The view from my room at the Manchester Grand Hyatt in San Diego, Calif.
There are a couple of common questions people ask about NABJ every year, usually centered around the need for a black journalists organization. The unfortunate quip I hear too often is that “there isn’t a white journalism organization.” (To which many reply, there is: The Society of Professional Journalists.) Or, “we have a black president, so what’s the point?”
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John Cusack said it best. Or, then again, he didn't. I should probably see the movie again.
I’ve told you once or twice about doing this or that. You were with me from my days in Chico, to Grass Valley / Nevada City, and now Boston. You read my thoughts when I had writer’s block, and you read them again when I ranted about the deliriously idiotic of the sporting universe.
You’ve been a good friend.
So, there’s this weird thing that I was wondering about wondering (say that five times fast). As much as I tell you about what I want to do, where I’m going, and the thoughts and happenings of my world, there has to be some sort of stop in this ever-going conversation where you say your piece. (Are you even there some days?) According to my traffic reports, there’s a loyal group of you.
So, say something. Tell me what your website is. Tell me how things have been going. Tell me about the changes in your life, big and small. Tell me what makes you happy. And then, tell me how you’re going to stay happy. Say something already!
Say anything.
At the age of 12, my last real summer vacation came to a close. It was blissful because I did absolutely nothing important and went absolutely nowhere. I just hung around the house and played hoops and video games in my free time.
One year later, I started four straight years (all of high school) of summer school. And because I was always industrious, I worked every summer as well from then on. I’ve been a busy body for more than a decade now, getting time off in spurts rather than extended periods. I’m more likely to have a long weekend than take two weeks off in row. Two weeks is an unlikely blessing.
Today, the idea of summer vacation itself is so passé to my peers and grownups in general. It’s limited to only 10 days for the average American, usually including some expensive vacation and requiring prior notice to an employer which may or may not include getting permission to take the actual time off. For the lucky few of us, a month’s worth of vacay time is still possible. However, using all of that time in one solid block is almost universally frowned upon.
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What will he do?
Everything about this 1-hour “decision” special isn’t terrible. I won’t go so far as to say that. But I will say that in its current design, it is of poor taste. There are a couple of reasons for this.
It really is outrageous that ESPN has surrendered some journalistic integrity in order to secure exclusivity with James. Only because surrendering their advertising spots, this can be seen as a sort of pay-to-play situation. And that’s really what it is. It’s the equivalent of Paul Pierce coming to the Boston Globe, telling us he wants to blog, then asking for all the advertising money. That’s no bueno.
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Looks like another one of my goals is coming to fruition. Just bought a new car, something I thought I was months away from doing.
I’ve now been in Boston seven months total. I’d say things are going well.
Happy Father’s Day. Because I’m so far away from San Francisco, and have been now for almost five years, I gave my customary phone call to my dad to send some love his way. But I wanted to make sure I did a shout out to all of my friends that are doing amazing jobs as fathers unto themselves. It’s a little ridiculous that there are so many of you, but I’m proud of the way ya’ll handle yourselves.
Still far being away from a father myself, this happens to be one of those days that I stop and think about … nah.
I’m not going down that path today. Just wanted to say Happy Father’s Day, and an eternally grateful thank you to all the moms pulling double duty. You’re not forgotten either.
No Kobe, the rest of the world does not speak English.
At the end of the day, the Los Angeles Lakers won an NBA title despite Kobe Bryant. To shoot 6-of-24 in Game 7 of the NBA Finals is not legendary.
Add to the fact that Black Mamba had horrible shooting games in 4 and 5, and I’m hard pressed to think he deserves to be the NBA Finals MVP. I’ll add my name to the chorus of critics who believe that Pau Gasol should’ve been honored with Bill Russell’s award. Is it so much to ask that the guy with MVP credentials — and not the MVP reputation — stand at the front of the podium for these things?
Case in point: If the Celtics had won, Paul Pierce would’ve more than likely won the Finals MVP. Why? Because he carries the reputation around the league as the Truth, and although his scoring was good in spurts (a la Kobe), he was not the determining factor in any of the games that the Celtics won. On name recognition alone, he was more valuable to viewers and fans of the game. But not for the Celtics.
Sound familiar?
I think so. So let’s give love to the Spaniard, who is deserving of an award he can now only look at whenever he goes over Kobe’s house.
I do. I like WordPress. I would go so far as to say I evangelize it. Sorta like Twitter and Facebook. These are core products I use. So I upgraded from what seemed like a stable 2.9.2 to the unknown 3.0 yesterday. So far, so good. Check out all of the amazing features it has in the video below.
Paging Mr. Truth, paging Mr. Truth....
Waiting for Paul Pierce to show up. He says he will, what do you think?
Me, not so much. Ron Artest is making a difference, whether Pierce wants to admit it or not. And if there is one person that can change the whole dynamic of the game — while instantly having a great game after a bad one — it’s not Pierce, it’s Kevin Garnett. He likes comebacks. In this situation, the Celtics need to break the glass and run the offense through the Big Ticket for once. Letting Pierce dribble it around and figure it out, or waiting for Rajon Rondo to wake up and push the rock, seems like a task in futility. Instead, just put KG in the post and dish to Ray Allen and Pierce when things get crazy. There’s no reason for him to cry about being tired. He’s only got 48 more minutes to play.
All out. Go hard or go home. Remember, anything is possible.
Ten rings don't mean jack. What have you done lately, Phil?
I’m sure of it.
With every substitution, every inbounds play, and every defensive lapse, Phil Jackson is looking all the more junior to Glen “Doc” Rivers. By leaps and bounds.
Forget for a moment that the Celtics have a mental edge over the team that they beat in the 2008 NBA Finals (the Los Angeles Lakers have what I like to call a “losers complex”). Boston has a more polished offensive machine than Jackson’s Kobe Bryant led Triangle due in part to its dependence on Black Mamba. The offense, in my opinion, is poorer because of it.
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