Sports Bros’ All Movie Basketball Team

We plan on crafting basketball, baseball, and football squads, and they’re all going to be tough because LSB have a strangely vast knowledge of sports movies. That being said, we’re going to dig much deeper and get far sketchier with our selections, so buckle in.

Head Coach: Norman Dale (“Hoosiers”) – We get it, the cliché character from perhaps the most famous of all sports films, but this is a no brainer. This guy takes some little hick team with like 4 ½ players (the ½ being the little kid, Ollie, who shoots the underhand foul shots), an alcoholic in Dennis Hopper for an assistant, and wins an Indiana state title. He’s tough, he’s fiery, and he practically invented the art of holding that rolled up notebook that probably has nothing written in it.

Assistant Coach: Billy Hoyle ("White Men Can't Jump") – A hustling street ball player in the movie, but I don’t think anyone ever questioned the fact that Hoyle would make the leap in to coaching. He ads a D’Antoni-esque, speedy, up-and-down, offensive mindset that’s the perfect foil to Dale’s grind-it-out, hard nosed, defensive style. Ying and Yang, duality of man, you get the idea.

PG: Calvin Cambridge (“Like Mike”): This was a tricky one to decide, but the kid has all of MJ’s ability because he found his kicks, so you can’t really argue with it. He had cornrows when it was fresh to have cornrows, Dirk sketchily asks him for his autograph, and he has an awesome sidekick in the cute kid with the glasses from “Jerry Maguire.” Lead us Bow Wow.

SG: Jesus Shuttlesworth (“He Got Game”): Banging Rosario Dawson, being recruited by everyone but Krzyzewski (not white enough), and gives it to Denzel in one-on-one. Oh yeah, and he’s Ray Allen so he’s as pure as they come. Seriously, shoot with him in NBA 2k9 and see if you can prevent spontaneous ejaculation.

SF: Jimmy Chitwood (“Hoosiers”): I know, I know, we GET IT, he’s a true 2, but do you know how hard it is to find a natural small forward in movies? No movies revolve around anyone who plays the 3. Also, you just can’t not start Chitwood; he’s Arguably the greatest movie basketball player to ever live. Listen, this isn’t Big 10 basketball; this isn’t Wisconsin trying to beat you 38-34. This is going to be a grossly talented, offensively loaded team that Norman Dale teaches to play defense. Argue with me on Jimmy at SF. No seriously, argue with me.

PF: Ty Crane (“Coach Carter”): “Guys if you’re going to use someone from this movie at least make it Junior Battle, he is such a hard worker out there and it’s so cute that he can’t read.” Shut up and get out. He’s big enough to play this position and guard this position but as versatile as they come in movies. Basically, he’s the fictional Lebron, but bigger and a lefty. When a reporter tries to compare him to Lebron in the film he responds with, “There’s only one Ty Crane.” I know what you’re thinking now: “He’s a cancer, his ego’s too big.” Norman Dale dealing with an oversized ego is sort of like Jenna Jameson dealing with a 10-inch dick: simple and straightforward.

C: Neon Boudreaux (“Blue Chips”): He learned basketball like a week before he got recruited and practically tore down the rim every time he dunked. I’m pretty sure Neon was averaging like 10 dunks and 10 blocks every game, not to mention the fact he’s more intimidating than Ray Lewis at the club. He also worked hard and got the SAT score he needed, and turned down any illegal gifts from the “friends of the program.” Nothing not to like about Boudreaux as your paint presence.

Bench: John Tucker (“John Tucker Must Die”): The guy gets ridiculous amounts of ass.

Bench: Antoine Tyler (“6^th Man”): This Washington Husky was unreal until he died of an on-court heart attack. Now he’s a ghost who helps out his team, what squad wouldn’t want that?

Bench: Kenny Tyler (“6^th Man”): So Antoine has someone to talk to.

Bench: Saleh (“The Air up There”): This kid grew up on the dirt courts of Africa. He’s raw, he’s athletic, and he appreciates the opportunity to play in America on this sort of stage.

Bench: Nate Wilson (“Eddie”): A good-hearted veteran who is going to show some of the younger guys what it means to be a first class athlete and, more importantly, a first class human being.

Manager: Troy Bolton ("High School Musical"): So there's someone to haze.

Jamal Wallace: (“Finding Forester”): A good player and a great writer. He will tell the tale of this team. Through the lens that is his writing we will learn about the players who became men, and the team that became family.

 

 

Top 10 Most Eligible Bachelors in Sports - #6 - Rafael Nadal

Rafael "Rafa" Nadal is a 23 year old Spanish God. He is tennis's World No. 2 and has previously been 1 in the world, but now only lies behind cockboy Roger Federer. He holds the record of being number 2 in the world the longest: (mostly to Roger) 160 weeks. It seemed as if Roger was undoubtedly the best in the world until Nadal came along, posing the biggest match to Federer, especially on Clay, granting him the nickname "The King of Clay". Nadal as won 6 Grand Slam Titles and also won the Gold Medal for singles at the 2008 Olympics.

Nadal's youth gives him a lot of appeal as a bachelor, as well as the fact that he has won approximately $25,000,000 during his career. Thats a lot of bank for a 23 year old. He also has great flow which adds to his tan spanish flare. He rocks great wear on and off the court as well, always looking stylish and making women everywhere fall to their knees in his presence. Rafa Nadal: Spanish, rich, great flow, incredibly talented, number 6 on the Most Eligible Bachelors List.

Top 5 Most Detestable Figures in Sports - #5 - Lane Kiffin

Perhaps the sleaziest human being on the planet. Hot wife. Father Monte is a super bowl champion and tremendously respected throughout the NFL. Lane is just a sleazy gutless kitten. This guy essentially takes a dive in the NFL with one of the league’s historic franchises, capped off with him actually sending Sebastian Janikowski out to attempt a 76 yard field goal. Seriously. Watch it. (Where does Kiffin get the balls to embarrass a stand up guy like Sea-Bass?) Kiffin reaches his goal of getting canned and takes the Tennessee job where he promptly guarantees victory over the gators and calls out Urban Meyer for cheating with a recruit (turns out what Meyer did was in no way illegal prompting a sleazy, awkward and somehow cocky apology from Kiffin). Note: do not speak to Urban Meyer unless spoken to. I don’t even think I could look the man in the eye without either becoming physically aroused or going into cardiac arrest (the former if he is in his Gator windbreaker or if his calf’s or glutes were in my line of vision). Tim Tebow actually said that he would follow Urban Meyer to the gates of hell. Dear lord.

If this paragraph of pain and reality doesn’t make Kiffin abandon his brand of sleaze, the beating that Meyer’s Gators are going to dish out to the Volunteers will suffice. Do not be surprised to see Tebow pull a Johnny Moxon and pop Lane Kiffin with an errant throw. Do not be surprised if Gator middle linebacker Brandon Spikes ritually sacrifices the entire Tennessee special teams unit at midfield. And absolutely do not be alarmed if Urban Meyer has a noticeable rock hard woody poking out of his slacks during the bloodbath. I am ready for anything.

Lane Kiffin, you have some balls degrading a borderline saint in Sebastian Janikowski and taking jabs at the emperor of college football Urban Meyer. You are #5 on sports most detestable human beings.

Honorable mentions:

-Stewart Cink: its not funny Cink take that goofy smile off your face, all you did was weaken a nation on Sunday. Seriously show me your green hat again though. Sweet Cink.

-Alberto Contador: I get it but at the same time I don’t. Who do you think you are?

-Jerome James: too hard to prove you actually play sports.

-Bernie Madoff: not involved in sports but I mean, come on Madoff.

-Fred Couples: if that’s not an obvious joke, there is something wrong with you.

Nike Baseball Commercial

Great potential commercial for Nike baseball set to the music from the NBA's "Where amazing happens" advertising campaign. Nike should listen to the guy who made this thing and fire it up. It gets me all tingly.

Where's the Magic?

BUREY - I have a certain belief about sports. Call it a blend of a distinct naivety, youthful innocence, and unbridled optimism, but I believe that there are, at times, greater forces at work in sport. Maybe I got this from learning to be a Yankees fan in the late 90's. The legends, the 1998 record, the "mystique" of the post 9/11 walk-off wins in the 2001 World Series. Everything seemingly came together at the right times when they should have and I was happy. It wasn't just the Yankees, though. And it wasn't just baseball. I believed that there were sports gods. There were certain things that just had to happen in sport.

US basketball is the dream team. We invented the game, we should win it every year. Yeah, we call the NBA finals the World Championship, and we should right? Cause were the best. There's no way we could ever not win gold at the Olympics. But that's what happened in 2004.

The Red Sox just didn't win the World Series. There was the curse. They don't win. How else could you explain this? Or this? Or this? But then they won, and they won again. And now it's nearly a decade after the Subway Series and I'm starting to wonder if the curse is reversed...

I learned how Tiger was supposed to win every major, and if it wasn't every one it'd be ever other. He was expected to make that putt. He was never, ever supposed to miss the cut.

Are the sports gods that I once thought existed gone? They clearly have left the Yankees. More money, more mercenaries, and less mystique has been the trend of the new millennium. They've left baseball too. Cheating, steroids. McGwire, Sosa, Bonds, A-Rod, Manny, Palmeiro, Clemens, Guillermo Mota...all once thought to be magical players now just outcasts with tarnished reputations. The skepticism surely started with baseball, and now it's spreading to the rest of what I once thought was pure.

I started thinking more about it after reading Loop's thoughts on Watson. It led me to pondering Rocco's heartbreaking loss to Tiger at Torrey Pines. It was almost too unfair. Every person with half a heart was pulling with all their will for an underdog, storybook win, and we just couldn't get it. Instead, Tiger triumphed (couldn't hate that much) and a doofy looking baldy comes out on top. It just wasn't how it was supposed to work.

Two more recent sports stories prompt me to ask: where's the magic?

One is the Tour de France. Lance just wins the Tour de France. Every year. Hasn't it been like 38 in a row or something like that? And then he stopped to give other people a chance? Right? It was the kind of thing that casual fans like me used to bank on so we could seem like we're authorities on cycling. Oh yeah, Lance'll win it again this year. For sure. He's got great...stamina. What a guy. You know he had cancer right? Incredible.

And now, Lance is seemingly throwing in the white flag. Essentially, he's conceding that Astana teammate Alberto Contador has the best chance at winning the race, and he will put all of his efforts to helping his team secure the title. This came as a surprise to me for two reasons. One, Lance isn't winning the Tour. Two, cycling is a team sport. And although Lance has been known to try and act like he's down and out to lull his opponents (or teammates, whatever) to sleep before making a surprise push in the final stages, it's kind of a shock to see such a heroic and proud figure make an admission of defeat. That's actually kind of a downside to Lance (sorry Loop). While he is such an inspiration of hope and determination, he really doesn't have the "can do" attitude in interviews that exude optimism and a never-say-die mantra. It really does feel like he's reluctantly citing his age and other factors for not being able to win, almost grudgingly admitting he'll race for the team's sake. Either way, just not the magical Armstrong stuff we're used to. I'm telling you, the magic is gone.

Secondly, and I'm not going to delve into how much this actually bothers me, but Brett's planned return to the League is really tarnishing what should be looked at as one of the greatest and purest football careers of all time. Alright Brett, I'm glad Brad likes the way you throw, but please don't come back. When he wanted to play for the Jets, I was willing to accept the "hey, he's not doing it for the money, he just loves the game" reasoning to make myself feel better about the fact that he's ruined his lifelong Packer image. Also, I loved yelling Brett the Jet and Jet Favre whenever Pinno was playing me in Madden. But now, he's really crossing the line. Coming back to the NFC North to play two games against the team that gave him his aura and his greatness? I just can't stomach it. It's exactly what I'm talking about, as if the sports gods don't care about legacies, mystique, or magic anymore. Brett Favre? a Viking? In the name of all that is good and pure, please make it stop.

Sports gods, you've ruined baseball, taken my Yankees, given life to the Sox, made basketball a second tier sport in the US, made Tiger mortal, broken the heart of every golf fan twice, made Lance look like a heartless whiner, and now your forcing thousands of Green Bay residents to burn their number 4 jerseys. Please, here my plea. Let us feel the magic of sport again.

Is there anyone up there? Anyone?

What Could Have Been

LOOP - At one point, I believe when Tom Watson was a shot up on the 71st hole of the Open Championship at Turnberry, Mike Tirico commented on the importance and the specialness of this situation. We live in an age in which we try and compare every situation to another situation, but there just isn’t anything you can compare this to. Golf is unique, and this Open was unique in it. Watson was one par away, one 8 footer away from doing something unthinkable. For so long in the 70’s and 80’s, when Tom Watson was still Tom Watson, he made his living on those putts, because the great ones always do. He made a weak, scared, nervous stroke and was forced in to a 4-hole playoff with Baldy Cink.

59-year-old Tom Watson carried around the burden of the Open lead all week after his shocking 65 on day one. Cink makes one putt on 18 and putts himself in to the lead for the first time all week. And then the disaster that was the playoff came. It could have been fatigue, it could have been nerves, it could have just been that the magic ran out for Watson, but after about three swings in that sudden death you could tell that midnight had struck on this possible miracle on the links.

The fact is, sometimes sports just break your heart. It’s happened to me twice this year. Listen, Stuey, we get it, you’re a grinder and you haven’t won a major. You deprived us of a top 5 sports moment of all time perhaps, and certainly in golf. The Boondock Saints killed for less. I have trouble believing that Cink’s immediate family was rooting for him to win in that playoff. It was a great Open, but it obviously could have been so much more. In the press conference after Cink had raised the Claret Jug, Watson was just painfully, brutally, and gracefully honest. “It would have been a hell of a story,” he said. He talked about how it hurts like it always had. Once a competitor always a competitor.

There are two specific events that this made me look back on, even though, as I said before, you can’t compare this to anything in the history of this game or of sport in general: Roddick v. Federer at Wimbledon, and Mickelson at Winged Foot. Everyone wanted the American at Wimbledon, everyone wanted him to win that marathon, and everyone wanted Phil at Winged Foot (chafe you, Phil). Instead, the Swiss robot took home his 5th title at the All England Club, and Geoff Ogilvy fell in the US Open as he was probably driving home from Mamaroneck. Both have certain aspects in common, but this trumps them all. A bigger story, a bigger disappointment, and maybe the most painful could-have-been I’ve ever witnessed.

He was playing for every golfer on the wrong side of their prime, every athlete hanging on to a sport longer than they should, and any older person anywhere trying to feel young again. It was one hell of a run, one hell of a week at Turnberry. I hope it reminds people that special moments in sports can come from anywhere, and that special moments in golf can come from someone other than Tiger Woods. We love you, Tom.

Suck it, Cink.