First and Foremost, Congratulations to Southside Southpaw Mark "I luv the Cards" Buehrle on his no-hitter...I luv the way he deals. As a lifelong Sox fan, I can’t remember being more unenthused entering a season after finished 3rd in the division and proceeded to do nothing substantial in the off-season. In my humble 'somewhat tipsy' opinion, nothing is worse than being a middle-of-the-pack baseball team in Chicago. Since our sunny weather window is so small, it doesn’t make any sense to follow the long-azz season with only a small opportunity to observe DePaul girls walking around in short-shorts that read: “Ass Hat” unless you are in playoff contention or extremely horrible…cause BAD baseball is twice as good as average baseball (just ask the Cubs). But last night, while drinking $2 Tecate (Happy!) with my Homeboys and watching the Bulls crap down their leg like Najah Davenport in a closet, little seemed to matter as Buehrle reminded us how magical it feels to the white-trash faithful when the Cell is buzzing. Even if it’s only temporary, thanks Mark…I needed it!
Back to the Hardwood fellas…after finishing the regular season exactly 40 games over .500 last night (146-106 ATS), I lounged on my expensive Unicorn-skin sofa and rehashed what my degenerate basketball life had come to. Basically, I know way too much about tall angry black-men, hairy..but cool fist-pumping foreigners, and the defensively challenged Caucasians of the NBA. Before passing out, I realized I needed to utilize this useless information and share my knowledge with others. So without further ado, before giving you my playoff predictions, I offer my first installment of the Greggy G’s NBA “If you don’t know, now you know” Awards. I just started these last night, so don’t give me too much shiznit yet…they’ll get better once a get a new batch of mushrooms delivered.
The DOMINIQUE WILKINS AWARD-
-The player actually worth an NBA ticket-
Being forced to watch Hawk basketball is no-longer similar to pulling a rolled-up rubber out of your curlies now that Josh Smith’s crazed glare is in Hot-lanta. While watching the lefty fly-in on the break is more exciting than Teenage Mutant Ninja Dildoes with Spanish subtitles, nothing compares to the face of fear shown by opposing forwards at the top of the key when he makes his first jab-step. You know about today’s NBA, most guys would rather give up an easy bucket then be a side note for a new poster. While highflyers and smooth dunkers are scattered all over the NBA like professional athletes at the strip-club, just like Nique, Smith separates himself because of his ferocious power and unexpecting throw-downs off a miss. In addition, just like a chick that has one-boob bigger than the other, the uniqueness of being a lefty just adds a few percentage points of excitement. Not to mention the swingman averaged almost 3 blocks and 13 ugly jumpers per game, the excitement Smith brings to the arena is so unique because you never know if he’s going to scream at his coach, laugh with the cheerleaders, or just dunk on your head!
Listen, I know he didn’t play a game all season after tearing his knee in the preseason, but check out this dudes transformation from year to year.
To be honest, Sonic basketball is pretty frickin’ awful so when I was forced to watch when I wagered, I found myself pausing my TV during timeouts to analyze Danny Fortson and Bobby Swift hanging-out in street clothes at the end of the bench. Besides the fact that they sit next to each other with Danny looking like a body-guard for A Tribe Called Quest and Robert like the tall kid that gets stuck with leftover Jr. High desk for a college final, my favorite Danny & Robert moments are the mannerisms they give when coach Bob Hill would glare down the bench. Fortson would mock his stare and then flip his dreads, while Swift would simply try to hold-in his laughter like a schoolgirl who just farted…Priceless my friends, Priceless!
The Stanley Roberts Award
-The player who will soon eat himself out of the league-
Obviously, I’m biased because I was lucky enough to see him live about 20 times this year. The look on Sweets face when he realized somebody got a defensive rebound and he had to switch ends was simply hilarious. The expression reminded me of the face High School girls would give in gym class when they were told they had to run the mile. Next, Sweetney would take a big gulp of air and pull his jersey off his man-boobs (for what reason besides stalling…I have no idea). And then, he’d take two huge steps that would really just be a long walking stride before he finally got to the full “fat-guy running on the treadmill” saunter to the other end. With that said, and because I don’t want to get my azz kicked if I see him on the street, the dude has a sick low-post game and great mid-range jumper if he only found a way to stop dipping the Velveeta in Ranch.