Wait, did I…did I just get kind of choked up during a Deadpool movie?
Wait, did I…did I just get kind of choked up during a Deadpool movie?
I’m disgusted. I’m literally sitting here with puke in my mouth thinking about the Cavs. I’m just so insulted that they thought they would roll into Boston and win just because they have LeBron. I’m just so insulted everyone keeps picking against the Celtics as they beat both presumed favorites’ in the East brains in. I’m just so insulted the NBA is forcing the Celtics to play games 3 and 4, since the only thing that could happen is Celtic injuries at the hands of cowardly Cavs losers.
Seriously, what’s the point of playing the rest of this series? This thing is as over as over gets. The Cavs quit. They got dominated game 1, so LeBron came out and shot a big, steamy load on the Celtics faces. But the Celtics just ate it and dominated the Cavs again. LeBron is the only Cavalier who could make the Celtics’ rotation. Maybe Kevin Love if he’s hot. But every other Cav is really old, really bad, or both. Somehow, that’s not the best way to build a team. Caught me by surprise! And how about that moronic chipmunk Ty Lue saying the Celtics gooned up the game?
“We’ve got to be tougher. I think they’re playing tougher than we are.”
— NBA TV (@NBATV) May 16, 2018
The Celtics are gooning things up? Dude, one of your guys (who has a very long history of doing things like this) tried to end Al Horford’s career last night, and you’re going to say the Celtics are gooning up the game? Huh????? And it’s so perfect that J.R. won’t face any discipline, too. Just perfect NBA. “Look our hands are tied. We didn’t give the Cavs the number one pick, so we had to give them this.” Like, hey, there’s only one All Star in this series that actually cares, maybe protect him a little? On second thought, though, maybe not suspending J.R. is actually a gift to the Celtics. I mean, despite the fact that him putting my beloved Al at risk, I love J.R., but he’s been the worst player on the court this series, and Ty Lue is definitely dumb enough to keep playing him. Speaking of how idiotic Ty Lue is, Mark Jackson actually went out of his way to praise him during the broadcast. He said Ty Lue, the very same Ty Lue that is currently “coaching” the Cleveland Cavaliers, doesn’t get enough credit and is a great coach. That might actually be the most insulting thing that happened last night. Ty Lue could be out-coached by a blind, deaf toddler who had never touched a basketball before. Don’t you dare put him in the same category as legitimate NBA coaches.
But yeah, that’s a wrap for the Cavs. LeBron’s second stint in Cleveland is gonna end with a 2011-Lakers-like whimper. Honestly LeBron should just boycott the rest of the series, because his (hand-picked) supporting cast might be the worst team in the league. Feel bad for Love, Kyle Korver, and Larry Nance. They don’t deserve to be with this group of losers, but they’ll probably all be on different teams next year.
Now the question becomes where does this Cavs team rank among the most cowardly, gutless groups in human history. They might be number one, honestly. I mean, they have LeBron and have been to the Finals three straight years. How do you lose to this (much better) Celtics team? Let’s see how they stack up:
Two-time defending champs face the slightest hint of adversity and start handing out cheap shots left and right. Guess that’s what you get when you have Lamar Odom and Andrew Bynum on the roster. Just a bunch of sore losers. I think the Cavs are more cowardly, though, because everything the Lakers did in game 4 against the Mavs, the Cavs are doing in game 2. They’ve already entered their pouting child phase. An unreal lack of fortitude. Bonus points for the Lakers because 2011 Dirk would frustrate anyone into quitting (like LeBron’s team). Next.
2014 Colts and Ravens
God, remember Deflategate? I do. I remember every godforsaken detail. And it all started because the Ravens threw a temper tantrum that the Patriots outsmarted them then bullied the Colts into fabricating a deflated football controversy. The least sportsmanlike display in the history of the least sportsmanlike league on Earth. Add in the fact that the Colts, who built their entire gameplan around catching the Pats in a fake scandal, got absolutely DESTROYED and quit in the second quarter, and this is a pretty formidable duo for the Cavs to face. Still, the Pats were favored in both games. The Celtics weren’t. The Colts are clearly the more cowardly of the two teams, letting both the Ravens and Pats repeatedly walk all over them, but you can’t include one without the other. Ravens weren’t cowardly, just jealous. Cavs are straight up yellow.
1940 French Government
It’s funny how the way we view certain things in history changes despite that fact that, you know, nothing actually changed, because I think popular opinion is now that France’s surrender to Nazi Germany wasn’t cowardly. This is as incorrect of a take as any human can have. They built a glorified retaining wall thinking it would stop the strongest army in the world, and then, when it somehow didn’t, surrendered instantly. Have some backbone, guys. The Nazis wanted to destroy everything you’ve ever built and you ask them if they’d like some tea to go with it? Embarrassing. Still, the Nazis were heavy favorites. That’s a lot more than the Celtics can say. And the French were able to retain the culture and history, which is certainly more than the Cavs can say once LeBron leaves. I would argue that, considering LeBron’s pending free agency, the Cavs actually had more on the line in this series than the French did in World War II. Countries always rebuild themselves after wars. You don’t recover from LeBron leaving your team in shambles a second time. Plus, it took the French 46 days to quit. It took the Cavs 3.
The Galactic Senate
The nameless, faceless group of pawns and lackeys allowed a power-hungry madman to assume complete control of a supposed democracy, then gave his declaration of fascism and genocide thunderous applause. I don’t know if everyone involved was just ignorant or lazy, but the fact that no one thought Palpatine might be up to no good before he had already amassed enough internal power to survive any threat to his standing isn’t a good look. These are supposed to be the best representations of life in the Galaxy, and they let Palpatine completely control them. No one had the guts to oppose him or the growing mob, and no one had the courtesy of alerting the apparently clueless Jedi that the source of all evil was right under their noses. And still, nothing Palpatine did was quite as bad as repeatedly cheating on his pregnant celebrity girlfriend, and every member of the Cavaliers sat around and watched that happened. What kind of example does that set for your daughter, LeBron? God, just thinking about it makes me sick. At least the Senate voted on whether or not to pack up shop. The Cavs just quit.
2011 Red Sox
The most unlikeable team I have ever “rooted” for. Spent a billion dollars in the offseason on two straight up cowards in Adrian Gonzalez and Carl Crawford, and a thousand game lead in the division, somehow blew it, and cost Tito Francona his job. Most pathetic baseball performance ever given by a non-Mets team. Gonzalez said God didn’t have it in His plan for the Red Sox to make the playoffs, which is somehow even more apathetic than the Cavs have been. J.R. displayed more competitive fire than Crawford ever did. John Lackey actively tried to sabotage the season, which, to be fair, no one on the Cavs has really done, unless you count Ty Lue’s coaching. Sox get extra coward points for ushering in the Bobby Valentine era, AKA the worst year of my life. Looks like the Cavs’ run ends here. The 2011 Red Sox are the biggest cowards of all time.
Folks, welcome to the newest recurring segment here at briansden69.com, Story Time Monday (or whenever day I post it). Now, you might be thinking this is where I’ll post a funny, unique, and enthralling story about my new life in New York City. Unfortunately, my life is far too boring for that. This is where I’ll post stories I completely made up, but are (hopefully) just as good. As I’ve said, I moved out here to try and become a screenwriter. What I don’t know if I’ve ever said on here is that I’m also trying to become an author. I wrote a book in college (yeah, I party), thought it was gonna be my golden ticket, then was blasted with the cold, hard reality that it was bad and no one wanted to publish it. I’m actually almost 100% sure I’ve said this before, but whatever, I’ll say it again- getting rejected 10 billion times kind of messed up my career “plans,” but I’m back up off the mat. The biggest barrier to getting published is actually, you know, getting published. Unpublished authors are like the untouchables in India. So, since no one wants a piece of me now, I figure why not just publish some of my work here? Sure, it’s not really the same and I still don’t get any money from it, but it’s still something. Before I go any further, no, this isn’t a sports or food post, so I’d forgive you if you bailed. But, if you want to get your imagination stimulated a little, keep reading.
Aside from my scripts, the project I’m focusing on now is a collection of short stories. Since they all involve the same characters, think of it as a bunch of Sherlock Holmes stories or something. That description actually fits the stories well, but I won’t give away any spoilers. Honestly, posting these is really just a way to get myself to actually write them, since even if only one person ends up liking this (Hi, Mom!), I wouldn’t want to deny them the content they crave. Now, a bit of a warning- these stories are pretty stupid and require you to suspend all the disbelief you’ve ever had. But they’re good, I swear. Now, without further ado, the first installment of The Life and Times of Shelby the Orca:
The Early Years
My name is Shelby, and I’m an orca. You’re probably thinking, “Shelby doesn’t sound much like an orca name.” It’s true; Shelby is traditionally a grey whale name. My friends all like to tell me Shelby is a girl’s name, too, but I don’t pay too much attention to that. My parents decided it was a good enough name for me, so that’s all I need to know.
I’m sure you’re wondering why you’re reading this. After all, the ramblings of an old orca typically aren’t especially thrilling. Well, a few months ago someone told me I should write down some of the crazy stuff that had happened in my life. I was a little hesitant at first; who would want to read about me? But when I really thought about it, I realized that I’ve actually lived a pretty exciting life. Not to brag, but I think at one point I was the most famous orca in the whole ocean. That’s what my agent told me, anyway. So I figured what the heck? Why not write some memoirs before my time was up?
I guess I should start with a little about my childhood. I’m told that’s how these things usually start. I was born in winter, but I’m not sure the exact day. Honestly it felt like we celebrated it on a different day each year. Sometimes it can be tough to tell what day it is in the ocean, especially during red tide. One good thing about orcas is that we don’t have a mating season, so we have birthdays all throughout the year. It would have made it a little less special if my birthday was just part of a big communal party.
Growing up I lived with my family in a nice orca town full of other nice families. One of my friends said we lived in the Bear Sea or something, but I never really knew the official name for it. I just kind of knew where it was by instinct. The air was cold whenever I came up out of the water and there were lots of trees around, if that helps. A lot of times the rocks were covered in white stuff, too. My friend Russell said that humans liked to sniff it through their nose, but I always thought he was making that up.
My family was kind of the center of our neighborhood. My dad, Harris, was the local mailman, so he knew everyone. Everyone liked him, too, even though he had a bit of a temper. My mom, Koko, was easily the nicest orca in the ocean. She was always class mom when I was in school and kind of took care of all the kids in the neighborhood. My little sister, Janice, was born three years after I was. I of course love her now, but my younger self thought she was quite annoying. My parents always took her side, no matter what.
Unlike all the small fish, us orcas don’t need roofs or any kind of protection, so our houses are pretty much just plots of land with lawns, living rooms, kitchens, and bedrooms all kind of blending together. Some of our more Spartan neighbors didn’t even have lawns, just patches of sand outside their patches of sand. We didn’t have fences or anything, but everyone kind of knew where everyone’s yard began and ended. If there were any disputes, the neighborhood constable was called. As it so happened, my dad was the constable, so I was well versed in orca property law from an early age.
We lived in Seahorse Circle, close to the center of town. Our yard was perfect. It wasn’t too big or too small, just the right size for our family. There was enough space for my dad’s barbeques and to play small games of seaball. Most of the time when my friends and I played Janice would have to play to make teams even. She got knocked around a lot during the games, but I like to think it toughened her up. She never said she didn’t like playing, at the very least.
We had a big patch of seaweed that my dad rigorously maintained. It was mostly beautiful green sea lettuce with some green rope mixed in. No kelp, though. My dad laughed at anyone who had kelp in their garden. “You have to be truly naïve to think you can control kelp,” he would say. “It’s just a showoff move.” My mom started out with a small garden of sponges and anemones, and as Janice got older, she and Mom added more and more coral and pretty things. I didn’t really care what was in our yard, as long as it looked nice.
“Never trust someone with a crappy lawn,” Dad would always say. It instilled a certain respect for landscaping that would only help me as I got older.
The first real memory I have is of my first day of school, which was also the day I met my two best friends, Carlo and Russell. It was about three weeks after my sister was born. When orcas are born, we can’t sleep for the first month or so we’re alive. As a result, the mom doesn’t sleep either since she needs to watch over the baby. So Mom and Janice literally hadn’t slept in weeks, and both were a little cranky.
Mom woke me up early. She knew I was pretty nervous and made me breakfast. It was salmon, which we had had three days in a row. I was sick of it, but I could tell Mom wouldn’t want to hear it. Dad was already up getting ready for work and watching TV, and I knew he felt the same way about the meal.
“Salmon again, huh champ?” he asked me under his breath. “I think this lack of sleep is making your mother forget that we’ve eaten this a week straight.”
“What was that?” Mom asked as I laughed.
“Oh, nothing sweetie,” Dad said. “Tell you what, bud, I think it’s time to take you seal hunting this Christmas when we go to visit your Aunt. You’re about the same age as I was when your grandpa took me for the first time. And unlike salmon, eating seal never gets old.”
“Really?” I asked excitedly. “That would be awesome!”
At that point in my life, I had only heard stories of seal hunting. Dad and his buddies would go every winter. They would always come home after a few days, sometimes empty handed, sometimes with bags full of seal meat. Seal meat is a true orca delicacy, and it’s good pretty much no matter how you prepare it. Part of the reason it tastes so good is probably because it’s so hard to get. Let’s just say it’s very satisfying to eat seals.
“You bet,” Dad said. “Well, I’m off. Good luck, champ. First day of school’s a big day.”
He gave Mom a goodbye nuzzle, grabbed his mailbag in his mouth, and swam off to the post office. He left the TV on, either because he knew I was watching or because he forgot to turn it off. I think he probably just forgot.
The post office served our neighborhood and a couple of the surrounding orca neighborhoods in a fifty-mile radius. Luckily for Dad, we lived only a few miles away. The post office was in a hollowed-out rock formation in the middle of a big plain where delivery orcas took all the mail they picked up from the communal mailboxes. The octopi that worked there would then put each package in the right distribution box. Dad would check-in in the morning, get the load for his route, and go out and deliver. We can’t write letters or anything, so it’s mostly packages and word-of-mouth messages. Orca mailmen need great memories.
After Dad left, Mom took me to the end of our yard to wait for the bus. The orca bus is more of a train than anything, with a big adult leading a long line of young orcas through the neighborhood and off to school. It was important both for protection, since some parents couldn’t accompany their children all the way to school, and to make sure everyone goes to class. Truancy is actually a big problem for orcas.
“Mom, I’m scared,” I said. “What if the other kids don’t like me?”
“Sweetheart, how could they not like you?” she answered consolingly. “You’re just about the most perfect orca that’s ever lived. I know you’re going to do great. Look, here comes Mafu.”
Our bus driver was a huge orca named Mafu. He was a mysterious character. He was from way down south and talked a lot different than anyone else. He had markings all over his body and some of his teeth had carvings on them. No one knew how or why he went from virtually the South Pole to our neighborhood. No one even really knew what he did when he wasn’t escorting kids to and from school. Anytime anyone asked him about his personal life, he would just change the subject.
Anyway, Mafu swam up to our yard, followed by about thirty little orcas. I remember that when he was about twenty feet away, Janice started crying pretty loudly.
“Oh, god. Sorry, honey, I have to get her. Don’t be nervous, you’ll be fine,” Mom gave me a kiss and swam back towards Janice. “I want you to tell me all about it when you get home.”
The few seconds waiting for Mafu felt like an eternity. Seeing all the young orcas made me even more nervous than I had been before. I didn’t really know how to make friends yet. I had met plenty of the other kids already, but only the ones that lived right around me. The bus had kids from the whole town. Some of them even came from Baleen Acres, where all the rich orcas lived.
When Mafu stopped, the train all stopped in unison behind him. Some of the kids in the back collided, but the ones in the front who had been with him from the start of the route stopped smoothly. Mafu was, and still remains, the biggest orca I have ever seen. It’s no wonder he was the bus driver. No one messed with Mafu.
“G’day little man,” Mafu said with a smile. Despite his appearance, Mafu was very nice. “All ready for your first day of school?”
“I guess,” I said bashfully.
“Aww cheer up, sport,” Mafu said. “You’ll do aces, I just know it.”
I slowly started to swim forward. I could feel all the other kids’ eyes on me. Believe me, it was a lot of pressure.
“Hey, you’re name’s Shelby, right?” Mafu asked. “Big Flounders fan, right?”
I nodded. The Flounders were the local professional seaball team. They stunk, but everyone around here loved them. Mafu was a big seaball fan, but he was never shy about how he thought Australian rules seaball and seacricket were superior games.
“Well do you think ol’ Clam Stetson would be scared of his first day of school?”
Clam Stetson was the best player in the whole league. It spoke to how bad the rest of the team was that the Flounders could be so dismal while having a transcendent star.
“No,” I said. I took a deep breath and went to the back of the bus. All the kids were lined up two by two, but the last kid was by himself. I swam next to him and completed the line. I could tell he was my age and just as nervous as I was.
“M-my name’s Carlo,” he said meekly when we started swimming again. He was smaller than me and had bigger and rounder white marks around his eyes than most orcas.
“I live on Urchin Street,” Carlo said. “This is the farthest I’ve ever been from home.”
“Oh, well I live here on Seahorse Circle,” I said.
“I can see that,” Carlo said. “I heard that there’s a sixty three percent chance one of us gets eaten on the way to school.”
“What!?” I said, briefly panicking. “My mom said it was safe!”
“It’s really not,” Carlo said. “Who knows what kind of sharks and other things are waiting for us on the way. You were the last one to get picked up, and since we’re in the back, I’m almost sure we’re the ones who will get eaten. I just hope it’s over fast, I don’t want to suffer.”
“Hey, scardey cat,” the orca in front of us said, turning around. “Why do you think Mafu’s here? No one’s gonna mess with us as long as he’s around.”
“But we’re way in the back,” I said, fully believing that we were going to be devoured by any passing creature.
“Then I’ll just take them out,” he said. He sounded the same age as us, but he was bigger than both Carlo and me. “Lucky for you two, I’m the fastest orca in the ocean! Not to mention the toughest.”
“I’d feel safer with Mafu,” I said.
“Suit yourselves, losers,” he said, turning back around.
Somehow, we weren’t eaten on the way to school, though Carlo’s gloomy demeanor had done nothing to calm my nerves. Our school was in the suburbs, so the bus route avoided the hustle and bustle of downtown. Lucky thing, too, since morning traffic was infamously slow. The gridlock wasn’t helped by the orcas, dolphins, and whales who would go to the surface to breathe then expect to retain their place in line. Tempers flared up more often than not.
The school was set around a rocky island. Because young orcas can’t hold their breath as long, most classes were almost entirely on the surface, with the island’s multiple outcroppings serving as dividers between the different classes. Courses were mostly developing skills like hunting and swimming, but there were plenty of history and geography classes, as well. Our teachers always said it was important to be a true citizen of the ocean, not just our corner of it. The teachers were all orcas or dolphins, but there was a small custodial staff of pilot fish that cleaned up after everyone, particularly the younger grades.
That first day, I remember all the other kids getting there at the same time we did. There were about ten other buses, though none of the other leaders were quite as impressive as Mafu. Most of the student body was orcas, but there were a handful of dolphin students, too. I think they were from the poorer neighborhoods. Ours was a public school, so we got all types.
The older kids knew where they were going, so they broke away from their buses to join their classes. Eventually, us first timers were the only ones left, so it was easy to get us all together. Everyone gathered around our teacher, a nice lady named Mrs. Dall. She looked a lot like an orca, but she wasn’t. I think she was some kind of dolphin, but I’m not sure.
Carlo and I ended up at the back of the class. There were about fifteen other students in our class, most of which were just as anxious as I was.
“Hello everyone!” our teacher said sweetly. “Welcome to your first day of school. My name is Mrs. Dall, and I’ll be your teacher for the next year. I hope you’re all excited, because we’re going to have a lot of fun this year!”
Most of that day was a blur, lost to memory long ago. But one moment does stand out, for obvious reasons. We were playing an icebreaker game where we divided into pairs in an effort to make start making friends. I paired with Carlo, since he was both right next to me and the only one I actually knew. There was an uneven number in our class, so Mrs. Dall said there would be one group of three. When the dust had settled, the lone partner-less orca was the boy from the bus. He was much bigger than everyone else in class, so I guess they were afraid of him. As he was surveying the class to see which group to join, I made the mistake of making eye contact. He swam over with a grin on his face.
“’Sup, losers?” he said. “Looks like I’m with you guys.”
“Oh, great,” Carlo said meekly.
“My name’s Russell,” he said. “I’ll be in charge of the group. What are supposed to be doing again?”
“Mrs. Dall says we have to say one interesting thing about ourselves,” I said.
“Well, I already told you guys about me,” the big orca said. “I’m the fastest swimmer in the ocean!”
“Is that the only interesting thing you have?” Carlo asked.
“It’s the only thing I need,” he answered confidently. “What about you?”
“We have a pet sea turtle named Zeppo,” Carlo said.
“Sea turtles are kind of lame,” Russell said. “They don’t do anything.”
“Well, I like him…” Carlo said dejectedly.
“My dad says he’ll take me seal hunting this Christmas,” I said. I was sure Russell wouldn’t have anything to say about that.
He stared in silence, thinking of a way to come out on top.
“My mom would never let me go seal hunting,” Carlo lamented. “But every Christmas we always get to eat seven fish.”
“Seven fish?” Russell said, re-energized. “Why limit yourself to only seven? I can eat more than that easily.”
“Yeah,” I said, “I don’t know if seven fish would be enough.”
“It’s good fish though,” Carlo said. “It’s enough for me.”
“What are your guys names, again?” Russell asked suddenly.
“My name’s Carlo.”
“Shelby,” I said.
“Shelby?” Russell asked. “That’s a girl’s name!”
“Well, I didn’t know Russell was a jerk’s name,” Carlo squeaked. I can still remember the look on his face. It was like he was surprised he said it himself.
Russell looked at Carlo for a few seconds before he started to laugh.
“That’s pretty good,” Russell said. “I like you, Carl.”
It’s funny to look back at the small moments in life and realize just how big they turned out to be. That one shocking insult from Carlo was all it took to turn the three of us into best friends. We became inseparable. We had every class together, we spent every weekend together, and, during summer vacation, rarely went more than twelve hours without seeing each other.
About a month into the school year, we had the big First Year Scavenger Hunt. It’s a way to get the new kids familiar not only with the school, but with the surrounding area. The teachers always say it’s supposed to get ingratiate the first year’s with the older kids, too, but that never happened. No one wants to help a little kid find something, especially if your friends are watching. Coolness is a valuable currency in Orca school.
The First Year Scavenger Hunt is the first time I thought I might have some real talent, and if you know anything about the rest of my life, you can probably imagine why. I can still remember the list today: a jeweled crab, a metal fish, a live penguin, The Six Rings of Power, a piece of taupe coral, and a wooden orca. Whoever found the most won. We divided into groups, so, naturally, I was with Carlo and Russell.
The jeweled crab was easy to find. It was in our classroom! I can’t believe no one else saw it. I mean it was just sitting there in the sand. It was a crab figurine covered in jewels. I know we were all really young, but kind of embarrassing no one else saw it. Carlo and Russell didn’t even see it. It caught my eye the second Mrs. Dall said the words “jeweled crab.” I shouldn’t complain too much, though.
The metal fish was a little trickier. I had correctly assumed the crab was the only thing in the classroom, so I led Carlo and Russell to the front of the school. I think it was probably cheating, but after Mafu dropped us off that morning, I noticed him make a beeline for the garden and spit something up. I figured it might be important. Upon inspection, though, the only fish we found was a red, angry looking one who had a big Mohawk fin on his head, dark circles around his eyes, and a blue upside-down star on his side.
“Don’t think this is what we want,” Russell said.
“Hey, I know what that is,” Carlo said. “That’s a handfish! But they’re not supposed to live up here…”
“I saw Mafu put it here,” I said. “Maybe it’s from his home.”
“I think it’s dead,” Russell said. It wasn’t moving, so I poked it. It was, in fact, dead.
“Why’d Mafu bring this all the way up here then throw it in this seaweed?” Carlo asked.
“Maybe it’s a riddle!” I exclaimed. I had only just learned what riddles were, and I was eager to apply my new knowledge to real life situations. “What if the fish we’re looking for isn’t made of metal, but it just looks metal!”
“This thing is pretty punk rock,” Russell said. “Can’t hurt to bring it to Mrs. Dall.”
“As long as someone else carries it,” Carlo said, backing away from the corpse.
Mrs. Dall was shocked any first year was able to solve the wordplay. We had found two items, which, based on the competition, was surely enough to win, but what was the point of sitting there waiting?
We decided to leave the live penguin alone, since none of us, not even Russell, had ever actually hunted anything yet. Trying to bring a live penguin back to our classroom would have ended poorly for everyone involved.
I had heard of The Six Rings of Power of course, but I had assumed they were just legend. A fable my mother told me to keep me on my best behavior. Russell, predictably, agreed.
“Is she serious with this Six Rings of Power nonsense? How are we supposed to find something that doesn’t exist? Is this another one of those things? What’s it called? A ritt?”
“A riddle? I doubt it,” I said. “Maybe there’s a replica or something around here. The stories say they’re supposed to be near the surface.”
“And protected by a fierce guardian!” Carlo squeaked.
“It’d be nothing I couldn’t handle,” Russell boasted.
“If it exists,” I said.
“It’d be a real shame if it didn’t,” Carlo said, trying to mask his fear. It didn’t work.
The legend of The Six Rings of Power is a very old and famous tale in the ocean. Essentially, it says that there are six ancient and mysterious rings that have been combined together to create an all-powerful artifact that gives anyone who possesses it god-like power and knowledge of all the secrets lost to time. This knowledge is so shocking and all consuming, that, according to the legend, it drives the wielder mad and eventually causes their death. Because of this, a powerful guardian is said to accompany the forbidden Rings everywhere as it drifts through the sea in an algae oasis, both to warn anyone who might stumble upon it and to deter anyone who might be looking to use the Rings for ill-gain. The only way to bypass the guardian and gain access to the full power of the Rings without the side effects is to have a pure heart and the desire to use the Rings for good. Or just kill the guardian.
We took turns swimming to the surface to try and find a floating algae patch. When we invariably didn’t see anything, we would swim a little ways further from the school and try again. I forget how far the Hunt grounds were supposed to go, but I’m pretty sure we were right at the edge of them when we considered giving up. I went to the surface one last time.
On the whole, the surface is a pretty boring place. If you’re not close to land (which, at that point, we no longer were) it’s just a whole lot of nothing. Blue as far as the eye can see. Sometimes some seagulls flew by. So when I say a tiny patch of green on the horizon stood out, it really stood out. I hurried back to my friends.
“Guys!” I yelled, “there’s some algae over there!”
“That could be anything,” Carlo said. “Algae isn’t uncommon or anything.”
“What, you scared, Carlo?” Russell sneered. “I say we check it out and kill that guardian.”
It was decided. We began swimming in the direction of the algae, and noticed a change almost immediately. For starters, the ground gave out beneath us. In the blink of an eye, we were in the middle of a bottomless trench. It was like it was swallowing all the light and sound. And it was cold. I was used to cold water, but it felt like if I stopped swimming for one second I’d freeze to death. The random currents didn’t help. It was eerie, to say the least.
“Anyone else freaking out right now?” Carlo asked.
“Hell, no” Russell said without much confidence.
“Kind of, yeah,” I said. “When’s the last time anyone saw a fish or anything?”
“The guardian probably ate all of them,” Russell said.
“We shouldn’t be here!” Carlo yelped. For a split second, I agreed.
It took a while to battle the currents, but we were directly underneath the patch of algae, which was creating an ethereal glow. In the center of the algae were six clear rings, held together as one. A small turtle was inside one of the rings. Most ocean creatures went their entire lives thinking what we were looking at was a myth.
“That’s the guardian?” Russell said. “That thing’s tiny!”
“And deadly!” Carlo yelled.
“We have to try and get the Rings,” I said.
“Do we?” Carlo asked. “We’re probably going to win already.”
“But who will believe us if we don’t have proof?” I asked. “These are The Six Rings of Power! Can’t you feel it?”
“Not really,” Russell said.
“Well, I’m gonna go talk to the guardian.”
I slowly swam up to the Rings, trying my best to seem sure of myself. The guardian hadn’t noticed me, even when I was mere inches away.
“Umm, excuse me, guardian?” I asked. “Umm, I don’t want to use these for evil or anything, I just want to win a scavenger hunt. So, can I take them?”
The guardian still wouldn’t look at me. It just slowly swayed with the tide. I decided no answer meant yes, so I gently hooked one of the Rings on my tooth and pulled. The guardian slipped out, still just floating there.
I couldn’t believe it. I held The Six Rings of Power! I didn’t feel smarter or anything, but I’m just assuming that’s because I told the guardian I didn’t want to use their power.
“You actually got them?” Russell asked, dumbfounded. “You beat the guardian?”
“It was pretty easy, honestly,” I said. I could tell that made Russell a little salty. “We should get out of here before it changes its mind, though.”
“Do you feel the power?” Carlo asked. “Do you feel like a god?”
“I’m not sure, yet.”
“Imagine the look on Preston’s face when he sees that!” Russell said.
Preston was one of the rich kids that lived in Baleen Acres. No one liked him.
There was a patch of taupe coral just beside the school, so we grabbed a piece on our way back to give Mrs. Dall the Rings. I think they put it on the list to let everyone find something, but somehow some kids didn’t get any.
“Wow, you boys are…on…a- you actually found The Six Rings?” Mrs. Dall asked when we got back to the classroom. “I didn’t- I just put them on the list as a joke.”
“We don’t joke about scavenger hunts, Mrs. D,” Russell boasted. “You should have seen how easily I beat the guardian.”
“You saw the guardian and lived to tell the tale?”
“It was a little turtle,” I said. “He didn’t even try to stop us.”
“Well, this is-well I’m just shocked is all. Most teams won’t even find one thing on the list, and you boys have four. If you can bring me a live penguin or the wooden orca I think you’ll be the new record holders!”
This is a little embarrassing to say, but I didn’t know what wood was at that time. According to Russell, his dad says he has wood when he wakes up in the morning, but that didn’t really help me, especially since I had given away the Rings and no longer had the omniscience that comes with them. Carlo said he thought he knew was it was, but couldn’t describe it.
“There might be some by the coast,” Carlo posited. “But we’re not supposed to go there.”
North of the school was a rocky coastline and a lot of shallows, which the younger orcas were strongly discouraged from visiting due to the difficult terrain.
“We just got The Six Rings of Power and you’re worried about getting in trouble for swimming to close to the shallows? Really?”
I agreed with Russell. After hearing we were one away from setting the record for most items ever found in the First Year Scavenger Hunt, I wasn’t about to let some possible light discipline deter us from going to the place we were most likely to find a wooden orca.
In my opinion, the young orcas weren’t the ones who should be discouraged from hanging around the shallows, it’s the ones going through puberty that should. As long as the kids know the dangers of getting beached, they can avoid it. The ones going through puberty have virtually no control over their bodies. At least I didn’t. One second you’re swimming along thinking you’re good, the next you’re stuck on some sand and you’re hoping everyone stops making fun of you and helps before the tide goes out. Not that that ever happened to me, or anything.
Anyway, the wooden orca. While we were swimming along the edge of the shallows, I noticed something odd: an overturned water-skimmer. I learned about them on a TV show about humans, but, at the time, I had no idea what it was.
“Hey, what’s that?” I asked.
“Oh, I think that’s wood!” Carlo exclaimed.
It was a small water-skimmer, I think the kind that one or two humans sit in and propel manually. It was in pretty bad shape- rotted and broken. Not what we were looking for, but there was something on the ground next to it.
“Is this wood, too?” I asked.
“I need to ask my dad if this is what he meant by wood,” Russell said.
“Yeah, this is wood,” Carlo said after poking it.
It was a long pole that had broken into pieces. It was covered in a bunch of weird carvings that none of us could even come close to identifying and painted in crazy colors.
“Who made this?” I asked.
“I think humans,” Carlo said. “I have no idea how it got here, though.”
“Is this what we need?” Russell was nudging a middle portion of the pole. In theory, it was an orca. It had the dorsal fin, it was black and white, and it had some teeth. It was close enough to bring to Mrs. Dall.
“Shelby, help us carry this,” Russell said. But my attention was diverted.
When Russell had started to move the orca, it exposed a small, shiny rectangle. I had never seen anything like it, but there was an orca on it, front and center. There were words underneath, but, of course, I couldn’t read them. I can’t explain why, but something about that rectangle entranced me. It was like I could feel how special this thing would be very soon…
But not quite yet. Somehow, three first years managed to drag the wooden orca back to the school. Mrs. Dall and the other teachers couldn’t believe it.
“I don’t even know what to say!” she said. “You boys have gone above and beyond!”
The rest of the class, who had given up hours ago, gave us a lukewarm reception.
“I can’t believe you managed to get the wooden orca here,” Mr. Tlingit, the gym teacher, said. “Took me a three hours to lug that whole thing out there.”
Mr. Orcinus, the principal, came over with a smile on his face.
“Boys, you’ve really shown us all something special,” he said. “Congratulations on winning the First Year Scavenger Hunt in record-breaking fashion!”
All we got was some shrimp.
On the whole, that first year of school went pretty well for me. While first year orca classes aren’t noted for their level of difficulty, my grades were excellent. Throughout my life I was a decent student: never the best, never the worst. I probably peaked academically my first year, and I’m fine with that. Carlo was the scholar of our group.
The week before Christmas that year my family was preparing for our annual trip to my Aunt Trudy’s. She lived up north, where there was even more white on the surface than where we lived. It was also much colder, so Mom had been making us eat a lot leading up to the trip to build up our blubber. Dad always loved going north for that precise reason. Mom would always make him watch his diet throughout the year, so in the winter Dad said he was finally able to eat like a male orca should. I tended to agree.
Christmas season also signaled one of my favorite traditions: decorating the lawn. Mom would weave some glowing seaweed into our impressive seaweed patch, and then we would hang some glowing fish from our coral. Some orcas would go overboard and pack their lawn to the brim with tons of luminescence and tacky ornaments, but, as with most things lawn related, my dad preached quality over quantity. And our decorations were certainly were much higher quality than those of our neighbors. Most orcas got their Christmas décor from the dollar store in town, but Dad never said where he got all of this. He would just leave one day and come back the next, decorations in tow. Something tells me it might not have been strictly legal.
The morning we left for Aunt Trudy’s that year, Carlo and Russell were still at our house. It was the first day of Christmas vacation at school, so they had spent the night to celebrate. The closer we got to departure time, the less their presence was welcome. Add in the fact that we had been up all night making noise, and tension was high.
“Carlo, sweetie, what time did you say your mom was coming?” Mom asked.
“She said she’ll be here soon,” Carlo said, groggy from lack of sleep.
“Russell, are you going home with Carlo?” Mom asked.
“No, I can go home by myself,” Russell boasted. “My parents say I’m old enough to swim solo.”
“Then maybe you should, you know, go?” Dad asked. He had just finished yelling at Janice to hurry up and get ready. She had just started sleeping a few weeks prior and had already developed a talent for being late.
“Right away,” Russell said. “But I wouldn’t want to leave Carlo alone. You never know what’s swimming around the corner.”
Dad turned away in frustration. The trip up to my Aunt Trudy’s took almost half a day, and we were already delayed.
Mom made me take Carlo and Russell to the street corner to help accelerate their departure. Seahorse Circle was a big cul-de-sac that housed ten other families. Our house was at the top of the circle, so to get to the main road we had to swim through the whole neighborhood. Our street had a very nice collection of Christmas lawns. No one dared try anything too gaudy, lest they face the wrath of my father.
Carlo’s mom came and collected her son and Russell, who, despite living in the opposite direction, decided to follow them. Luckily, I was already ready to go to Aunt Trudy’s, so when I got back home, we left right away. I think Dad would have lost it if something else happened before we even left.
Swimming long distances can get boring pretty fast, so it’s good to play some games to pass the time. Some of my favorites are I Spy, What’s That Taste Like?, and, of course, What’s in My Mouth? If you get lucky you pass under some scenic algae fields, and if you get really lucky you get to listen to humpback whale music. The year before Janice was born, Dad says we swam next to Humphrey Hammond for over 50 miles. I have no memory of it, so I kind of think he made it up. I mean Humphrey Hammond went platinum fourteen times, you’d think hearing him live would have been something that stuck with me, even at three years old.
The first hour or so of our journey was quiet and still a little tense, but once everyone relaxed we got a nice game of I Spy going. Janice was still too young to play anything more advanced. I remember I got everyone pretty good when they couldn’t find the fish I saw that was hiding in a kelp forest. That set Dad off on a pretty funny anti-kelp rant that I was still way too young to hear.
But I digress. My agent told me to keep this thing short since no one likes reading, so I’m sorry if I’m rambling a bit. I feel like I set it up for something crazy to happen on the way to Aunt Trudy’s house, but it was pretty uneventful. The only tricky part about going to Aunt Trudy’s is passing through a big line of islands, but Mom and Dad were experienced enough to get us through it no problem. I’ll be better about sticking to the big stuff from now on. My life doesn’t get really good for a few years, anyway.
So, we’re at Aunt Trudy’s. The first night we had a big dinner with Trudy and my Uncle Simon. They hadn’t seen Janice yet, so the whole meal they were just fussing over her. That was fine with me, since it freed me up to take some extra helpings of penguin. Aunt Trudy wasn’t a very good cook, but I was hungry from the long journey. Truth be told, I didn’t like going to Aunt Trudy’s very much. It was too cold and smelled weird. But she was Dad’s sister, and he said we had to go.
We were there for three days after that, with the big seal trip coming on the second day. That meant a full day at Aunt Trudy’s with nothing to do. Mom and Aunt Trudy spent most of the day talking about Janice and how Aunt Trudy was ready to have kids and she just wished Uncle Simon would hurry up and realize it, but luckily for me Dad and Uncle Simon spent most of the day debating seaball, which was much more my speed.
“Simon, how can you possibly hold any of the Flounders’ failures against Clam Stetson?” Dad said. “Have you seen the rest of the roster? Do you have any idea how inept the front office is?”
“I don’t know,” Uncle Simon said. He said “I don’t know” a lot. He was kind of a pushover. “I’m just saying if he was all that they’d win more games.”
“Don’t be an idiot, Simon.”
That night I could barely sleep. I was too excited. Dad woke me up before the sun had even come up, but I was ready to go. Typically, Dad met his friends when he went seal hunting, but this year they had to cancel. That meant it was just going to be Dad, Uncle Simon, and me, which I was fine with. Dad’s friends can be a little much.
The seals lived on a series of rocky islands and icebergs just north of Aunt Trudy’s house. We went really early in the morning to get the jump on them, not that it really matters. No matter what time of day it is, the seals just sit there doing nothing and getting fatter. If I didn’t hate them so much I’d envy the lifestyle.
Having such a small hunting party was ideal for my first time. The more orcas around, the livelier the seals and surrounding wildlife becomes, and the more chaos ensues.
“Alright, we’re here,” Dad said when the islands were in sight. “It’s time to put all the little lessons I’ve taught you together. Find a small one by themselves close to the water, slowly, slowly swim up, jump up, grab hold of their tail, and drag them underwater. Watch your Uncle Simon and me a few times if you’re nervous. Remember: don’t be afraid to call for backup, don’t try and take on more than one seal at a time, and, whatever you do, don’t listen to anything they say. They can get under your skin if you’re not careful.”
The last piece of advice was the most crucial of all. Dad could tell I was too jacked up to go right away, so he told Uncle Simon to get a seal so we could watch. We popped out heads out of the water as his dorsal fin drifted towards the rocky shore. Even from my vantage point, I could see quite a few isolated seals. Again, it’s hard to tell with seals, but it didn’t look like any were awake yet.
Uncle Simon crept up on a pup as slowly as he possibly could, measuring up his prey. When he was inches away, he reared back and launched himself through the water, jaws wide open. And he missed. Either the seal moved at the last second or he misjudged his jump, but he came up empty, and made a lot of noise doing so.
“Aww, shit,” Dad muttered.
“Is that Simon?” someone yelled.
“Fuck you, Simon! Pussy!”
I couldn’t believe it. The seals, still just sitting there, had started talking trash.
“Don’t tell your mother anything you’re about to hear,” Dad said.
“Hey, Simon,” one of the seals yelled, “remember when your first wife left you?”
“God, Simon,” a seal woman chimed in, “good thing you’re impotent so you don’t have to provide for any children. They’d starve in a day!”
“Man, they’re brutal today,” Dad said.
“What do we do?” I asked. “Is Uncle Simon gonna be okay?”
Uncle Simon was just taking it. He wasn’t the most confident orca you’ll ever meet, and I could feel him shrinking with each subsequent jab.
“Simon, you still work at that hardware store? I bet that’s a really satisfying and fulfilling career path to be on.”
“Umm, hey S-Simon,” now a pup was getting in on the act. “Y-you missed me, umm, uhh, you pussy!”
This was met with roars of approval from the adult seals.
“Hey, Simon!” When this seal spoke, the others all quieted down. He was their alpha. “Is Trudy still sore from last weekend? I know you were out of town, so I tended to her needs. Sexually, I mean.”
“Alright, that’s enough,” Dad said. “Stay here.”
Dad swam towards Simon as fast as he could, kicking up a big swell. The seals lazily looked in his direction, nonplussed. That is, they were nonplussed until he exploded onto the iceberg, grabbed a particularly fat seal, and yanked him underwater.
“Oh, shit, it’s Harris!”
The seals got a little less rowdy, after that.
Over the next few hours, Dad and Uncle Simon took down a few more seals. Well, for the most part Dad took the seals and Uncle Simon held the bodies, but still. I remember being so in awe of finally seeing a real life seal hunt that I didn’t move an inch. I’m lucky a predator didn’t come by. I would have been toast!
By the early afternoon, Dad and Uncle Simon were satisfied with their catch. I think they forgot about me, but I don’t blame them. Hunting seals is exhilarating. Both of them came swimming over with big smiles on their faces.
“Look at this, Shelb,” Uncle Simon said. “We’ll be eating well tonight!”
“So what do you think?” Dad asked. “You ready to give it a go?”
“I’m not sure,” I said. “Do you think I can?”
“Of course I do! Here, I’ll come with you.”
We pulled up about a hundred yards from the seals.
“You see that?”
“Yeah!” There was a small pup all by himself. Seals aren’t very protective parents.
“You got this. Just remember what I taught you.”
I held my breath as I swam, trying my best to be stealthy. I was getting really close, and somehow the pup hadn’t seen me. Out of nowhere, my fin hit a rock in the shallows, and a big burst of air came out of my blowhole. The element of surprise was gone.
“What the hell is this?” one of the seals that saw me said. “A fuckin’ Make A Wish kid?”
“This your son, Harris? Looks like a bitch.”
“Hey, kid, you tell your dad you’re gay yet?”
I was trying my best not to cry as their insults continued to rain down on me. It was one thing when they were going after Uncle Simon, but another thing entirely when they’re directing it at you. I turned back to Dad, who simply nodded encouragingly.
I think the thing I remember the most about that trip was when I looked into the pup’s eyes. I don’t know if you’ve ever seen a seal, but they have these big, saucer eyes and soft, sad faces. The look he was giving me was so pathetic and so heartbreaking that I was a second from becoming a pacifist on the spot. Until he opened his mouth.
“Your mom is ugly,” he said.
Enraged, I leapt out of the water. I scraped my belly on the ice, but somehow, someway, I grabbed his tail. He was probably the runt of the group, so he went down easy. After a few seconds of thrashing, he was dead. I couldn’t believe it. Years of dreaming about going seal hunting with Dad culminating in my first kill. I could have died right then and there and been happy. Seeing the look of pride on Dad’s face remains one of the greatest moments of my entire life.
To be continued. Let me know what you think. Was it good? Bad? Did anyone actually read all of this? Should I just accept the fact that I have no skills and should just work at Five Guys or something? Give me your thoughts. Or don’t, it’s really up to you.
Now that one Conference Final matchup is set (side rant for all the h8tz out there- yes, Rockets-Warriors is exactly what we thought the WCF would be all season. Why is this a bad thing? What would you rather have than the two best teams in the NBA playing each other for a spot in the Finals? You want some random team to make and have either the Rockets or Warriors sweep them? Then you’d just say how rigged and pointless the league is. It’s like when people complain about weak late-round games in the NCAA Tournament after they were jerking off to every upset. You can’t have it both ways. If you want fluke champions that make no sense, have no staying power whatsoever, and look utterly foolish five years after it happens, the NHL is right over there. Here in the NBA, the best teams actually win. Crazy concept, I know), it’s officially Legacy SZN. And when you take all the Chris Paul historical context talk and add it with the recent Bryce Harper nonsense, you’ve got the perfect formula to get me thinking about where current NBA stars rank in the league historically. Actually, that’s a lie. Since I’m a loser with no life, I’m always thinking about these things, but still. This felt like an apt time to publish those thoughts.
Which current NBA players will make the Basketball Hall of Fame? It’s always important to add in the caveat that the Basketball Hall of Fame isn’t the NBA Hall of Fame. Yes, the NBA is the biggest part of any player’s resumé, but college and foreign leagues factor in, as well. When trying to put this list together, I decided the best way to do it would just go team by team and discussing any prospective candidate so I don’t forget anyone. I 100% would have forgotten Vince Carter was still in the league if I was just listing guys. Much like my superstar criteria, my Hall of Fame standards are pretty simple- you either are or you aren’t. No duh, but I hope you know what I mean. For someone with a completed career or enough of a completed career to paint a full picture, it should be automatic yes or no. They’ll be no arguing when it comes to 15 year vets. The debate comes with projecting younger players, but a similar standard applies. If you have to start really stretching facts or making irresponsible assumptions about player development, it’s either way too early to tell or you’re just reaching. With a few exceptions, I tried to avoid young players for that reason. We all love Donovan Mitchell, but I’m not really ready to declare him a Hall of Famer just yet. So if I don’t mention your favorite young player, that doesn’t mean I hate him, it means he’s played two years in the league. You’ll probably find me pretty generous, but, as any NBA hater will tell you, everyone winds up getting in to the Basketball Hall of Fame, so who cares?
As for why you should listen to me, well, I’ve been to the Hall of Fame twice and drove past it every time I went to or from Vermont when I was living in Connecticut in college and the three years after. So, yeah, I think I know what I’m talking about, here. Teams listed alphabetically by city.
Golden State Warriors
Los Angeles Clippers
Los Angeles Lakers
New Orleans Pelicans
New York Knicks
Oklahoma City Thunder
Portland Trail Blazers
San Antonio Spurs
That’s everyone. Crazy how the good teams have all the future Hall of Famers and the bad ones don’t. Who’d a thunk? Again, anyone I didn’t mention is either too young, too bad, or just doesn’t have any kind of accolades. In other words, if you disagree, too bad. And one more time for the people in the back, everyone makes the Hall of Fame. Literally everyone. I’m sure the Hall of Fame voters would look at my list and ask why I’m being so stingy. So trust me on this. I’m right.
— Brian Kenny (@MrBrianKenny) May 5, 2018
So this bubbled up over the weekend. I don’t even know how widespread it was, but, because I’m a masochist, I wound up reading/watching all the think pieces that came out of Bill James, godfather of sabermetrics, and, ironically, old man yelling at clouds, said that Bryce Harper, yes, that Bryce Harper was not a superstar.
Thank you all for participating in my poll about how many superstars there are now in baseball. Consensus answer was about Seven. Amazed at how many people think of Bryce Harper as a superstar. To me, he is nowhere NEAR that standard.
— Bill James Online (@billjamesonline) May 3, 2018
Bryce Harper is the dictionary definition of a superstar. Because MLB marketing is inept andMike Trout has the personality of a cardboard box, he’s probably the most famous player in the MLB. He’s the most entertaining player (whether you love him or hate him) in the league. He blasts million-foot home runs. He’s got an OPS over 1.000 despite pitchers breaking their backs not to give him anything to hit. He’s got a trillion dollar contract with Under Armour and his own signature shoe. If he’s not a superstar no one is.
Listen I hate these terrible “Is Joe Flacco Elite?” debates. I think they’re stupid and boring and pointless. If you’re having a legitimate debate if someone is a superstar or not (I refuse to believe this Bryce Harper “debate” was anything approaching legitimate), then they’re probably not a superstar. My superstar criteria are pretty simple: Are you 1. a top-ten player in the league? Are you 2. famous enough to have name recognition among the most casual of casual fans? Have you been 3. the best player on multiple championship teams? If you check boxes one or two, you’re probably a superstar. If you add in box 3, you’re definitely a superstar. Bryce Harper is a top-ten player and really famous. Easy.
Even though I hate these debates I feel obligated to give my own list of the current baseball superstars. It pained me not to include Joey Votto, who somehow is the least famous athlete ever despite being one of the best 10-20 pure hitters in the history of baseball:
That’s it. Those are the baseball players with enough talent and name recognition to be called superstars. It wasn’t that hard to come up with the list. When I couldn’t think of any more, that was a pretty clear sign that it was time to stop. Sports aren’t nearly as complicated as we make them out to be. Bryce Harper is a superstar. Take your molten lava takes somewhere else.
Me whenever Terry Rozier gets hot:
Here in the Brian’s Den we try not to get caught up hyperbole. We really do. But I just don’t see how the Celtics don’t win the NBA Championship this year. I mean they just mentally eviscerated Philly. It’s over. Sixers quit about halfway through the third quarter. Everyone was anointing them as East champions before the series, and at the slightest hint of adversity they pack up shop? Ben Simmons had one point? 1! Al Horford is paying Joel Embiid rent for all the space he’s using in his head. J.J. Redick and T.J. McConnell are their best players! And this is the team that’s supposed to go head to head with the Celtics for the next ten years? What happens when the Celtics get their best players back and add another top 5 pick next year because the Sixers were dumb enough to trade the Kings’ pick for a player they would have been able to get with their original pick (R.I.P. Sam Hinkie)? Do they just cancel the games before they start like they do with Cavs-Raptors? I’m seriously struggling to see how the Process comes out on top. Even if they push it to six or seven games (which I’m assuming they will) they’re not winning in Boston. They just aren’t. Let’s just move on to the Eastern Conference Finals, already.
Can’t see the Cavs winning, either, honestly. Let’s just look at the roster breakdowns. It’s LeBron vs. Terry Rozier. LeBron or Terry? Terry or LeBron? I don’t see an advantage either way. Al Horford is better than Kevin Love. Jaylen Brown and Jayson Tatum are better than everyone on the Cavs roster outside LBJ and Love (imagine wanting Fultz and Josh Jackson over Tatum in the draft? Anyone who did must feel like an idiot! I could never!). Brad Stevens is to Ty Lue what Starry Night is to the hand turkey I drew in kindergarten that my teacher crumpled up and threw out in front of me because it was so bad (not that I still remember it, or anything). Celtics have better jerseys and a better barn. If things get physical, Marcuses Morris and Smart can counteract Kendrick Perkins. Celtics have precisely zero Kardashian drama. Celtics might legitimately not win a road game all playoffs, but they’re unbeatable at home. Celtics have Gucci on their side now!
Cavs are mentally weak (hope LeBron doesn’t read this) just like the Sixers are mentally weak. Before the playoffs I said I’d be fine with pretty much any result if they won round one. Now that I see the competition? Things change.
The only real question I have is how many games will it take to win the Finals? If the Rockets somehow beat Golden State, it’s a sweep. Beating the Warriors is Houston’s trophy. They’d thank the Celtics for kicking off their vacations early. But if they face the Warriors? Now it might be a little tough. But I figure the Celtics come out game 1 and hit them in the mouth, get an early lead and hang on for the win, get blasted in game 2, come back and win both games in Boston, then just win one more. I’m starting to think the Celtics not winning the title would be an upset. Imagine the Celtics getting a title without their best player before the Process wins one? Whooooo, boy, the kind of takes that would come out of that. Kind of wish we could just fast forward to next year’s playoffs. This year’s are already wrapped up.
Alright I know this is random but I just saw Avengers again so I was forced to watch the Jurassic World 2 trailer for the millionth time.
And I just couldn’t stop thinking about how BD Wong hasn’t aged since Jurassic Park. This is him in 1993:
And this is him now:
What the heck? He looks younger now than he did in the 90s! Talk about a glow up. I can’t wrap my mind around this. I know Black don’t Crack, but does the same thing apply to Asians? Or does a good haircut really make all the difference? Or is it just really good to be rich and have access to the Hollywood beauty cabal? Probably the latter. I don’t know, that’s kind of all I have on this. Just a random thing I needed to throw out there.
People forget BD Wong voiced Shang in Mulan but got tagged out for Donny Osmond when it was time to sing.