justin adler, blog, buenos aires, bahia blanca, university of arizona, brooklyn, basketball, travel, paul mcpherson

Monday, June 29, 2009

Ain't nothing but a college person

This is too good not to post. Credit to The Baseline for posting this and for my friend Andy for having it in my inbox before I woke up.


Partially transcribed below:

On next season in Milwaukee ...

Budden: You better worry about Ramon Sessions, diggin' in your a**, pause. Jennings: He's not going to be here. [inaudible] That money is going to Charlie. Budden: N****, Ramon Sessions is gonna be there. Jennings: I doubt it. Budden: They ain't go no other guards. Jennings: Ridnour. Budden: N****, get that bum-a** n**** outta here. Jennings: He's going to be a backup. Budden: To who? Jennings: To who? Who else n****?

On what happened on draft night ...

Budden: Who was hatin' on you? Jennings: Jay Bilas. Budden: What happened? You ran in the draft late or some dumb s*** like a loser? Jennings: No, I was at the hotel. This is what happened right. My agent is like "Well, we ain't hear nothing .We ain't have no guarantee." So we makin' phone calls and s*** and n***** is saying like "The workouts is great and everything and he's the best point guard but we don't know yet, we just don't know." Budden: They didn't say that about Rick Rubio, number one, and number two they didn't say you the best point guard. They said your jump shot is shaky, you got some potential, but your work ethic is bull****. You averaged 3 points. Jennings: You're a liar. I know you're lying now. Budden: I'm just telling you what they said. Jennings: That ain't nothing but a college person. Budden: Just tell me what happened. You end up running in the draft? I tunred it off after that. Jennings: No, n****, I came out there and made my appearance n**** and I had the best appearance out of all them n******. And I was the best dressed, they said, by the way. I was the best dressed.

On whether he'll start next season ...

Budden: You think you gonna start for real though? Jennings: I don't know, actually, I really don't know. Budden: I heard that n**** Scott Skiles is an a**h***. Jennings: That n**** tough, that n**** tough though. There must be a reason he liked me. There must be a reason.

On Ricky Rubio and the Knicks ...

Budden: Let me know when Minnesota get there. So I can watch Rubio light your f****** a** up. I never seen a n**** hate on Rubio so much. Jennings: [inaudible] Budden: You know what's funny? You're the only guard in the draft talking s*** about Rubio. Jennings: The other n***** are scared. Budden: What are you going to do when Rubio comes to the Knicks? Jennings: Rubio is not coming, they are not giving up Rubio. You got Jordan Hill, you happy with that? Budden: I don't really know enough about Jordan Hill to be happy ... I'm happy with Toney Douglas. Jennings: I know they were booing this n****. Budden: What does that mean? They boo everybody n****. Jennings: If it was Stpehen Curry, them n***** would've went crazy in there. Budden: Shut the f*** up, you don't even know nothing about New York basketball. Jennings: F*** the Knicks, them n***** skipped out on me. Budden: Oh man, you feel to the Knicks like I do about Jay-Z? [Laughs] Yo, the Knicks is your Jay-Z? Jennings: F*** the Knicks, them n***** is always going to be weak. Budden: This is where I f****** hang up on your f****** ass for talking stupid. Jennings: Duhon ain't gonna get it done.

Friday, June 26, 2009

Draft Day/Sad Day 2009

Here is the 2009 WPM NBA Draft review:

• After a ridiculously long middle-of-the-night commute, I arrived at the Garden just before 6 a.m. I was unsure how early I should arrive before the tickets went on sale at 11 a.m., so I figured showing up a good five hours early would be playing it safe. I had been looking forward to attending the draft ever since I thought about moving to NYC, so I was set on doing whatever it took to attend the draft.

• There were already a good 40 people in front of me, including one kid rocking an authentic DKV Joventut Ricky jersey.

• I have never once had a nightmare where I walked naked into a public setting, but showing up to the NBA draft without a jersey was like living that nightmare for five hours. I have never felt so naked and I will never forgive myself for not bringing my D. Miles Cleveland Jersey to NYC. It would have killed.

• It was rather serene to be on the streets at such an early hour. Except there was a homeless guy 10 feet away from the line who was either rehearsing his soliloquy of Billy Madison speaking gibberish or he was just stung the fuck out. He went on for a good 30 minutes incoherently yelling at a light pole. I respected his dedication to his craft.

• There was a white guy rocking an Iguodala Sixers jersey backwards, which I believe means he's a Sixers fan in distress. Where as if you are a black guy wearing a jersey backwards it means you are Nelly in the "Tip Drill" video.

• Other dope jerseys I saw in the line: A Warriors Spree jersey, An NYC Spree jersey (I can't tell you how much I hate Gallinari fake Spree jerseys), a NYC Jamal Crawford jersey, about 500 Patrick Ewing jerseys, a dirty Bobcats warm-up jersey, and a dirtier Spanish national team Ricky jersey.

• There is a banner that hangs inside the Garden's entrance that commemorate The Liberty's (NYC's WNBA team) first home game, in which they defeated the Mercury (Phoenix's WNBA team). That one still hurts.

• I still don't understand what color the Mercury wore in their inaugural season.

• The five-hour wait was saved by a nice camping chair, a good book and a bag of pretzels. I was also entertained by the kids in front of me who spent two hours passing a notepad back and forth writing their own mock draft. It was pretty solid as every pick ended with the phrase "via trade."

• I was also allowed ample time to contemplate the absurdity of the situation. Fans will pay thousands of dollars to watch a guy throw a ball into a metal rim, hit a ball with stick of wood or any other sport you want to break down to the simplest level. But I am calling in sick to work and waiting in line for over five hours to watch kids the age of my younger brother walk across a stage and shake an old Jewish dude's hand.

• Guys from the Knicks PR street team began passing out Knicks towels and postcards encouraging fans to buy season tickets. Since there currently is no real face of the Knicks, the card had a picture from inside the Garden of the Knicks playing the Nets with the scoreboard showing the Knicks down 65-52.

• Eventually after more than five hours of waiting, which involved a fair amount of anxiety that I would not even be able to buy tickets, I got the golden ticket (15 bucks and in 6 rows deep in he highest section of the theater) and I went home to take a victory nap.

• I was awoken once from my slumber by a call from work, which I promptly ignored. Ten minutes later work called again. This time I picked up thinking they would have some trivial question to ask me. I was wrong. They called to tell me I was fired. After ending the call I began to lose my mind quite a bit. How could they do this to me on my special day and less importantly how could they do this to me on Brandon Jennings' special day.

Actually Brandon Jennings was completely removed from my mind as I began pacing back and forth in the hallway trying to calm myself down and not dwell on the shittiness of unemployment of the past and present.

Granted it was a lame office job that I hated and the pay was comically low, but it was still an income none the less. And it was a blatant attempt to try to destroy a day I had been looking forward to for years.

• I carried on with my day and returned to the Garden an hour before the draft. I sold my extra ticket for $30, which paid for my ticket and netted me an extra 15 bones, almost making up for the lost job. I tried to get a lot more for the ticket, but the market just was not there and another scalper eloquently put it, "This draft is dead, n***** don't wanna see this shit."

• Then my friend told me Michael Jackson died. More sadness.

• Finally I got in the WaMu Theater and 30 minutes later Mr. Stern took the mic and the draft began.

• 1 - The only thing worth noting from the No. 1 pick was that I did not know Tricky Ricky was on the Clippers. The same Ricky Davis who once tried to cheat his way to a triple double.

• 2 - There was a guy wearing a black Griz Darko jersey which was trill enough as it is. But he went the extra mile and safety-pinned a paper reading "Thabeet" on the back over Milicic.

• 3 - I'm actually a big James Harden fan even though I refuse to accept the Thunder (who get nastier by the minute) as a real team. His was also killing it with his suit.

• 4 - I'd guess that we are only 30 days away from learning that Tyreke never even took his SATs to get into Memphis.

• 5 - The Wolves had no choice but to pick Rubio here, even if he refuses to play for Minny.

• 6 - I was really hoping the Wolves would pick Brandon just so they could have the two in same backcourt, but they did something just as silly and picked Jonny Flynn.

• 7- When the Warriors stole Stephen Curry off the board I would describe the atmosphere inside the theater as somewhere between 9/11 and Michael Jackson's death. Word to Ochocinco.

• 8 - I think Stern just finished enunciating the J in Jordan Hill's name when Knicks fans began to boo. I booed with them because why the fuck not? When asked what I thought about Hill by a Knicks fan, I told him that Hill was a dumber A'm'ar'e Stoudemire, if that is possible. Side note: I sat in the Suns war room for the 2006 NBA Draft. I still have the official media guide which lists the top 300 players eligible for the 2006 Draft. That media guide does not include Renaldo Balkman, who the Knicks chose with their 20th pick in the '06 Draft. Few can fuck up drafts like the Knicks.

• 9 - Including Demar Derozan, I have seen 6 of the first 13 picks play in person, in case you were curious.

• 10 - Brandon Jennings. Finally the moment I have been waiting my entire life for. And he is not in the fucking building. Can this day get any fucking worse. I waited five hours in line just to say I was there when Brandon was drafted and see some ridiculous Italian suit and the motherfucker does not even show up. I am seriously depressed at this point.

• 11 through 13 - Don't matter. I sit alone in the Theater and want to cry. I plan on waiting for the Suns to fuck up the 14th pick and then bounce.

• 14 - "With the 14th pick in the 2009 NBA Draft the Phoenix Suns select Earl Clark from the University of Louisville, Clark is not in attendance tonight. (Pause) But... The Milwaukee Bucks' pick Brandon Jennings is now here," Stern declares. And like a little kid on Christmas my eyes light up and a big smile returns to my face. Brandon awkwardly comes out from behind the stage and blows kisses to the crowd and then gives a belated handshake to the Commish.

• Then the No. 13 pick Tyler Hansbrough exits through aisle next to the lunatic fans I am sitting with. Most other players receive warm cheers and high fives as they exit, but not Hansbrough. Everyone boos Psycho T as he walks by. The kid next to me, who was no bigger than me (5'9," 145) gets within 8 inches of Hansbrough's face and screams "Faggot!" at Hansbrough (6'9," 250). Many others join in and begin to loudly question his sexuality. Then one kid, appropriately enough wearing a Knicks Starbury jersey, knocks Hansbrough's draft cap off his head. He is quickly apprehended by security and escorted out of the building to chants of "MVP!" and we all offer him high fives in support of his bold act of bravery.

Brandon Jennings quickly follows and I give him a high five. Sure I don't have a job, paying rent is going to be a struggle soon and Brandon Jennings, 3 years my younger, just secured himself a contract for a couple more million on top of the $2 million he earned in Italy; but for that second all seemed right in the world.

• For the record I don't know shit about Earl Clark and I don't really care. Also when Hansbrough was drafted one fan behind me began chanting "Austin Croshere!" unfortunately nobody picked up on it.

• I was excited for the Suns to bomb the upcoming season with hopes of getting John Wall next year... Until Gould reminded me that the Suns gave away their 2010 first-round unprotected pick along with Kurt Thomas for a conditional second round pick. Enjoy that top five pick next year OKC.

• I later bumped into Bruce Pascoe, gotta respect your local Tucson beat writers.

• I bounced around the theater some more and ran into the Jennings clan. I saw a skinny kid in a nice suit with the Bucks draft cap. I yelled Brandon at him twice until I realized it was a his little brother Terrence, who if you don't know is the coolest kid in the universe and you would expect far too cool to remember meeting me multiple times before.

• A group of fans waved an Israeli flag and celebrated when Israel-born Omri Casspi was selected. Later I saw a guy wearing a shirt reading "Palestine Spyders," I would have like to see his reaction to Casspi's selection.

• The remaining fans began chanting "Jeff Van Gundy" until the former Knicks coach and current ESPN announcer acknowledged them, to which they responded with cheers. They repeated the process with Mark Jackson. And they began chanting "Bilas sucks!" God bless draft fans.

• I finally saw one of my journalism heroes Lang Whitaker in the flesh. I shouted "Hey Lang!" at him and he turned around from the media section. I told him I was a long-time Linkstigator and he gave me solid finger point of respect. If you guys understood how long and how much I have read of Lang's work you would understand how amazing that is.

• I was really, really upset that I did not run into the Stephen A. Smith Heckling Society of Gentlemen. That guy is one of my personal heroes, but on a lesser scale than Lang Whitaker.

• I stayed for the first few picks of the second round just to see the NBA Deputy Commissioner Adam Silver, who was greeted to chants of "We want Russ," in reference to Russ Granik, the former Deputy Commissioner, who announced the second round until 2006. I hope you all can appreciate how insanely hardcore these fans were.

• I left the draft in a decent mood, still a little messed up over losing my job. But if I learned anything on the day, it's that going to the draft is not about having a good time. For New Yorkers its about having your GM pick a brain-dead, raw power-forward in hopes that he will compliment a superstar you probably won't be able to sign in 2010; and leaving the theater furious as a result. And for the rest of us, it's seeing one young kid after another make more money in a night than most of us will ever see in a lifetime.

• Here are some pics I took on the day:

Young Money now a Buck.

Hansbrough before he was de-capped.

This lady was quite bizarre.


Monday, June 22, 2009

Ordinary people

This is a story I have been meaning to run for a while and it has a lot of footnotes.

While I was moving my suitcases from my previous stripper/coke apartment to my current stoner/disgusting (that is in the past now) apartment I noticed a treadmill on the street that had a sign reading "Take me, I work."

Jackpot. I have no idea what a real winter is like, but I have been told you cannot go outside, so a treadmill seemed like a nice device to have. I tried to move it 300 feet to my previous apartment by myself, but I could not because the wheels were broke and it was too heavy.

Because I am delusional and I thought someone would take my precious find within 60 seconds, I ran back into my apartment to try to get my neighbor Kenny1 to help me out. I burst into their apartment2 and Kenny was nowhere to be found. His roommate Kayvene3 sat in one of the rooms with Rhonda4.

"Kenny's not here?!" I asked.

"No," Kayvene replied.


"What do you need?"

"Nothing. Don't worry about it, enjoy yourself," I said sacrificing my treadmill so Kayvene could finish his date or whatever the fuck was going on.

Then Rhonda asked if I remembered Lauren5 from the other night and told me Lauren wanted my number. She asked me a million questions that I did not have time for. I was very short with her and I told her to have the girl call me if she wants.

I then ran downstairs because my roommates would be of no help6 and returned to the sight of my treadmill, which was still there because it was unmovable and because only three minutes had elapsed.

I was determined so I dragged the beast along the sidewalk, carving small half-circles into the cement with every two feet of progress. After I struggled for a bit, Moses7 came out of nowhere and helped me carry the treadmill inside my building.

The next day, my current roommate Grant8 came by to help me lug the treadmill to our current place. We decided it would be smart to make sure it worked first before we carried it five blocks. Fortunately Gretchen9 was outside with an extension cord hanging to the ground from her third floor window.

We plugged it in and it worked. I can now say that it feels really cool to run on a treadmill outside on a busy street.

After a long back-breaking walk, we made it back to our place with the treadmill.

Three weeks later: Lauren never called me and nobody has used the treadmill.

1. Kenny, 21, moved to NYC with much less than I did. He had never been here before he moved here two months ago. He now walks dogs to pay his rent.

2. Their apartment was big, but except they had next to no furniture. In one common room they had a corner table which held a laptop. The other common area they had three mismatched chairs and a small table. One bedroom had a bed and the other had a sleeping bag and a Guatemalan flag. Nobody in their apartment was Guatemalan.

3. I have no idea how to spell this guy's name. He is a 29-year-old Irish architect whose name is pronounced KAY-veen. He's a very nice guy.

4. I met Rhonda at a party at their place. I referenced her in an earlier blog as a female I was going after until I learned she had a 10-year-old son. She took me to a crazy art jamfest/rave once. It was very bizarre.

5. I met Lauren at the crazy art jamfest/rave. She appeared to be on an incredible amount of drugs. When I first met her, she laughed uncontrollably and asked if I was from Pennsylvania.

6. My old roommates were rarely awake between the hours of 11 am and 9 pm.

7. Moses is a Latino dude with a weird mullet, who always wears a bright orange Nascar t-shirt. He claimed to be the super of a nearby building, but I think he might be homeless. A very, very nice guy though.

8. Grant is a good dude.

9. Gretchen was my neighbor who was always sitting outside, drinking a beer and working on her screenplay. She attended the University of Oregon. She had hairy legs and lived with her partner, who I never met.

Weeks in Review

Here is a bunch of shit that happened in the last few weeks:

I moved out of my second one-month sublet in as many months in Brooklyn. That sublet was a much nicer set-up than my first, but it still had its quirks. My roommates stayed up every night until 10 a.m., to which I figured they must be using some kind of performance-enhancing drugs if they are going to play that game.

However they kept their habits well hidden until one Monday morning when I woke up to use the bathroom and I saw my roommate cutting up lines at 8:30 in the morning. I judged them for a second and then realized that I was in a shitty mood waking up for a shitty job and they were much happier and therefore winning the game of life... Until I came home that evening and they were still passed out on the couch sleeping in a room that was littered with beer cans and cigarette butts.

The other minor issue with the place was that I was renting a room from a stripper. I did not know this when I signed up, but there were a few subtle hints that gave me a this-broad-might-be-a-stripper premonition. For starters she had the thin-from-cocaine build that is the quintessential stripper body until the stretchmarks and heroine tracks come into play. Also there was a stripper pole in the hallway. Eventually in a roundabout way I received confirmation that she was a stripper, which did not bother me too much but changed my perception of the furnished room.

The cheap Ikea couch I sat on. Paid for by picking up singles off the floor. The fish tank and fish I fed every day. Paid for by a couple gross lap dances. The desk and computer chair I worked on. Bought with money pulled out of her g-string. The bed I slept on. A nice gift from her loving parents completely clean of any STDs or AIDS, or at least that's what I told myself.

I then moved into fixer-upper apartment, which took a lot of fixing-upping. It was uninhabitable by humans when we first moved in on Monday, June 1st. Then on Wednesday June 3rd, a group of Mexican painters lead by a man named Mendez began to start painting the entire place. This is roughly how the following time went down:

6/4 - Hail Mendez as the second coming of LeBron James for his hard work ethic and dramatic improvements to our basement. I declare that Mendez gave me more hope than Obama.
6/5 - Still down with Mendez and his boys. We learn they are in a mariachi band and we plan on hiring them for our first party.
6/7 - Grow tired of coming home every day and seeing his crew smoking and drinking in our house. We also stop calling Mendez "Sam" because we learn his name is Aquiles not "Sam." We realize we were confusing him with the director of American Beauty.
6/8 - Still plan on hiring their band, but only if they give us the two stereos they stole from us back.
6/10 - We become sick of the non-stop Spanish music, their presence and they fucking stole from us. And I hadn't got a good night's sleep in a week now.
6/11 - They eventually finish and our house looks 100 times better than it did. We never got the stereos back, but we negotiated a lot of free work in exchange.

On the last day I stopped giving a fuck and starting drinking and talking them. I learned that one of the workers was recently in Phoenix, except in a different capacity than my time there. He lived in a drop-house bedroom with no food or lights for 5 days before getting a ride to LA, then a ride to Chicago and eventually ending up in Brooklyn where his cousin lived. It was one of those moments that shut me the fuck up, as I was his worries involved staying in the States, providing enough money for his wife back in Mexico and eventually getting her across the border without her getting raped 20 times.

However within 48 hours I was bitching about my easy-ass job. I sit at a nice desk all day doing next to nothing. My coworkers are nice, albeit mad boring, and I can sit there all day checking my e-mail and sneaking Deadspin. I don't have to worry about being deported or providing for my wife, but it still drives me crazy and half the time I sit there thinking about how I can move and support myself in a Latin country.

I went to Philadelphia. It was fun. My friend Dustin took this picture of me which I like because I am wearing a football jersey of a country that I have never been to and I am putting A-town down although I have never been to Atlanta.

Dustin and I also saw Jim Cramer while in line for Geno's. We said hello to him and then he got in the back seat of an RX330 and left. As he sat in the back seat, I blankly stared at him thinking, "Wow. I have watched your show countless times on mute as I used the elliptical machine at the gym." Then he waved at me and I awkwardly waved back. Boo-ya.

This does not have shit to do with anything and I normally hate collegehumor, but this is too good: Every week on Entourage.

Also does not have shit to do with anything, but it's very important: Willy Northpole honored by Phoenix.

Sunday, June 21, 2009

Maybe tomorrow

So making the transition from full-time blogger to part-time blogger has been rougher than I expected. I swear to Allah that tomorrow I'll turn a million G-Mailed notes to myself into real blogs. In the mean time try to appreciate the greatness of
Brandon Jennings' Twitter.

@Korchagin write in English.

Sunday, June 14, 2009


Sorry for the lack of posting. I have been busy with the following:

- Working 45+ hours a week.
- Cleaning/Fixing up my new apartment which was a complete mess.
- Entertaining visting family that I had not seen in three months.
- Pretending to be Puerto Rican and celebrating Puerto Rican Day.
- Pretending to be African-American and going to the opening day of the E.B.C.

Once I get closer to finishing my apartment, which includes getting a bed (something I've been without for the past 2 weeks), and I find some free time, I'll throw down a grip of blogs I have been saving up.

Until then read some WPM praise from a guy who has two kids, a wife, a mortage and still finds time to update his blog almost every day. And thank you again to Jeff Pearlman for the kind words, I promise that soon enough I'll turn this back into a regularly updated blog worth reading.