Archive for June, 2011


NBA Draft Diary: That was Ugly

June 24, 2011

Because this draft got ugly, fast... you get Rosie Huntington-Whiteley.

One of my favorite sports writers from years back and still today is Bill Simmons. One of his notorious pieces that ran every year was an NBA Draft Diary. Simmons would sit, and live timestamp the draft as he went. I tried it last night sitting in my good friend Mikey Mac’s basement. For whatever reason, even though this draft was sure to suck, we were interested because two local stars Kemba Walker of UCONN and Marshon Brooks of Providence were sure to go in the first round. Here’s what transpired in what could be the last piece of NBA action for a while since a lockout is more likely to happen than in the NFL, which is already happening.

7:31 Welcome to the 2011 NBA Draft! Just finished up an opening montage with Adele’s Rolling in the Deep and a bunch of the picks dressed like 1920s mobsters. Mikey Mac can’t believe they aren’t playing more gangster music for the NBA Draft. I think it makes sense since Adele is a thick white chick.

7:33 David Stern smiles through the boos and greets us from the Prudential Center in Newark, New Jersey. Which means Stu Scoot will be calling it “Brick City” the whole night. Stu’s just so damn hood it hurts.

7:34 Stern calls the crowd “A… good crowd.” then stares blankly at the screen. Mikey and I look at each other until Mikey shakes his head and says, “this guy’s a f$#%ing idiot.”

7:35 Cleveland is on the clock, even though they’ve been on the clock for over a month now. Mikey says the obvious “They gotta know by now…”

Jay Bilas tells us there is no Lebron James in this draft. I’d argue there are going to be 60 Lebron James’ in this draft by the time it’s over: none of them will have a ring, either. As of right now, I own Jay Bilas.

Stu Scott tells us Derrick Williams has “shotten” better than 40% from the 3 pt line. If you’re wondering, yes, spellcheck is alerting me to fix “shotten.” Thanks for that word, Stu.

7:38- Cavs roster is shown on a graphic and Alonzo Gee is listed as a starter at the 3. So it looks like Cleveland might be looking to upgrade at that position, since I’m not sure he’s a real person and Mikey Mac just said to nobody in particular “Who in the f#%k is Alonzo Gee?!”

7:39: Cleveland selects Kyrie Irving, and he hugs a man that Mikey Mac is convinced is Clyde Drexler. It’s not.

So if you’re wondering,  Kyrie Irving is 6’1” weighs 190 pounds, played 11 games in college after a toe injury and goes #1 in the draft. No wonder this league is headed for a lockout. Mikey’s early analysis: “Derrick Williams is like, hell yeah I get to go to Minnesota now and let Kevin Love grab every fuckin rebound while I jack 3s.”

7:41: Mark Rose interviews Kyrie Irving and tells us he only worked out for Cleveland. If Stu and the boys let us know, we could have seen this pick coming sooner, I guess. The ESPN Microphone goes out itnermittently and we get almost no information from Kyrie. Cool. This is the perfect start to such a craptastic draft. We don’t even know what the #1 pick sounds like.

Kyrie’s dad, Clyde, er I mean Drederick is talking now, and he played for Boston University (they churn out not only amazing ballplayers, but bloggers as well). Dude is 3rd in points in school history, behind all-time leader (and good friend of the Revolver) Tunde Agboola, I mean Tunji Awojobi.

7:43: We get to the Wolves #2 pick which will be Derrick Williams.  They discuss Ricky Rubio, and Mikey Mac cannot believe he averaged six points in Europe and we are even discussing him. Bilas asks who the Wolves leader is, since they can’t draft a veteran. This insight doesn’t grow on trees people. How about Kevin Love, Jay?! Dude just put up Moses Malone numbers for an entire season.

7:45: Timberwolves select Derrick Williams as expected. Mikey Mac has been waiting for this interview all day. He is convinced Williams would have gone #1 if it wasn’t for his poor teeth and inability to speak like an educated person. Jay Bilas says he has a loping style, but is explosive, and doesn’t rebound too well, but is efficient. He’s also good at getting And 1s, which I’m not sure you can measure.

Live look in to the Minnesota draft room. It has the vibe of a child’s wake until they realize they’re on TV and give a golf clap.

Derrick Williams interviews, Mikey Mac is on pins and needles. Now I am too. “Oh, he sounds good today…” This is a letdown. Williams sounds pretty normal. Even just used the word “Ultimately” to start his response. Williams is the strongest guy in the draft, we just found out. Something Jay Bilas might have wanted to say. Strength, Jay, is a viable attribute, not And1ingness.

7:49: Jazz on the Clock with the 3rd pick. This is where the draft gets interesting, because there isn’t a single guy left anyone seems to want in the top 10. Mikey Mac is convinced if Brandon Knight goes here, it’s the worst draft in league history since Brandon Knight from Pitt who had a better college career didnt even make the league.

7:51 Jazz select Enes Kanter: We have our first selection this year of a guy nobody has seen play besides at the Nike Hoops Summit. It won’t be our last, unfortunately. Kanter would have played for Kentucky, but he was deemed ineligible because he made money playing in Turkey before that. Which is weird since Coach Cal pays his players much more than Kanter ever made in Turkey.

Fran Fraschilla, the offical Euro-Scout for ESPN just let us know that Enes dropped a record 34 points in that Nike game, so he must be good. Fraschilla also tells us he will “fit in good with that group in Utah”… which is true, since he’s white.

Live look in to the Utah draft room: “They look like their mother just died.” -Mikey Mac.

Interview with a Turk: “I dedicate this first rookie season to Kentucky f23gionj (mangled word). I just learned my second language… incoherent rambling… rambling” and Mark Rose steals the mic. Kanter wraps up another answer and mercifully the interview is over. Honestly, outside of dedicating this first rookie season to Kentucky garbled mess, I’m just looking forward to Kanter’s second or third rookie season.

755: Cleveland is back on the clock. Jeff Van Gundy tells us Cleveland is “bereft of talent” and that actually is a word. Then JVG starts to say Valanciunas, but stops mid-way to call him “the big guy from Lithuania.” Love JVG. Jeff also points out how awkward the draft room claps are after the pick. “OF COURSE THEY’RE CLAPPING, IT’S NO SURPRISE, THEY MADE THE PICK!”

7:56 Cleveland takes Tristan Thompson from Texas. So the Cavs take the Canadian-Texan. Jay Bilas had Thompson as his 7th best available and tells us this isn’t a reach. But it clearly is since he should have been picked 11th at that rate. Bilas goes on to say he’s a great offensive rebounder, but not a good shooter… or scorer offensively. His footwork is “high level, he just needs to learn how to play and score.” Sounds like this guy should have been a dancer, since then he wouldn’t need to learn how to play OR score. Unless you count scoring with Natalie Portman when you’re her choreographer.

7:59 Interview with Thompson and the mic is completely out. Midway through we hear Thompson is shooting 1,000 jumpers a day, which is good. I hope Rajon Rondo is taking 10,000. Thompson answered with about 8 words and the second worst interview of the night (not counting Kanter’s, which we heard, just didn’t understand) is over.

8:00  Toronto is on the clock with the #5 pick and our first commercial break and we see that the Kia Optima is the official car of the NBA and Taco Bell has a summer saver menu. Apparently everyone is gearing up for this lockout, with a cheap automobile and a discounted stuft burrito.

As a quick side note: This is one of the least fun things I’ve ever done. ESPN’s coverage is awful, the players are worse, the interviews are the worst. I hope something turns this around or I’m stopping after the lottery.

Come on Rosie, I'm trying anything at this point...

8:02 -Toronto selects Jonas Valanciunas. That’s the big lithuanian guy Van Gundy was talking about. Mikey Mac called this pick when he thought about all their foreign white guys and said they’d f$*k up and take this guy.

Fran tells us right now he runs the floor well and gets put backs, but Toronto is best served to leave Jonas overseas and let him get stronger. So, by the time he comes to America, we’ll all have forgotten about this guy, basically.

Jonas can’t speak much english, and for some reason Mark Jones asked him about Dirk Nowitzki. Jonas didn’t even know what to say since he’s not German and barely speaks english. Jonas did say, “uhhh my body uhhhh not so strong (smile) so ahhhhhh but uhhhh I move feet good soooo uhhh.” No joke I quoted that as directly as possible. So uhhhh, get excited uhhhh Toronto fans, because uhhhhhh you have ahhhh not so strong guy who move feet good uhhhh.

8:06 Wizards on the clock with pick #6: They have almost no talent besides John Wall. Stu Scott says they need to win more games on the road next year sicne they won three last year. Unfortunately, this is one of the most insightful remarks I’ve heard all night.

8:07 BOOM. That is how you get drafted! Jan Vesely just stole the show as his name gets called  and he proceeded to suck his blonde Euro-girlfriend’s tongue, who is 6’7 from the looks of it. Then he turns and hugs an even finer brunette. Mikey Mac notices this, “this dudes got madd bitches.”

Fran breaks down Jan by saying “First of all, he’s got great taste in women.” Everyone on the ESPN broadcast is completely hot for Vesely’s girl. Fran goes on to say Vesely will win a dunk contest at some point because he is a high flying energy guy. After all that talk, we still know he only scored 10 points a game in Serbia. Apparently NBA teams are drafting foreigners based on the US dollar’s weakness. They’re just hoping points overseas have a strong US exchange rate.

During Vesely’s interview he calls Blake Griffin the US version of Jan Vesely. I like this guy already. Jan must have won the Serbian dunk contest by dunking over a horse and buggy?

8:11 Sacramento is on the clock but they are picking for the Bobcats in a trade involving Stephen Jackson, Corey Maggette and John Salmons. Sacramento selects Bismack Biyombo for Charlotte. Biyombo is from the Congo, which makes me wonder how these guys get found out about. Stu Scott tells us he’s got the coolest name in the draft by far. His wingspan is 7’7” and he had the first triple double in Nike Hoops Summit history.

Fran says until January, three teams in the league might have known about this guy. We find out that “he cannot score.” And that, “You cannot run plays for him. But, he will be an outstanding rebounding player. High risk, high reward, for a guy who is allegedly 18 years old.” Jon Barry is dying laughing for the same reason as you and me at this point. The draft is an absolute joke right now.

Mikey Mac cant wait to see how well Bismack speaks english, since he speaks 6 languages. After the interview, Mikey’s advice is: “He might want to work on one language instead of six.” Bismack says he is excited the way Jordan ran a practice and he was so excited to practice for him. So I guess things are exciting in Charlotte.

815: Pistons on the clock. JVG thinks the hardest part is whether they are totally invested in a rebuild. Since they suck, Id say it’s a good idea. The pick is in and it’s Brandon Knight. Mikey Mac was convinced Kemba was going to Detroit since they love Uconn guys (Rip Hamilton, Ben Gordon, Villanueva).

Bilas says he isn’t a point guard, but is a scorer. He can pass, but isn’t a good passer. And if he can learn the point guard position, he’ll be valuable. If you’re confused, don’t worry, nobody else on the ESPN set knows what to say. So, Stu says he had a 4.3 gpa in high school. Since Brandon never had to go to class at Kentucky, I guess his High School GPA is relevant? He apparently went to a really easy high school with a lot of APs, or the school gpa was out of 6 and he was a C student.

8:20: Commercial break and ESPN is no longer giving me any time to react to picks etc. Basically, with a 5 minute clock, they spend all of it on the pick made, then sprint through to the next pick. We are no longer analyzing who the next team may take. Which is fine, since these guys haven’t been right outside of the top two picks.

Sorry everyone, but this Draft can't be saved. Not even by Rosie. So here's Maggie G.

8:23 Charlotte picks for Sacramento at #9 and takes Kemba Walker. The star and MOP of the NCAA tournament gets easily the biggest applause from the NJ crowd. Bilas says he is a winner, obviously, and that Kemba is at his  best in the open floor. “The knock on Kemba if you want to call it a knock is that he can go into a defender and score and is a good penetrator.” Jay never told us why that would be a knock, so I guess I don’t want to call it a knock. Jay Bilas is basically the younger, taller, better looking. clearer speaking version of John Madden. I’m not sure when this happened, but it did.

Kemba gets interviewed about playing for Jordan in Charlotte, and he says how good he felt working out for them.They then show a video of Kemba doing the Harlem shake for a dance recital at the Apollo. So that was neat, maybe he can have a dance off with John Wall at the next level, if not be a better player.

8:28 Bucks picking for the Kings at #10 because of a trade that ESPN has done an awful job of clarifying.. The Bucks picking for the Kings take Jimmer. ESPN shows us a handwritten contract that Jimmer signed in 2007 in which his older brother made him promise he would do what it took to reach his overall dream of playing in the NBA. I wish I had an older brother who made me reach my goals with handwritten contracts. Jimmer’s older brother, TJ, is a wannabe rapper, so I mean this guy knows all about wanting to reach his goals. Unfortunately, without surgery, TJ will always be white, and not Eminem. Stu tells us Jimmer dropped 40 against prison inmates in his first game playing at the local prison. Mikey Mac questions that by saying, “Right, like they got a f*#$ing guy keeping score in prison…”

8:35 With the 11th pick the Golden State Warriors select Klay Thompson from Washington State University. Klay’s dad Mychal was the number 1 pick in the draft. Mychal is African-American and I’m not basing that solely on the name spelling, he’s on the TV. Klay took on the lighter characteristics of his white mother. When Bilas explains that Klay is very different from his dad, Mikey Mac quickly says, “No shit, he’s white?”

We go on to learn that Klay is one of the best shooters in the draft who is creative in the open floor and was taught to be the guard version of Tim Duncan. I guess Klay will be banking in three-point attempts from here on out.

8:41 With the 12th pick the Utah Jazz select Alec Burks from Colorado. Bilas says he is not a shooter but he has some shake to his game and he can score. “He has defensive potential, but he’s not a great defender.” I’d say that’s probably because he likes scoring more than playing defense, so that shouldn’t change once he goes to a league where nobody plays defense.

Interviews are one question-one answer at this point, and since Burks is American, nothing awesome happened in this time.

847 Phoenix Suns take Markieff Morris at #13. Bilas lets us know that, it’s true, he is the Morris twin considered the worse player of the two. However, he is a true power forward, while Marcus is a tweener. Since every other player has been a tweener so far, you’d think this would have helped Marcus. As Markieff takes the interview, they ask him about his brother Marcus crying. Markieff says, “Yeah, that’s my boy. That’s. My boy.” Marcus was then asked how he’ll deal with being separated from his big bro (Markieff was born 7 minutes earlier than Marcus). Marcus kills the response, saying, “Oh you know, I’ll send him some flowers and fruit.” Yup, that was the most hilarious thing to happen at this draft. Ugh.

8:52  Houston Rockets select Marcus Morris with the very next pick. The stuff only a bad Hollywood script could make up. Twins go back-to-back, and Marcus is technically the younger brother by 7 minutes. Bilas says Houston must be very happy Marcus fell to them. I think they were taking whichever Morris was left, since you can’t tell any difference between them. Marcus seems to be the better twin, based on the clips they showed, but really, it could have been Markieff, so who knows. Maury Povich would need to do DNA tests.

Mark Jones claims he can tell them apart when asked. I call bullshit. Marcus says he wanted to go to Houston since they don’t have a scoring forward. Luis Scola can’t be happy right now. “How pissed is Phoenix gonna be if Marcus turns out to be a stud and Markieff bunks out,” says Mikey Mac, who is talking much less by now since this draft has been awful and pizza arrived.


Yup, it happened. I had to quit at the lottery. This thing was a trainwreck from the start. Not my diary, that made it plausibly entertaining. But this draft, from the venue, to the players, to the broadcast, to the interviews was just one big chinese fire drill. Since this is my first time doing one of these, it has left an awful taste in my mouth. It’s like a bile-burp after you eat some foreign food you’re not used to. I think that’s how I’ll always remember the 2011 NBA draft, which is fitting, since half the guys drafted were foreigners I wasn’t used to.

PS- This draft sucked so bad, the lone drama remaining hinged on Marshon Brooks slipping to the Celtics pick at #25. We both went nuts when Stern announced the Celtics had actually picked Marshon, because that sort of thing never happens. New England home teams never pick the guy you want. Sure enough, as Mikey fielded excited phone calls, Andy Katz dumped on our parade and explained a deal of Brooks for JaJuan Johnson, taken two picks later by New Jersey. Our hometown hero had been dealt, and the suckdom continued.

Stay tuned…


8 Pound 6 Ounces Colton, Don’t Even Know a Word Yet

June 23, 2011

DISCLAIMER: This is for the people who wrote on my facebook wall yesterday. If you didn’t, aside from sucking, just stop reading now. You don’t deserve this particular blog post.

DISCLAIMER #2: Even if you read this, it makes almost no sense. It’s like part fiction, part biography, part delusions of grandeur. Basically, it’s a lot like Obama’s book, “Audacity of Hope.” Only he was serious.

So in the past, I became notorious for my personalized facebook birthday-wall-post-thank-you’s. Consistently banging out a hundred plus messages like it was just a walk in the park. Yesterday, however, I think my wall completely altered facebook forever. My computer ran slowly, I struggled to follow my fantasy baseball team, and facebook creeping came to a near-screeching halt as every five to seven minutes someone else dropped some love on my digital canvas. Sure, Verizon has been having some trouble in my area, but I think the reason behind this slowdown is obvious. Yesterday, I put up numbers that Wilt Chamberlain could be proud of. Clearly, it’s not every day I’m born. In fact, yesterday is the only day I celebrate my birth. If you missed the event, or took part and are suffering from post-partem depression, calm down, it’s only 364 short days until the next time you get to write on my wall. In between, our great country will celebrate its own birth, Jesus’ birth, George Washington’s birth, and Marisa Miller’s birth. Now I’m not saying my birth is nearly as important as all of those (with the exception of maybe G.W.), but none of those people or sovereign nations will write you a blog, either. So here we go…

If you thought anyone else would take the first spot in my birthday blog, you probably didn't know me well enough to write on my wall.

If you want to know how I came to be, I’ll forward you to the post John MacKinnon left on my wall. While it basically caused me to stare at my computer screen unblinking for about 6 minutes, it’s unfortunately most likely pretty accurate. Now that we’ve reached the point where I know I was not, in fact, dropped on the doorstep by storks, left in a basket by the Nile like Moses, or birthed through the head of Zeus like Athena, we can move on to the important things. I don’t know if you’ve ever heard about those people who can recall details from every single day of their lives, but I’m not one of them. I can only assume the thoughts going through my head while I was chilling in the womb.

For one thing, I obviously decided I wanted a Y chromosome. Can’t even imagine being a girl. Constantly persecuted for my good looks. Switching best friends every month: depending on who got hotter than me, or started a menial conflict over a guy. Spending potential alcohol money on fake nails, tans, make-up and shoes. Draining my dad’s bank account and going on a Eurotrip for “culture” that doesn’t extend itself beyond the pot in Amsterdam, the clothes in Italy, the sex in France and the stalking of Prince Harry in London. Basically, after two girls, my dad hit the jackpot with me.

Don't let that above paragraph make you think I'm not grateful for XX chromosomes like Leeann Tweeden...

After diving into the world feet first, because that’s how ballers do, I thought I’d play a little joke on everyone and fake a suicide by wrapping the umbilical cord around my neck. Talk about your all-time backfire. Everyone started freaking out and screaming and stuff. Obviously, my sense of comedic timing has improved tenfold since this original stunt, which may or may not be true for the purposes of storytelling. For the first couple years of my life, I just chilled out, mowing Gerber and soiling myself like it was going out of style. Pretty soon I started forming memories, an addiction to David the Gnome, the WWF, baseball (specifically, the Red Sox) and Strawberry Milk. This all built up to my first grade birthday party. My dad made toys for a living so he got 20, seven year olds into the company meeting room where we rated the new action figure line with a 🙂 😦 or :-/ face. I’m not sure what you call that last face, but I call it the uneasy/constipated face, depending on my mood. After some smiles, frowns and constipations, the party favors of GI Joes and Transformers were given out. My dad basically cemented my legacy as the coolest birthday host until Billy Madison started throwing his blowouts.

Sometime after this glorious first grade banger, I became disenfranchised with the whole birthday party concept. Perhaps it was due to the stretch from 3rd grade on when I stopped having parties thrown for me because of Little League All Stars, having two older sisters, and only two parents capable of getting us everywhere. The summer birthday is an amazing thing, but it does not lend itself to easy elementary school celebrations. The last day of school rarely made it to June 22, unless there were a bunch of snow days. Thus, teachers never started the day singing to me, giving me gold stars, hoodsie cups and letting me make friendship bracelets all day like the rest of the kids born between September and early June. From that point on the extent of my birthday celebration was a Wiffle ball game in the backyard while my dad grilled meat and my mom kept the pink lemonade flowing like it ain’t no thing. Sure, I never threw wild pool parties with wet t-shirt contests and chicken fight contests, that’s what ASU is for, but I was happy raking home runs into my driveway.

ASU absolutely has to be fake life. Like this does not happen...

Even my 21st birthday started off as tame as possible. When it came time to choose my stomping grounds, I selected the bar that has treated me so kindly for the two years prior to my legality. Some people turn 21 and forget about the little people, make new friends who can go to the cool bars and ditch everything else. I paid homage to the old reliable J Tree by having my party there. Even though the original plan involved going after midnight so I could use my real ID, people got drunk and antsy and I decided I’d just use the Maine, 23 year-old version of myself one last time. After eight of my friends got kicked out of the bar in three distinct incidents, the next thing I knew I was being pulled from a cab and thrown to the ground. Apparently the poor townie whose friends took her to JTree for her bachelorette party told her fiancee to meet up with them?! Who knew…

Which brings us to present day. While I may never forgive my family for the toys and riches I missed out on from all those lost childhood birthdays, I take solace in the fact that I’m not one of those painfully annoying people who start birthday countdowns, create entire weekend agendas mapping out each afternoon and night using adjectives like: “sloshed” “Shwasted” “wasteyfaced” or even the repugnant combination, “shwastyfaced.” After all that self-promotion, how can anybody expect people to actually care that their day meant anything at all. I guess not everyone can rely on great friends to flood their wall all day with well wishes without that kind of promotion. If you read this post until now, you truly earned this thank you. And this…

Just wouldn't be a birthday blog without Rosie Jones. PS- googling her and finding anything with clothes on is getting tougher and tougher. It's amazing what the Revolver has done for her career.




Stanley Cup Finals Game 7 Need-to-Know

June 15, 2011

By now, you’ve been gripped by the Stanley Cup finals if you’re living in New England and have a pulse. Growing up a New England sports fan, I root for every hometown team, and the Bruins have always been “The Thing” in the Fantastic 4. You know about them, but they don’t really fit in, they don’t have a very cool power (other than being turned into a human rock), and the other three steal most of the glory. This year, though, the Bruins are the team who is making the magical playoff run. Much like the Patriots of ’01, the Celtics of ’08 or even the Red Sox of ’04 and ’07, the region has shifted all of its focus to a foreign place in June: the ice. I won’t sit here and berate fans who just recently jumped on the bandwagon. I myself am a pink hat Bruin fan. However, I started watching in the first round of the playoffs and have watched every game since (except for the game 7 against Tampa Bay when I was in a Brooklyn Law apartment complex with no Versus, and had to watch on ESPN gametracker). While the Red Sox are like a wife, the Celtics are like a steady girlfriend, and the Patriots are like that smoking hot hook-up you get on weekends all the time, the Bruins, in these playoffs, have been my one night stand. I hardly knew more than their names before the playoffs started, and after these playoffs I’ll go right back to my wife, but for this one time, I’m cheating, and fully invested in the moment. So, since I know more about sports than you, I’ll tell you all you need to know about this series, from the plots to the players, as we head into tonight’s deciding game 7 (oh, and here’s a potential one night if I had to cheat on my hypothetical wife).

Diora Baird: You remember her from when she flopped onto the bed in the opening Wedding Crashers montage. Like I said, amazing one night stand.


In six games thus far in the series, the home team has won every game. The Bruins won their home games by a combined score of 17-3. Fortunately, the Canucks have looked far more vulnerable at home, with just a 5-2 goal advantage. Unfortunately, that means the Bs have scored just twice in three games north of the border. Fortunately, none of this makes any sense, the Bruins have been the clear-cut better team, and at some point, you figure one of those fluky one goal games will finally go in the Bruins favor. If the Bs can get an early lead tonight, look out. Roberto Luongo has been, in a word, a shit sandwich once he gives up one goal…


The Italian-Canadian sleezeball has looked like Swiss cheese in Boston, and a block of Cheddar in Vancouver. Okay, so I’m not sure if the block of cheddar analogy made sense, but go with it. The hilarious part is after he gave up 12 goals in two games, he won 1-0 in game 5 and ripped Tim Thomas for the goal he allowed, saying “it would have been an easy save for me.” The Bruins came out in game 6 and scored 3 goals in 8 minutes to chase Luongo to the bench. I would have said showers, but he didn’t have enough time on the ice to require more than an Axe body spray. Look for Boston to come out shooting pucks like Darryl Strawberry’s baseball career: fast, high and on the short (glove) side.


He’s already the Conn Smythe winner for MVP of the Stanley Cup Finals. No, you didn’t miss that award ceremony, because it’s given out tonight, but regardless of who wins game 7, Thomas has it locked up. His numbers, while not quite historic, have been heroic. Like Emmanuelle Chriqui at a bar, Thomas has turned away everything that’s come flying at him. It’s not simply the shots he’s turned aside, but the amount of games he almost single-handedly won the Bruins. Even as their play was shoddy in front of him, Thomas stood on his head to keep games close, or leads in hand. He has made Luongo look foolish on the opposite end of the ice all series long, and if the sports Gods do exist, the right man in net will hoist Lord Stanley’s Cup as well.

It's just been far too long since Emmanuelle has been featured on the Revolver.

THE BITE SEEN ‘ROUND THE WORLD (just not in NHL headquarters)

In Game One, Alexandre Burrows got in a scuffle with Patrice Bergeron and while a ref held them back, he bit Bergeron’s finger. Yes, like a toddler bitch with no other thoughts, he BIT him. While a penalty was called for the bite, the league offices took no action in suspending Burrows. In the very next game, with Burrows playing, Canucks henchman Max LaPierre taunted Bergeron by poking his fingers in his face. Then, Burrows scored the game-winner in Overtime, and the shit had officially hit the fan. It didn’t help in Boston that his name is spelled French-ly and that hockey fans all hate Montreal, French-Canadians, and the French in general. This bite only set off the start of the hatred developed between these two teams.


In game three, with all the suspense leading up to how the Bruins would retaliate against the girly, classless antics of the Canucks. Then, minutes in, it was the Canucks who leveled Bruins first-line forward Nathan Horton with a cheapshot two strides after a pass with his head down. Horton lying on the ground with his arm frozen upright like a full mailbox, was out cold: and out for the series. After that hit, the Bs went on to score 12 goals in two wins at home to send the series back for game 5. As I already discussed the results in games 5 and 6 for each home team, it brings us to game 7.


Since I can’t tell these particular rare breed of ginger twins apart, I’ll just say the Swedish Twins. Since that makes everyone think of two hot blonde chicks you’d dream about in a menage… I’m sorry. Basically, all you need to know about the Sedins can be summed up by this video: 

I mean, this dude just gets punked, in the face, six separate times, without doing anything. Just standing there like someone from a Nordic country who has never been in a fight before. Apparently Sedin is the Norse God of bitch, who knew? Meanwhile, the guy punching him repeatedly, Brad Marchand, has made a name for himself in this series. He’s even taken on one of the greatest monikers in recent sports nickname memory: The Nose Faced Killah (upside down Wu Tang logo making an “M” and all). With nine goals, and seven assists in these playoffs, Marchand has also been the lead agitator for the Bruins. Pissing off the other team is a trait not to be overlooked. He netted the first goal of the Game 6 blowout when he sniped Luongo’s glove-side and the rout was on.

Straight up gangster.


Because what’s the point of all this information without me making a bold prediction. Well, as I said, the Bruins have soundly outplayed Vancouver throughout this series, and without some bad bounces and breaks, could have already won the cup with multiple one-goal games. It says here, though, that tonight the Bs get the monkey off their backs and Canuck the shit out of Vancouver. 4-1 final with Thomas winning MVP honors, obviously, and the Sedins left to hold each other sobbing in solace during a post-game shower.

Stay tuned…


Memorial Day NYC Weekend Recap

June 1, 2011

I may or may not still be sweating, but less than 19 hours after arriving home from a Memorial Day long weekend trip in New York City, I obviously have awesome things to discuss. My weekend actually started on Thursday night as I drove up to Boston for a job interview Friday morning. I considered writing a blog about how easy job interviews are once you can actually get them. For your sake, I decided there is no point harping on a poor economy and the fact that unless you know somebody you probably won’t even get the interview. If you do, try to speak as eloquently as myself, give a firm hand shake, tie a full windsor knot (or wear a pencil skirt if you’re a girl?) and constantly give yourself backhanded self-deprecating compliments to confuse your interviewer into thinking you’re humble, while subconsciously commending your own exploits. If you’re wondering this is basically how my job interview went…

From my interview in Boston, I drove back down to Providence, inhaled a lunch, and got to the bus station for the trip to NYC. Obviously, the bus was 30 minutes behind schedule, but once I got there the fit hit the shan almost immediately. The following are just some of the wonderful observations I made during my time in the Big Apple over this Memorial Day weekend.


if Vanessa Hudgens is doing it, shouldn't you be? Well, unless it comes to sexting pictures. Actually, do that, too.

If I were a weatherman, aside from constantly using adjectives such as “crisp” “tingly” “moist” “airy” and “heavy” my favorite day of the year would be that Memorial Day Weekend forecast projecting sun and 80-plus degrees. Not because I finally get to drape my body in white linen head to toe, but because I get to start off the telecast with the opening line: “IT’S CORK WEDGE SEASON, BITCHES!” Honestly, not since the invention of the Stiletto back in the Roosvelt administration (took a guess, not looking that up) has a shoe changed the intercourse game more. Chicks are just strolling around three to five inches taller than normal with their leg muscles flexed up into the most tantalizing manner ever screaming for guys to take notice. Well, notice I did. Obviously, walking around the streets of New York you better be looking at the pavement, because lord knows with each step, you risk running into the gauntlet of gum, dog crap, mustard packet, vomit, sleeping homeless person, blood, open manhole cover, or crackhead’s face. Along the way though, the glory of a toned girl wearing cork wedges, a sundress and a straw fedora catches the eye in this picturesque weather and erases all of that vileness. So here’s to you, cork wedges, and all of your holy healing powers.


High irony that the slogan on the back of my Metro Card on the NYC subway read: “OPTIMISM.” Oh, you didn’t know there is a slogan on the back of NYC T pass, er, Metro Cards? Pft, amateur. Anyway, you better stay optimistic down there, because aside from the fact that half the street-side stops were closed for what I can only assume were terror reasons, that is only the first obstacle down in the underworld of America’s largest city. I would challenge anyone to walk down there and not immediately have some type of shit particle fly up into their eyes from the constant wind blowing around in these tunnels. Once you’ve contracted a Stye infection, you have to cram onto a train where you are trapped prey for panhandlers. The odds on favorite to panhandle aboard this moving trap is an Eastern European woman with dirty child in tow who breathes into your face hoping you drop change into her found Subway cup (the sandwich shop: the actual subway doesn’t give out the cups for panhandlers apparently). Basically, what you can gather by now is that if you can walk it, or cab it for a reasonable fare: do it. I’ve got a good friend who will almost never bend on this matter, and I can’t say I disagree. At least the freaks on the Boston T think they are rappers/DJs or just mumble quietly in a corner to themselves. I don’t know about you but I think it’s time for a visually appealing Memorial Day inspired break.

WWE Diva- Kelly Kelly. Yup, they just named her Kelly twice. America?


If you aren’t waking up, rolling out of bed, shotgunning a Gatorade and playing some Fifa before you go get drunk at a brunch special in the city, you just aren’t in New York City. Got to give major credit here, this is a huge thing in NYC as places all over have great drink specials. I obviously went to a restaurant called Lasagna for my drink special. Making the easiest choice since voting for Carrie Underwood on American Idol, I added $9.95 to my brunch of a smoked salmon and spinach scrambler (classic alliteration) for unlimited bloody mary’s, mimosas, bellinis and screwdrivers. Got to give even more credit to the super awkward foreign guys serving the drinks. They kind of hovered around like the sneaky butler from Mr. Deeds until you ordered another drink. They rarely understood your order on the first try. But, these determined motheruffers just kept on dutifully refilling mimosas and loading up screwdrivers like one of Pavlovs dogs responding to classical conditioning. After inventing a drinking challenge (because, what’s drinking if it’s not a challenge) of having one of each drink offered in succession and then in reverse order, it’s pretty much time to go home for a nap. Or, in our case, it’s time to go get 10 pound mugs of beer from a German place called Bierhaus and happily quote Beerfest lines for the rest of the afternoon.


For whatever reason, something about rooftop drinking just makes drinking more fun. The only person who knows the true answer is the same person who can explain why puck sluts are attracted to hockey players. Okay bad analogy: we’ll never understand the puck slut thing. Perhaps it’s that potential to fall to your death if you drink too much, but it’s probably just the extra-sensory feeling you get when you are 100 feet up having a cocktail. Naturally, where we stayed for the weekend had roof access and allowed for some of the best pre-gaming in the city. Any time grown men are forced to ask the girls who have cameras to take pictures of them in front of the Empire State Building, for the sole purpose of a Facebook default…  ah screw it, grown men ask for default pics all the time, but still these are really cool defaults.

Of course I'm not showing you my facebook default. So here's Taylor Cole, she was in "The Event" and since no one watched that, you can see her now.


Blolz. I know, right!?! Shouldn’t this place be in Provincetown or San Francisco? Well, in NYC, the trendy clubs are all here, and for the first time in my life I get to openly admit to loving me some meat packing. Somehow, in the magical way that hasn’t been seen since Lord Voldemort’s backfiring curse on Harry, 14 of us were able to maneuver into the same club. Even more amazing is that for the most part, everyone got out together and alive. Naturally, with such a large pack of people in a crowded drunken state, there were some casualties: a removal from the club, and a stray wanderer included. Overall, though, everybody fist pumped for so long carpel tunnel became a concern, then grouped up, used their inner munchy GPS and located cheap pizza by 4am.


It was Memorial Day weekend and you better have had a BBQ to attend or prepared one yourself. In our case, after the girls we were with opted out of having fun and grilling meat so they could attend an Alexander McQueen “art” exhibit at the Met that I’m pretty positive was completely mythical, the men journeyed on to Jersey City. After walking aimlessly around New York and New Jersey trying to find sausages to put on the grill, we gave up and decided we’d just bring the sausages already in the group that wouldn’t be going on a grill. After sipping some Sam Summers at a gentle pace whilst mowing multitudes of beef patties, the drinking games quickly ensued. All that needs to be discussed to show our love for America is the way we settled a game of full-beer-full-flip Flip Cup. After deciding both sides cheated in some way, the tie was broken, not by replaying the game or with lame penalty kicks like they’d do in Europe, but with a shotgunned beer relay race. America!

Because Blake Lively has been getting a lot of pub lately, and we all know Leighton steals the show, literally, figuratively, whateverly.


By a chance train shutdown and transfer, we were forced to get off at the World Trade Center subway stop. Going up a six wide escalator that was about three stories high, I commented how impressive the station alone was. Overhearing me in an escalator next to us was a local New Yorker who commented, “You shoulda seen it before the attacks.” Which quickly put into perspective the weekend as a whole. As we got outside and stared at not only the impressive construction of the new Freedom Tower, but also the breathtaking plans for the foundation fountain and reflecting pool, we were all taken aback. I immediately thought how many people were back in the area, riding the subways, and living their lives freely. All the above shenanigans I discussed are only possible because of the Armed Forces kicking ass and upholding peace everywhere else in the world. Happy Belated Memorial Day! Don’t forget what the day and time with your family and friends is really for.

Yup, America, motorcycles, and cork wedges!