It’s time for America’s new favorite web saga revolving around the exciting world of NBA controversy. This week, whatever the fuck I feel like rambling about before the cocktail of pills and alcohol kicks in and I collapse over my keyboard.
First and foremost, the soon to be NBA champion Minnesota Timberwolves just signed Jamal Crawford and I am about to cry because Minnesota professional basketball has never made me so happy. I feel like a woman whose boyfriend has made a super romantic proposal. It’s everything I’ve ever wanted and my life is great, but enough about that because there’s so much basketball chicanery that requires discussion and my levels of consciousness are fleeting by the second.
Gordon Hayward is shipping out to Boston as it were, and I wouldn’t normally give half a fuck, but Boston is now forced to make cap space by pawning 3/5 of the starting five that made them THE NUMBER ONE SEED IN THE EAST.
This shit is ridiculous, you’re giving away the talented majority of your players just so you can have a pretty okay white kid on your team. This is bullshit.
Think about this, in 2015, the Atlanta Hawks were also the number one seed and currently, NOT ONE OF THOSE PLAYERS IS ON THE HAWKS. What fucking universe is this? Is this real life? This is the same path the Celtics are on because they’re cleaning house to accommodate Brad Stevens’ weird white boy crush.
The world has gone insane and this season is going to be a Goddamn shit show. For the first time since 2004, it’s good to be a Timberwolves fan.
It’s America Day! and as I mentioned on our Twitter feed it’s the special time of year when I hide from my family and friends and watch baseball alone while drinking my secret stash of good beer while my family drinks PBR. I’m a generous host.
Many people wonder why I don’t write about baseball more. I enjoy baseball a lot it’s not because I have some secret vendetta against the sport, but my history with baseball is… unique.
When I was a child, I was a very gifted pitcher, by the time I was a teenager I was one of the best in the state. I started showing prowess for the sport at a very young age and as a result, my father took it upon himself to make sure I was going to be the best in the world. From around the age of seven up until high school I was outside every day until the sun went down throwing pitches trying to perfect my craft until my arm felt as though it had fallen off hours ago and I eventually crawled back to the house to eat a quick dinner before my father sat me down to go over everything I had done wrong in a series of videos and profanity fueled rants.
This would’ve all been fine if it weren’t for one minor detail, I hated playing baseball (still do, but I’m an adult now). I eventually gathered the courage to tell my father that I no longer wanted to play baseball. This was the first time my father kicked me out of the house. I was always allowed back, but this was merely the first in a series of ejections that would ultimately come to my final one later in life where I didn’t go back, but that’s another story for another day.
Baseball is a great sport. I enjoy watching it as much as possible. But baseball and I, have a strained relationship.