Bill Simmons: Non-It-Getter

Look, whatever problems I may have with the guy, one of his teams just won the championship, so I can't really argue he's not justified in another Celtics column. But this?

Note No. 1: "6/17"
If you're a numerology buff, then you'll enjoy this one: Game 6 was played on June 17 -- in other words, "6" (the number for June, as well as the number of games in the Finals) and "17" (the number of Boston championships if you include one for 2008). Two of the four greatest Celtics of all-time -- Bill Russell and John Havlicek -- wore "6" and "17," respectively. And if you add 6+1+7, you'd get "14," the number worn by Bob Cousy, another one of the four greatest Celtics ever. (If you want to really stretch it, 3 + 3 = 6, and "33" was worn by Larry Bird, the fourth in the "greatest Celtics ever" group.) If that's not enough, the area code for Boston is "617." And on a somber note, the 1986 draft happened June 17 -- really, the last day the Celtics felt like they were invincible.

Look, that's some pretty dumb stuff right there. It speaks to the complete and utter inanity of the exercise when Bill himself admits the Bird thing is a stretch, but still...whatever, no biggie. As long as nobody attaches any actual weight to it, it's just a somewhat silly parlor game. But then to end with this...

I don't know what all of this means, but it means something, right?

That...that's just painful to read. I mean, honestly...I'm not going to pile on too much here, but it's just disappointing to see someone trot out all this pointless, vaguely interesting crap and then somehow end up thinking there's something to it. I guess I could make a somewhat assholish point about the nature of faith here, but I'll hold back. Just...dammit, man, I thought Simmons was finally headed in the right direction.

Seriously, where the hell is skepticism when we need it most? Huh...turns out - and I had no idea this was the case before I looked it up - it returns this very day.

You know what? Have a taste. Be my guest.



Bring on "The War on Porn"! And no, I won't be writing an awkward sketch teaming up Penn & Teller with Willie Randolph or something like that. Although...

52 52 52 Week #11: The District of Columbia - PART ONE!!!

In which I examine crappy local sports journalism on a state district by state district basis, progressing through the states districts in terms of an alphabetical ordering of the heights of their tallest points. Because I can.

So at last, we come to one of the two entries in 52 52 52 that, rather logically, had to be, well, not a state. You know, because there are only 50 states. 52 - 50 = 2. Look, if you're not getting this yet, I can't help you.

What's that? I'm being told every single one of you got that, and that I shouldn't so blatantly treat my readership like they're fucking morons. Sorry, my blood is at least 30% Robitussin at this point, so I'm not exactly at my most cognizant.

In any event, considering this is by its very nature one of the more unique entries, I'm going to be making a bit of a meal of this one. And, by that, I mean I'm splitting this into three, yes, THREE entries. That's right - the littlest state (so little it's not even a state!) is getting the biggest entry. Also, this hopefully will be a really good way to suck up to all those DC-based sports bloggers, which last I checked is every sports blogger who ever lived other than Will Leitch, Matt Ufford, and Matt Sussman.

So, without further ado...

First off, the 410-foot highpoint of DC is in the Tenleytown neighborhood, a fact so momentous that Wikipedia barely even bothers mentioning it. It does, however, go into shocking detail regarding the following...

1. The place was named after tavern owner John Tennally. Originally called Tennally's Town, according to Wikipedia, "over time, the spelling has evolved." I assume this means simplifying its spelling gave it a reproductive advantage over other neighborhoods, causing a shift to the new spelling over the eons. Sorry, I apparently let a humorless Richard Dawkins (but then, is there any other kind?) ghostwrite that last sentence.

(And for the record, yes, there is another kind: the K2-sized dick version of Dawkins. I say K2-sized because I really have to reserve Everest for the douche who actually went to Dachau in order to compare evolutionists to the Nazis. That hopefully concludes my tangential rant, but honestly, who knows? That shit pisses me off something fierce.)

2. Anywho, in much lighter news, the actual location of the highpoint is inside Fort Reno, a decommissioned Union fort that is now a reservoir. The highpoint is somewhere in there. Call me crazy, but I'm guessing most mountaineers don't bother with DC's highpoint.

3. The big change came to Tenleytown in 1941 with the arrival of Sears Roebuck, which "was notable for its size and for its rooftop parking." Parking...on the rooftop!? If that wasn't the biggest story of 1941, I can't imagine what was.

Now, you might imagine with such a tiny strip of land to work with, I wouldn't have many newspapers to choose from. O ye of little knowledge of Washington DC newspapers. One of the newspapers on that list particularly caught my eye. No, no, not the Iran Times International, I've got to save a few choice publications for my sequel series, 192 192 192. No, I couldn't help but notice the most badass name for any newspaper...ever. I speak of course of The Washington Blade. Say it with me:

The Washington...BLADE!!!

Goodness, I can barely even say its name without throwing on a festive "MOTHERFUCKER" at the end. And you know why? I'll tell you why...



Or, to put it more succinctly...



Man, what is it going to take for people to wise up and make a Wesley Snipes/Garry Sheffield variety show? Well, other than Snipes escaping from prison, I guess. And don't make me bust out the Demolition Man clip to prove that shouldn't be much of an issue. What's that? You do need me to bust out that Demolition Man clip? Well, OK, if you insist...



Look, before this post becomes completely hijacked by Wesley Snipes videos

WAIT!!! WHAT'S THAT YOU SAY!!! HIJACKED???

Aw, crap...



All I wanted to point out was that The Washington Blade actually has nothing to do with everybody's favorite Daywalker. Instead, it's actually the oldest LGBT newspaper in the United States, second largest in circulations behind New York's Gay City News, and is considered the gay paper of record in the United States. All of which is well and good, but since they don't have a sports section, I sadly can't feature them. Such a shame.

You know what? I need to regroup and rethink. Thank goodness I'm doing this in three parts. Until I return, amuse yourself with some more of Sir Wesley...



I'd like to think that's something of which The Washington Blade would approve...but yeah, I'm probably going to hell for that one. Oh well.

Frank Deford = Andy Rooney

I've never seen the two of them in the same room at the same time, so I'm going to go ahead and assume that they are, in fact, the same person. This piece over at SI.com seems to support this half-baked idea.

Possibly because I'm scared of technology, I'm not always pleased by what are called "advances" in our society. Sometimes I think we were better off in more innocent times -- which is, to say, back when I could understand stuff better.

This is really like shooting fish in a barrel. At least Frank's being honest.

Actually, I consider myself secular Amish.

Really? So you don't accept any government insurance, Social Security benefits, or use electricity? Oh I see what you did. You just pigeon-holed a whole culture into a tired stereotype. Man, it's a good thing for SI that William Donohue isn't Amish.

Synthetic rackets pretty much ruined the beauty of tennis. Children have no business swinging lethal aluminum baseball bats. Now there's even talk that a new bathing suit made by Speedo, in which all sorts of swimmers are setting world records, constitutes "technological doping."

I don't know enough about tennis to say whether synthetic rackets "ruined" it. And I'm not going to comment on swimming, even though, this seems kind of silly. But, if Penn & Teller ever start running out of ideas for Bullshit!, they should do a show on the "aluminum bat scare." This idea that aluminum bats are "lethal" is crap from an ass. If I was so inclined, I'd take on this story from the New York Fucking Times, but I'm not. I'll just say that it's emotionally manipulative and relies completely on anecdotal evidence in spite of the fact that there is no evidence whatsoever that aluminum bats are less safe than wood.

You know what's even worse? Technology has made it so there are so few surprises left in the world. Is that really an advance? Parents know whether their baby is a boy or girl long before it's born. You can tell who's calling you on the phone before you answer. The real joy in taking photographs was that you didn't know how they turned out 'til you got them back from the Photo Zip a few days later. Of course, some of the pictures were awful, but what's the fun of taking only safe shots instead of snap shots?

Jesus H. Christ, Frank is hearkening back to a time long gone. I am in my mid-twenties and I cannot recall a time when 1-hour photo was readily available. In any case, I'm not sure what's wrong with efficiency and better, more satisfying results. My hypothesis: Frank Deford is a Communist.

Maybe that's why sport gets more popular all the time. It's about the last thing we have that still has some suspense to it.

I don't know about that, Frank. I can think of a few pretty surprising things from the last few years that weren't necessarily very pleasant. Surprising stuff happens all the time. Surprises are neither inherently good nor bad.


And that's why I can't stand the National Football League and National Basketball Association drafts. What disappoints me so about these protracted selections is that fans don't want surprises in the draft. Really, they don't. They want to look into the camera and see the picture before it's taken.

Not sure about that. People want to know what their team is going to do with a high pick and they want to talk about it. It's a parlor game.

For weeks now, leading up to the real NFL draft this weekend, all sorts of self-appointed experts have been creating so-called mock drafts, and basically, they're all the same. Oh, some bloviator might have this linebacker going third and that one pegs him fourth, but it's pretty much the same names at the top. The fans get brainwashed, and so if their team should dare take somebody who wasn't touted by the echo chorus, they have a fit. Mock drafts become the reality that reality must accommodate itself to. It's like in school now, where children study how to take tests rather than study how to learn something.

Actually, and I'm not going to cite this, but various mock drafts this year had the Dolphins taking Matt Ryan, Jake Long, Chris Long, Glenn Dorsey, Vernon Gholston, Darren McFadden, or trading down. The whole point of mock drafts IS that it's all guess work. Nobody really knew what the Dolphins would do until they signed Jake Long yesterday, and that trickles down the draft. If Miami were to take Matt Ryan, wouldn't that make a big difference in what, say, Atlanta does at number three?

And yeah, if a team takes some wide receiver and his whole family with their first round pick instead of the best quarterback available when the team badly needs a quarterback, then their fans SHOULD be upset. Dammit.

It's also terribly ironic. Football fans always want their team to go for it on fourth down instead of punting, to take risks on the field, but when draft day comes they're all conditioned by now to be completely conservative ... lemmings.

Because watching your team go for it on fourth and short is exciting. And watching your team draft a Ryan Leaf or a Ki-Jana Carter or an Akili Smith is decidedly less fun and/or exciting.

And, of course, draft mistakes are legion. But draft-guessing has become a cottage industry, and essentially these seers are graded on how they assess the draft, not how their top selections actually play football after they are drafted. It would be as if you judged your stock broker on how well he picked the most popular stocks, not how well he chose stocks that actually went up in value.

Frank, you pillack. Mel Kiper's job isn't to tell me who the best players are. His job is to tell me who he thinks the Ravens might take at number eight and to tell me who these guys are when they DO get drafted. We grade the coaches and general managers on how the players play. Also, you communist, stock value is related to supply and demand. Popularity is directly related to demand.

I sometimes have the feeling that the more film we have of these players, the more sophisticated technology to study them, the less we know, both about the players being chosen and the professionals who choose them. Football people have guts. I think, though, that too few of them any longer dare possess gut instinct.

That's right. We shouldn't look at film or educate ourselves about college players. Just go with your gut, football personnel people. Less is more! Up is down! Black is white! Why do I have to press the start key to shut down this computer??