Dear LeBron,
I’m writing to you because a lot of people have misunderstood what I’ve been saying regarding you. Many people seem to think I have an issue with you. They point out, as an example, the tweet I sent to the Miami Heat congratulating them on winning the NBA title, yet stupidly doesn’t mention the best player on the team. Let me say, for the record, that there is nothing between us. I am proud of who you are and the man you have become.
You may not know it, but everything I’ve done in the past nine years I’ve done for you. I bought you a jet. I gave you a solid gold watch. I bought you the finest funny-looking European free agents money can buy. I even named my son LeBron Gilbert after you. And, after you betrayed me, I continued to look out for you. All those foolish statements about winning an NBA title before you, whining about how you let us all down, and generally behaving like a spoiled baby through all this - it was all to take the heat off you, LeBron. Yeah, it didn’t work. You’re still hated. But it was fun trying.
So, on that note, I’d like to congratulate you. You proved me wrong. I realize I have to eat crow regarding that proclamation. You know me, LeBron. I was sniffing glue, or drinking vodka, or something. Whatever. The point is, the Cavs didn’t win. You did.
So, congratulations on the wonderful job you’ve done since leaving the Cavs. You made yourself the most talked-about athlete in sports, which isn’t easy considering Tiger Woods keeps blowing leads. You proved that you don’t have to say “me” a lot to demonstrate an ego. And you demonstrated that, when the going gets rough, you have to pull your pants up (another Tiger reference) and do it all yourself. Which, if I recall, was the reason you left Cleveland in the first place.
No matter. Congratulations on being a role model for kids, something Charles Barkley didn’t want but who ended up being someone I’d much rather have my kids emulate. Congratulations on managing to tick off an entire city filled with your hometown comrades by telling them on national television that you're too good for them. Congratulations on demonstrating to an entire generation that, if you’re one of the best players on the planet, it’s okay to take shortcuts to win as long as you look good doing it. It’s a great lesson for impressionable youngsters like my son who, even now, is staring at his Kyrie Irving jersey and wondering how much he’d get for it if he forged a LeBron autograph on it.
Congratulations on winning your first title and making sure your press agent let everyone know that it came one year younger than Michael Jordan. Never mind that you’ve been in the league two more seasons. Oh, and it doesn’t matter that the flawed, suddenly-attainable Jordan never lost an NBA Finals, while you lost twice. I remember both times well. The first one hurt, but we were outmatched, and we both knew it. The second one hurt (you) even more, because I saw (your) tears and cried along with you (tears of laughter).
Finally, congratulations on finally being able to back up those boasts when you gathered with D-Wade and Bosh on that flashy, money-wasting stage that first time and declared, “not three, not four, not five, not six, not seven...”
One down. Seven to go.
Better get started.
Signed: Dan Gilbert
P.S. Jerk.
Friday, June 22, 2012
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
Enough with the PEDs already!
Philadelphia Phillies infielder Freddy Galvis is a druggie.
Alright, that’s not fair. He tested positive for a Performance Enhancing Substance. That’s the vague three-word term we give to that stuff that shrinks our balls to the size of raisins. I mean, besides cold swimming pools.
Okay, I confess. Before I went running a few days ago, I used a Performance Enhancing Substance.
It’s called a banana.
No, the PEDs that have every coach, sports commissioner and hall of fame voter nervous have never entered my bloodstream. The stiffest thing I’ve ever taken is a Tylenol-3. And I doubt that would disqualify me from playing on my church softball team - especially since it was taken three years ago.
PEDs won’t go away. The topic is a lot like kindergarten paste - it sticks everywhere, and the longer it stands around, the worse it tastes.
Take Lance Armstrong. The government tried for years to get him. After exhausting literally every avenue of investigation, including having White House reporter Helen Thomas rummage through Armstrong’s underwear drawer*, the government finally threw up its collective hands - after throwing up its collective lunch - and said “no mas.”
Of course, the government isn’t as persistent as the USADA which decided, after watching millions of tax dollars spent to take down a guy who rides bikes for a living, that it just wasn’t enough, dammit!
Roger Clemens is another example. He just got found not guilty of lying to Congress regarding PEDs. The irony is that Congress seems to have no problem lying to us, but that’s beside the point. The point is, Clemens said he never took the stuff. A former trainer came out and said, “What’s that in this old beer can?” And we went through the circus we went through. And, for the record, I firmly agree with Brian McNamee, particularly when he claimed the genetics inside the beer can will prove interesting. If I had a beer can sitting around for 11 years, I’m sure the genetics inside it would be fascinating.
Which brings us back to Galvis. The group that’s suspending him is the same group that was convinced, beyond any reasonable doubt, that a 150-pound NL Most Valuable Player was on steroids. Of course, Ryan Braun got off because the sample was “mishandled” - meaning, it wasn’t stored properly** - and didn’t get so much as an apology from MLB.
But what Galvis said kind of struck me funny. First, he said he absolutely “didn’t do it.” Fair enough. But then he said he doesn’t understand how it got into his system.
Let’s analyze that.
Have you ever been around a Major League Baseball player? Heck, have you ever been around anyone who dreams of someday playing for the Mahoning Valley Scrappers? Those guys are meticulous. Many of them carefully measure every fruit, every vegetable, every sports drink, every potato chip, every supplement - you get the idea. In other words, there’s no way something can get into their system without them knowing, unless it’s either 1) osmosis, 2) injected in the butt by a sneaky Helen Thomas***, or 3) beamed into them by the Starship Enterprise.
Which brings the next thing Galvis said into even more scrutiny: “I apologize to all my family and friends back home in Venezuela.”
For what, exactly? That they live in Venezuela? (just kidding.)
No, really. If he didn’t do anything, then there’s no reason to apologize. Unless he’s sorry that he let his guard down, if only for a few seconds, and allowed someone to inject him.
His apology may actually serve more as a warning than a true apology. It means all of us - including those of us who just distance run - have to watch our backs to keep away from that maniac Helen Thomas.****
*-may not have happened
**-Major League Baseball didn’t have any empty beer cans to store the stuff in
***-again, probably has never happened
****-very likely, actually
Alright, that’s not fair. He tested positive for a Performance Enhancing Substance. That’s the vague three-word term we give to that stuff that shrinks our balls to the size of raisins. I mean, besides cold swimming pools.
Okay, I confess. Before I went running a few days ago, I used a Performance Enhancing Substance.
It’s called a banana.
No, the PEDs that have every coach, sports commissioner and hall of fame voter nervous have never entered my bloodstream. The stiffest thing I’ve ever taken is a Tylenol-3. And I doubt that would disqualify me from playing on my church softball team - especially since it was taken three years ago.
PEDs won’t go away. The topic is a lot like kindergarten paste - it sticks everywhere, and the longer it stands around, the worse it tastes.
Take Lance Armstrong. The government tried for years to get him. After exhausting literally every avenue of investigation, including having White House reporter Helen Thomas rummage through Armstrong’s underwear drawer*, the government finally threw up its collective hands - after throwing up its collective lunch - and said “no mas.”
Of course, the government isn’t as persistent as the USADA which decided, after watching millions of tax dollars spent to take down a guy who rides bikes for a living, that it just wasn’t enough, dammit!
Roger Clemens is another example. He just got found not guilty of lying to Congress regarding PEDs. The irony is that Congress seems to have no problem lying to us, but that’s beside the point. The point is, Clemens said he never took the stuff. A former trainer came out and said, “What’s that in this old beer can?” And we went through the circus we went through. And, for the record, I firmly agree with Brian McNamee, particularly when he claimed the genetics inside the beer can will prove interesting. If I had a beer can sitting around for 11 years, I’m sure the genetics inside it would be fascinating.
Which brings us back to Galvis. The group that’s suspending him is the same group that was convinced, beyond any reasonable doubt, that a 150-pound NL Most Valuable Player was on steroids. Of course, Ryan Braun got off because the sample was “mishandled” - meaning, it wasn’t stored properly** - and didn’t get so much as an apology from MLB.
But what Galvis said kind of struck me funny. First, he said he absolutely “didn’t do it.” Fair enough. But then he said he doesn’t understand how it got into his system.
Let’s analyze that.
Have you ever been around a Major League Baseball player? Heck, have you ever been around anyone who dreams of someday playing for the Mahoning Valley Scrappers? Those guys are meticulous. Many of them carefully measure every fruit, every vegetable, every sports drink, every potato chip, every supplement - you get the idea. In other words, there’s no way something can get into their system without them knowing, unless it’s either 1) osmosis, 2) injected in the butt by a sneaky Helen Thomas***, or 3) beamed into them by the Starship Enterprise.
Which brings the next thing Galvis said into even more scrutiny: “I apologize to all my family and friends back home in Venezuela.”
For what, exactly? That they live in Venezuela? (just kidding.)
No, really. If he didn’t do anything, then there’s no reason to apologize. Unless he’s sorry that he let his guard down, if only for a few seconds, and allowed someone to inject him.
His apology may actually serve more as a warning than a true apology. It means all of us - including those of us who just distance run - have to watch our backs to keep away from that maniac Helen Thomas.****
*-may not have happened
**-Major League Baseball didn’t have any empty beer cans to store the stuff in
***-again, probably has never happened
****-very likely, actually
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