The NBA Dictionary

Yesterday, Jerry Colangelo, the managing director of the USA national team, defended his decision for selecting defensive-super-freak-extraordinaire, Bruce Bowen:

“When you mention role players, certain names pop out almost immediately and I think right at the top of that list is Bruce Bowen. He’s tough, he’s a competitor, he’s absolutely a blender, so when you look up the description of role player in the dictionary you might see a picture of Bruce Bowen.”

What? You’re telling me that when I look up the word “role player” in the dictionary, I’ll see a picture of Bruce Bowen? Let me see that…


role play·er
n.
One who assumes or acts out a particular role.



Well no shit, eh? That’s incredible. Who else they got pictured in that there dictionary, Colangelo? You think I, you know, could maybe borrow it for a second? Yeah, I promise I won’t damage the — YOINK!!!


frag·ile
adj.
Easily broken, damaged, or destroyed; frail.





weird·o
n. Slang
A person regarded as being very strange or eccentric.





sad
adj.
Causing sorrow or gloom; depressing: a sad movie; a sad basketball player.




hus·tler
n.
A prostitute who attracts customers by walking the streets.



Role Players Find Place on U.S. Team [Yahoo! Sports]

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By J.E. Skeets at 3:18 pm on 03.07.2006 — Tags: International, Olympics, Misc.

Allen Iverson Talks

aolsbl

I Am What I Am And What I Am Is Pissed.

Recap: Power dribble right – no – bring it back – you falling … falling again – gone. Lates.

I shook you Antonio. I shook you hard like Horry did Dick. I made you bite like it was Jer-Bear’s arm.

But it ain’t nothin’ personal. Yeah, you ain’t the first and you far from the best. You gotta remember, I shook The Greatest. Shook him like the dice he rolls. Stuttered once – stuttered twice – he high-fives air – pop. Map me.

But we good champ. I dig Ohio. Yeah, I gots love for the Bowling Green even if the jerseys be orange and they ain’t got no campus lanes. Hahaha, I kid. We aight. But I’m still stinging, you know? I’m still mad.

Yeah, no lie, I saw Invites in those ankles. I saw Lithuanians, Argentineans, Commies … all of ‘em just taped up; chillin’ inside those nice mid-black socks you rock. And they broke. All of ‘em. Broke, like a Mountain silhouette on a Michael Adams throwBack. Who? What? Check the numbers. Think about it.

But those ankles broke like something else too. Yeah, those ankles broke like my heart did when that phone didn’t ring. You Nyquil’d on this one Colangelo. Got drowsy. Slept. Yeah, you’re just flat out wrong on this (no) call. Explain to me how you go and hand The Big Aristotle a ‘Get Out Of Jail Free’ card, while I get a ‘Go Take a Ride On The Fuck You Railroad’? I mean, how does that make sense? Shit, that hurt.

But it’s OK. We cool. In fact, maybe it’s a blessing. Yeah, while you went and slept, I’ve been awoken. It’s on now. Enough with all of this Kobe and The King and Those White Dudes talk. Yeah, it’s time. The Answer is ready.

And oh, someone better call that Luke kid, and tell him to tape up those ankles EXTRA tight. F’real.

Note: I know this post was Wizznutzzy, but damn, I like them okay?

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By J.E. Skeets at 4:03 pm on 03.04.2006 — Tags: Olympics, Sixers, Superstars

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