Got Bored, Made Art

 

MS Paint.

LeBron's Game-Winner That Wasn't & Why I Don't Own A Cell Phone

I don't own a cell phone.  Well, actually, I suppose I do own a cell phone.  It's a Samsung flip phone (remember those?), and I've had it for nearly a decade.  That said, its only function for a couple years now has been as the world's most reliable alarm clock.  I've been using it as such ever since my favorite windup clock retired from winding.  I long championed the windup Baby Ben for its lack of dependence on electricity; however, I've not considered a replacement because my flip phone clock, equipped with a long-lasting battery, essentially provides the same peace of mind without the various inconveniences of a windup.  Plus, instead of buzzing obnoxiously, it plays Rick Ross.

Even when my flip phone actually served as a phone, it served as one very infrequently.  The bill ceased to be paid permanently when having a phone was no longer one of my job requirements.  The monthly charge was not particularly expensive --- quite reasonable, actually --- it’s just that I never wanted a phone in the first place.  I hadn't even purchased the thing; my dad gave it to me.

Given that over ninety percent of American adults are said to own a cell phone, you can certainly imagine how often it is I am asked, by persons of every kind imaginable, all of whom approach me in the same exact state of disbelief, how I manage to subsist without one.  The most typical inquiries are probably, "how do you contact people?" and "what do you do if your car breaks down?"  To question number one, I typically reply, jokingly, that I have no friends (and this is, in fact, a joke --- believe it or not, I have a few).  To question number two, I retort, "whatever people did when they broke down before cell phones."

Truth is, when I'm driving alone, I'd prefer to have a cell phone, just in case.  There are other scenarios, too, when it'd be nice to maintain a line of contact.  But I consider these instances to represent mere inconveniences; minor drawbacks of living the lifestyle I cherish.  In some cases, even, I believe my periodic isolation from technology promotes mental health.

Every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday after my fall ’13 semester classes I would visit my favorite takeout restaurant.  More than once the thought crossed my mind that if I had a cell phone I could call in at the end of class, make the ten-minute drive, and have my order ready for me.  Instead, I would wait twenty minutes in the parking lot between placing my order and chowing down.  I soon realized I didn’t mind waiting, though.  I took this time to read a book for pleasure, or simply to reflect.  This is the sort of considerate pace I prefer to maintain as I make my way through life.  I believe it to be enlightening.  Also, I sort of came to know the employees who received my lunch orders face-to-face.  We had a few nice conversations.

Above is a screenshot (provided by this fine gentleman) of Saturday evening's game between the Miami Heat and Charlotte Bobcats.  Specifically, it captures the final seconds of regulation in a tied game, the rock in the mighty hands of a basketball titan, a reigning MVP and Champion who may someday be christened the greatest player ever to test the sport. 

As King James plots his attack, seven presumable basketball fans sit in closer proximity to the pinnacle of sporting drama than any of the other countless civilians who look on, forced to attend a television or squint from the nosebleeds.  These seven are in the enviable position of being as close to the planet’s supreme athlete as anyone but his defender at this heightened moment of interest.  Yet, as the King of the Hard Court aims to build upon his incredible legend, only one of these seven sets of eyes focuses on him.  The other six peer down at their cell phones (one actually appears to stare blankly into oblivion, but I'm throwing her in with the cell phone crowd).

These six sets of eyeballs didn't really miss anything.  Surprisingly, it was LeBron who missed.  But, if at the very apex of the event, they chose to stare at their phones, what do you figure they chose to do during most of the rest of it? 

Stare at their phones, probably.

Truthfully, this is nothing but an extreme example of a common failure amongst people.  Isn't it ironic that our attempt to stay connected at all times, to not miss anything, is causing us to miss out on so much of life itself?

A good deal of life stems from observation.  Observations become memories.  Memories become thoughts.  Thoughts become ideas, feelings, and opinions, which produce the actions that define us.  Actions become experiences, which in turn become memories, completing the cycle.  Additionally, our sharing of ideas, feelings, opinions, and experiences with others forms the basis of human interaction --- the sort of human interaction that is worthwhile, at least.

Had LeBron made his last-second shot to defeat the Bobcats, those people owning the six pairs of eyes glued to the cell phones would've posted photos and/or videos to Facebook, where they'd revel in the envy of their peers.  But for this hollow, fleeting glory, they'd pay dearly.  Never could they recollect the time they watched a bead of sweat drip from LeBron James' chin as he glared savagely into the eyes of his opposition, the very moment before the kill.  Never could they offer an account of what it's like to be able to read LeBron's tattoos, to hear him call “glass!” as he releases the game-winner.  I mean, sure, they were there, but were they really THERE?  For all intents and purposes, no.  They chose to be in cyberspace instead.

And I guess that's fine.  After all, it's not my position to tell another man what he can and can't do in his courtside seat.  But I do find it unfortunate that our fixation on technology is taking such a toll on the number and depth of connections made amongst us.  The less we observe, the fewer memories we have.  The fewer memories, the fewer thoughts (well, interesting ones, at least).  The fewer thoughts, the fewer ideas, feelings, and opinions we develop, and the fewer experiences we have and share with others.  Rather, we stare down at our cell phones, petrified of missing anything, as we miss our lives unfolding all around us.

This is the real reason I don't care to own a cell phone.  Even having heard all the fuss about staying in contact, and despite full familiarity with innumerable "what-if" scenarios, I remain much more fearful of a different kind of disconnect --- a disconnect from life itself.

For Your Own Good, JR Smith, Get It Together

Earlier today, the mercurial JR Smith was fined $50,000 by the NBA following his attempt to untie Greg Monroe's sneaker.  After a video of Smith succeeding in untying Shawn Marion's sneaker surfaced and quickly went viral, Smith was reportedly issued a warning.  Clearly, he disregarded said warning, and now he'll be forced to dig deep into his wallet.  Again.

According to ESPN's Brian Windhorst, the NBA has fined Smith approximately $1 million over his ten seasons as a professional.   Windhorst also notes that this figure represents only publicized punishments, meaning that, in reality, the sum could be a good deal larger; but we'll take it at face value.  Keep in mind that this $1 million is in addition to the $1 million he was fined during his Chinese caper.  In all, JR's shenanigans have cost him $2 million of a possible $37 million.

Okay, so what?  What's $2 million to a man who's made $37 million?  Well, according to a simple concept known as time value of money, quite a goddamned bit, actually.

Time value of money can measure the expected value of some amount of today’s money at some time in the future.  This expected value is known as future value.  The idea is easiest to understand when put to use.  So, as an example, let's examine the future value..er..potential cost of JR Smith's disciplinary expenses.

Two-million dollars is a substantial sum of money.  Thus, let's assume JR, who, in an alternate universe, is not a knucklehead and has never incurred a substantial fine, saved then invested this money rather conservatively.  First, though, we must consider taxes.  According to my old man, CPA/CFP/a bunch of other financial designations, the NBA probably subtracts players' fines from pretax salary ("unless they're trying to screw them").  So, had JR been taxed on his $2 million in the state of New York, where he presently plays, he'd have been left with about $1 million (I know, I know, half the amount was earned in China, and foreign contracts are often announced net of taxes; but let's look past that minor detail).

So, JR, 28, invests his million dollars.  For the next 37 years, he achieves an average return of seven percent, which is in the ballpark of the stock market's historical return minus three percent for inflation.  At age 65 (known as "normal retirement age"), JR Smith, who is not a knucklehead, has seen his $1 million grow to $12 million (real value, adjusted for inflation). 

Even $12 million down the drain, alarming as even the thought of it ought to be, shouldn't be enough to break a man who figures to earn $60 million or more playing basketball.  Rumor has it, though, JR was "financially broke" upon his return from China in 2012.  The specifics of this situation are unclear, and, needless to say, many rumors are utterly unfounded; but if we are to take "financially broke" to mean a net worth of $0, then reports suggest JR blew through approximately $25 million in eight years.  JR's decisions to accept a Chinese contract with no opt-out clause as well as, upon his return, a contract offer from the Knicks only slightly larger than one from the Clippers corroborate his supposed brokeness at the time period in question.

Admittedly, this has all been somewhat speculative, and JR has enough unspent money remaining on his current three-year deal to last a lifetime, given just relatively responsible management.  And, unless he keeps shooting at a 34-percent clip, this deal will likely not be his last.  Still, though, in his refusal to conduct himself professionally, JR has already cost himself more than he probably realizes.  Having already been both suspended and fined this very season, he's given no indication that a change is in store. 


I don't dislike JR Smith --- in fact, I've closely tracked and thoroughly enjoyed his roller-coaster career since its beginning --- so I haven't written this for the sake of kicking a man when he's down.  I simply fear the young man is expressing token signals of being destined for classic NBA tragedy, in which half of all players are bankrupt just five years into retirement.  Just prior to his most recent fine, for instance, Smith was on Twitter making light of the shoe-gate incident (tweets have since disappeared) that, as I demonstrated, could cost him ever so dearly.  His actions certainly don't express the degree of foresight one would hope to see in a 28-year-old man of immense potential to do exceptionally well not only for himself, but also for those around him.

Time to get it together, JR.

Acquisition: Kyrie Irving Cleveland Cavaliers Authentic Road Jersey

I don't really mess with Adidas jerseys.  The brand has turned me, a longtime jersey collector, off with its boring designs, occasional sleeves, and, most of all, ridiculous price points.  Including this one, I only have two modern authentics; the other being a red Eric Gordon Clippers.  Both were Christmas gifts. 

That's not to say there isn't anything to like about this jersey.  The Cavs, thankfully, are one of a few teams whose uniforms still utilize traditional trim and a scoop-neck collar.  The wine and gold color scheme has always appealed to me, and the long, slim fit of the Revolution 30 cut fits my thin frame like a glove.  I like the design of the jock tag, although I'd prefer numerical sizing.  Also, it's Kyrie Irving.  If you haven't heard, he's pretty decent.

Unfortunately, I can't conclude this post without getting into a discussion of price.  Needless to say, three-hundred dollars is a good deal of money --- twice as much as was asked for an authentic jersey just ten or so seasons ago, when jerseys were at the height of their popularity in urban fashion.  With designs having become simpler, cuts slimmer, and materials thinner, it surprises me that the market has tolerated a one-hundred percent increase in price over a relatively short period of time.  I suppose the number of consumers chasing authentics has probably always been limited; maybe to the point that Adidas has concluded those able and willing to pay $150 for a glorified tank top will just as easily fork over $300.  But even if this is indeed the case, is it asking too much of Adidas to demand the utmost integrity in an "authentic" product?  For $300, I feel as though I ought to get precisely what the players wear on the court, not some imitation mesh numbers.

After all, according to CNN, it costs $3.72 to produce a denim shirt in Bangladesh.  NBA Authentics, though in many ways different from denim shirts, also originate overseas.  To construct an accurate jersey with the correct materials doesn't seem as though it'd cut too sharply into profit margins.

I guess it's worthy of note that I do support free market capitalism.  I understand that, in the case I am dissatisfied, I can express this sentiment by keeping my money in my pocket, which is what I've been doing.  As for Santa Claus, he is out of my control (but appreciated nonetheless).

Water Bottle Swag: Drew Gooden

No, I don't drink from it.  The straw is cracked.  Nevertheless, I rather enjoy my Drew Gooden water bottle.  Approximately twice the height of an average bobble head, it makes an impressive display piece.  Typically, Ebay discoveries sit on my watch list for a while as I budget and prioritize; in this case, however, I made an instant purchase.  Had to have it.

The Drew Gooden water bottle exists thanks to Memphis area Subway restaurants, where it was a promotional item during the Grizzlies' early days in Tennessee.  There are others --- Jason Williams, Lorenzen Wright --- but I've yet to see them for sale.  Gooden's is particularly unique because he played just 51 games in his single season as a Grizzly, averaging his usual 12 and 5.

Though not a particularly popular player, I happened to like Drew Gooden.  He was a bit enigmatic, with a tendency to leave critics scratching their heads, but he possessed the sort of talent and versatility that allowed him to record solid statistics in all sorts of different systems.  Gooden was plugged in to about every situation imaginable when he suited up for six teams between 2007 and 2010.  In a single game stint with the Kings, he came off the bench to post 12 points and 13 boards.  Following brief tenures with the Mavericks and Spurs, he wound up with the Clippers for the conclusion of '09/10, averaging 15 and 9 over 24 appearances.

Gooden also expressed, given his journeyman status, a peculiar tendency to flirt with triple-doubles.  Despite playing mostly backup minutes at the four and five, he managed enough assists to complete two career triple-dips, both as a member of the Bucks.

Also, there was this.

I think Bucks Drew Gooden is my favorite Drew Gooden.  He brought out the entire offensive arsenal in Milwaukee.  I suppose that's probably why he was amnestied.  Presently, he's running a bunch of Wingstop franchises, where drinks may or may not be served in Drew Gooden water bottles.

Acquisition: Dikembe Mutombo Bobble Head/Finger

It's always exciting to receive a package, but when I noticed amongst today's mail a box marked "fragile," I was ecstatic.  Not because I'd won a major award; but because, finally, I hold in my hands the Dikembe Mutombo bobble finger!

This particular bobble has been on my radar for years.  Though not difficult to find --- there are always a few on EBay --- it typically goes for quite a bit more than I like to spend on such things.  Thankfully, when this one was listed at what I deemed a bargain price, I was able to snag it.

Obviously, this Deke bobble is unique because its arm moves.  Mutombo's finger wag gesture became his signature as he rejected 3,256 shots, second only to The Dream.  During his brief but successful tenure in Philadelphia, someone had the brilliant idea to immortalize the finger wag in the form of a stadium giveaway.  As a Sixer, Mutombo was an All-Star, Finalist, rebounding champion, and Defensive Player of the Year.  One of the greatest defenders in the history of his sport, Dikembe played his nearly two decades of NBA basketball with unbridled passion and fantastic enthusiasm.  He is also an esteemed humanitarian, making him a lovable character on and off the court.

And he talks like the cookie monster.  Considering how many tried, only an elite few ever entered the house of Mutombo.  I assume if anyone ever tries to rob me my Deke bobble finger will break their nose with its elbow and wag its finger in their face.

Nate Robinson Dunks On Lakers Thrice

You may recall what I wrote about Evan Turner after Philly clobbered LA a week or so ago: that he was "all the lameness" for throwing down a 360 windmill dunk in the game's final seconds and then acting like a remorseful puppy dog who had just been scolded for peeing on the carpet.  Though the dunk itself didn't bother me in the least --- I rather enjoyed it, actually --- Turner's subsequent series of apologies to each individual Laker was unwarranted, and rather pathetic.  Having been blown out by a substandard Sixers squad, the Lakers had no one to be angry at but themselves; and Turner had nothing to be sorry for until he subjected the Lakers to an unwelcome series of underhanded pleasantries.  In short, Evan Turner's blatant defiance and then attempted observance of a stupid NBA formality came off as entirely contradictory and appeased nobody.

Enter Nate Robinson.  Sunday night, as the Nuggets became the latest beatable opponent to waltz into Staples and trounce the Lakers, Robinson, all of 5'8", dunked the ball three times in the game's final three minutes.  Unlike Evan Turner, Robinson payed no mind to Los Angeles except to provoke its fans.  Robinson mugged, gestured, and swung on the rim until earning himself a technical foul for taunting.  Soon, he will write the league a three-thousand-dollar check with the proudest of grins on his face.

Note that Stu Lantz, a former Laker and longtime color analyst for the team, derides his own team for its lack of effort, not Nate Robinson for his antics.  Coach Mike D'Antoni's postgame comments suggest a similar sentiment.  After all, it ought not be difficult to put a body on one of the league's most diminutive players. 

But instead of boxing out, the Lakers sulked, allowing themselves to be humiliated in their own building.  In refusing to relent during garbage time, Robinson did nothing but provide his team, which has been struggling in its own right, with an enthusiastic boost.  Dealing with the suspension of disgruntled veteran Andre Miller, the Nuggets needed an injection of morale.  Robinson's lighthearted showboating, if nothing else, gave his teammates reason to smile and cheer together.

And it gave us sneaker enthusiasts a nice view of his Gamma Blue XIIs.*

This is why we love you, Nate.










*In other sneaker news, observe Phil Pressey's Zoom Gloves, and what JR Smith did to Shawn Marion's laces.

Story of a Card: Ricky Davis, 2004-05 Topps #220

In his dozen NBA seasons, Tyree Ricardo “Ricky” Davis made 736 appearances for seven different teams, averaging approximately 13 points, three rebounds, and three assists.  Drafted 21^st overall by the Hornets in 1998, he entered the league a teenager with just 825 minutes of post-high-school basketball experience.  Having barely shot 30% from collegiate three-point range, Davis was the definition of raw.  Still, given his substantial height, rugged frame, and otherworldly athleticism, he had been effective enough at the University of Iowa to stand out as the sort who seemed to ooze professional potential.  In retrospect, the Hornets made an excellent selection in Davis.  The class of ’98 did yield a couple of franchise kingpins, but it also spawned its share of disappointments, and it was top-heavy (only one All-Star selected outside the top ten).  At 21^st, Davis was one of the best on the board.

But Charlotte elected to part with their young draftee in a trade with the Heat prior to his receipt of any significant minutes.  Upon landing in Miami, Ricky played even less, and was quickly shipped to Cleveland.  Finally, in his fifth NBA season (second with the Cavaliers), Davis moved into the starting lineup and demonstrated his offensive explosiveness to the tune of 20 points per game.  His surprising uptick in production was not reflected in the win column, though.  The Cavs won a mere 17 games in ‘02/03, and such a lack of success certainly contributed to the rapid development of Davis’s negative reputation.

No isolated incident did more damage to Ricky’s image than his ill-conceived attempt at a triple-double.  It’s been over a decade since, in the closing moments of a rare blowout victory, he purposely shot at his own basket, yet this lapse in judgment remains the very first thing that comes to the average NBA fan’s mind upon hearing the name “Ricky Davis.”  Idiotic as it was, countless players have committed far more deplorable acts and managed to live them down.  I suppose it is, from the fan’s perspective, the humorous aspect of Davis’s act --- in conjunction with his failure to distinguish himself as a winner --- that has made statistical selfishness nearly synonymous with Ricky Davis.

Another of Davis’s memorable follies is depicted on the card in question.  Spectacular as it appears in the photo, which is from a March 2004 game against the Lakers, this particular dunk attempt was unsuccessful.  Davis recovered to score the basket, and his 24 points were second only to Paul Pierce, but still, with his Celtics trailing a superior Lakers team, this was not the time nor the place.  

Despite this laughably regrettable decision, Davis made a positive overall impact in Boston.  Given the typical cost of a twenty-point scorer, the Celtics had acquired him cheaply.  Obviously, they were perceived to be taking a risk on Davis’s character, which Cleveland had deemed a threat to the development of one LeBron James.  Additionally, Ricky had been erratic and inefficient in his play.  Ultimately, Danny Ainge must’ve concluded his ‘03/04 Celtics, hovering around .500 with no secondary offensive weapon to speak of, had little to lose.

It was in his second and only full season with the Celtics, ‘04/05, that Ricky Buckets most effectively demonstrated his value.  With an improved jump shot, he had become a threat to score from the perimeter, and his high-flying dunks and enthusiastic antics made him a fan favorite.  Thanks in large part to Davis’s 16 PPG on 46%, the Cs went on to win the Atlantic Division with a 45-37 record.  Furthermore, though he was far and away Boston’s second-best offensive player, Ricky surprised detractors by embracing an off-the-bench role.  He finished second to Chicago’s Ben Gordon in the running for Sixth Man of the Year, and I can still recall the debate over whether or not he’d been snubbed.  It was at this point that the media, as well as coach Doc Rivers, began to speak highly of his defense.  Late that season, in a 104-101 win over the Lakers, against whom Davis missed his aforementioned between-the-legs dunk attempt, he checked Kobe Bryant throughout one of a very few scoreless fourth quarters in Bean’s legendary career.  He also dropped a team-high 29 points.

Though Boston would soon send Davis to Minnesota, and, later, Minnesota to Miami, Ricky’s tendency to be traded had less to do with his play or conduct than it did the various situations in which he landed.  Each and every team Davis played for, at the time he played for them, was in a state of flux.  The Cavs sent him away as they rebuilt around LeBron; The Celtics, headed in no discernible direction, swapped him for Wally Szczerbiak; The Wolves were a sinking ship upon his arrival; The Heat had Dwyane Wade get hurt and traded Shaq during his tenure; and the Clippers were the Clippers pre-Chris Paul.

Ricky Davis never did land in the right place at the right time, and it’s a shame, because both his game and his mentality, once developed, were those of a winner.  Had events unfolded just a little bit differently, Davis could’ve flanked LeBron James in the Finals, or won a title in Boston or Miami.  Instead, this exceptional dunker, charismatic teammate, and solid all-around player is remembered primarily for a momentary lapse in judgment which has been immortalized by the internet.

No one but Ricky Davis could make the only in-game between-the-legs dunk in NBA history and have it seen by about 450,000 fewer youtubers than have viewed the one he missed.

In conclusion, I would say something along the lines of, “It’s time to let Buckets be,” but even I can’t help but admit that that look on Jerry Sloan’s face is just too goddamned funny.  So, on behalf of Ricky Davis, I ask not that you refrain entirely from cracking the occasional triple-double joke, but only that you recognize he was much, much more than a human blooper.

Thank you.