Allen Iverson as Clinton Portis

Like many basketball fans in Denver, I was ecstatic when I heard Allen Iverson had been acquired by the Nuggets. The city has lacked an athlete of his stature since the retirement of John Elway. On the court, Iverson has been electric, not only scoring the expected bunches of points, but distributing the ball at will to his teammates for easy assists.

But Iverson's value to this city goes beyond his on the court talents. Iverson is certainly intense, sometimes eccentric, and arguably a difficult player to coach. It's the eccentricity, exuberant eccentricity, that I believe will be the lasting image in the minds of Denver sports fans. His press conferences make great theater, sometimes drifting into a tangent on a barely recognizable metaphor for competition. The term "warrior" is a staple of these tangents, which in the world of sports is never a good thing (see Kellen Winslow Jr.). His interview with Stephen A. Smith on his way out of Philly was an instant classic (I wish I had video of this...please post a link if you do). Stephen A. Smith played this ridiculous word-play game, where Smith would suggest a word or a phrase and ask for Iverson's one word response. One exchange went something like this:

Stephen A. Smith: "Allen Iverson."
Allen Iverson: "Killer."
Stephen A. Smith: "Carmelo Anthony."
Allen Iverson: "Killer."
Stephen A. Smith: "Allen Iverson...with Carmelo Anthony."
Allen Iverson (stone faced): "Double killer."

It doesn't get much funnier than that. Allen Iverson, dead serious, responds with "double killer". I want to party with this guy.

However, this eccentricity has other manifestations, such as his desire to in his words, "bring some style" in being the first Nuggets player to ever wear yellow socks. Adding, "They would have already been brought", Iverson seemed surprised it hadn't been done before. Finding that yellow socks were unavailable, Iverson simply mummified his ankles in bright yellow tape. With antics like that, Iverson is like a more intense, not gay, version of Clinton Portis. And with that, Allen Iverson has the opportunity to make professional sports in Denver fun again. Oh, and it doesn't hurt that he has 42 points and 9 assists with 6:22 left in the 4th quarter of tonight's game.


Additional thought: Wouldn't it be entertaining to schedule one NBA game per team per season in which the players could wear anything they deemed appropriate as long as their standard uniform was a part of the ensemble? I'd love see your responses on what you think certain players would wear in such a game. I'll start off with a suggestion that Allen Iverson might just wear a grey hooded sweatshirt that looks like it was borrowed from Bill Belichek's closet. He wouldn't even have to wear that goofy sleave thing he wears on his right arm.

Technorati Tags: Allen Iverson, Clinton Portis, Stephen A. Smith, Bill Belichick, NBA Uniforms

Christmas Eve Eve

I'm doing a little home building research and I finally got sick of the healing light infomercial that came on after the basketball game (Florida vs Ohio St.), featuring that douche from "Heart to Heart". I thought I'd find a Christmas show to put on in the background for my wife to wrap gifts to. Unbelievably, at 4 pm on Christmas Eve Eve, I was only able to find a single show on the hundreds of channels we have with the word Christmas in it. Is O'Reilly right? Have the liberals killed Christmas? Of course not, the capitalists killed Christmas, and I couldn't care less. The new version is more fun anyway. Call me a hedonist if you like, but I'm enjoying the one Christmas show on...a cartoon full of Caucasian middle-easterners in a re-enactment of the baby Jesus story...on the Black Family Channel. What could be more entertaining?

Immovable Object

We finally dug out. Last night a team of Bobcats pulled into our apartment complex like a scene out of War of the Worlds, odd overhead lights illuminating rapid, somewhat ominous, movements. In short order, a path had been cleared roughly one and a half times the width of a car. Unfortunately, this path did not adjoin our garage.

The next morning I decided it was time to dig out. It wouldn't be easy. Fifteen feet stood between my garage and the mechanically cleared path. At a depth of greater than three feet, I was looking at a good bit of work.

Thirty minutes later, I was halfway there. I decided to take a breather, and spread salt over the area I had cleared. After a short break, I pushed on, and was able to finish the second half in less than twenty minutes.

Later that day we went out. It was an adventure to be out and about after two and a half days spent couped up in a one bedroom apartment with two dogs. We drove all over the place, checked the status of our new home construction, went to lunch, and saw a movie. All along, I was taking every opportunity to test out the "four wheel" in four-wheel drive. My wife drives a 2007 Yukon, which happens to be largest car I've ever driven. The weight of it alone calls for driving directly through snowbanks. It was a good time, seeing how far I could push it before my wife was driven to clutching the ample armrest.

The movie was a great mental escape. We saw "The Pursuit of Happiness", which was inspirational, if only for the number of miles covered by Will Smith while making the film. Seriously, the guy is ALWAYS running in this movie, and usually in a suit.

The parking lot was a sheet of ice. Walking towards the car, I was spending a good deal of energy making sure I didn't fall on my ass. My wife apparently had more confidence in her footing, as she was the first to point out...the immovable object. There, sitting on our tailgate, through the trip to the house, to the restaurant for lunch, and finally to the movies, was that container of salt. It was just your standard cylinder of Morton's salt, blue wrapper, white top. Or was it? How the hell does something like that stay on nothing more than a bumper through such conditions? I can only hope someone in traffic took a quick photo of the event to post on the internet with a caption of "Ghetto Salt Truck". Regardless of it's effect on the road conditions, I'm convinced it was a Christmas miracle.

Big Snow = Big Food

Today I'm the victim, or beneficiary of, cabin fever. When I woke up this morning, we probably had four inches or so of snow, but the forecasters were calling for 2 to 3 feet in the next forty-eight hours. Word was, the CFO was in the office. So, the precedent was set, and while my wife lay pajama'd in bed, I got ready for work. On went the layers, packed was the backpack, and out the door I went. The conditions were not comfortable. Living in Colorado, I've learned that snow isn't a big deal. Snow blowing at 40 miles an hour is.

I was on the highway, nearly enjoying the feeling of adventure that accompanies venturing out in a severe storm, a trailblazer facing the elements...in my luxury SUV, when I received a call from someone in the office. Word had just come down from the COO's office, that the building would be closed due to the inclement weather. Freed from the shackles of capitalist cubedom, I made a right turn at the next exit, vectoring the nearest super market. We were about to be snowed in, which can mean only one thing. We're going to need more snacks.

I pulled up to the local Safeway, which we now live behind while our new house is being built (the cause for my extreme dereliction of duty in respect to this blog), to find a smattering of locals getting in on the tail-end of a pre-storm shopping frenzy. These runs generally see the emptying of shelves once filled with practical items, such as bottled water (a woman behind me purchased 13 two gallon jugs of the stuff), milk, bread, and eggs. The staples. I had less nutritious items in mind. I started with the standard cake donut variety pack, moved onto the movie-theater style popcorn, and finished off the list with some high-end potato chips.

Perhaps my behavior is rooted in the collection of instincts that have served the survival of man for thousands of years? Like a big ol' Kodiak bear, I was gathering supplies on which I could fatten, and hibernate throughout the long winter. Then again, I could just be using the storm as an excuse to eat a lot of shit I wouldn't be able to justify in the same week, let alone the same day.

Regardless, I had a bit of each or more. Donuts were the first course, providing the sustenance required to get through an early conference call with a couple people also working from home, and a colleague located in sunny Buenos Aires. I almost envied him, enjoying a warm sunny day South of the equator, but was he eating a donut in his pajamas? I think not.

The second course accompanied a movie we ordered, "Unknown", about five guys who wake up in an old locked-down chemical plant, all with amnesia, and all wondering what part they played in an apparent kidnapping plot. While slow, the premise was certainly interesting, the acting was rather strong, and the chips lived up to expectations. These weren't those cheap-ass Ruffles, where your mental refrain of joy for the first five chips is followed by disdain for the next five. These were that brand with the lighthouse on the front of the bag, crispy, and sodium-packed.

From there, we opened up the food groups a bit, with a solid layout of club crackers, sharp cheddar cheese, and sliced summer sausage. I have to point out here that I'm not a huge fan of summer sausage. In fact, I'm convinced that it's only considered edible due to a concerted campaign by red states. But...it was a snowday. And, a snowday wouldn't be a snowday without an anything goes mentality. Down they went.

Never done, I worked up my snowday appetite by watching TV and playing some video games, while my wife handled some conference calls and got some work done. It was dinner time at this point, and we needed some animal protein. I threw on some fajitas we prepared at a place called Dinner in a Pinch, which I highly recommend. Needless to say, we chowed.

I later rounded the night out with a large mug of hot chocolate, and another donut. Some might read this and feel sick for me, given both the volume and extreme variety of my snowday menu, but as I was raised, anything less would be shameful. Much breath and airtime has been wasted in recent years discussing the erosion of our culture, and the importance of traditionalism, citing subjects such as the emergence of gay marriage, and the ethical dilemma of abortion. Well, that stuff is all bullshit. There are traditions we need to worry about looking after, that deserve more attention, like building a fire on a moonlit beach surrounded by 40's of Old English, and empty cans of Natural Light, or trying to lower your sister down the side of the house in a laundry basket, and yes...eating your ass off when you're snowed in.


Technorati Tags: Denver, Snow, Junk Food, American Traditions