Ya'll Must Have Forgot...

My Two Worlds Colliding

If there is a more epic photo on this earth I have yet to see it. As it relates to this picture Kanye said it best "swagger on a hundred thousand, trillion."

My opinion on the subject everyone has been talking about

Over the past few weeks there has been a downright disgusting turn in the American discourse regarding a certain hot topic and regarding a certain person in our American family. The person I am referring to is Michael Jordan and the topic is of course mustaches. That’s right mustaches.


Recently my favorite basketball player has come under a little bit of scrutiny for his stache. Why you may be asking. Because his mustache is of the Charlie Chaplin variety. That’s right the Charlie Chaplin mustache. I am taking it back from those have chosen to give that facial hair style a negative stigma just because a certain murderous dictator decided to rock the same style. Why should one hair choice be demonized because one homicidal douchebag decided to make some reprehensible decisions that affected so many people.

The bald white guy look isn’t referred to as the Mussolini, if so we never would have had the delightful career of one Bruce Willis, Jason Statham or the most critically acclaimed actor of them all Stone Cold Steve Austin. The chubby Asian man isn’t demonized because of Pol Pot. Had it been would we be enjoying the enchanting performance by Ken Jeong every week on Community? (NBC, Thursdays this fall!) I think not.

So due to this I have decided to call this glorious piece of facial hair the “Charlie Chaplin” from the delightful silent film star. That’s right, Chaplin came to national prominence before the Austrian ass clown and unfairly has had his mustache choice du jour demonized ever since his rise to power. And in memory of the actor I am taking back the facial hair that he so resplendently made famous and not some dick who was a coward and flunked out of art school.


I’ll end by saying this, Brett Favre you can go and suck it.

My Five Favorite Sports Commercials of All-Time

5. Nike Soccer Freestyle:
This gave soccer a street feel and opened it up potentially to a new audience.


4. Chicks Dig The Long Ball:
Tom Glavine and Greg Maddux get a little jealous, great job making fun of the surge in home runs.


3. Basketball Freestyle:
With the explosion of the streetball culture nobody captured the style and sound like this gem.


2. MJ Failure:
The essence of Mike in this one.


1. MJ vs MJ
Of course the greatest Nike commercial has to have the man who revitalized the company. In this we see an elder Mike take on a younger version of himself.


Honorable Mention:
My Better is better:
Saul Williams plus some of the best young athletes in the world? You got it.

Michael Jordan...The Greatest

"I've missed more than 9000 shots in my career. I've lost almost 300 games. 26 times, I've been trusted to take the game winning shot and missed. I've failed over and over and over again in my life. And that is why I succeed."

We all know the story, a skinny and awkward 16 year old tries out for the varsity basketball team and is cut on the first day. He comes back the next year and not only does he make the team, but he is the leading scorer for the team his junior and senior seasons. In fact he not only led them in scoring, but he also led them to two state titles. He goes on to University of North Carolina and wins a NCAA national championship. After that he goes on to destroy the NBA scoring records and defies the laws of gravity on a nightly basis. But the most dramatic moment night of the illustrious career of number 23 came on June 14, 1998.

It was a warm night in Salt Lake City, Utah, where the Chicago Bulls are preparing to defeat the Utah Jazz for the second year in a row, and earn their third title in a row. The Jazz were indeed a strange bunch. They all seemed to have bad haircuts, wore shorts that were a little too far north of the knee, and their nickname made no sense seeing how you were more likely to see a polar bear ride a tricycle with a Hitler helmet on down State Street before you found a decent jazz club in the land of Mormons. But on the court, if anyone was going to end the Bulls dynasty, it would be this fundamentally sound squad from the land of polygamy.

The game began a little after 8:30 eastern time, 7:30 central time, and from the start you could tell it was going to come down to the wire. The Bulls came out of the gates quickly, with long armed defensive wizard and small forward Scottie Pippen had the hot hand in the first quarter. The Jazz answered right back with the back and forth passing of Jeff Hornaceck and John Stockton. Shandon Anderson’s solid play also energized the experienced Jazz squad.

The second quarter got underway pretty much the same way the game began, just insert number 23’s name where Pippen’s had been as the leading scorer. The Bulls built up a little lead, but unfortunately for me and the rest of Chicago, the Jazz came back again and this time they took the lead. Things were really looking down as the second quarter came to a close. It was going to take some good coaching or better yet another superhero like performance from the man whom Larry Bird called Jesus in sneakers after a younger version of 23 raped the Celtics defense for 69 points.

The third quarter came, and the back and forth struggle between the team that would be kings and my beloved Bulls. Ron Harper steeped his streaky play up, Dennis Rodman kept rebounding and playing tight defense deep into the fourth quarter. The Jazz began to attempt to pull away at the five minute mark of the fourth, and then number 23 had enough. He pulled up for a pair of three pointers and had a crucial block on Jazz forward Chris Morris. The game came down to 25 seconds and the ball was in the hands of future Hall of Famer John Stockton and he did what everyone knew he would…he passed it to their superhero number 32.

Future Hall of Fame forward Karl Malone caught the ball on the left block and posts up Dennis Rodman. All of a sudden a red streak slaps the ball and takes it away. The clock is at 15 seconds, and Michael Jeffrey Jordan, born in Brooklyn, but raised in Charlotte, North Carolina brings the ball up the court. Apparently the Jazz thought that Jordan had used up all his magic against them last year as they did not double team him as soon as crossed the half court line. The Utah Jazz small forward Byron Russell slid over in anticipation, hoping to stop Jordan from doing to the Jazz what he had done to the Knicks, Pacers, and Cavaliers. Jordan drives to his right, and Russell is with him every step of the way. All of a sudden…bam. Jordan stops on a dime and crosses over to his left and pulls up for a jumper. Silence as the ball gracefully floats through the air. It is too late for Russell to jump as Jordan has just put him in the same class as John Starks, Patrick Ewing, Craig Ehlo, and Reggie Miller. Grown men who have been reduced to tears and had their dreams taken away by his greatness.

23

"I've missed more than 9000 shots in my career. I've lost almost 300 games. 26 times, I've been trusted to take the game winning shot and missed. I've failed over and over and over again in my life. And that is why I succeed."

We all know the story, a skinny and awkward 16 year old tries out for the varsity basketball team and is cut on the first day. He comes back the next year and not only does he make the team, but he is the leading scorer for the team his junior and senior seasons. In fact he not only led them in scoring, but he also led them to two state titles. He goes on to University of North Carolina and wins a NCAA national championship. After that he goes on to destroy the NBA scoring records and defies the laws of gravity on a nightly basis. But the most dramatic moment night of the illustrious career of number 23 came on June 14, 1998.

It was a warm night in Salt Lake City, Utah, where the Chicago Bulls are preparing to defeat the Utah Jazz for the second year in a row, and earn their third title in a row. The Jazz were indeed a strange bunch. They all seemed to have bad haircuts, wore shorts that were a little too far north of the knee, and their nickname made no sense seeing how you were more likely to see a polar bear ride a tricycle with a Hitler helmet on down State Street before you found a decent jazz club in the land of Mormons. But on the court, if anyone was going to end the Bulls dynasty, it would be this fundamentally sound squad from the land of polygamy.

The game began a little after 8:30 eastern time, 7:30 central time, and from the start you could tell it was going to come down to the wire. The Bulls came out of the gates quickly, with long armed defensive wizard and small forward Scottie Pippen had the hot hand in the first quarter. The Jazz answered right back with the back and forth passing of Jeff Hornaceck and John Stockton. Shandon Anderson’s solid play also energized the experienced Jazz squad.

The second quarter got underway pretty much the same way the game began, just insert number 23’s name where Pippen’s had been as the leading scorer. The Bulls built up a little lead, but unfortunately for me and the rest of Chicago, the Jazz came back again and this time they took the lead. Things were really looking down as the second quarter came to a close. It was going to take some good coaching or better yet another superhero like performance from the man whom Larry Bird called Jesus in sneakers after a younger version of 23 raped the Celtics defense for 69 points.

The third quarter came, and the back and forth struggle between the team that would be kings and my beloved Bulls. Ron Harper steeped his streaky play up, Dennis Rodman kept rebounding and playing tight defense deep into the fourth quarter. The Jazz began to attempt to pull away at the five minute mark of the fourth, and then number 23 had enough. He pulled up for a pair of three pointers and had a crucial block on Jazz forward Chris Morris. The game came down to 25 seconds and the ball was in the hands of future Hall of Famer John Stockton and he did what everyone knew he would…he passed it to their superhero number 32.

Future Hall of Fame forward Karl Malone caught the ball on the left block and posts up Dennis Rodman. All of a sudden a red streak slaps the ball and takes it away. The clock is at 15 seconds, and Michael Jeffrey Jordan, born in Brooklyn, but raised in Charlotte, North Carolina brings the ball up the court. Apparently the Jazz thought that Jordan had used up all his magic against them last year as they did not double team him as soon as crossed the half court line. The Utah Jazz small forward Byron Russell slid over in anticipation, hoping to stop Jordan from doing to the Jazz what he had done to the Knicks, Pacers, and Cavaliers. Jordan drives to his right, and Russell is with him every step of the way. All of a sudden…bam. Jordan stops on a dime and crosses over to his left and pulls up for a jumper. Silence as the ball gracefully floats through the air. It is too late for Russell to jump as Jordan has just put him in the same class as John Starks, Patrick Ewing, Craig Ehlo, and Reggie Miller. Grown men who have been reduced to tears and had their dreams taken away by his greatness.