I saw this on SportsCenter this morning, and immediately wanted to hear it again when I got to work. Hats off to Reds Army for tracking down the goods. This is the caliber of pregame speech that makes Kevin Garnett skip the lay-up lines in favor of spending warm-ups head-butting the hoop’s pole pad.
Reds raises an interesting point – who is that Celtics roster member who aptly responds nope after Ray’s fightin’ words?
For reasons unknown, it’s becoming obscure trinket week here at Steady Burn.
In far more obscure news than the GMU bobbleheads, internet-based, handmade wares resellers Etsy is selling a line of NBA themed LEGO likenesses as necklaces.
Here’s Celtic back-up point guard Nate Robinson’s latest stunt, as he continues to spend the off-season vying to become Shaq’s sidekick.
If you don’t catch it :02 seconds in, Paul Pierce is on the flipcam. What you’re about to see is Pierce giving Nate Robinson 30-seconds to complete a full suicide in Shaq’s size 23, which come up past his shin splints.
If you were following the video’s timer, you may have noticed Pierce actually gave him an additional :05.
When he says “Biggest Shoes in the World”, it makes me grin. I’m really happy about Robinson becoming the Tonto to Shaq’s Lone Ranger.
The auction is part of the @TwitChange campaign, which launched on Sep. 15 as a charity-auction series to support aHomeInHaiti.org. The campaign was created by aHomeInHaiti.org founder Shaun King, and has signed up other Twitter celebs such as @KimKardashian, @JustinBieber and other members of the in-crowd. Check out the bidding war for Shaq’s tickets (currently, $2,550 for the set) and learn more about the cause at the eBay link.
Nice to see that Shaq clearly remembers a time when Googling “hack” and “Shaq” purely yielded YouTube clips of him bricking free throws, as he looks to rise above the pending lawsuit, not to mention the unending speculation that this latest move to Boston is purely Kobe-motivated.
He could jump another few percentage points if the Collins original became his walk-up music.
Scutaro has been more than tolerable on the whole (.285 BA, leads the team in at-bats, second in hits) and on a tear recently (.485 BA in his last ten games). If you don’t agree, then you don’t know the Red Sox unremarkable shortstop history of recent times.
If your head did not explode from reading the title of this post, I suspect you are probably laughing or are confused as to what the hell the Beanpot is. In the grand scheme of sporting events, yes, comparing the two is bombastic. It’d be like comparing, ladies and gentlemen, sex with a model to that first awkward drunken make-out/groping session you had freshman year of college.
While the Super Bowl is the grandaddy of all American sporting events (so grandaddy-licious this year that it’s the most watched broadcast event in history), the Beanpot is a tournament involving Boston’s 4 big schools: Harvard, Northeastern, Boston College, and my alma mater, Boston University. Each year, the 4 schools are paired off for a 2 week tournament for the coveted Beanpot trophy. More importantly, these four schools play for pride and bragging rights…and yes, ads do not cost $3 million for 30 seconds.
If you watched BC’s 4-3 Beanpot victory on Monday night at a local sports bar, it made for an unbelievably satisfying sports dessert to The Big Game’s main course. As a BU alum, it was disappointing to lose, especially to our hated rival (Thank god for $1 dollar draft Mondays at Third & Long) and I was not exactly thrilled wake up and watch ESPN’s Top 10 yesterday morning. What was the #1 play you ask? Chris Kreider, BC’s 18 year old freshman, deking out BU freshman Max Nicastro and finishing with a fluid backhander past BU goalie Kieran Millan to put BC up 3-1 during the Beanpot.
Now, I can drunkenly berate the other 3 BC goals (and believe me, I did) but none of us could argue this was a helluva play. Oddly enough, I quickly changed my tune since, if you watched the game, you’d know BU’s David Warsofsky had an equally amazing top-shelf backhander later on. Surprisingly, I was happy. I was happy that college hockey, a sport that doesn’t get nearly enough recognition and is the pride of the BU faithful, was getting it’s due on Sportscenter. Hopefully next year, we’ll reclaim the trophy for a tournament that’s continually ours (29 titles and running). Until then…
What? You didn’t think I’d really end this on a sad note and praising the enemy, did you? GO B.U.
In honor of my first trip back to Fenway Park this weekend, I put it out there to some of the sports blog intelligentsia to send: My First Sports Memory
You can read all about my personal moment of nostalgia – a heartwarming tale about how Fenway Park turned a shy six-year old into a leader of men – here. Below is some more true folklore (at least in the eye of the beholder).
If nothing else, this a great chance to see a few of your favorite sports bloggers really, really date themselves ( Game 3 of the 1986 World Series, a Kirk Gibson game, the John Havlicek retirement game!).
My earliest sports memory was Game 3 of the 1986 World Series at Fenway Park. My father had one ticket to the game (second row centerfield bleachers), but he decided to bring me figuring they wouldn’t deny an 8 year old entrance to the game. He was right, the old man at the gate pulled me up over the turnstyle and let me into the game. I don’t remember much about the game other than the fact that Oil Can Boyd was on the mound for the Sox and shit the bed.
I hope this led to a life of hurdling-the-turnstyle crime for Mr. Don Chavez.
I was 7 years old and we went to see the Salt Lake City Trappers on the 4th of July. I believe Hank Aaron threw the first pitch. I had no idea what was going on, but I knew that there was going to be fireworks after the game. The only thing that I remember is that there was a loud bang that just scared me to death, and I
yelped out my first F bomb. The next moments were in slow motion. My step Dad looked at me and then told my Mother what her son just said. My next memory is having soap in my mouth.
They’ll be other examples of kids blinding loving the watered-down experience (especially when you’re not old enough to drink) that is Minor League baseball..as well as more F-bombs.
For me, probably around 1983-84, at Memorial Stadium to see the Orioles play. My father took my 4 siblings and I to the games to give my mom a break in the evenings. We always got there early to catch balls in the outfield bleachers, and get autographs signed by the players during batting practice. Cal “not overrated” Ripken would sign at every game, and sign for everyone. I have one baseball that he signed for me on four different occasions. When was the last time you saw a ball player spend 45 minutes signing autographs on game day? He is from Baltimore, and is Baltimore and every kid growing up in that era and in that area have Cal Ripken as their first and most lasting memory in Sports.
Touching, let’s hear about an autograph signing gone sour, shall we..
I remember going to a Bullets-Pistons game at the Capital Centre with my dad and one of my friends, around 1990. Well after the game ended, a few of the players including John Salley went down the line of waiting fans to sign autographs. Salley got the group to my right, looked directly at my friend Sean and me, and went directly to the next group on our left. My dad tried to get autographs for us also but he refused to sign for him too. I’ve never been a John Salley fan since.
Then again, if this goes differently, imagine the shame you’d be feeling right now if you grew up loving John Salley…
1986, it must have been. Tony Pena’s last year with the Pirates. I woulda been 2. I remember someone telling me that Pena was up to bat at Three Rivers Stadium…either my dad or the announcer. I was sitting in the nosebleeds, but remember saying “He’s gonna hit a home run,” which he did, to the leftfield seats way below me. Pena’s always been one of my favorite players because of that.
One of the many Red Sox games of my youth also featured a Tony Pena home run – the rarity of which can not be overstated (1,988 games career games – just 107 HRs).
1983, Left Field at Veterans Stadium, sitting in ubstructed view seats, so I actually ended up watching on television screens on overhang, my uncle lectures me, “Just remember that your Godfather took you to see Pete Rose play baseball.” I remembered. Though, I could have seen the same game at home.
I remember going to the Phoenix Firebirds game at Phoenix Municipal Stadium on my brother’s birthday. The Firebirds were the AAA affiliate for the Giants back then and I got to see a bunch of great players come through. But that night I couldn’t have been older than five or six. It was a night game because it’s Phoenix in the summer and you don’t play baseball during the day outside. I remember how packed the place was. Matt Williams was on the team and there was a buzz about him but I didn’t care about that. I just liked the environment of the ballpark. Nothing of note happened (besides hearing my brother’s name announced over the PA) but it was my first trip to the ballpark and I still remember the way the sky looked and the way the mountains made strange shadows on the field.
We were up in the nosebleeds. the place smelled real bad. I remember my science teacher Mr. Coyle was selling beer. Very surreal. On the floor for the Celtics were guys like Pistol Pete Maravich, Dave Bing, I remember they were playing buffalo and ernie d the former braves star but local kid from providence was on the celtics at the time. the place went absolutey nuts for hondo. ab-so-lute-ly nuts. i dont remember the garden ever rocking like that and we had seasons all through the bird years. thats the night my love
affair with the celtics began.
Josh, we can deduce that you were at least in grade school when this game took place – in 1978 – how old are you?
Little background info:
I was born in Bremerhaven, Germany and lived there until 1995 then moved to Olympia, WA.
After living in WA for a few months we went to a Mariners-Yankees game in the 1995 divisonal series playoffs. We went to game 5 of the series so the series was 2-2. It was a great game, we sat in left-center at the Kingdome(old Mariners stadium shared with the Seahawks). Since it was a old stadium, not all the seats were that good but who cares it was game 5. It went to 11 innings that night with my team, the Mariners(who I am still a huge fan of), winning the game 6-5.
My first baseball game: Mariners-Yankees, game 5, 11 innings. Mariners Winning.
This wins the reward for decrepit sporting venue visited in thine youth…whoops, wait a second…
My first live sporting event memory was on a cold October night at the old Tiger Stadium in Detroit. Back when Sweet Lou and Trammel ruled the middle of the diamond and Kirk Gibson was in shape.
My dad had a stache like Jack Morris and it was his first game as well.
It was 1984 and I was 10. The ball park seemed like a magical place despite the scary surroundings of Motown. The bathrooms had long pee troughs like a farm, the floors were dirty and the hand rails were sticky with beer (hoping that was the case).
I remember thinking that the field seemed way smaller than I expected and the grass much greener.
It was a frosty night and I also remember having a lot of hot chocolate to keep my hands warm, more so than enjoying it as a drink.
I don’t remember who the Tigers were playing, nor who won but I do remember Gibson hitting one out of the park and into the lumber yard across the street. It was all anyone was talking about.
I was just glad I did not miss it.
It may not of been the most glamorous place but the old Tiger Stadium will always have a soft spot in my sporting heart.
Back in like 1996 or 1997 the NBA pre-season schedule grabbed a spot in Missoula, MT of all places which happened to be a couple of hours from where I grew up. So my Dad and I and a couple of friends grabbed some tickets and went. The game was between the Sonics and the Grizzlies (Vancouver of course) and was a big deal to us small time Montana folk. Long story short – at some point in the middle of the game, George Karl showed his disagreement with the officiating by dropping an “F” bomb. Now you have to understand how small the arena was and as you can imagine, the entire place heard it, staring back at George in complete shock. George, realized he had been caught, and dropped the sheepiest of all sheepish grins while look around in embarrassment. Classic.
You sure you don’t remember flyfishing first? Because you were probably flyfishing the day before…and every day at 4 a.m. before and after. What is is with Montanadians and the fly fishing, anyway?
And what is it about effin that leave such an impression on the kids? Moving on…
My parents took me to a Yankee game when I was a really little kid. We had great seats on the first base line through my dad’s work. It’s every kids dream to catch a foul ball and on that day, mine came true…well almost did.
It was mid-way through the game when my dad went to get himself and my mom a few beers. When he got to his seat, one of the Yankee players hit a foul ball and it was coming right at us. Without any time to put the beers in each hand down, my father stuck the cup in the air in an attempt to catch the ball. As the ball fell from the sky closer and closer, my dad targeted the ball with the cup. And then, he caught it. Right in his cup. This was a million to one shot. You know that game where you have a ball attached to a cup with a string and you try to catch the ball in the cup? Well this was like that on PEDs and no string. I couldn’t believe he caught the ball.
We didn’t even have a chance to savor the moment. As this miracle catch happened, the asshole behind us was going for the foul as well. The ball didn’t even have a chance to get wet. This dick swatted at the ball hitting my dad’s cup, sending the ball 4 rows in front of us. Unbelievable.
Steve Melfi, who eventually forgave his dad for that fumble last Summer, wishes you all a Happy Father’s Day.
A guy whose probably best known for albums titled Wowee, Zowee and Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain, is an unexpected Fantasy BBALL fanatic.
Just two hoops leagues that I’ve been in for about five years or so. The first year we played just five categories – and Allen Iverson was the king of five-cat!!! I also remember Brevin Knight being quite the stud in five-cat as well. As for fantasy, I play all three sports. It’s a tossup between baseball and B-ball for me. Different fish. Baseball is all about the roto, basketball is all about head-to-head match ups…
That’s knowledge from the dude who wrote the lyrics it took a giant ramrod to raise the demon settlement.
Recently, Stephen Malkmus, Indie-Rock hero and former bandleader of Pavement, sat down with Steve Alexander from Rotoworld (who he evidently plays in a fantasy league with) to talk fantasy basketball. We learned that Malkmus’ team is named Widespread Perkins. Sadly, he’s not so much a fan of Perk as much as he’s making fun of a dude in the league whose got man-love towards him. Alas.
Malkmus also apparently once spelled “chutzpahs” for a double-double word bingo (“that was deep”) in a game of Scrabble. I wonder if you have to agree to ask him the obligatory “Favorite Scrabble Moment” question before you get to interview him? I know I’d have that in my contract if I pulled off that word, for like what? 178 points?
Check out the video for Pavement’s ‘Cut Your Hair’…
If you live in eastern standard time, you’re probably sick to your stomach about April Fool’s Day at this point.
I’m sure you’ve been rickroll’d several times by tragically unfunny coworkers, and just can’t stand it anymore. Not too mention, we all woke up today and apparently Brooklyn Decker is actually (not jokingly) engaged to that whinester Andy Roddick.
Personally, I’m of the opinion that all April Fools foolery should take place before 8 a.m. Here’s what transpired when I called my dad at 7:30 this morning…
….well, first a quick backgrounder on the old man.
Here is my dad*
He’s a Black Irish McBastard from South Boston. He’s whom I get my pale skin, and love of Jamison and the Jay Geils Band from.
Most recently, he spends most of his time consulting on mob movies. A job that is easy, yet requires years of experience with menacing violence. Typically, you’re not required to get up too early.
(phone rings, approx. 7:32 a.m. EST)
DAD: grumble…grumble…grumble
ME: Hello, pop?
DAD: What could you possibly…
ME: Dad, it’s me! Your first born son!
DAD: I didn’t mortgage your family’s illustrious criminal history so you could call me at dawn you degenerate.
ME: Well pop, as fate would have it, I’ve got something important I need to tell ya
DAD: Oh Christ, I knew this pansy was a gay this whole time…
ME: On the contrary, padre. I got a girl pregnant.
DAD: Right, you expect me to believe some girl let you do that with her
ME: I feel like the guy in that Usher song…. (singing) damn near cried when I got that phone call!
DAD: Man, your singing voice is horrendous…You don’t even have a girlfriend?
(playa for life, dad knows what’s up)
ME: She told me she wants to keep it, no question about it. What’s your take on this whole it’s her body, her decision argument
DAD: What?! Oh Jesus. I can’t believe this is happening.
ME: Are you crying? Pull yourself together man! I’m starting a family here.
DAD: You can barely take care of yourself.
ME: Agreed! So, you know how I hate asking you for money (cause it most likely attaches me to some sort of FBI paper trail), but can you say: maxed credit card?
DAD: Who is this dozey prat? What’s her name?!
ME: Her name is LaToya
DAD: WHAT IN GOD’S NAME….?
ME: Well, you remember how I told you I was becoming a pretty good dancer?
(click)
ME: Hello?
…
ME: Hello?
…
I’m gonna wait until I hear what he has to say about the credit card bill before I let him know it was a joke…
*Not actually my dad. That’s Mr. French from The Departed…credit him with the best line from the movie: “This is America. You don’t make more money, then you’re a f*ckin’ douchebag.” [pulls out gun]
