The Coach is KILLING Me!

Apperently, there ARE Cinderellas

I don't really understand the new Nike/Jordan ad where they say "There are no Cinderellas" as the clock strikes midnight and Georgetown practices. They then show clips of teams beating Georgetown, like Villanova and UNC. I guess the point is that everybody works hard? Or that Georgetown is going to be damn sure that there are no more Cinderellas by wearing Jordan gear?

Nonetheless, even though I had Georgetown winning a couple more games, I thoroughly enjoyed watching them lose. It has to do with the inordinate amount of attention they continued to get in the mid-90s when GW was actually better (living off the Ewing days), the fact that people often get confused and call "George Washington" "Georgetown," and  because everyone who went there thinks that the only people who go to GW are the ones who couldn't get into Georgetown (hey, I didn't even apply). The fact that both my college roommates married Georgetown girls has not caused me to lighten up at all. So, in lieu of writing anything particularly new to celebrate the loss, I bring you something I wrote in 1999, where I compare Georgetown to the most evil people in the history of the Earth. Classy, huh?

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An Unholy Journey
February 3, 1999

Last night, I did something I thought I would never do. An unspeakable act so sick and wrong that I always prided myself of not being capable of it.

I went to a Georgetown basketball game.

Now, this might not seem like a big deal to you, especially if you don't know me well (count yourself among the lucky ones if that is so). But I have, shall we say, a strong dislike for Georgetown University in general, and their basketball team in specific. I'll save the space and not delve into the many reasons right now, but suffice to say that I am absolutely sick of the hype that the program has been riding since Patrick Ewing's days 15 years ago, even though they haven't had a decent season in several years and they recruited that thug Allen Iverson, and couldn't even win a championship with Mourning AND Mutumbo, and refuse to play local teams but instead fill their schedule with Division III teams, and I popped open the champagne when John Thompson resigned (when friends from out of town ask me if I know why he left, I have been spreading the "alcohol problem" rumor that I just made up) and .....

Whoops! Sorry, I started to delve anyway.

So how did I end up at the MCI Center last night to watch these minions of evil? I assure you that I went with the noblest of reasons -- free beer.

Guinness was holding a free beer tasting at Velocity Grill, the bar attached to the MCI Center, and due to my connections in the liquor and entertainment industries, I was afforded an invite. I didn't even know that Georgetown had a game that night until I got there. After a few minutes of being assaulted by ticket scalpers wearing their Georgetown best (selling at extremely discounted prices, I may add), I realized what must have been happening. I put my head down, avoided eye contact, and went into the bar blocking out all the bad energy.

The tasting was more of a promotional event for Guinness's world-record toast coming up at the end of the month, but I missed the boring stuff, and bellied up to the bar for all the Guinness, Bass, Harp and McCafferey's I could put down. Later in the evening, Josh, a friend of mine who owns several bars (and one of the reasons I was there), asked the fateful question:

"So, do want to go to the game? They gave us free tickets."

"Who are they playing?" I asked.

"Pittsburgh."

Okay, I can root for Pittsburgh, I thought. But was it worth it? I wouldn't be paying for the tickets, so none of my money would be going to into Georgetown's coffers. Still, I would be at a Georgetown game. What if some one saw me?

"Oh, also, I can get you into the Anheuser-Bush box suite." Josh added.

"Let's go!" I said.

With that, I entered the forbidden world of the luxury box. Finally, I would experience the driving force behind new stadiums and arenas these days, even if it was a Georgetown game.

We went into the arena, surrounded by all the people in full Georgetown regalia, and walked around the concourse towards the "Bud Box," as we started calling it. As I looked around, I could see the court with "Georgetown" on it, could hear them announcing upcoming games, and nearly ran over a guy selling big foam Georgetown fingers. I felt like the scene in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade where Indy and his dad are in Berlin during a Nazi rally. I leaned over to Josh, and said with my best Sean Connery voice (which isn't that great of a Sean Connery voice):

"We are pilgrims in an unholy land."

We eventually got to Suite 119, the aforementioned Bud Box, and were greeted by a security guard (you don't want the common masses filtering in, do you?), and let in. We entered what looked like a hotel suite that had a basketball game going on outside the window. This is much better view than most of the hotels I stay at, which always seem to have the New Jersey Turnpike outside the window, even when I'm in another state. Josh introduced me to the "Bud Boy," as we started calling him.

"You look familiar to me," he said. For a brief moment, I thought he was hitting on me.

"That's just because he's consumed so much of your products," Josh shot back, breaking the sexual tension.

"Well, if you would like some more product, we have a full refrigerator," Bud Boy told me.

So, for the next couple of hours, we drank free beer, talked about the Bud commercials during the Super Bowl, and discussed important restaurant business. Well, I assumed that important business was discussed, isn't that what these boxes are for? I was actually talking to these girls who went to Pitt (oh, I'm sorry, it's Pittsburgh now), one of whom was born in the same hospital I was (Nesbitt Memorial, Kingston, PA). A minor point, I know, but after enough of the free "product," it was very important to me, almost like I was meeting my long lost sister. Everyone was very nice, and I met a couple of other bar owners and more people from Bud. I figure these are the type of relationships I should be cultivating -- my friends can't get me anything cool like free beer. Most of them could only sue me or sign me up for an exciting new long-distance calling plan.

So, in the end, my visit to the dark side of the Force wasn't really that bad. Maybe if I join with Georgetown, together we can rule the galaxy as father and son. Perhaps I should give into my hate.

Or maybe that's just the luxury box talking.

Hip Hop Dare

This week, the bad jersey site Straight Cash Homey featured the jersey of one Yinka Dare, the 1994 first round pick by the New Jersey Nets. As someone who has a tendency of making fun of draft busts, you might think that I would just chuckle at the poor soul who bought that jersey. In fact, I kinda wish I had one.

You see, Yinka Dare and I went to school together -- I graduated from The George Washington University in 1993 (wow, I feel old typing that). That year, led by SI's Freshman of the Year (in your face, Jason Kidd), GW not only made it into the tournament for the first time since the 50's, but actually made it to the sweet 16. Considering that the Colonials were coming off a 1-27 season when I got there, this was quite an amazing accomplishment. (This also reminds me that Dare was the inspiration for what has to be the world's worst sign: Every School Phears our Nigerian. Why ESPN didn't put us on TV, I'll never know) He left after his sophomore season for the NBA, where he went from program savior to laughingstock.

His rookie year, he played a grand total of 3 minutes, and I am proud to say that I witnessed those three minutes. It was the fifth game of the season, and it marked Yinka's return to Washington as an NBA player. We went out to the old Cap Centre to watch the Bullets (starting five of Googs, Cheaney, Duckworth, Skiles, and Chapman) take on Butch Beard's Nets. The Bullets built up a sizable lead, and yet Yinka sat on the bench. We yelled and cheered for the Nets to put Yinka in, and finally, with the game fully in garbage time, they did.

It was quite the confusing, conflicting moment. We were bitter that he had come out early and abandoned our team, but he was still our Yinka. We booed him when he got on the court, and demanded that they feed him the ball (there weren't a whole lot of people at the game to begin with, so by this point, everyone could hear us), and cheered when they did. He immediately threw up an air ball. We taunted him. The next time down the court, the ball just bounced off his hands and out of bounds. We roared. At the end of the game, his stat sheet read: 3 minutes, 0-1 shooting, 1 TO, 1 rebound, 2 PF. He didn't play again that year, and I didn't realize until I looked it up just now that I had witnessed the entirety of his rookie year's playing time.

As the years went on, I just felt sorry for him. He lost a lot of his money in a real estate scam/deal, he had an epic quest for an assist, his teammates teased him, after he was cut by the Orlando Magic he tried to sneak into the team picture, and he died in 2004 of a heart attack while making breakfast. He holds a special place in my sporting heart -- after all, he was the center (no pun intended) of GW's best basketball team ever and the only Colonial ever drafted in the NBA.

So here's to you Yinka Dare. Don't let the bastards get you down (posthumously).

I leave you with this awesome video that most of you will never be able to get through. It features an interview with Yinka by a student looking to be a journalist, Sonni Holland's flat top, and "Hip Hop Hooray" -- the '93 Colonials theme song. So Hip Hop Dare...

An Unholy Journey

Last night, I did something I thought I would never do. An unspeakable act so sick and wrong that I always prided myself of not being capable of it.

I went to a Georgetown basketball game.

Now, this might not seem like a big deal to you, especially if you don't know me well (count yourself among the lucky ones if that is so). But I have, shall we say, a strong dislike for Georgetown University in general, and their basketball team in specific. I'll save the space and not delve into the many reasons right now, but suffice to say that I am absolutely sick of the hype that the program has been riding since Patrick Ewing's days 15 years ago, even though they haven't had a decent season in several years and they recruited that thug Allen Iverson, and couldn't even win a championship with Mourning AND Mutumbo, and refuse to play local teams but instead fill their schedule with Division III teams, and I popped open the champagne when John Thompson resigned (when friends from out of town ask me if I know why he left, I have been spreading the "alcohol problem" rumor that I just made up) and .....

Whoops! Sorry, I started to delve anyway.

So how did I end up at the MCI Center last night to watch these minions of evil? I assure you that I went with the noblest of reasons -- free beer.

Guinness was holding a free beer tasting at Velocity Grill, the bar attached to the MCI Center, and due to my connections in the liquor and entertainment industries, I was afforded an invite. I didn't even know that Georgetown had a game that night until I got there. After a few minutes of being assaulted by ticket scalpers wearing their Georgetown best (selling at extremely discounted prices, I may add), I realized what must have been happening. I put my head down, avoided eye contact, and went into the bar blocking out all the bad energy.

The tasting was more of a promotional event for Guinness's world-record toast coming up at the end of the month, but I missed the boring stuff, and bellied up to the bar for all the Guinness, Bass, Harp and McCafferey's I could put down. Later in the evening, Josh, a friend of mine who owns several bars (and one of the reasons I was there), asked the fateful question:

"So, do want to go to the game? They gave us free tickets."

"Who are they playing?" I asked.

"Pittsburgh."

Okay, I can root for Pittsburgh, I thought. But was it worth it? I wouldn't be paying for the tickets, so none of my money would be going to into Georgetown's coffers. Still, I would be at a Georgetown game. What if some one saw me?

"Oh, also, I can get you into the Anheuser-Bush box suite." Josh added.

"Let's go!" I said.

With that, I entered the forbidden world of the luxury box. Finally, I would experience the driving force behind new stadiums and arenas these days, even if it was a Georgetown game.

We went into the arena, surrounded by all the people in full Georgetown regalia, and walked around the concourse towards the "Bud Box," as we started calling it. As I looked around, I could see the court with "Georgetown" on it, could hear them announcing upcoming games, and nearly ran over a guy selling big foam Georgetown fingers. I felt like the scene in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade where Indy and his dad are in Berlin during a Nazi rally. I leaned over to Josh, and said with my best Sean Connery voice:

"We are pilgrims in an unholy land."

We eventually got to Suite 119, the aforementioned Bud Box, and were greeted by a security guard (you don't want the common masses filtering in, do you?), and let in. We entered what looked like a hotel suite that had a basketball game going on outside the window. This is much better view than most of the hotels I stay at, which always seem to have the New Jersey Turnpike outside the window, even when I'm in another state. Josh introduced me to the "Bud Boy," as we started calling him.

"You look familiar to me," he said. For a brief moment, I thought he was hitting on me.

"That's just because he's consumed so much of your products," Josh shot back, breaking the sexual tension.

"Well, if you would like some more product, we have a full refrigerator," Bud Boy told me.

So, for the next couple of hours, we drank free beer, talked about the Bud commercials during the Super Bowl, and discussed important restaurant business. Well, I assumed that important business was discussed, isn't that what these boxes are for? I was actually talking to these girls who went to Pitt (oh, I'm sorry, it's Pittsburgh now), one of whom was born in the same hospital I was (Nesbitt Memorial, Kingston, PA). A minor point, I know, but after enough of the free "product," it was very important to me, almost like I was meeting my long lost sister. Everyone was very nice, and I met a couple of other bar owners and more people from Bud. I figure these are the type of relationships I should be cultivating -- my friends can't get me anything cool like free beer. Most of them could only sue me or sign me up for an exciting new long-distance calling plan.

So, in the end, my visit to the dark side of the Force wasn't really that bad. Maybe if I join with Georgetown, together we can rule the galaxy as father and son. Perhaps I should give into my hate.

Or maybe that's just the luxury box talking.