Sports (sports) Sports Sports Sports (sports)

I know I'm not alone when I say this is going to be one of the most exciting NBA seasons in...well...ever. The summer of 2010 was unprecedented and has given rise to one of the most hyped teams in..well...ever. I am not at all concerned about who will take the last shot, or how the team will mesh. The only thing that is going to stop this team is if one of the big 2 1/2 (I'm not ready to annoint Chris Bosh superstardom just yet, although I do think he will have a very productive fantasy season given that teams will in no way be able to game plan for him) is injuries.



People seem to forgotten amid "The decision" and the never can be overused line, especially with a tone that implies a less than clean connotation, "taking my talents to south beach", is just how talented the man is. The over under a team that won 61 games last year, that lost its four last games of the year because they rested players/did not care/Mike Brown's corpse was "coaching", having only appreciably lost one player is 30 1/2!! 30 1/2! The astute minds in Vegas whose only job is to analyze this stuff (bless their hearts) say Lebron is worth at least 30 wins to that Cleveland team. Now put that monster on a team with Dwayne Wade (who is admittedly more fragile than Robin Williams in any role that he grows a beard for) and Chris Bosh, who may or may not have came out of that dudes stomach in "Alien." Look Out World!!


Only Boston (because of the Big 3, Rondo, lotta bulk in the frontcourt in the O'Neals) and The Lakers (because of the mamba, and Wallace, Chris) I'm still so upset over the Paul Gasol giveaway- Why Chris Wallace?!? Why?? Did Jerry Buss hurt you? Show us where he touched you! This is a safe place Chris Wallace! (building on previous Robin Williams humor) It's not your fault! It's not your fault! Its..not..your...fault.....

Whew, for that its worth I have a few bold calls:


1) The worst team in the league will be the Raptors. I mean, can you even name a player on this team? And don't you dare say William H Macy because Jurassic Park jokes will not be tolerated!

Plus It's just fun to laugh at Canada isn't it? (I'm not including the Wolves in this prediction, I can't think rationally about them)


2) The Clippers will make the playoffs this year. Just you wait.


3) David Kahn will take off a mask to reveal he is actually a cyborg from the future who had to ensure the Wolves would never win a championship to save the world in 2420.


4) Al Jefferson puts up a 20/10 and the Jazz are a 3 seed in the West. Everyone wonders aloud why "David Kahn" would trade him for 2 future first round picks that will likely be in the 16-22 pick range and a man named Kosta.


5) Greg Oden stays healthy all year. Then reveals he is actually 57 years old to get a discount on his grand slam at Dennys.


And some not-so-bold predictions:

1) Sebastian Telfair and Luke Rindour get into a "who is the biggest defensive liability at the PG position in the NBA" fight. Both win, meaning nobody wins.


2) Darko Milicic panics and starts waving a towel around madly on the bench, until it is revealed he has been brainwashed by Mark Madsen who gets a standing ovation at the Target Center for making Darko borderline useful.


3) Larry Bird and Jerry Sloan get into a "who likes white basketball players more" fight. But end up becoming best friends and crime fighting ninjas. (You'll thank me later Spielberg)


4) A tree will fall in the forest, and nobody will be around to hear it fall.


5)And the least bold call of all- The Timberwolves will be a lottery team, and will not move up in draft position from their projected lottery slot (sigh)

Now, if you'll excuse me Jenn Sterger is expecting a picture message from me any minute now.

Brett Favre does not think Jenn Sterger jokes are funny.

PK's Song

To death do us part, in sickness and health, and for better or for worse. These statements are the backbone of any marriage. I personally took these vows when I was 6 years old and my father took me to my first Twins game. Stuck in the prime of their disastrous run of the 90's (editors note: let's proclaim this the "Jeff Reboulet" era), the Twins became my one true love. Regardless of result, the way they played the game with hustle desire and passion capitivated me and won my respect and my heart.

I stuck with them through the contraction era, where on more than one occasion there were more promotional giveaways than fans to give them to, nonetheless I stood by my floundering team with steadfast adoration. Then, finally, in 2002 my beloved losers made the playoffs and made believers out of a state that had rejected them for nearly a decade. They became a true team at the hands of the "Soul Patrol" and the undying arm of Brad Radke only to fall to the (Editor's censor...involves coitus except with the the anus.... and a few expletives) clutches of the rally monkey and eventual world series champion Angels. For the next seven years I watched the Twins continue to be built around fundamentals and a never-say -die attitude that gave them national accolades. I have never once questioned the attitude or desire of the men in the "Twin Stripes" until last night.

After a thrilling (thankfully only) 162 game season in which they lost an MVP and still battled their way to 90+ wins and a division title, the Twins I have grown to love faltered. After losing two hard fought games at the new Target Field, the Twins ran out one of the most embarassing and gutless performances I have ever witnessed. At Yankee Stadium, one of the most hostile stadiums known to sport, the Twins failed to rise to the challenge of not only representing the State they call home but also themselves. I, like many of you, watched as each Twin complacently took uninspired plate appearances that led to minimal productivity throughout the night.

After Jorge Posada singled in the first run on a (very) poorly located pitch by Brian Duensing, the already deflated dugout collapsed for good. That one run might as well have been ten the way they were carrying themselves the rest of the evening. Every single one of those players should be embarassed for the way they approached that game.

As it were, this love of mine for the Twins can't be broken by another tragic postseason meltdown. The beauty of baseball is that in several months players will report to spring training and that endless pursuit for a title will begin again. But until then each fan in Twins Territory will be left with a sour taste in their mouths, repeating the mantra made famous by the Chicago Cubs, "There is always next year."

-Peter Kelly

If you've seen this man, ask him where he goes during the Postseason

So Many October Jottings, Such Little Time..

I was mingling with some females in the library the other day when I struck up a conversation regarding their penmanship. I was complimentary, marveling that such pristine and crisp words could actually spawn from another person's hand. They shrugged it off, but I grabbed my notebook so we could consider the two handwritings in parallel. They stood by their indifference, one even suggesting that she had decidedly poor handwriting. I argued all girls have absurdly good penmanship and to compare herself to some unattainable caligraphy type level is absurd.

I proclaim this admittedly long winded and unnecessary story to all the land to make this broader point: (Which I shall do in one of those old awesome real men of genius commercial styles, you're welcome world)

Here's to you, every man who ever existed. Your slobbery and overall nonchalance towards manners, etiquette, and really just common decency has set the bar so low for future males that any act of cleanliness or neatness is considered a minor miracle unto itself. You have done this so well, men of old, that even after confronted by my, lets face it, comically and extraordinarily awful attempt at what could even be considered documented English in words with one's own hand, a female thought her concise and reasonable etchings were subpar.

The bar isn't just low, there is no bar. So a drink to you, every man who has ever existed. Thank you for making sure the world doesn't just expect so little from me, but from the fightin' Y chromosomes everywhere.

(No attempt at a transition)

I was watching some of the NATIONAL FOOTBALL LEAGUE (channeling my inner Ron Jawarski) the other day and I saw something that continues to irk me every time it happens, which is more frequently than the amount of times Renee Zellweger has been mistaken for a swamp troll while you've been reading this, but I digress.

It is when the little white 145 lb referee feels obligated to stand in front of the return man after he takes a knee on the kickoff, his arms flailing madly in the air to promote peace. Every human being in the stadium has seen this man kneel, and nobody has or is ever going to tackle him at this time. But he takes in upon himself to go secret service on this dudes ass with more passion and vigor than Sinbad in "First Kid" (Oh no he didn't (other hypothetical sassy person) Oh yes he did!!!) -other aside- Sinbad's finist hour no doubt- go to 4:25 secondish http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e339GJ3Wgd8

Lets get real, 63 year old line judge with high blood pressure and an artificial hip, if one of the specimens currently sprinting toward you were to even accidently graze your shoulder we might have to decide whether or not to pull the plug on your old ass (Must....resist...Terry...Schiavo....joke...too....soon....).

So stop it, just stop it. You throw your little yellow flag, and I'll yell at my TV screen until I see the replay and reluctantly agree that Phil Loadholt did indeed commit yet another holding penalty and that will be the end of it.

If you see this man- play dead, for if you attempt to run past him, there is a 15% he will escort you to your destination like a gentleman, but an 85% chance he will claw at your jersey from an awkward angle then tackle you, rendering you unable to get past him...LOADHOLT!!!!