.o., and naturally, the Bucks, the new official team of the podcast. Here is the most fair, honest, and useful assessment of Skiles as a coach you will ever get. Good stuff on what's missing from the Thunder this season.

Songs from the episode:

“I Like Everything About You” - Jimmy Hughes
“I Want to Take You Higher” - Sly and the Family Stone
“Eye Know” - De La Soul
“Heavy Makes You Happy” - The Staple Singers

-In other news, I have another Iverson column—longer than the last, making a case for him and the Knicks that a lot of people will hate.

-For discussion at a later date: Everyone reading knows of my single-minded devotion to the Hughes/Arenas back court of yore, or my belief that Mo/Delonte is a poor man's version of that. But what about this year's mounting trend of playing two "pure" PGs at once? Dallas, Milwaukee, Denver, Portland, Atlanta ... maybe David Kahn wasn't so crazy after all. I have no idea, are Sessions and Flynn sharing the court at all? Just wait till Rubio shows up!

Cool Warriors Post!

Over at The Baseline, Bethlehem Shoals has bared his soul on the subject of this year's mangled Warriors, and maybe even found some good in there. If nothing else, as a learning experience for those who must touch shoulders with their carnival of doom:

You won't get there but by speaking their language, and then underneath, you figure out where you really stand. It's at once exhilarating and silly to watch Houston score on every possession down the floor in the third, and yet only a vision quest-like encounter with the Warriors—the NBA's great wacked-out foil—can help bring their season into focus.

Or, if you want to get crass, we crave this team's steady stream of nonsense and crash courses that, for all we know, might be part of Nellie's grand design. It drives longtime fans crazy. But when your team isn't going to win, better you stay relevant as a test of others' psychological mettle, accessible only by dark, dank ferry, or keep even yourself guessing about what's up and what's down. Oh, and make sure there's enough there to keep everyone hoping and wondering "what if." That's the Warriors, and that's why they matter. Even if, for those on the inside, it's begun to resemble normal.

Seriously, check it out! It's pushing 1,000 words and could easily have lived on this site, if I weren't trying to keep from anyone accusing me of being a Warriors or Thunder homer. By the way, I think the Power Rankings right now have to go:

1. Wizards
2. Thunder
3. Warriors
4. LeBron
5. Ariza

Also, I don't care what people say, JaVale McGee is always on the floor for the Wizards. No matter what the box scores say.

Learning Is Everywhere

I don't feel good, so here's some advice: I have been writing these gargantuan team previews over at my other spot. They are really weird and make me dizzy just to recall them. You should peruse them: Under the tag that bears their name, The Baseline Sees All you can see the ones I've done thus far. So many words. So much fun. Especially when I've only done the league's worst teams so far.

Friday Didn't Happen

You know Twitter has #FF, when no one says anything, or responds to anything, and the whole thing turns into an open-air bazaar for absolutely nothing? In honor of that, I'm doing a quick post here that's similarly pointless.

First, up top, an absolutely amazing drawing of Artis Gilmore from an old SI that, were this several years ago, we would be trying to put on a t-shirt. Now, I think the most we can do is put it up here and wave our arms some. Unless The Vault, which rules, wants to partner with us to do a series of old illo tees curated by us. Just a thought.

Last basketball: Very soon, I'm dropping a really long Gilbert Arenas piece over at The Baseline that I swear you will all love. Stay tuned.

Maybe you noticed that the store ads disappeared (for now) and ye olde Amazon widget moved up. I've decided to get back in the swing of that, partly for the added revenue stream, but in large part because I like writing blurbs about non-sports stuff. Up there now: Cooperstown Confidential, a Bloomsbury book that's less about scandal-mongering and more turning it's grotesquely, indiscriminantly mythic—and totally supra-American—past into something more believable. I think it saves history, while creating a bridge between those days and the imperfect present. I hope we manage that in the new book. Steven Johnson's The Ghost Map had me talking about cholera and shit to anyone who would listen in the week before my wedding, but is really worth it for the finale, where he smushes together the last sentence of every magazine feature he's ever written about civilization, evolution, terrorism, health, and the value of cities.

The Damned Don't Cry is one of those rare movies where Joan Crawford is both scary and hot, as well as a genre pic with layers, or maybe two genres at once. This coming from someone who watches at least one forgettable noir joint a week. I still don't get why there's a song on Africa Brass with the same name, and would prefer to not look it up. The Big O is well past my cut-off year for basketball memoirs, but Robertson's an intensely private man who decided to open up here, and as with his game and personality, you can feel the anger simmering just beneath the stately (okay, sometimes staid) prose. They Cleared the Lane is not only the single best book about race in the early NBA, but also, in its eye for detail, gives you some invaluable info and understanding of that era in general. Breaks my heart that this isn't more widely-read.

Finally, Heaven and Earth's I Can't Seem to Forget About You. Buying this import new is expensive, but there are cheaper used copies up there. The kind of sweet soul so haunting, and uneasy, it borders on scary. Oddly, "Let Me Back In" might be the song I most associate with my wedding weekend.

UPDATE: New column on Arenas now up and running.

It Touched the Ground, Hard

(Your call: Is this A) 9/12 march footage B) my wedding C) proof that we're still secret racists here)

No, we have not all died and gone to heaven. There just hasn't been much NBA to write about, and at this point of the year, the very air around you seems to choke out many attempts to discuss the Association.

That and the next book is bearing down on us, myself and others disappeared to Maine this month for my wedding, and you know, I do have another blog. If SN didn't pay me, my columns on Jordan/David Thompson and The Speech/Serena would've lived here, as would have shorter posts on early athlete development and Brandon Jennings's views on the limits of online authenticity. Sucks for this RSS feed, but not necessarily for you guys.

All of which is a nice transition into some news about the store: For the time being, it's going to take a little breather. It's a one-man operation, and between the store, a move, a dissertation, and the book, that one man fell a little behind. Those of you who are still waiting on orders, they should be out soon, or otherwise accounted for. Don't hesitate to hit up the FD gmail with questions. We'll be back for the season's start with new product, a more streamlined system, and hopefully, a clean slate with any of you who feel wronged.

Enough with the gloominess. This site will begin to pick up soon, especially now that I don't have a wedding to plan. Strangely, I also think that working hard on the book can at times spur activity on here, at least for me. But rest assured that when you need us most, there will be blood. And for heck's sake, read The Baseline. Unless you want it to fail so I have to do all my writing here for free.

You friend,

Shoals

P.S. Can someone help me explain why Gretzky doesn't defy both my "to be the greatest in sports, you must be a dick" and "only Jordan is the consummate best ever" statements? Thanks.

No Chase in Leaving

Every once in a while, my world stops turning here, but continues elsewhere, meaning that I have one foot in motion and the other at rest. That may make some of you angry, and it's a little awkward for me, but I think it warrants a post in case you don't just love FD for the template.

The big Gatorade gundown: Simple, hella corporate, and yet awakening the competitive spirit I didn't think I had in me. Click on that link and vote for my favorite Jordan moment of all time, so it can end up on a bottle across the nation. For space reasons, they had to cut the part where I suggest MJ finished in this manner to send a message to Bias, who had just had his potential game-winner blocked by Sam Perkins. Not quite the 1992 "eff Drexler" half that Skeet selected, but in the same vein. In case you've never seen it:



At one point, I was thinking of using this web classic:



I've posted it on here multiple times, but what fascinates me is that YouTube has allowed for a rediscovery of early Jordan. This grainy footage of his ninth game, the first time he really exploded as a pro, is quite possibly the most raw example of Michael Jordan, threat to the known universe. And relatively speaking, it might as well have never existed before this video was posted, except as a box score. Certainly, it's only recently that we've been able to drill it into our own heads, to memorize each move and, for me, reassert a past that's quite special in its own right. It's allowed us all to experience a relatively obscure moment as real, even consider it for the canon.

Moving on, the ol' day gig has produced some possible posts of note. I was in a bad mood when I read Dave Berri's "underpaid/overpaid" post, and ended up writing a column about it. Slight slip in terminology notiwthstanding, I think it's a point that had to be made, even if Ziller really hit hardest. I also found out that Berri himself does't think so highly of me, though I suspect he only reads my stuff about him, and might think that everything on FD is by me. Regardless, this blurb is a keeper: "As always happens when I read Bethlehem Shoals, I am left wanting the last few moments of my life back. He generally offers a few personal attacks and then reveals he didn’t quite read what was written."

A commenter suggested that, to paraphrase, I should be sympathetic to Berri because we both look at basketball in an unorthodox way. What do you think?

FURTHER LINKS:

-Can't miss cult classics for 2009-10

-I am confused about J.R. Smith's gang leanings

-Over at Rethinking Basketball, Q. McCall recaps every single conversation we had at the Storm/Mercury game, most of which involved comparing the men's and women's pro games (as style, and product, etc.)

Someone's Favorite

In a perfect world, all of you would read The Baseline all day long. But I recognize there are differences. So how about taking a look at the following FD-friendly posts:

-Sleep-deprived column on how messy complex salaries have gotten and what it means for fans.

-Death of the mini-max dream.

-Is it time to redefine tampering?

-Why Nike should want the public to know that LeBron got dunked on.

You Take All You Can

Last night was totally discombobulating and snuck up on me, weird-wise, like various things that kill you. After it was all over, I tore out my teeth trying to decide if I liked the possible Amare-to-GSW trade, and realized in the process that my very being was at stake. So that's a longer post that will get written over the weekend.

In the meantime, here's 1,000 words on the Jennings/Rubio screenplay as of right now.

O Darkest Night

Below please find some amazing links, and the latest podcast.

-Earlier posts here, on draft fashion psychoanalysis and important details culled from past telecasts.

-My virulent, FD-friendly, reaction to the Shaq trade.

-Joey, after being crucified for his NY-centrism, has decided to change horses and look to the Wolves that could be.

-On the latest FD Presents: The Disciples of Clyde NBA Podcast, Dan, The Recluse, Eric (Ty Keenan), and myself attempt to talk about the draft, and instead spend almost 20 minutes trying to say something about the Bucks. Performance at its finest.



Songs:

Soundgarden - “Outshined”
What Made Milwaukee Famous - “Resistance St.”
Gang Starr - “Just to Get a Rep”
Deerhoof - “Whither the Invisible Birds?”
Man or Astroman? - “Principles Unknown”
Peanut Butter Wolf and Charizma - “Devotion ‘92″

If you want to settle down and make a serious commitment, try iTunes and the XML feed.

The Pickle Tantrum

I have numb hands and fingers, and might need an IV, so really quick on these.

-Welcome the top of the FD draft board, Mr. Jennings. Question: When he says "3-guard," is that really Euro, really street, or the hybrid he was born to rep?

(Or can I not say "rep" now that I've been thrown out of hip-hop fantasy camp?)

-This week's episode of "FreeDarko Presents the Disciples of Clyde NBA Podcast." Just the Original Two on here:



(Playlist will be posted later, because no more music on this blog for a second).

-My appearance on Dan Levy's On the DL. Consider this a warm-up for Blogs With Balls tomorrow.

So You Can See Me Now

It's rarely stated explicitly, but FD has a long and lasting connection to hip-hop. For all our jazz pretensions and obvious Pitchfork ties, many of us were shaped and formed by rap music, and spent many long hours trying to make sense of our place as fans and, in some cases, participants. All I know is that, no matter what they take from me, they can't take away the first time I heard Rakim, or Straight Outta Compton, or The Infamous. I've more or less repressed all the time I spent flirting with the tape trade underground, but certain albums, however obvious, are as much a part of my musical consciousness as, say, The Band (which came way later, by the way). I will even now unapologetically assert that Wu-Tang changed my life, without leaning too hard on Cuban Linx, but only if I only get credit for knowing most every Guru lyric by heart.

Why am I bothering to tell you all this? Well, mostly as a show of support for Dr. LIC's Straight Bangin' guest post on "why I hate rap now". It was supposed to be a "top 10 albums of the century" joint, but when the Doctor was blocked, and only go going when he realized what the problem was. I didn't even try and bother. Maybe I was always a tourist, maybe that "N.W.A. and Public Enemy were like punk rock" line had more truth to it than I thought. All I know is that, after having intently followed hip-hop since I first bought Raising Hell and yes, Licensed to Ill (gateway pass) in third grade, I'm just not interested these days. Did I give up hope? Grow out of it? Prove that I never had any place in it to begin with? I don't lose much sleep over ferreting out the answer.

But like I said, I think the good Doctor's post does a lot to explain why I've drifted further and further away, and right now own probably like three recordings from the 21st. My list would probably have included The Cold Vein, Supreme Clientale, Philadelphia Freeway, The Black Album, and Got It 4 Cheap 2. And yeah, I know there's definitely a problem/disconnect there, which is why I'll plead alienation instead of (for once) reaching for overwrought justification.

UPDATE: To reiterate, if you're in New York, and want to see me and most every other sports blogger of note on panels, attend Blogs With Balls.