Etan of Bricks

Etan Thomas’s recent column for Slam Online recounts what he believes was an example of racism in the NBA. In my opinion, the incident seems unworthy of the reading he provides—i.e., the ref’s comment seems more anti-jock than anti-black. In fact, the ref probably isn’t even anti-jock (why work ballgames if you can’t stand muscle?) so much as stupid and avuncular.

That does not mean, however, race wasn’t significant in Thomas’s encounter with the referee; it just wasn’t significant in the obvious way.

Race proved to be a significant category for the way Thomas interpreted the experience, rather than for the way the ref did (at least on the surface of things). In other words, the ref wasn’t thinking of Thomas’s race, in my opinion (and Free Darko’s), when he made the comment. Nor was he thinking of his own. He’d probably say the same thing to Jason Kapono, Wally Szczerbiak, maybe even his own nephew.

Nevertheless, Thomas extracted meaning from the comment because of the way race filters the way he (and all of us) comes to knowledge about the world.

Don’t twist what I’m saying. I don’t mean Thomas is actually the one guilty of stereotyping while the white ref makes off like a colorblind freedom-fighter. That’s Limbaugh / O’Reilly bullshit, and I’d bury them and their bullshit in Grant’s tomb.

Thomas actually points us to the way race provides a meaningful lens for understanding the hum and buzz of daily life. Race can bring knowledge, nuance, and subtlety to experience. That’s why a complete education requires that the classrooms get filled by students from the streets and suburbs alike...the same classrooms, I mean.

It’s why you can teach Kate Chopin in New Haven for the rest of your life and still not understand what a fourteen-year-old boy from the 9^th Ward might know about New Orleans.

These are the philosophical grounds for arguing against Ward Connerly and his minion—those who think the ideal world would be colorblind and without race.

Instead, I’d argue that the ideal world is without the hierarchies of privilege, status, resources, class, and power that are attached to race—but not without race itself.

We learn from race and its many histories. The perspective race provides offers insight not otherwise available without it. There are rich differences of life-interpretation that are developed via race—differences in both cultural practice and knowledge production.

A colorblind world would look a lot like the San Antonio Spurs: a cohesive group, solid in fundamentals, but in the end, not that much fun. (And totally ignorant about the legacies of racism and how they continue to benefit some at the price of many.)

It’s liberation from the oppression and inequality based on race that demands a struggle, but not liberation from race as a concept for understanding the world.

The very fact, I think, the referee would make the same comment to Kapono (though Kapono is as dumb as he looks) doesn’t mean race wasn’t / isn’t important. Rather, it suggests the way white people tend not to see whiteness as crucial to the way their life is experienced. That’s why the ref made the stupid joke in the first place, failing to imagine how Thomas’s race might lead him to view the encounter differently—perhaps even more accurately.

White people don’t often see the importance of whiteness because they don’t have to. That’s called white privilege, and it’s the result of racism and institutionalized white supremacy. And it ain’t right.

You may not see race when you see white Wally; you may not think whiteness matters or impacts your life in anyway at all. But that doesn’t mean it didn’t help you get that loan for your house in the suburbs.

Ask the owner of the Clippers about that.

The NBA Cares

Mostly because I have difficulty letting go, I’ve continued to think about the issue of autonomy and the NBA. I’ve been active over in the comments section of True Hoop, and I thought I might let the cream rise to the surface here.

In response to a comment I made, which I’ll reproduce in a second, one reader and scribe offered this to retort: “Its a matter of scale. The NBA's earning 2.4 BILLION from ABC/ESPN and another 2.2 BILLION from TNT over 6 years for broadcast rights, and that doesn't include endorsement, licensing, & direct ticket sales. There's 442(I think) players in the NBA altogether. That's a really small workforce ultimately responsible for a multi-billion dollar product. Is it fair to say that Shaq is somewhat more responsible for that product than other players? Is it absurd to say he's simply receiving his fair share? What does the federal minimum wage possibly have to do with this?”

For me, the issue of player autonomy has everything to do with the minimum wage—not only those who earn it but also those who make significantly less. The issues (autonomy and minimum wage) are related for both economic and moral reasons.

Put it like this: ESPN and TNT aren’t spending $6.6 billion to televise tall dudes playing a game. They’re buying the entire product the NBA puts out. It’s important to remember that Shaq’s hands aren’t the only hands helping to create that product. Even if you had all the hands that dribble, pass, shoot, block, steal, and rebound in the league, you still wouldn’t have the NBA.

You’d have basketball players.

In other words, if we’re discussing the hands that create the NBA, we need to acknowledge the hands that tear tickets, mop floors, sell soda, sew jerseys, bind leather, and so on. True, these folks might not possess the talent or training of the tall dudes in shorts.

But are they any less valuable to the NBA as a product?

And how much less valuable?

Shaq made $11,300 per minute played last season. If the person who stitched his sneaks lived in the U.S. and made minimum wage—which in all likelihood is not the case; they probably lived in Southeast Asia and made far less than our minimum wage—they wouldn’t earn that all year.

Show me a working definition of fairness, equality, or justice that tolerates this discrepancy in income and privilege. Tell me whose autonomy is being violated.

Keep in mind, I’m not mad at Shaq for cashing in. Diesel won three championships for my team not too long ago, and we remain close to this day.

I’m furious, however, with the idea that his autonomy is somehow eroded just because he’s forced to don Armani and not Fubu…when he’s not even doing his job but nursing it…when he’s earning 11 Gs/minute for wearing pinstripes.

It seems to me that it’s the autonomy of all those hands who stitch Shaq’s shoes and mop his sweat that we ought to think about. The very fact it’s so easy to dismiss the regular-sized hands that make the NBA a product—the hands that don’t make it on TV, the ones that burn from the glues used in making the new ball, the hands that work other jobs after the tall guys go home and pussyfoot with personal chefs and valets—suggests that their autonomy is already at risk.

People died in the Superdome. But the autonomy of the guys who play in it is violated?

I wonder what the minimum age (and I mean age, not wage) for stitching Shaq’s shoes is. You think it’s high enough?

Watch a game on ESPN Classic tonight from 30 years ago. You’ll notice a difference from today’s game. Maybe the talent wasn’t as good then; maybe the players didn’t train as hard or jump as high.

But that’s not the only difference. It’s not even the most significant difference. The difference I notice has to do with the NBA as a product: the jerseys aren’t as glossy, the floor not as polished, the shoes don’t look new, the arenas aren’t as comfortable, the broadcast not as nice, the video games non-existent, the wives not entertained.

It’s the product that sells not the players. You take those same players from 30 years ago and put them in today’s product, and the NBA still sells. Why? Because most of the people buying it want the product, not the talent. That’s why the video games sell more than the stadiums.

Why wasn’t the NBA international in the ‘80s? Why weren’t people in China sporting Bird jerseys? Is it because Bird wasn’t as good as Dirk? C’mon now, you know better.

It’s because the product wasn’t as developed or as polished; the NBA didn’t look all that different from the YMCA in anything but talent. And talent doesn’t sell jerseys or make them. The product does.

As long as we’re talking about the NBA as a product, which we always are unless we’re strictly talking talent (and television is never about talent), then you have to talk about all the hands that help to create it. Therefore, the conversation about player autonomy needs to begin with—or at least include—the autonomy of the people who make all the shit the NBA sells: from jerseys and jackets, to popcorn and Pepsi.

Shaq doesn’t make $11,300 per minute played unless someone is stitching his shoes for nothing. Remind me again about the dress code.

I wonder how many hands fit inside Shaq’s left shoe. Is their annual labor the same value as Shaq’s labor per minute? Is their autonomy bought with rookie wage scales? Are these questions even humane?

Tell me I’m wrong, Professor.

Stirred, Not Shaken

Wow! This has been quite the exchange for a still-green blog like ours. I’m excited that seasoned blog vets and busy people like Michael McCann and True Hoop’s Henry Abbott took the time to respond. It’s great when basketball fans move outside the box, and box scores, to discuss meaningful issues that fall below the usual hardwood radar. To me, our conversation thrills more than any regular “who’s-the-next-Jordan” debate, and I’m thankful the Internets act like techno-bartenders and help to facilitate our discussion in arenas beyond where the usual debates are confined. In the spirit of bartenders, I’d like to clink glasses again and continue our conversation by offering a response to the responses. Call it a meta-response on player autonomy but don’t try whistling at the same time.

I want to begin with the last point McCann makes, mostly because True Hoop also took issue with it. Both disagree with the following comment I made in my review of McCann’s article: “I find it off-putting to employ the discourse of labor rights in a conversation about multi-million dollar athletes. I prefer to save the efficacy of that language for underpaid blue-collar laborers, undocumented immigrants, and sex workers—just to name a few.”

True Hoop responds by writing, “There is not a rate of pay that makes exploitation OK. Wrong is wrong, and if it's wrong for an employer to test an employee's DNA, then it's wrong for the Bulls to test Eddy Curry's DNA, right?”

Well, sort of. I agree that exploitation is exploitation no matter which way the cheese is dealt. And I’m wrong to suggest that articulations of labor rights should be saved only for certain workers—as though labor rights were somehow like oil and in danger of running out if used too extravagantly.

That said, I also believe exploitation takes many different forms, and it doesn’t always mean the same thing. Exploitation, like autonomy, is situational, I suppose. For example, if my boss demanded I drop and give him twenty, I’d phone the EEOC; Eddy Curry probably wouldn’t. If my boss demanded celibacy, I’d cry foul; for others, celibacy is merely the flipside of living closer to God.

Which is all to say, I don’t think it’s necessarily wrong to test Curry’s DNA just because it’s wrong to test the DNA of telemarketers or cabbies or cat-sitters. The distinction here is the crux of McCann’s argument about the dress code, right? It’s why some in the sports world petition to wear suits and others protest them.

McCann responds to my point about labor rights by writing, “You are basically saying that the fact that these guys make a lot of money means their autonomy is not really a concern for you. Aren’t they still people or do they somehow become less human because they make a lot of money?”

Definitely still people, Professor—on that much, we agree.

In fact, I agree with you on the other point as well: the autonomy of NBA players isn’t really a concern for me. Luckily for them, it doesn’t have to be. The millions they make means they have access to resources most of us do not. These resources include lawyers, justice advocates, foundations, academics, Al Sharpton, the mainstream media—you name it.

What bothers me is that those folks most in danger of being exploited (e.g., blue-collar laborers, undocumented immigrants, sex workers, etc.) are also the people who lack the resources to prevent their exploitation. They don’t even have assistant coaches or trainers or ball boys, let alone legal counsel. That’s the reason why I think it’s socially irresponsible to discuss the labor rights of multi-million dollar athletes without considering the human rights of people on minimum wage.

McCann also asks, “is it their wealth as much as who they are that bothers you: would you feel the same way about Bill Gates as you do about Allen Iverson?”

Yes, I do feel the same way about Bill Gates—billions of times more so, in fact. That much wealth in the hands of one person, whether Paul Allen or Malik Allen, irritates me to no end. Frankly, I’m surprised you don’t agree with me.

The autonomy of all of us is eroded when wealth is distributed unequally, Professor, especially in a country where health care is directly tied to how much money you make. Fixing the problem is structural (which is why Gates and the NBA can donate so much cash and so many sneakers, and still dissatisfy me), of course, but it also demands that Gates and Iverson take pay-cuts.

Next time you’re in Los Angeles, Professor, take a ride by the old Forum in Inglewood. Don’t you think there are material connections between the spectacular economy of the Showtime Lakers and Inglewood’s economy of unemployment and blight? My man Magic knows this. Cassius realized and became Muhammad. Even Iverson has come to understand.

As much as I root for the Lakers, I save my advocacy for those who don’t play under lights. You dig?

McCann also corrects me by saying that his statistics were verified by the dudes in suits at ESPN. Fair enough. I care more about the stats of my fantasy basketball team anyway.

As for McCann’s definition of the term “autonomy,” well, it still remains hazy (or “amorphous,” as McCann puts it). I suppose it has to for his argument to have traction.

McCann cites another example of the erosion of player autonomy in his response: the rookie draft. To be fair, I’ll quote the paragraph in full before I respond: “First off, consider that some would argue the draft itself is an infringement on player autonomy. Players have to play for a particular team in a particular city, neither of which they may like, and the only alternative would be to play minor league hoops or play in Europe; it’s like being a law student at UCLA and planning to practice in L.A., but then there is a law firm draft and you get picked by a law firm in Bismarck North Dakota, and have to stay there for at least four years or you can’t practice law in the U.S. (or at least practice law in the U.S. without having to give up 95% of your salary). For related commentary on this, check out Alan Milstein’s post Reggie Bush Sweepstakes from last December.”

If I follow his point correctly, the fact some players call Staples home while others are forced to live near Charlotte is proof the players are losing their autonomy. Dude, you stagger me.

Many high-profile jobs require that employees live in certain areas. For instance, if a college student from Bismarck really wants to work in publishing, he’ll probably have to say goodbye Dakota, hello New York. That’s the breaks. Part of choosing a profession requires decisions like these. I’m guessing most ballers decide early on that the perks of cheerleaders and paychecks outweigh the bummers of relocation. Autonomy has nothing to do with it.

When we choose career paths, we also make decisions about the desirability of the lifestyle (sorry, I hate that word too) that comes with the job. That’s why not everyone with charisma and smarts wants to be a law professor. And not everyone with size wants to be a bodyguard or a cop.

Ideally, I suppose, we’d all have our choice of profession, region, dress code, wage, and qualifications. It kind of just seems like that’s not really possible, no? And if it is, Scalabrine’s contract probably isn’t moving us any closer, right? Might even be setting us back.

McCann’s argument about the erosion of autonomy implies that all social contracts reduce the autonomy of those who enter into them. McCann would have us believe that signing million-dollar deals doesn’t realize or empower player autonomy but erodes it. I find that difficult to believe. Just as Ben Wallace knew about Skiles’s rules before he signed with the Bulls, athletes know about Stern’s when they declare their dreams.

Yes, Marcus Camby might hate wearing a suit, and sure, he didn’t bargain for it when he picked up the ball long ago. But, wearing a suit to work doesn’t mean he’s up against the Leviathan—especially with $9.3 mil in his double-breasted pockets.

Question: How many sweatbands must an NBA athlete buy before he goes bankrupt?
Answer: I’m more concerned with the people in sweatshops making all of those sweatbands.

Aren’t you?

Michael McCann and Player Autonomy

Sports attorney and law professor Michael McCann writes for the Sports Law Blog, a fascinating website devoted to “all things legal related to the sports world.” A graduate of the University of Virginia law school, a former visiting professor at Harvard, a member of Maurice Clarett’s legal counsel, and a current professor of law at Mississippi College, McCann is a distinguished young attorney and outspoken scholar of sports law, torts, and social psychology. His research is primarily concerned with the cognitive and social causes that influence popular beliefs about professional athletes. In the past, he's been most vocal about his support of players who jump from high school to the NBA.

Following a tip from Henry Abbott at True Hoop, I dug into McCann’s recent article, “The Reckless Pursuit of Dominion: A Situational Analysis of the NBA and Diminishing Player Autonomy,” published in the University of Pennsylvania Journal of Labor and Employment Law (Summer, 2006). Given that most bball junkies probably lack academic library access, and even more choose not to find their hoops buzz in scholarly journals, I thought I’d do the labor and offer my thoughts on McCann’s piece here.

McCann wants to argue that the last decade or so of NBA basketball has witnessed a steady erosion in player autonomy. McCann finds evidence for his argument in the 1995 implementation of a rookie wage scale, last year’s mandated dress code, the newly elevated minimum age for draft eligibility, and the Chicago Bulls decision to require that Eddy Curry undergo genetic testing (for heart disease) before signing him in the summer of 2005. All four measures, according to McCann, are indicative of the NBA’s insidious plan to control players and usurp their autonomy.

As far as I’m concerned, McCann’s article might be divided into two parts. The first part consists of his sophisticated analyses of the rookie wage scale, the dress code, and the minimum age for draft eligibility. The second part represents his use of these analyses to support an argument about limitations in player autonomy. Because I found the larger stakes of the article troubling—and I’ll discuss why toward the end—I want to tease out these separate parts, acknowledging the elements I believe praiseworthy while questioning those that came up short.

McCann is best when describing how the NBA manipulates the fans and sports media to support the policies the league implements. According to McCann, certain social “knowledge structures” and “cognitive biases” oversimplify complicated issues and lead to the production of inaccurate systems of belief. These belief systems ultimately make it easier for the NBA to usurp player autonomy by disguising the league’s policies as common sense.

For example, we tend to see the collective bargaining agreements of the Players Association—such as those that led to the rookie wage scale in 1995—as serving the best interests of all NBA players. Yet, for McCann, our faith in collectively-bargained rules represents an “attribution error,” or a failure to analyze the more nuanced and less-observable aspects of the negotiation process. McCann wisely points out that the players often affected most by these agreements are those without voice in the bargaining process—namely, the soon-to-be rookies themselves. Furthermore, because of the absence of viable alternative basketball leagues, McCann suggests, even those players represented in bargaining agreements are more likely to capitulate to league demands.

McCann also illuminates the subtle knowledge structures supporting the establishment of a dress code. The common association of hip-hop culture and delinquency helped to validate David Stern’s new dress code, first announced last summer. Hoping to cleanse the NBA of this thuggish appearance, Stern’s decision relied on simplified and erroneous assumptions about the morality of men in “street” clothes. Moreover, although the dress code emptied the players’ closets of hip-hop fashion, the league continues to approve of hip-hop-inspired halftime shows, videogames, and endorsement deals. The double standard went unrecognized in Stern’s announcements, not to mention his choir of yes-men in the media.

Similarly, the decision to raise the minimum age for draft eligibility depended on the unfounded belief that younger players are especially susceptible to nefarious activities. For the commish and many media commentators, college is necessary for teaching hardwood fundamentals, as well as for providing character-building life experience. To complicate this assertion, McCann not only proves that the most notorious NBA players (guys like Spree, Ruben Patterson, and “Mighty Mouse” Stoudamire) were in fact four-year college graduates, but also indicates how college athletes often fail to receive the education experience Stern believes is promised them.

By and large, I am impressed by McCann’s analysis of the underside to the rookie wage scale, the dress code, and the elevated minimum age. His reading of the implications in Curry’s mandated genetic testing is also very impressive, though too lengthy for me to detail here. Let it suffice to say that genetic testing raises a host of difficult ethical questions the NBA is not yet equipped to deliberate.

While I approve of McCann’s evidence, as well as the way he interprets it, I am bothered by his argument about the diminution of player autonomy. First, I'm forced to bang my academic gavel on the term around which his entire argument pivots—autonomy. McCann never defines what he means by autonomy yet gets considerable truck from the concept.

At times, McCann’s notion of autonomy seems synonymous with something like self-determination (admittedly, just as vague). At other moments, the word suggests more material freedoms, like personal expression and the right to work. However, these are all very different ways of imagining autonomy. For instance, the exercise of self-determination might actually result in a willful decision to undercut one’s autonomy. The defense of right-to-die legislation works with ideas of self-determination and autonomy in precisely this manner. In this light, the two are hardly synonymous.

Without a concept like autonomy clearly defined—though so crucial to his article—McCann’s argument is able to bend in a number of ludicrous positions. If freedom of expression and the right to work are all that’s at stake, I wonder why McCann stopped with the dress code and age requirement. When the Knicks go small and bench Curry, doesn’t that decision usurp his autonomy? What if they bring in Kelvin Cato only to foul Shaq? Would that constitute the erosion of Cato’s autonomy? More appropriately, is Coach Skiles’s prohibition on headbands a violation of Ben Wallace’s autonomy? It certainly violates his freedom of expression. What about alternate road jerseys if players prefer their standard away threads?

Second, McCann benefits from some statistical sleight-of-hand. At one point, for example, McCann writes, “objective data suggests that prep-to-pro players outperform other NBA players. In fact, they average more points, rebounds, and assists than does the average NBA player or the average player of any age group.” I think it’s fair to call this a dubious statistic, not only because McCann cites his own research to prove it. There has to be some way of adjusting these averages to account for sample size; otherwise, the disproportionately high number of players with some college experience dilutes the averages in question. Furthermore, McCann neglects to indicate whether his prep-to-pro numbers include the Ndubi Ebis and TajMcDavids of the world—high school blue-chippers who, after declaring for the draft, saw little to no time in the NBA. Similar trouble with statistical manipulation (either specious numbers or inappropriate contexts) runs throughout the article.

Lastly, I want to ask McCann what is gained by acknowledging the erosion of player autonomy, if such a thing can even be said to exist. How might the problem be amended? If he means merely to encourage a more nuanced recognition of the knowledge structures influencing league decisions, why bring in terms like autonomy and “labor harmony”? If higher salaries are an answer to autonomy usurpation, isn’t there something socially irresponsible at work in McCann’s argument?

Do corporate CEOs experience a loss in autonomy when whistle blowers uncover corruption? Was Martha Stewart’s autonomy violated by the outing of her insider deals? What, in other words, prevents the application of McCann’s argument to these more disturbing spaces and cases of high profile employment?

I do not mean that McCann advocates for law breakers and criminals. Instead, I want only to express why I find it off-putting to employ the discourse of labor rights in a conversation about multi-million dollar athletes. I prefer to save the efficacy of that language for underpaid blue-collar laborers, undocumented immigrants, and sex workers—just to name a few.

Although McCann successfully demonstrates the complexity of issues like the rookie wage scale, the dress code, and the minimum age requirement, he ends on terms I cannot endorse. Fortunately, the NBA and its players aren’t hurting for endorsements.

Thus Spake Isiah

"We haven't been patient enough force-feeding the post," former Pistons Bad Boy and current Knick coach Isiah Thomas whined after last night’s road roasting of the Celtics. "Tonight, our post-patience play was very good."

Force-feeding? Post-patience play? Does Isiah have the foggiest clue what he’s doing? Can you imagine any other coach using a phrase like post-patience play?

Doesn’t it feel like the Knicks have traded places with the cast of Saturday Night Live? That they aren’t really a basketball team but just play one in a Christopher Guest movie?

Some of their players don’t even look like athletes. Eddy Curry (pronounced almost like "Calorie"), for one, and Quentin Richardson, for another, look more like guys impersonating athletes. These men remind me of bloated has-beens, still ruling the playground courts with their oversized bodies and monumental sweat. I once saw Curry called for two charges in the same half-court set. I know it sounds like Kersey and Nies blew the call, but once you’ve seen Curry play (I'll take the poetic license), it makes sense.

The irony of the Knicks this season is that they are actually the perfect team for New York. The squad is stuffed with stubborn individuals, too marooned in their own feisty self-reliance to acknowledge they work in the same place. It’s like Isiah fell in love with boy-comes-to-the-big-city stories and tried to replicate the formula on the hardwood. He brought in different versions of the same diva. Steph, Franchise, Jalen (like other New Yorkers, he's wintering in Phoenix), Jamal, Q—they'd all prefer to have next in your local And-One game. Forget about screens, ditch the off-ball motion, and leave the boxing out for your restaurant’s leftovers.

There is no “I” in “team,” but there are far too many in “Isiah’s.”

His best five come off the bench:
PG: Nate Robinson (the only player worth watching on the Knicks)
SG: Jamal Crawford (one of the quickest crossovers in the game)
SF: Renaldo Balkman (who resembles Humpty from Digital Underground a little)
PF: David Lee (game like Cedric Ceballos)
C: Channing Frye (sidelined for 3 to 6 with an ankle roll)

The only thing that might make the Knicks worse is if Clyde Frazier announced their games, and, alas, he already does. The other night against Denver, he referred to Marcus Camby as one of the best “block shotters” in the game. Repeatedly.

Block shotters? Post-patience play?

New Yorkers love a good joke, but this one harldy seems practical!

Mr. Answer Man

In a post-Heisenberg world, there are few questions with certain answers. Is she a woman? Would you like red or white? Are those real? We’ve all been asked questions like these—sent stumbling before their uncertain answers.

I thought I’d offer my list of the five most reliable questions—that is, questions with the simplest answers. They just don’t come any easier.

1. Can I tell you a secret? Show me someone who doesn’t like hearing secrets, and I’ll show you a liar. Secrets might be the reason people get married. They are certainly one reason we get divorced. Hearing another person’s secret helps us feel more human, more in touch with the closet mysteries of others. If nothing else, secrets help us feel superior to other humans. At the cutting edge of someone else’s secret is a competition you can’t lose. Consequently, the answer is always “yes, tell me.”

2. Do you want to go upstairs? No brainer. Wishing you had said “no” is infinitely better than regretting you didn’t answer “yes” – unless, of course, the person asking is Shawn Kemp and you want “upstairs” to include child support.

3. Can I buy you a drink? Tough call on this one. I’ve heard reasons why “no” is a possibility. You might be too pickled to stomach another; too married to accept cocktails from strangers; too loyal to drink with your best friend’s sister (read: too boring, not loyal). But that’s not really what’s at stake with this question. Someone is offering to give you something, and though there may be strings attached, they’re only fastened with Velcro. Just say yes.
   

4. Did you think you were going the speed limit? Other derivations of this question include, “How fast did you think you were going?” and “Do you know the speed limit in this area?” It makes no difference. The answer is either “yes” or “the speed limit.” Why would you respond otherwise? Nothing is gained by answering “no, I thought I was speeding.”

5. Do I know you? If you’re answering “no” to this question, you lack imagination. And even if you lack imagination, just memorize a few possible responses to the question. You might try, “It depends. Do you watch much porn?” How about, “No, but I know your wife” (add an elbow jab to accent “know”). Or, “Dad, I think it’s time for your pill.”
   

Have fun and be safe.

Yours,

TJ

More Klum(s)

The second piece of proof that Seal isn't too, well, endowed is upon us. On Wednesday Heidi gave birth to the couple's second child, Johan Riley Fyodor Taiwo Samuel. He joins their first, Henry Günther Ademola Dashtu Samuel. (You know, just so the kids have options.) Seal announced the birth on his website, paying his wife the highest of compliments:

"She is so good at having babies, I feel so blessed and fortunate to have a wife like her"

Yup. Just another reason to be thankful for Ms. Klum.

TGB

Heidi, You're In

On this day of giving thanks, I want to add a blessing too few will mention around tonight’s table. Not a prayer for world peace; not a song for the earthly bounty we’ll eat; not the Lakers I love, the pants I wear, or the dogs I pet—for these I’m thankful but not dependent.

On this Thanksgiving, I want to toast Heidi Klum.

She makes me a better man. Or, at least, she makes me want to be a better man. And taller. Maybe darker. Six-feet high, well-bronzed and blonde, Heidi Klum boasts the grace of a ballerina and the wit of a poetess. Hers is a life worth modeling.

That’s my message for our readers, especially the young girls out there. What you lack in personality, make up for with good looks.

Heidi, here's to you.

All best,
TJ

May I Hear That Used In a Sentence, Please?

I was recently informed that Dwayne Wade’s first name is in fact spelled Dwyane.

I know. I didn’t believe it either, but I’ve since checked several sources – and the old issue of GQ (Gentlemen’s Quarterly – also didn’t know that) on my coffee table – and this does indeed appear to be the case.

This raises a couple interesting questions:

First, why didn’t I know this? I know everything. I especially know everything about names. I know, for example, that Meat Loaf was born Marvin, Sting, Gordon, and that that the Wiz’s number 4 spells his first name Antawn because of a typo (I did not know, however, that his middle name is Cortez – which it is). The only explanation I can come up with is that prior to the Heat winning the title last year – and even, to be honest, after – I hardly realized Miami had a professional basketball team (though that Real World season was great).

Second, is Dwyane a common spelling or did The Wades call an audible? The answer is distinctly the latter. Not a single American male with the first name Dwyane was recorded in the 1990 census (“Dwayne” was the 256^th most common name). Likewise, according to the Social Security Administration, “Dwyane” was not among the 1000 most popular baby names of 1982, Wade’s year of birth (“Dwayne,” however, was 241^st, just behind “Karl” and four slots ahead of “Chase”).

Third, where would we be had the parents of other NBA players shown the same sort of endeavor with the spelling of their children’s first names? Well, we’d be watching the likes of Lbreon James, Rshaard Lewis, Craon Butler, Kird Nowtizki, Yelk Korver, Sucram Camby, Neord and Varmin Williams, and, of course, the rock-up-front-that-is-Netlo Brand.

I have to think that somewhere up there Chick Hearn is breathing a sigh of relief.

Cheers!

TGB

Welcome, Again

Here's to a maiden voyage that just might be the second coming. We're funny, informed, and of course good looking. We consider basketball the most meaningful part of our lives, but we're knowledgeable in other topics as well. And by "knowledgeable," we mean more knowledgeable than you.

May the best of our past be the worst of our future. Enjoy.

The Gumbel Bros and Tragic Johnson