we have only ourselves to blame...

Derek Jeter took a four million pay cut per year to stay with the Yanks, and he was pissed. He is 36.

Abandon your belief and hope in God. He is unseen, he takes too long to answer, and even if he does, you can never be sure. Put your faith in men. You can abuse them if they don't deliver. Men are much easier to love and hate because they are tangible. Rely on the merits of men who preform acts that seem super human, who display athleticism that can only be described as "God-given". In sports we trust. Religion is defined as: 1. a set of beliefs concerning the cause, nature, and purpose of the universe, esp. when considered as the creation of a superhuman agency or agencies, usually involving devotional and ritual observances, and often containing a moral code governing the conduct of human affairs. 2. a specific fundamental set of beliefs and practices generally agreed upon by a number of persons or sects. 3. the body of persons adhering to a particular set of beliefs and practices. 4. something one believes in and follows devotedly. 

The NBA fears that there will be lock-out next year because players want more money.  The average salary of an NBA player was $5.4 million in the 07-08 year. They deserve it, even Okur. 

A true fan of sports knows what dogma he must follow, but mostly sports give the common man have a reason to live. A man can define who he is in a sentence. I am a Dukie. Because I am a fan of Duke, I only like college basketball cause that is the only time my boys will be dominate. I am Raider. As a Raider I paint my face and dress like a crazy. I am a bad a. I am Lynx fan. And as a Lynx fan I.... I hide my true feelings. 
--Stadiums are the synagogues. Shrines are erected at home with the help of Home Depot and Fathead. Jerseys are the link between the common man and deity. Prayers are formulated in the spread and bets made. Pre-game rituals and ceremonies become as essential as the actual game. Championships are heaven. Highlights, analysis, info, past games, and breakdowns can be seen anytime. There are networks wholly dedicated to the religious cause of sports.Without these blessed programs how could one worship from home? Thank heavens, you can sleep tight in your Eagle themed bedspread.

Pro Football is adding additional games for this upcoming season... Cause they are really concerned about concussions and its effect in the long run of players health....

Every problem with sports. Immoral players (from Stockton to Malone, Kobe, Big Ben), cheats (A-Rod, Lance?), gambling (Rose, Jordan), pay to play (Cam, Bush, SMU), and  thugs (Pacman, Arenas) are our fault. We have enabled them to become the monsters that they are. We have excused their heinous actions with their ability to put on a show. We pay indirectly for their homes, cars, women, lawyers, and crimes. The don't ask don't tell policy is as rampant as ever in the sporting arena. The revolving door is sucking up teen athletes as well. The integrity of sports, if there ever was some, has all but vanished. The phrase, "If you ain't cheating, you ain't trying," has become a punch phrase. Cheating is nothing more than getting a competitive edge.

What should I do? Should I admit that I root for the unethical? Should I remind you that I do that all the time? Should I believe that I can make a difference? No. Do nothing. Let it happen. All I care about is the entertainment.

Written with the help of the famous Walker Wood.

The Take Over

Have you ever come up with a special idea or coined a phrase, and then someone, probably that annoying friend  of yours steals it? They just take a hold of... whatever it may be... and signed their Herby Hancock all over it. Sometimes it can be flattering that they are copying you, imitation is the highest form of praise, but then again, it can be really annoying. For example. I used to write on my brothers blog. I was a pretty consistent contributor, then he started to invite others to write on his blog. The blog went from being a music sharing, idea flowing, feel good blog to one of competition. Authors pitted again each other, pride blinding their writing and comments to see who could receive the most attention. I would go on to the blog with the intention of posting, but would lose my nerve when I would see the latest post and argumentative banter. Overnight, the blog changed. The identity was forgotten.

This has to be one of the most frustrating things to happen in ones life. Take for instance the movie The Italian Job. Remember how the idea of Napster was taken from the character played by Seth Green. Or even the social network, you could argue that facebook was a stolen idea... Girls know all about this. Happens with clothes all the time. "OMG. I am mad. Sammy is only wearing that blouse because she saw me with it! She even has my clutch too! Whore!" It is just outright thievery, infringement, plagiarism, and lying. Awful. Like the color Green, Celtic green. When I think of that Celtic green it makes me want to vomit and in that vomit is a picture of Ray Allen's mom. I'm still wondering how she gets so much TV time. I wish Tebow was in the stands, in a Lakers uniform, charging towards her....

Do not take over someone else's idea, phrase, style, whatever. Don't. Please. Sneak peak at a future blog: Only ourselves to blame, with feature guest Walker Wood.

If you have nothing to post.

Post nothing at all... however, I think I have a little nugget of funniness. That has nothing to do with me in this shark costume.

Over a month ago, maybe longer, I went on a date with this girl named Trisha*. How I came to meet Trisha foreshadows what kind of a date we would have. I was at a dance party. The lights were pretty dim, frankly it was dark, but I see this girl who knows how to move. I like girls that know how to move. I make my way over to this blonde headed girl and dance with her. I get her number, which I never do, so I felt pretty good about myself. After the allotted time that guys are supposed to wait, I call her and set up a date.

Mowgli and his g/f, McCall, accompany me to pick her up. The anticipation is running high, I haven't been on a date in a LONG time. I go to her door and the girl that comes out is not the same I remember dancing with. I am a little disappointed. As we get into the car the awkwardness creeps in heavy. I ask some of the pointless first date questions, hoping that they will move the clock faster. I feel Mowgs and McCall listening to everything, which makes me even more uncomfortable.

We get to the APX building, which is a big kids playground. We decide to play horse, but after watching Trisha shoot the ball we agree that pig is a better choice. The whole concept of matching the shot and going in order is just too much for her. Maybe she was nervous, but pig might as well have been taking integrals for her. I noticed something else odd. She kept standing behind me and to the side, so creating a conversation was extremely difficult. I kept having to turn my neck at a funny angle to even see her. Then I smelt her, and realized why. I knew that smell from the dance party. Poor girl, bless her heart.

Naturally, it is now my turn to make this date better. I take her home in my car and the conversation becomes more comfortable. Then I recognize the PoPo5o. The Pearl still doesn't have lights. I pull over before his lights flash bright. She is looking confused. I explain that I am a cheap-o and still haven't replaced the lights for a year and have just been trying to dodge the police. The officer comes to the window and I get my shiznit out. He notices two things in my glove compartment that I have forgotten about, a shiny silver hip flask and my throwing knife. I see that he sees them, and he sees that I saw that he saw them, she sees that he and I saw them. I know he is wondering what I am wondering. She is probably wondering what you are wondering, we are all wondering the same thing. WHY? Why do I have a hip flask and a knife? Hip flask was from a game I played at work... I used to take swigs of it without being noticed. When people did see me, they would give me a really funny look. I promise, not a single drop of alcohol has touched that flask. The knife, you never know when you might need to throw a knife.  

I hope I have done justice to this date, because it was the worst of my life. Imagine if I was really into this girl? Gosh, I would be just heartbroken. I am glad that I went through it though. Now, on a first date if I get asked, "So, David, what has been your worst date?" I can tell this story instead of looking at some broad and say without blinking, "You."

*Trisha's name is not Trisha.