Here Comes a Regular

Alex Theoharides (@Minne_Pop) provides a meditation on the Replacements song "Here Comes a Regular" and life in Minnesota.

The Walloped and the Walloper

Life can wallop anybody, but Alex Theoharides (@Minne_Pop) explains what exactly that means to him.

Love and the NBA

Alex Theoharides (@Minne_Pop) sorts through his heartbreak to ruminate on Ricky Rubio's injury, the Minnesota Timberwolves, love, and writing.

The United States of Michael Beasley

Alex Theoharides (@Minne_Pop) weighs in on the Michael Beasley's curious career as well as his fate with the NBA Trade Deadline looming.

And Now For the Hard Part

Alex Theoharides (@Minne_Pop) evaluates the Timberwolves after the first half of the season and takes a look at their potential playoff chances.

Three Things To Remember In The Martell Webster Fiasco

Alex Theoharides (@Minne_Pop) tames his anger just enough to dissect Martell Webster's game-costing play from last night.

Olé, Olé

Alex Theohardies (@Minne_Pop) continues his coverage of "America's Team," The Minnesota Timberwolves, by taking a look at the impact of Ricky Rubio's first twenty-five NBA games.

Theoharides on the Timberwolves' Search for a Shooting Guard

Alex Theoharides (@Minne_Pop) takes a look like what chances the Minnesota Timberwolves have to land a solid, starting shooting guard to add to their young core.

Kevin Love Gets a Contract

Alex Theoharides (@Minne_Pop) provides a Twitter recap of the road to Kevin Love's contract extension with the Minnesota Timberwolves.

The T-Wolves Primer

Alex Theoharides (@Minne_Pop) takes a moment of breath from his T-Wolves mania to provide an easy-to-read team guide for the 2012 Minnesota Timberwolves.

Theoharides on Learning to Love K. Love

Alex Theoharides (@Minne_Pop) weighs in on Charles Barkley's recent claim that Kevin Love is the best power forward in the NBA.

Theoharides On Fiction: "Ugly Carlo"

Alex Theoharides shares one of his most recent pieces of short fiction, a story titled "Ugly Carlo."

Theoharides On the T-Wolves

Alex Theoharides is back and he wants to explain why the Minnesota Timberwolves are the team to watch in the Western Conference this season.

Theoharides on Endings

In preparation of the Puddles hiatus, Alex Theoharides presents his thoughts on the nature of endings in music, movies and literature.

Theoharides on Chinese Food

I'm here, I'm here, my Puddlers. I know it seems like a long time, but I needed you to digest my epic Memorial Day post. Also, I took a long weekend for a Bachelor Party for my good friend Jeff. We all went to Fire Island. Needless to say there was plenty of beer drinking, swimming, cigar-smoking and carousing.

But now I'm back. We are going to get back to regular posting for the next few weeks. However, starting on July 15, the blog will be on a bit of a summer hiatus. I know, I know. You're probably saying, "How much work can this be, Domino? You don't post everyday and now you've got other guys posting for you out of the goodness of their hearts." And you would be right about all of that. However, I want to work on the redesign of the site as well as focus on my fiction for a bit. Starting around that time, the site may be down or you may see some slight changes, but I will definitely alert you when it is back up and running under the redesign. After the immediate redesign, I may throw up some short posts from time to time.  However, you can follow me on Twitter and on Facebook where I will be throwing up some posts from the archive to bide your time.

Overall, the break should last about a month to a month and half. And, I will be returning with extra energy and effort when I'm back.

Now, today's post sees Alex Theoharides discussing a topic very near and dear to my heart—Chinese Food.  I'll hand it over to Mr. Theoharides, even though he reveals some secrets about how I run things over here.

Theoharides On Chinese Food


Alex Theoharides

A few years ago, (well to be honest, more like six or seven years ago, Zeus, I’m old) I got in an argument with a pseudo-friend (I’ll call her Dumb-Dumb) over Chinese food. To be clear, we weren’t eating Chinese food. The argument was in fact about Chinese food.

Dumb-Dumb claimed to be from the city, which meant she grew up in New Jersey but had visited New York on the weekends, and had read enough gossip columns to know the trendy restaurants from the steaks houses of yesteryear. Based on her romps in the city, Dumb-Dumb claimed that the best Chinese food in the world came from an establishment known as P.F. Chang’s, located on a little island she called Manhattan (never heard of the island? Me neither. Gal was crazy!)

Now, I have nothing against P.F. Chang’s … well … (come on Alex, muster your inner snob, your audience of none expects it, and also please refer to yourself in the third person more often, as in, come Alex, you can do it, come on Alex, there’s nothing to it) … okay, so I have a lot against P.F. Chang’s. 1) It’s in no way, shape or form unique to NYC. In fact, there are branches scattered across the U.S of A. 2) The food is only as good as the nearest toilet. 3) Need I say more?

At the time, however, I had never heard of P.F. Chang’s and I responded to Dumb-Dumb’s comment by suggesting my favorite Chinese Restaurant, the one, the only Amherst Chinese.

“Well,” replied Dumb-Dumb, “It’s not in New York, so how good could it possibly be?”

“It’s very good,” retorted our always quick on his feet hero (me, myself, and I). “New York doesn’t own the patent on good food. There are hundreds of great chefs who would rather serve poop than cook on the garbage crusted streets of New York.”

“Why would anyone want to live anywhere but the City?”

And this is when things got ugly, which means, this is when I stuck out my rather sizable jaw and managed to piss everyone within earshot off with my ridiculous form of arguing, which boils down to a mixture of semantics and bull shit.

Lost in all my nonsense? My real argument.

Finding good Chinese food, like finding a good version of most ethnic food, is a problematic endeavor, made exponentially difficult by the multiplicity of definitions people have about what constitutes good ethnic cuisine. Of course, its my job, (one which Fraulein, excuse me, Editor Matt Domino pays me handsomely in … er … oh wait, that’s right I do this shit for free. God, please remind me again, why was I an English major?) to break these people down into neat little categories for you.

1) People who think the only good Chinese food involves Stinky Tofu and thousand year old eggs.

2) People who think that Chinese food should result in severe abdominal pain and rabies.

3) People who think that Chinese food should be served by pretty blond waitresses who don’t speak Mandarin.

And finally,

4) Geniuses such as myself, who realize that good Chinese food is a construct of my American food identity. Just as my favorite Indian meal will always be Chicken Tikka Massala, a meal invented by Brits, my favorite Chinese dishes are Moo Shu Pork and Sesame Chicken. Boring? Safe? Run of the mill? Yes. Yes. And No. Just because a dish has been westernized, doesn’t exclude it from being delicious. I love food. I love cooking food. Most importantly,  I love eating good food. I just don’t want to turn food time into a visit to the museum. If my palate tends toward Americanized versions of Chinese food, so be it. Its damn tasty food when done right.

Which leads my to my next point. Very seldom is my kind of Chinese food done right. Typically, the chefs, perhaps conscience that they are catering to dumb Americans, add too much grease and MSG and processed ingredients to their meals, which results in a disgusting mishmash, vaguely reminiscent of food. Good Chinese Restaurants, such as Amherst Chinese (which I miss more than any other restaurant on the East Coast) use organic ingredients in their dumbed down, American versions of Chinese food. They make their own pancakes, noodles, sauces and dumplings. They only speak Mandarin. And they get mad at you when you take too long to order. But by Zeus, they know their business.

Long story short, Dumb-Dumb was an idiot. I’m still bitter. And if you’re looking for good food a few hours away from any major city, look no further than Amherst Chinese in, where else?, Amherst, Massachusetts.

Theoharides On Sports Villains

Welcome to a scorching New York Wednesday, my Puddlers. Although, it seems like the entire country is suffering from the heat. You already know how I feel about it: bring it on, bring on the madness, bring on the homicide and score it to this song.

Speaking of the Heat—well I won't go into yet another collapse by Miami last night. The Heat's penchant for playing better when their backs are up against the wall is getting extremely infuriating and hopefully it doesn't cost them the series. In any case, this NBA Finals is shaping up to be an extremely memorable one, which is fresh on the heels of last year's excellent seven game series between the Lakers and the Celtics. All good things for the NBA.

While we are on the topic, Alex Theoharides is here today in his regular slot to weigh in on hating the Miami Heat and why its good to generally hate different players in sports. I'll leave it to Mr. Theoharides from here.

On Sports Villains or How Lebron James’s Decision Made the NBA Finals Interesting Again.

Alex Theoharides

Look, as a sport’s fan I can’t stand the Miami Heat. It’s in my fan DNA to dislike them - even prior to their current run of amateurish exhibitionism. Back when the New York Knicks were coached by Jeff Van Gundy and still played de-fence, the Heat were their last great rival. Their games were epic slugfests, filled with flagrant fouls, bench clearing brawls and suspensions. When I think of the Heat, I still think first of Tim Hardaway’s lickity-split crossover, PJ Brown tossing Charlie Ward over his shoulders, and Van Gundy hanging on to Alonzo Mourning’s ankles like a bratty toddler who didn’t want his father to leave for work (otherwise known as my favorite NBA highlight … ever). Those Miami Heat were easy to hate (anyone else find it interesting that Heat and hate have the same 4 letters? no? just me? great.) because they played an ugly brand of basketball. However, I always had a begrudging respect for them. The Heat of old weren’t sports’ villains, but simply grisly veterans willing to knock someone down if it meant they could advance to the next round of the playoffs. The Knicks were no different, perhaps even worse, and collectively the two teams so ruined the aesthetic of the NBA game that Commander, excuse me, Commissioner Stern had to institute sweeping rule changes into the league.

This Miami Heat team is different. Lebron and Wade play beautiful, sometimes breathtaking basketball. They defend, they attack the rim, they go after offensive rebounds, they make highlight play after highlight play … in short they play basketball exactly how it should be played. Still I hate them. I hate the way they came together. I hate the way they celebrate every good run as if they just won an A.A.U championship. And I hate how easy the game comes to them. Look, I admire the Heat, but I don’t respect them. I love watching them play basketball, but I don’t like the way they turned the NBA into a league in which superstars can just decide they only want to play with each other. I hate the Heat, I hate the Heat, I … I can’t stop watching the Heat.

Villains are great for sports. They give otherwise neutral sports fans a clear understanding of who they should root for, and, more importantly, who they should root against. Sports are more entertaining when fans have a vested interest, however insignificant, in the outcome. Some of my greatest childhood memories are of watching my favorite villain, Michael Jordan, repeatedly defeat every single fragging (yes, as in Battle Star Galactica) team in the NBA year after year, with that same damn wagging of his tongue. However, not all sport’s villains come in the same shape and size. Some, like Jordan, are all villains because of their greatness. They are only villains to those who root against them. Others, well, how about, in keeping with Dictator Domino, I just make a list. (Please note the high total of Knicks and Yankees, aka, my attempt to not play favorites)

Sports Villains

The Michael Jordan Division

True superstars, whose talent renders the outcome of games entirely too predictable; true superstars who break the hearts of sports fans year after year with their on field exploits, their perfect shots, or throws, or catches.  

Joe Montana

Jerry Rice

Emmett Smith

Peyton Manning

Lebron James

Derek Jeter

Pete Sampras

Lance Armstrong

Wayne’s World

Yes, as in Wayne Gretzky, the great one, who I loved to watch, but who millions secretly detest because he, like everyone else in this list, was a pretty boy, who always seemed to get all the calls, all the stats, and yes many of the wins.

Magic Johnson

Tom Brady

Alex Rodriquez

Andre Agassi

Dan Marino

Roger Federer

Ty Cobb Division

Truly unlikable sonsofbitches, loved only by their team’s most ardent fans, and disliked by teammates and foes alike, who seemed to care more about their stats then they did about their teams performances

Wilt Chamberlain

Roger Clemens

Pete Rose

Oscar Robertson

Kobe Bryant

Barry Bonds

John McEnroe

Nolan Ryan

Eric Lindros

Curt Shilling

The Bill Romanowski Division

Hardworking, needle-some, whiny players, who made up for either their lack of age or talent, by barking at opponents, cheating at every good opportunity, and generally acting like Class A boors.  

Bill Laimbeer

Kevin Garnett (circa 2008 -2011)

Dennis Rodman

Kevin Youkilis

Charles Oakley

Robert Parish

Ron Artest

Scott Stevens

The Orel Hershiser Division

Goody two shoes players, who somehow always seemed keen on reminding you of exactly how great they were, in a way, somewhat reminiscent of that kid we all had in math class, who not only got the answer first, but then preceded to spend five minutes telling you all about how he got the answer first. We get it Oral, you were a great pitcher, yes, you won all those games in the playoffs, yes, yes you were great. Just shove it already! It doesn’t help that these fine folk have a cruel tendency to end up as sports broadcasters.

Tim McCarver

Rick Barry

Kareem Abdul Jabbar

Greg Maddux

Paul O’Neill

Reggie Miller

J.J. Reddick (Duke version)

Christian Laettner (Duke version)

Basically any Duke player besides Grant Hill

The Manny Ramirez Division

Just Manny being Manny.

Theoharides on the Apocalpyse

Hey, my Puddlers. Sorry for the lack of action or communication over the past week or so—writing up these hilarious lists, maintaining an absurdist based Twitter feed, and posting things to Reddit can really take the life out of you. I also went away for the Memorial Day weekend and I have some kind of idea swirling around for an epic post; something with "mud on it" as Delmond from Treme so recently said on a great episode of that show. I'm going to try to get it up here this week, but it may have to wait until next week due to my busy personal and professional life (plus the NBA Finals is taking up much of my attention).

Also, later this summer I will be taking a break from posting in order to finish my revision of Last Mound of Dirt so that I can begin pitching it to agents. This should also coincide with the redesign of the entire site, so stayed tuned for announcements regarding all of that. There is no Mad Men season this summer so I won't be doing recaps to fill in the space. Instead I may just post guest posts and small little updates or thoughts from myself. Nothing going over 300 to 500 words, though. We'll see. I may just give the entire world a vacation.

Anyway, this week we'll have a Mark Jack post on Friday and next week or the week after we'll make another stop in the mind of Puddles of Myself Special Guest Columnist, Erik Lilleby, who will share another personal story.

However, today, we have Mr. Alex Theoharides who has a few things on his mind:

Theoharides On America in the Age of the Apocalypse:

A Rant & A List (Let’s Call it Wednesday)

Alex Theoharides

The Rant (written, as all good rants should be, in the third person plural):

America the wonderful, we proclaim. Land of opportunity and of Thanksgiving. Jazz and Hip Hop. Steinbeck and Kerouac. Cracker Jacks and Micky D’s. Microsoft and Macintosh. Baseball and Football and Basketball (oh my!).

And yes, also the Land of the Apocalypse.

This past month, Americans have waited with baited breath for the earth to cave in beneath us -- our breath held not because we fear the end of the world, but because we secretly pine for it, longing to be witnesses to the end. How else to explain our obsession with crazed preachers and Mayan calendars, our deep-rooted affinity for movies such as Armageddon, Mad Max, Water World, I Am Legend, novels such as Cormac McCarthy’s The Road and Roberto Bolaño’s 2666, our bitterness that this past week didn’t end with earthquakes but with yet another proclamation -- the end is nigh, the end is nigh.

America’s obsession with the Apocalypse stems from our base understanding of ourselves, of our nation and its place in the history of the world. American children are taught to be dreamers, to live with a suspension of disbelief; the suspension being, of course, that America is the ideal society. Borne out of the linear dynasties of Greece and Rome and the United Kingdom, America, we feel in our heart of hearts, our bones, is the land that stands for all that is right in the world. Sure we protest the Wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. Yes, we bemoan the actions (or lack thereof) of our political elite. Certainly, when we travel abroad, we feel contempt for our fellow stupid Americans. However, lurking just beneath our skin-deep criticism of our nation is our deep-rooted pride in the American Dream, in the Greatest Generation’s storming of Normandy, in the Beats travelling by jalopy from sea to shining sea.

We want America to go out on top. We don’t really care about the threat of global warning. We’re not good about conserving water, recycling, reusing, or reducing. And we secretly suspect re: (hope) that the rash of earthquakes, giant waves, hurricanes and tornadoes that have occurred over the last few years is a sign. A sign of what? Of the Apocalypse (cue somber music), of course.

Signs of the Apocalypse

Yesterday, two eight-year-old boys in front of me on line at the local Dunn Bros coffee shop, ordered Caramel Mocha Lattes.

Barry Bonds, without making a big deal of it, without even jamming a single needle up his sizable rear end, offered to pay tuition for the kids of the Giant fan in a coma.

The President of Urban Outfitters (yes, that hipster locale) has been making large donations to anti-gay politicians.

Lebron’s “The Decision” turned out to actually be good for the NBA.

A fetus has over 200 friends on Facebook.

A rash of horse herpes has forced a group of riders to practice their craft on … wait for it … stick horses.

Airline passengers got into a fight over a reclined seat.

And yes, I wrote a blog post about the Apocalypse.

Theoharides On Bridesmaids

Welcome to Wednesday, my Puddlers. Its been a rainy week here in New York, so that means there are plenty of actual, literal puddles to jump on, slide around in and pour down your pants. However, rain or shine there will always be Puddles of Myself to enjoy. 

I hope you all enjoyed the Fleet Foxes review from yesterday. Next week we will have the Top 20 Friendships of All-Time as well as our regular columnists Alex Theoharides and Mark Jack. I am still accepting any guest submissions to feature so please feel free to e-mail me at any time.

I just want to mention three links today. You may have noticed the tag-line on the page header giving a shout out to Sea Bean Goods and Real Sorbet. These are two culinary endeavors undertaken by great friends of mine and recommend that you throw your full support behind both. You can find links on the sidebar to the right.  Also, please check out Sam Skarstaad's new album. The first track alone is worth a download or just five streaming minutes of your time.

Now, I turn it over to Alex Theoharides to pick up the slack.

Theoharides On Bridesmaids or Why I Gave Up My Saturday Night to Watch Jon Hamm Act Like a Class A Richard

Alex Theoharides

First, a clearing of my rather snobbish nose: If I have to watch another topical George Clooney film about the war in Iraq or the state of the Economy, I might just have to write a blog post about how much I hate modern films (Oh crap, I think I just… ).  I’ve largely lost interest in movies as televisions shows such as The Wire, The Office, Mad Men, Friday Night Lights, and my latest craze, Sons of Anarchy, have consumed most of my viewing time. Movies are too long, too predictable, and quite often, just too damn run-of-the-mill. There are several better things I could do on a Saturday night—namely watch the NBA Playoffs, which, might I add, have been fantastic.

However, this past Saturday night there were no NBA games on, it was cold and rainy in Minneapolis (go figure), and after spending the previous few weeks in a state of extreme depression due to the demise of the Celtics, I owed my gal (henceforth known by her pseudonym Myrtle Schmeckpepper) a night spent watching a mindless chick flick. Which isn’t to suggest I don’t enjoy chick flicks. I have two sisters and I grew up watching Anne of Green Gables and Little Women and Little House on the Prairie and When Harry Met Sally and the Gilmore Girls and and and …  the list goes on. It only got worse in college, peaking when I spent a fortnight plowing through the first two seasons of the show Felicity (#unforgivable). In fact, I’d go as far as to say that after graduating from Skidmore College, with its 60-40 girls to guy ratio, I earned an advanced degree in Chick Flicks. I know why Love Actually can be perceived as arrogant male propaganda (really?, an Ugly Brit manages to score four sexually adventurous girls in a Wisconsin bar?). I could write a term paper on why Rory Gilmore (of previously mentioned Gilmore Girls’ fame) had to leave Logan in the show’s final episode to follow the Obama campaign (yes because that’s how journalism careers are made). And without breaking a sweat, I could tell you why Joey Potter (yes, Tommy Cruise’s cuddle buddy) chose Pacey Witter over Dawson Leery even though the show (yes, idiots, Dawson’s Creek) was named after him. It had something to do with this and this. Suffice it to say, it wasn’t particularly difficult for Ms. Schmeckpepper to convince me of the value of going to see a movie, especially when I read in Molly Lambert’s excellent Grantland teaser that it had the potential to become a female Caddyshack.

Please note, teaser alert begins now. Although anyone who thinks that Bridesmaids is the type of movie that needs a teaser alert is an idiot. (Sorry Matt, I promise I’ll stop calling your readers idiots soon, I promise)(after this one last time)(that’s right, you’re all idiots!)

Going to the theater is a rather miraculous experience in socialization. For some reason, if I’m watching a movie at home, and Ms. Schmeckpepper so much as fidgets in her seat , I feel the need to pause the program, shush her like that boy scout we all had in our third grade class who thought it was disrespectful to talk during the pledge of allegiance, and generally behave like a boor. However, within the rather sticky confines of a movie theater, I not only abide by any manner of sounds—the crunch of popcorn, the suck of straws, the ceaseless running of the mouth—I actually crave them, believing, naive schoolboy that I am, that they somehow add a certain quality to the experience, a sense of community, if you will. The crowd at Bridesmaids didn’t disappoint. I was out-gendered, easily 10 to 1.  The woman in front of me didn’t stop laughing from the moment the previews began. And the smell of buttery popcorn lingered over every seat. It was all so wonderful.

The movie was exactly what I expected it to be. Kristin Wiig, the only funny cast member left on Saturday Night Live, carried the performance from start (ladies, time to get your Hamm on) to finish (A Wilson Phillips’ “Hold On” dance sequence, need I say more). She played a downbeat woman trying to find love in this crazy world of ours, all while trying to be her best friend’s Maid of Honor. Like any Judd Apatow movie (and yes, I know he was just the producer not the director, but it was still an Apatow movie) the dialogue was fresh, the comedy raunchy, and the bit characters often stole scenes from the stars. In particular, Melissa McCarthy (yes, Sookie St. James from the Gilmore Girls) killed it, becoming, I hope, this summer’s Zach Galifianakis. The only unfortunate side effect being that right around the time she began to take her talents to South Beach (if her talents were diarrhea and South Beach was a white porcelain sink) on the silver screen, I realized I could never watch Gilmore Girls in quite the same way. And yes, I re-watch Gilmore Girls. And yes, I often do so on the Soap Network. Why? Who’s asking?

Other stellar performances include Chris O’Dowd as Wiig’s likable, and discreetly funny love interest (think Seth Rogen from Knocked Up, minus the Mary Jane and man boobs, plus a badge and a Scottish accent), Rebel Wilson and Matt Lucas as a social inept brother sister tandem, and … unfortunately that’s it. Many of the actors came across flat. Particularly, Wiig’s best friend in the film, who was played by the a little to good to be believable Maya Ruldolph, and her antagonist, Rose Byrne, who plays a villainous bridesmaid that tries to steal the role of Maid of Honor from Wiig. The flatness in both cases was not the fault the actors—it was the fault of the writing. The actors were given stereotypical roles (flustered bride, overeager and lonely rich young wife) and asked to make magic. They didn’t. I can live with that.

Bridesmaids was a fun, summer movie. It wasn’t great, and sadly, it certainly wasn’t a Chick Flick Caddyshack. It just wasn’t.

Final grade: B-

Theoharides On...

It's Wednesday, my Puddlers.  I hope you all enjoyed Mr. Erik Lilleby's strange but somewhat moving high school tale from yesterday. It seemed to be a good fit to switch gears from my self-serious Osama bin Laden post from Monday.

Today, we have Alex Theoharides back in his regular Wednesday slot to weigh in on some Osama fallout as well as to present his thoughts on one of my favorite things—Twitter.

Enjoy, my Puddlers.

Theoharides On Social Media or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Twitter

Alex Theoharides

Okay sports fans. It’s been a crazy start to May. There’s no need to recount the events of this past Sunday (which Mr. Matt Domino tackled admirably here), but I would like to take a moment to note, as many others have, that there is something a bit frightening in the mass jubilation that followed news of Bin Laden’s death. My initial reaction to his death was celebratory. I wanted to high-five someone. Clearly, he had to be killed. Clearly, he deserved exactly what he got -- and probably even more. However, it worries me when people, such as me, celebrate violent death. It lends a certain credence to violence, which in turn can only create more violence. Engraved in my memory, alongside the terrible images of planes crashing into the Twin Towers, is the image of radical fringe groups within the Islamic world celebrating the attack on America. As a child, it made me hate these people, and yes, it made me desperately want the United States to seek violent retribution against them. My fear is that children in the Middle East will see the images of Americans celebrating the death of Bin Laden and they will want to seek revenge on us. Bin Laden had to die. However, we don’t need to celebrate his death as if he were some sort of great figure. He was a terrorist who killed thousands of people. We should breathe a sigh of relief that he’s gone. We should be glad that he’s dead. And as nation we should move forward and try to continue to deal with our mounting debt, our high unemployment, our sham of a health care system, our lack of equality for people in the LGBT community, etcetera, etcetera …

About ready for me to get off my high horse and back to the regularly scheduled broadcast? Me too.

One of the most interesting aspects of Bin Laden’s death was how it was covered via Facebook and Twitter. As you undoubtedly know by now, the raid on Bin Laden’s hide-out was accidentally broken by a man named Sohaib Athar, who was apparently woken from his sleep by the sound of helicopters flying overhead. Then, because like so many Tweeters, he felt everyone should know about his every little discomfort, Athar proceeded to detail what was going on with the helicopter. Twitter, in other words, allowed regular people to have access to a unique first-hand account of a local man’s reaction to the events. It also allowed me to hear dozens and dozens of opinions of the raid. Not just from news outlets trying to push a certain angle or agenda. Not just from politicians. But from famous athletes, celebrities, journalists, my friends, local business owners, and yes, from people in the Middle East. Some of the things people tweeted were clever; some were wise, some funny, and many completely idiotic. Yet they were all original, unadulterated reactions. It was amazing to watch and, when I finally tore myself away from my Twitter page, I realized how much more informed I was than if I had simply read an article or watched the news.

I was slow to join the Twitter bandwagon, recycling all the clichéd complaints: Twitter is killing good writing. It’s not news, it’s self-promotion. It’s just another example of how technology is killing our attention span and making us all dependent on computer screens. I was wrong. Twitter adeptly skips over the middleman, allowing us to observe primary sources in real time. I don’t need to turn on the television. I don’t need to wait for the morning paper. I can simply turn to my Twitter page to see exactly how the world is responding to a given event. Bin Laden’s death usurped the Charlie Sheen insanity as the #1 event in Twitter history. I’m not sure it will ever be topped—however, I think there’s more where it came from. Here’s a list of events that  (if and when they happen) will break on Twitter.

Please note: These are grouped from the likely, to the potential, to the ridiculous. None of them have happened yet, and I’m in no way suggesting I want all of them to happen. Just a few of them.

Likely:

- The death of Fidel Castro.

- A famous male athlete announces that he’s gay.

- A high school athlete Tweets that a college coach/booster tried to offer him money/incentives to come to his school.

- Extra marital affair of prominent US Politician

Potential:

- News breaks of the elopement of Justin Bieber and (X,Y or Z gal pal).

- Charlie Sheen accidentally locks himself in a closet, claims he mistook himself for a hooker.

- Assassination attempt on a prominent US Politician (i.e the President).

- Betting/Fixing scandal in sports.

- Mark Cuban and David Stern come to fisticuffs after Dallas is knocked out of the playoffs.

Ridiculous:

- Sarah Palin is caught leaving a hotel room with Donald Trump.

- My long time suspicions are confirmed when Matt Domino is discovered to be the reincarnation of Fats Domino.

- Aliens land in Minneapolis, get confused by how nice everyone is, decide to leave.

- People read/laugh/enjoy this post.

Theoharides On the NBA

I hope you're enjoying your Wednesday, my Puddlers.  Although, I hate referring to days of the week in that manner. In the way that people will say, "Happy Friday!" as though it were a holiday. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate each day, but you have to give the days of the week credit for their workman like quality to just keep churning out hours and weather day after day, week after week, month after month and year after year. It's their workmanlike quality that makes them so stellar, we don't need to speak of them as if they were a holiday—their holiness lies in their ordinary nature.

Anyway, since I'll be on vacation next week and there are so many great sports items coming up, we're bringing you another sports post today. It's Wednesday, so Alex Theoharides will be bringing you his thoughts on some NBA storylines. Its nice to know I can hand over the reigns to another NBA fan—even if his opinions may be slightly skewed (i.e. his thoughts on Kevin Love).

But, I'll step aside and leave you with Mr. Theoharides:




Theoharides On the NBA


Alex Theoharides

Bill Simmons summed up Monday’s championship game between UConn and Butler best, when he tweeted, “April, 2011: the month that women’s college basketball caught up to men’s college basketball.” Amen. For most of the title game, both teams were playing like they were auditioning for roles in a movie made about the intramural basketball team I co-captained in college. Yes, the team that went 0 and 11 for the season. Three point shots were heaved in the general direction of the rim. Lay-ups were thrown up as if the goal of the game were not to score but to break the backboard. The inbounds plays seemed like they were designed by kindergartners. The ball handling was too ugly to be shown in a Ron Jeremy production, let alone a college basketball game. Ugh. I mean, Butler made only 12 field goals in the game. Out of 64 shots. Yes, 18.8 percent. And everyone’s celebrating UConn’s fine defensive performance, but Butler was getting open shots. They just couldn’t make them.

Now that the excruciating NCAA Championship is over, it’s time to turn back to the Association, aka, the only real basketball league left in this country. Before looking forward to the upcoming playoffs, I’d like to look back on a few of the top stories from the regular season, which as my good friend Jon recently reminded me, really doesn’t mean a thing (and really, he should know, he’s a masochist, err, excuse me, a Cleveland sports fan). That being said, I like to think of the regular season as a time of reflection, when good players are mistakenly made out to be superstars, smart veterans play at 75% of their capabilities, and hair-brained talking heads like Skip Bayliss earn bogus salaries pretending to be journalists. In short, the regular season is all about hype. With further ado, the top four over-hyped stories of the 2010-2011 NBA Regular Season. (And don’t forget to check back next week, for the under-hyped stories heading into the post-season. And perhaps a few fearless predictions!)

Overrated:

4. Kevin Love, Kevin Love, Kevin Love

Look, ever since I moved to Minnesota, I’ve watched countless Timberwolves games. I want to like them, and I really want to like Kevin Love, especially after he recorded a 30-30 game (30 rebounds, 30 points) and went on a string of 53 straight double-doubles. Both accomplishments are impressive. But all they are is fluff, which covers up for the fact that K. Love is a terrible defender, a limited offensive player, and an average teammate. Supposedly, he’s the savior of the Wolves, and the talking heads have made a big deal about the fact that Love’s numbers are better than Kevin Garnett’s. Yes, except for one fairly important thing. With KG the Wolves were a perennial playoff team. With Love, they have the worst record in the Western Conference.  

Sure, a large part of that has to do with the fact that the Wolves have the youngest roster in the league and a terrible coach in Kurt Rambis, who still seems to believe that the Wolves should be running the triangle offense even though it has only worked for two teams - Jordan’s Bulls, Kobe’s Lakers. Yeah, I don’t think the Wolves have quite the same make-up as those two teams. Still, K. Love never should have been an All Star. Lamarcus Aldridge was far more deserving. Love’s a nice player, who rebounds and can make the three-ball. But that’s it. I can’t ever picture him starring for an NBA Championship team. For instance, would he have gotten much run on last year’s Lakers. Or the 2008 Celtics? Yeah, that’s what I thought.

3. Carmelo Anthony Forcing a Move to New York

I grew up during the modern heyday of the Knicks when Patrick Ewing roamed the paint swatting shots and missing clutch baskets and John Starks used to slap the floor on every key defensive possession. Knicks fans love defense. It’s what they chant. It’s what their favorite teams have played. Who were my favorite players as a kid? Starks and Charles Oakley. Both of whom were ferocious, aggressive defenders. The Knicks of my youth played such violent, rigorous defense that they effectively ruined offensive basketball in the NBA, forcing Commissioner David Stern to change the hand checking rules on defense.

Everyone knows what happened to the Knicks in the years following the Riley and Van Gundy era. But now they have Carmelo, a talented player, who I loved watching in college. He is a silky smooth scorer, and a true triple threat on offense. But he hasn’t proven to be a real MVP type player in the NBA yet, and ultimately, his decision to leave the Nuggets for New York will have had little effect on the season. The Nuggets wouldn’t have won the championship with him, and the Knicks won’t win the championship now that they’ve acquired him. For all the talk it garnered, both of the teams most directly involved in the so-called Carmelo sweep stake are essentially exactly right where they would have been if it had never happened.

Yes, Carmelo has a chance to bring the Knicks back to their glory days. But if that’s going to happen, they need to acquire a few more pieces that fit with his offense first, slow the ball down mentality. In short, they need some defenders. Carmelo and the Knicks will be a big story in a few years. He’s the sort of player that needs the criticism the New York media will bring. In Denver, he played with head cases (ie: JR Smith, the Birdman, Kenyon Martin) and he was treated as a star. In New York, he’ll be blamed for the losses, and the media will pick apart his every move. Hopefully, this criticism will motivate him to develop into the star everyone seems to think he is. If that happens, the Knicks could prove to be a thrilling rival for the Miami Cheats down the road - just not this season.

2. The Celtics Early Season Dominance

I should preface this by admitting that the Celtics are my favorite current NBA team. For God’s sake, as I write this column, I’m wearing a Celtic’s t-shirt. And I, along with every other fan of the team, was ready to anoint them world champions two months into the NBA calendar. However, what we all missed is how old and slow they can look. When they’re at their best, Rondo is flying up and down the court, whipping one-handed passes to open teammates. When they’re at their worst, Paul Pierce is sluggishly dribbling from side to side, trying to find a way to score. I hated the Kendrick Perkins trade, but I don’t think they could have won the championship with him and I’m fairly certain they won’t without him. They just look too old. (And yes, all of that, was my attempt at a reverse jinx.)

1. The Downfall of the Lakers

Standing alongside everyone who handed the trophy over to the Celtics two months into the season, was a large group of people who were excitedly promoting the fall of the Lakers. It was finally here! The team everyone loves to hate (me more than most) was finally crumbling. They were old! Kobe was injured! Phil Jackson had lost his touch! Now they look like the best team in the league. And I look really stupid eating crow.