IN THESE CHANGING TIMES (AKA THE NBA LOCKOUT BLUES)

A pox on this heinous, flea-bitten plague they call the NBA lockout, I say.
 Seriously, there is just fuck all to write about right now if you have no desire to waste your time talking about Kobe going to Turkey (or China) or NBA guys tearing up Summer Pro Leagues or athletes saying stupid shit on Twitter. Sad as it may be, the reality is that so many people are now paid to write about the NBA that guys are having to trudge ahead and churn out content when there is simply little to nothing to report. Tough enough during the average off-season, almost impossible during this one.
I mean, I’m fairly confident that nobody really gives a fuck about most of the basketball related “news” that’s being forced on us out right now, and we are all praying for the kind of tidy resolution to this lockout that seems at best unikely and at worst pure fantasy. Shit, Billy Hunter is saying the 2011-12 season is all but lost, and even though some of that is bound to be posturing it ‘s crappy news anyway you cut it.. Seriously, it’s nothing short of tragic to sit back back anf watch the NFL get their collective shit together while the NBA remains stuck in neutral and a growing number of the league’s players flirt with playing professionally in such exotic destinations as Singpore or Trinibad and Tobago. 
Fuck, I promised myself I wouldn’t talk about the lockout.
Anway, not sure where that leaves me then. I’ve been forced to turn entirely to Baseball for my sporting fix and it’s been a comfort for me, like an Ex-Girlfriend you might call for advice in troubled times. She’s moved on enough than she can talk to you without being bitter but no so over you that she won’t listen to your problems, or whatever. Oh, and as a bonus, my beloved Angels are in a pennant race (at least for now since they failed to improve the team at the trade deadline), I’ve discovered the splendor of the MLB Network and best of all, I’ve been blessed with the opportunity to get to know batshit nutty Nyjer Morgan. He don’t know karate, but he’s knows kerrazy.

Not to speak ill of Brian Wilson and his epic beardings and S & M man-slaves and whatnot, but it all feels a bit contrived for me, a little too much like a crafted persona. Nyjer, well he’s the real deal as far I can tell, and actually reminds me a whole lot of Gilbert Arenas before the gun fiasco. You know, the lovable wackjob type. Nyjer probably belongs closer to Ron Artest than Milton Bradley on the crazy athlete depth chart, but I don’t doubt he’s capable of some wild shit if you happen to rub him the wrong way.

He’s got balls, I’ll give him that much.
So yeah, wacky digressions aside, the point is it’s probably time to ditch the all-hoops format, or at least until there is such a thing as pro hoops again.  In that vein, we’ll be looking at adding a few more writers and getting this shit ramped up nice and proper like, from Baseball to Football to some old proper Futbol and everything else. We might even hit you with a racquetball profile, purely for the fuck of it. Just know that just because Basketball is going way doesn’t mean we are too.
Anyway, you’ve been warned and shit.

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Got the title for this post from a really old (and really great) old Four Tops record, which features one of the better Beatles covers ever heard. Levi Stubbs was a vocal monster, in the figurative sense.

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