Yankee Schadenfreude

 I watched Game 6 of the A.L.C.S. with an old friend of mine who was a Met fan when we were children. He went to college in Boston and during the height of the nouveau rivalry became a Yankee fan. Thus, I couldn't draw much pleasure from Friday's epic denouement. The next morning, like a kid on Christmas morn, I awoke early at 8 to seek out the New York Post to revel in the Yankee misery. I would have no satisfaction. I ask you, why publish a same-day Post out here and charge $2 for it if you can't report on a game that ended around 8:30 PM P.S.T.?? It's all so very hollow anyway, what with last year's triumph. True, last year's Series win provides little comfort for most Yankee fans, but it certainly dulls the revelry of Yankee-haters like myself. And any excitement us haters feel must surely be tempered by the fact that Cliff Lee and Carl Crawford could be sporting pinstripes by the New Year. So I ask ya, what is there to really celebrate? There's one team that could unite New York as one and that's the Knicks. Peter Vecsey put them in their place with his Sunday column zinging, "They are two All-Stars away from being a contender."
Sincerely,
Debbie Downer

Happy Thanksgiving New York

Guard Yo Grill. That dude on the lower right is peeping your shit.

So much to be thankful for on the New York sporting scene. The middling Giants. The wayward Jets. The regressing Knicks. The historically abysmal Nets. The underachieving 'Gers. The overachieving but still bad Isles (bro). The invisible Devils. The fallen-off-the-face-of-the-earth Johnnies of St. John's. Did I mention how well the Red Bulls (bro) and the Mets did this year?

Man, does any town have it as bad as NYC right now? With this much losing it's no wonder chumps like Jay-Z have to overcompensate with the over-the-top bragging. Welcome to New Yawk. Gobble-Gobble, suckers.

Of Weis and Men

The recent hullabaloo over LeBron getting yammed on reminds me of prolly the greatest yamming of all time, Vinsanity's international incident yam over Frederic "Daddy, if I had nuts on my chin would those be chin nuts?" Weis.

While doing a little digging on the Frenchman the Knicks chose over Johnnie and hometown hero Ron Artest, came across this pic, good to see, all these years later, that Weis still stays steady stuffed. Remember 'bocker-backers, twasn't all Isiah's fault.

All that dig-dugging , and Ball Don't Lie's dope-dunk roundup got me into peeping other fantastic slams.

Oh, ha ha, he has a lot of kids and got fat. Disrespectful. Someday in the future, post-apocalyptic scientists picking through the detritus of our forgotten society will find this video, and marvel at man's onetime ability to transcend the limitations of his own body, to transcend time and space itself so that all mankind could exult in his beauty. They will particularly be in awe of dunk #5, where Chris Gatling, appropriately enuff, "catches the gat"; but is respectful enuff to exchange love with the man-child reign man.

Divac shook off this extreme sunning with a post-game spread of kalamata olives, smoked mackerel, feta cheese, raw onions and a pack of Marlboro reds. An innocent A.C. Green was once Magic Johnson's roommate so you would think he's seen his share of scary scenes, but here he looks more frightened than the creditors of Charles Oakley's Bronx car wash.

The beauty of the NBA is that while, yeah, doofy 7'++ stiffs get paid millions to clog the key and warm benches and wave towels their main purpose is to get posterized. To be sunns. The way every decent slammer salivated whenever Shawn Bradley came to town. The All-Star Dunk Contest could be so much doper if they let them jam over chumps like Brian Scalabrine and Andrew Bynum.

What do you think is more fun? To hit a World-Series winning bazonga for all of Canada off a closer who calls himself "Wild Thing"? To catch a pass in the corner of the end zone, while keeping only one foot in bounds, to win the Super Bowl? Or is it to smack an awkward Romanian in the face while violently slamming in a ball a good 12 feet above the earth while Starbury and White Chocolate stare slack-jawed?

Props to Jamd and Sports Illustrated's killer archives for the photos save the Webber-Mureson shot, from my personal stash of late 90's Slam Magazines.