Oh man, the season is still going on!? Everyone sat out of this game. Meyers scored 24, Joel Scored 21. The Thunder won, wire to wire, proving, once and for all, that  team comprised primarily of Meyers, CJ, Fraizer, Kaman, and like 20 Minutes of Lillard would not beat any team with Russell Westbrook on it in a playoff series. Hopefully, we never have to find out for sure, because something would have gone horribly wrong.



Hello there, reader. I was AT last night’s basketball game with my beloved mother. Here is what I cobbled together, memory wise:

1. This game was pretty much a wire to wire blowout. I think there was a little moment at the beginning when you thought MAYBE it could end up somewhat close, then the moment passed, like summer love, or food.

2. To be honest, whenever I actually go to a game, I don’t pay attention to the score, because I watch the game on the floor, so I don’t have like any concept of what the flow of the game was or anything like that. One time I went to a game with my dad and he said he always watched the screen and I thought, “Why would you pay all this money to watch a screen, homie.” (In fairness, my dad doesn’t like basketball) I don’t know what you do or don’t do, but I encourage you to be present in the moment at sporting events, concerts, and plays, and actually watch the human beings move in front of you. It will be great, you’ll have a mind expanding time.

3. I ate some ice cream. I thought it was good, then at the end it was a liiiiiiitle salty. I wish they had the Olive Oil Flavor, which is my favorite flavor from Popular Artisanal Ice Cream Shop In North Portland And Elsewhere (NO FREE ADS!).

4. The wolves looked pretty tired. I kept hoping LaVine would dunk on a fool, but it never happened. At one point he cocked back, then switched to a more conservative layup motion. If I were the Wolves, at this point, my only goal would be putting dudes into Vines. Wggins played really well, he always does when your boy Corbin is in the building. (I went to BOTH Hoop Summits he was in, nbd.)

5. Kevin Martin dunked, which felt like something the Blazers’ help defense was doing TO ME.

6. That flame outside the stadium is like, obscenely wasteful. I also managed to walk in the fountains without getting wet on my way to the MAX.

7. When I was riding on the Max, a woman was talking on the phone. When we were at the Killingsworth station, she said “Oh my God, this car is gonna blow up!” There was a car at the gas station and the engine was overheated to the point where you could see smoke coming out of it, but I seriously doubt it was going to blow up.

8. Kevin Garnett was at the game in a suit. Some children in TImberwolves gear got dap after the game.

9. I was very disappointed in the intro video. Also they have these things they show on the screen when someone scores that look like grind-house slides and the one for Chris Kaman makes him look like a chainsaw butcher. or human meats. (Okay, I looked at the screen A LITTLE.)



Boy, it was hard to stay awake through this game. Not because it was a bad game; it was pretty fun. But because one of the the Pelicans announcers, Joel Meyers, has an incredibly sonorous, soothing, mid-range bass voice. It’s a Schonely-type voice, that assures you all will be well. You can drift off into the unknown realm of death listening to such a voice.

Meyers and his co-worker, David Wesley, are also no fools. They know whereof they speak, and what level of enthusiasm in which to speak it. I am reaching the point of exhaustion following the Blazers this season, having taken the emotional drunk-bus-driver ride from “maybe better than last year” to “OMG THE CONFERENCE IS WIDE OPEN ANYONE CAN WIN” to “fuck it, injuries suck” and I am frankly wore out. If the Blazers had Wesley/Meyers, my heart would be calmed. New Orleans is competing for a playoff spot, and Meyers/Wesley don’t pretend that this matters. Anthony Davis is the best young talent in professional basketball, and they don’t scream bloody foul murder when he misses a shot nor engage in sickening sycopanthy when he makes a nice play.

Jesus, Paul Allen has more money than God retains after an all-night casino bender, you’d think he could lure away announcers like this. Nope. Of course, to get Wesley/Meyers, Allen would have to pay more than just their salary; he’d have to pony up extra fees to get them away. EXTRA FEES SUCK YOU COLOSSAL TICKETMASTER ASSHO

Wesley/Myers didn’t get everything right. At one point, early on, when things are lighthearted, they mentioned Lopez’s charming mascot rivalries, and jokingly wondered what psychological defect could cause RoLo to behave in such an uncouth fashion. “Maybe because he doesn’t have a mascot at home, he takes it out on mascots around the league.” No mascot at home? What about Schrunk?

In the third, there was a who-tipped-what out-of-bounds play, which Portland lost (correctly), followed on the other end by an amazing Anthony Davis save from going out-of-bounds play, where Davis scored. Rather than applaud politely, Rose Garden fans booed like 20,000 toddlers screaming “it’s not fair!” Myers/Wesley politely referred to these dingbats as “very passionate fans.” Really, Portlanders. You have one of the highest literacy rates in the country. Do you actually have to behave like idiots when it comes to rooting for the Blazers? Calm the living fuck down, already.

If it was a meaningful call, the refs would review it. With 50.8 seconds left in this game and the Blazers up by 11, the refs reviewed a call, staring forever at the replay screen as if stoned out of their minds. Then, with 30.6 left, and the same score, another replay. Which the refs quickly dismissed as if drunk out of their minds. New Orleans scored, Portland got the ball back, and nobody fouled anybody because the game was over. But They Got The Calls Right.

Call. Call! C.J. “Convoy” McCollum! (See the effortless transition? ‘Cuz his last name has a “call” syllable? Yeah, you see it.) “Convoy” almost killed me in the first half of this one, looking like pure-dee gangbusters, and making me fear I must pay attention to the playoffs. Thankfully, in the second half, New Orleans payed more attention to Convoy, and he forced shots into Large Tall Men the way Lillard, when frustrated, forces shots from Long Distances. Thank Buddha. I don’t want to watch much playoffs.

I do want to watch Anthony Davis in the future. I’m glad I didn’t have to watch him play, tonight, on the court in New Orleans. That court has a sick and wrong wood-staining design apparently meant to evoke the outstretched feathers of a majestic pelican ready for flight. It looks really creepy. As if the graphic designer dropped acid with Hitler.

Davis was off, but that happens. Sometimes guys have off nights. Sometimes guys just don’t match up well with other guys. Tim Duncan rarely matched up well with Rasheed Wallace. Does that mean Wallace was a better player? To Rose Garden fans, perhaps.

I tried showing my SO Davis’s signature unibrow last Sunday, when a Pelicans game was on the bowling-alley TV. “Look,” I’d say. “He has a signature unibrow!” The SO would look, and the camera would cut back from closeup. Apparently Davis and my SO have some kind of quantum-observation dilemma going on.

During this game I saw many closeups of Omar Asik. He resembles the big mean jock bully in every 1980’s teen movie. Chris Kaman had probably his best game as a Blazer, before or since; he resembles the distant family friend who’d show up once every two years bringing deer jerky.

Spooky-ass “Deliverance” Steve Blake can hit exactly three shots on a basketball court, and for the sake of your precious children I will list them here. One is from the left baseline edge. Another is from the right baseline edge. The third is scooping the ball into the hoop after running underneath the basket, along the baseline. Presumably he is allowed to take these shots so that he doesn’t start gnawing into anyone’s living pancreas.

Nicolas Batum has a weird beard attached to his jaw, now, something a KGB spy would glue on. It made me wonder – what would Batum look like with hair? My first instinct is to assume it would grow into a beret, baguette, and cigarette, but that’s probably wrong, it would probably just be regular people hair.




Friday night, I got blue sweats and a blue sweatshirt on, the weather is terrible, the Blazers are playing the busted ass Lakers: there is only one solution to this, and it is one of my patented WordVom recaps, where I watch the game and just write whatever.


Can I just say, Friday night, Blazer game, that is horse shit, man. I should be out with a friend or a lover or something tonight. There are some DECENT restaurants in Vancouver, WA, man. Thai Orchid, for instance, they have those good veggie sushi rolls. I could be eating them, but I’m here, with the Blazers, instead.




The Blazer clinched the Division before the game started. Or, I suppose, the Thunder let the air out of their division chances.


Aldridge misses and early three pointer. He isn’t making enough three pointers. Are any of us, really? What are our personal standards, and how are we achieving those dreams? Are we, even? Do we deserve to? Is the standard of deserve completely arbtrary? Is the only thing we truly “Deserve” death?


Easter is coming up. I think I will try to catch the Pope’s easter mass when I get back from work at around midnight. I am not a catholic, but you know, you should always seek the BEST of any-thing, and you gotta imagine, the Pope on Easter, that’s some real-shit. Lillard hits three three early. God bless him. I hope on easter, the Pop takes a minute to talk about “The young man who wears 0” and thank him for all he has done for the church and for humanity.


Ugh, they let Ryan Kelly dunk. The DUKE Ryan Kelly. Disgusting. I have a taste in my mouth, and it’s bad. It’s like toilet water, like Coach K’s favorite evening beverage. YOu read that right, Coach K drinks toilet water at night, after everyone has used the toilet. If he has something to say about it, he should sue me. He will see the fucking evidence I have. THe whole world will, in a civil court. He is a gross man, who drinks toilet water.


Alrdidge misses a corner three. The Pope shakes his head. He needs to make those shots, says the pope to his gathered cronies. “Yes, yes, Mr. Pope,” they reply, “absolutely. You know the deepest secrets of ball, Mr. Pope.”


Booze-Man misses a midrange shot. I hope the Blazers sign him next year, so we can hang out. He seems like a fun guy, and I think we have a lot in common. For instence: we both have intimate knowledge of Coach K’s “Toilet Proclivvys” Booze-man misses a paint pushy hook.


I heard “Clarkson” as “Marxon.” Jordan Clarkson is the people’s player! Once I tried to look and see if there was a blacklisted baseball player. I couldn’t find one, and I was very disappointed. That’s a whole goddamn pitch, right there. I suppose the gentleman who invted the high-five was probably blacklisted for being a homosexual. God, the world was once terrible and is not much better now.


Lillard outscored the Lakers in the first quarter. I am not COMPLETELY sure that I should be watching this game.


CJ isolates and hits a midrange shot. Cool, I guess? I mean, it’s not a GOOD play, but it is a play and it did go in. The Blazers are beating the Lakers by a lot of points. Hopefull they don’t get comebacked again. They probably won’t the Lakers are extremely bad. The Lakers are not a very good team. Neither am I. I am letting everyone else on my team down every day.


Dave Pasch feels like this is the least energetic he has seen the Staples Center. I like it, it’s listless. Every arena should be like this. Getting excited about sports, or anything, is gauche.


Instead of grabbing a rebound Meyers shoves it into the floor and it bounces in the air and Lopez grabs it. Is it just trying to turn boards into team rebounds? He doesn’t think ANYONE should get credit for rebounds, DAMNIT!


This game is a gutter. I woudn’t be surprised if the lakers sent in a sewer croc or a giant, wet teddy bear or like three hundred rats.


Did you guys see that Nancy Sinatra said that Ronan Farrow isn’t Frank’s son? Has she seen that dude!?


I mean, COME ON. Even the Pope is like “Uhh yeah, that’s Frank’s seed, clearly. I am the Pope, I ain’t lyin!” I also suspect he could play for the Lakers at this point. A censored version of “BOOM BITCH GET OUT THE WAY” in the Staples Center. C’mon, I brought my kid to this game, and to see the Pope, who is also at the game.


What I have eaten today: A banana, and indian buffet. I am like 50/50 on eating dinner. I feel a little like I am going to starve if I keep eating this game, because it is fallow. The lakes are almost certainly not going to crack forty points. Pasch just said “Happy Birthday, Big guy” to Mac Jackson and he has to be like “BIG GUY!? I’m not that tall and I am CERTAINLY Not Fat! Dave, you are taking some liberties! I expect you to apologize on air in the next segment.”


The Blazers have shot two free throws in the half. They are infamously bad at drawing fouls, but I am inclined to blame it on the Lakers looking to keep their PERs free of fouljunk.


Lead goes from 25 to 16. The Blazers need to uh, oh I don’t care. At this point, I just want what’s best for everyone in the game. Jordan Clarkson should play well, make a career for himself. I hope he does well.

During halftime I watched this Chuck Berry video. I THINK this is him playing with randos, because he was too cheap to hire a real band in those days. One of these randos can kind of shred, but the rhythm section is tremendously slapdash. He plays Johnny B. Goode for like ten minutes, and the game is starting again.


Afflalo got fouled. I have decided to make some ravioli. Mark Jackson is singing the praises of Arron, because he is an isolation player and Mark Jackson likes postup mismatches. If I knew when I was going to die, would I live a different life?


Robin got dunked on. He sacrificed himself for a shot at glory, and it crumbled in his hands, like sand. Robin collapses to the wood and weeps for what he lost. For what his team lost. For what everyone lost.


I don’t like this game because the Blazers aren’t absolutely whooping the Lakers like I wish they would. I wish something extraordinary would happen in one of these games. I suppose the fight was really cool, and there were some buzzer beaters at year’s beginning. But for the last, like, three months, these things have been draaaaaaging their hands down the street and falling asleep for five minutes and waking up and yelling “Oh my god, was there a race going on!?” Then waking up and shuffling to a finish line, win or loss be damned. Lakers pull into 13th street.


Jordan Clarkson is killing the Blazers. Majick Clarkson. If he related to Joey? Are all of us? Is Joey Crawford all of our anger, out spite, manifest in the world, congealed together, and formed into an NBA Referee?


CJ is having a great game. That’s good. I have long thought that he was juuuust short of being an NBA player, but he has been playing well lately. Maybe he will keep playing well. Maybe he won’t. Maybe I will find love, a person to share warmth with, maybe I won’t. Life is so very hard to predict. All I can hope for is CJ to be sustainably good and a love to come my way and melt my cold outsides and reveal the real person, the fiery soul underneath.


Mark Jackson points out that the Lakers are playing a shit ton of music. So do the Blazers, though, and the people in that stadium scream their faces off. I wish the Blazers had an organ. I like organs. They could play Water Music during games.


The Blazers have pulled away. Took long enough.




Your dad beat the Suns today, in a blowout. He had lost to the Suns a lot lately, but the team has been fractured by poor play in close games, internal strife, and madness.


“That’s what happens,” you dad says on the way home. “That’s what happens when you can’t keep it together.”


You want to tell your dad that those close games have so much to do with luck, that the Suns were a fun and interesting team who were running a fascinating plan before they were too unstable to continue.


“You need to have five positions, son.” He says to you. “The guard, the forward, the center, the coach. Anything less and the system will break.”


Dad is really feeling himself tonight. He was scoring left and right. The Suns were DOA, toast, Kaputt. He made it to that playoffs You are glad he won, but you wish he could just shut up on these rides home.


“And it IS about a system, son. Say that back to me.”


“Dad, this is absurd.”


A silence. It extends. You feel the chill in his heart, creeping into your own.


“…It’s about a system.”


“You’re goddamn right. A system. Purge the chaos and all that’s left is order, and you can build a castle on the order, and use the castle to crush your enemies.”


You don’t mention the fact that everyone else has a castle, and one of the knights is gone, and there is a sense of building, creeping dread around the castle, a faint whiff of disease in the villages, a feel that the black death is here and we are all just sitting and waiting for it to come. I might be soon and it might be quick, or it might be far away and slow and extracting and doomed.


Your dad arrives at the house. Can your family really afford this house?






Did the Blazers win tonight? Can you look at yourself in the mirror, with only yourself to look at, and say, “The Blazer won tonight, they won the basketball game. I regard that as a win, what I watched was the act of winning, of success, not the Blazers getting the game controlled around them falling into HEINOUS isolation basketball, which they stink at, and eventually winning be default because Trey Burke farted out like ten possessions in a row and the Blazers managed to attack the basket and succeed against Rudy ‘THE FIELD WITCH’ Gobert.” Run on sentences!


What are the reasons for this recent strip of uninspired play? What has sunk the Blazers into an emotional bog, the sort that would qualify that horrible game as a win to pump your fist about? I will investigate:




TWO: ACTUALLY ARRON ISN’T WORSE THAN WES, PER SE, WELL, HE IS A LITTLE, BUT HE DOESN’T FIT NEARLY AS WELL. Wing post ups and isolations, these were not the currency of the Blazers until recently, when they lost Wes.




FOUR: WILL BARTON! You don’t just trade a dude with that spiritual energy and expect to get by. It says so, in the Bible, which is My Antonia By Willa Cather.


FIVE: JOHN KITZHABER. Look, guys. John was a man in love, and you spit in his face. I didn’t, I am a lifelong Washington resident, but you did. You should have accepted his light corruption, because he did it in the name of love. But now, Cupid herself* has looked upon this action and decided you basketball team must suffer for your crimes against love. Congratulations, you impertinent Oregonians. We never would have done this where I’M from!


SIX: EVERYONE IS EITHER INJURED OR THEY’VE PLAYED LIKE A BILLION MINUTES AND THEIR BODIES ARE NOW OPENLY REJECTING BASKETBALL. THis seems more likely than anything. Lillard was good tonight, but other nights, oy vey, he is looking like he could use a blow. Someday, every team will do this, like the Spurs do, and you’ll think about these games like fun off-games, where funny players do weird stuff against each other. Hopefully, teams institute good natured rotations with rest, so they have sort of similarly disabled lineups. It would be really fun!


SEVEN: LUCK. Why not. Fate is out there, pulling levers we cannot see. We should accept these movements with open hearts.


EIGHT: ORDER. The NBA is fundamentally of nature, and nature is fundamentally of order. Or perhaps order is of nature, or our perception of order is of nature. I am not a philosopher, it’s just killing the Blazers right now.

*all gods are women at this website



God bless the Blazers’ first half effort. Scrapping and shooting their way to a modest lead over the Warriors at halftime, it was enough to bring your family to tears. My son, Angus, he pulled my sweater and he said “Daddy, are the Blazers going to win the big one this year?”


I didn’t have the heart to tell him. Abnormal shooting. All this energy pouring out on the floor. The Warriors looking lackadaisical, almost disengaged. It couldn’t last. But I wanted Angus to have some hope, some joy. SO I said.


“Sure, son. The Blazers are gonna win the big one.”


Suffice to say, when the second half rolled around and the Warriors turned into a fucking basketball phalanx that was made of smoke and fire in equal measure, things got hairy in my household. Angus bit his nails. Then, he cried. Then he looked at me, straight in my eyes and he yelled, so loud the whole neighborhood could hear:




Then he stormed to his room.


When his mother walked in to check on him, he had carved a Warriors logo into the wall and torn his Raymond Felton jersey in half (It was on sale, I am not a wealthy man!).

I feel I have made a huge mistake.



(Recap by J-Ames Filmore)

The magical, friendly gnomes who usually deliver entirely-legal streams of NBA games to my broke-dick, long-suffering, still-alive computer were off point tonight. Usually I can choose between home and away streams; tonight I just got the Memphis local feed. Apparently most Americans are watching college players not good enough to declare for the NBA. Well, I suppose gambling is fun, or otherwise people wouldn’t engage in it.

Missing the Blazers commentary does not exactly qualify as a hardship; I think that defines a “first world problem.” Life’s mysterious glory loses little of its luster when you can’t hear Mike Rice repurpose intestinal blockage through his vocal chords. And the Memphis TV announcers were largely savvier than Kyle Hightower of the Associated Press, whose recap of Portland’s defeat by Orlando on Friday included the phrase “head-scratching trend” to describe the Blazers’ losing streak.

You scratch your head when you have lice; lice are irritating. Nobody scratches their head when they’re confused, and nobody should be confused about why this season is swirling down the toilet bowl for Portland. They lost their best defender, their best offensive player is muddling through with one-and-a-half hands. Nic Batum has some weird injury stuff and I have no shorthand to describe his role. Not “glue guy,” that’s lazy shit writing. “French guy” is accurate but lacks precision.

Batum and LMA left this game, the one you’re reading about right now, fairly early due to They Shouldn’t Be Playing At All, The Season Is Over, and didn’t return. The Memphis announcers correctly, unlike Mr. Hightower, identified Portland’s struggles being due to “a desperate team losing players by the minute.”

They also made some ish-y comments. “Jeff Green came tonight to play basketball,” alright, I can live with that, it’s enthusiasm, although I suspect every other professional athlete on the court also came to play basketball. “The last nine points were scored by the brother from another mother.” I have no idea what that meant. It probably referred to Pau Gasol, who at that point had scored three points in a row, not nine, and whom has a famous NBA brother, not from another mother. OK, I get it; yes, Memphis fans, Pau was underrated for a long time. Nobody underrates him anymore.

And at one point the aforementioned Jeff Green was referred to as “Uncle Jeff Green.” Woah. No way. If this is the actual nickname Grizzlies fans have for Jeff Green, a good player and fabulous acquisition for that team, then something is horribly, horribly wrong. Nobody south of the Mason-Dixon line, and nobody above it, for that matter, is allowed to call an African-American male “uncle” unless he’s actually a parent’s sibling. You just can’t do that.

With 2:47 to go, Zach Randolph, another good player, hit a three, the Blazers called timeout, and the Memphis arena DJ put on “Whoomp! (There It Is.)” I didn’t think I could dislike fans of any sports team, fans are people after all, but “Whoomp” and the “Uncle Jeff” comment make me intensely dislike Grizzlies fans. I should probably stop watching sports.

Do you need to read my take on how the Blazer players did? They were alright. Lillard, a mesmerizing work in progress, eschewed his hero-ball “shoot desperately from under a huge pile of Orcs” tendency, that’s nice. Dorell Wright showed gumption and dumbness, he’s probably underused. I’m not sure Coach Stotts has any clue what to do with his bench, such as it is, but I cannot say, I have never been an NBA coach.

My favorite moment of the contest came near the end; Portland was done, everyone knew it, and yet the refs called Randolph for an offensive foul against Myers Leonard. Randolph glowered at Leonard. Leonard stuck one hand up and entwined it in the net’s webbing, glowering back. A bit nervously, sure, since one is an established NBA star and the other is just finally putting his game together. But, hey — you take moments of growth when you can get them. Kudos, Leonard, kudos. You hang onto that net, Uncle Myers.



This game is happened on the Friday of March Madness, at four in the afternoon, while Oregon was playing. I think its safe to say that you didn’t watch it. As a matter of fact, no one watched it. I am the only person who watched it. Here is what happened, since you probably don’t know:


The Blazers were wearing uniforms made of potato sacks, in deference to the idea of communal sacrifice. Stotts was dressed like a Dickensian man of capital, with a bowler and a little eyeglass.  He barked at the players and chewed on a cigar, in a kind of concept play of the industrial revolution.


The Orlando Magic were playing a remix of the underground zones in Super Mario Brothers. Then the sound operator fell asleep into his microphone. For the next two hours, the entire stadium was flooded with the up-close sound of his snoring and a tacky remix of a video game song. It quickly became a nightmare and all but the most avant garde Magic fans left at halftime.


Chris Kaman scooped up a CJ McCollumn miss at the rim and dropped it back in. Then he pulled a flower out from behind his ear and handed it to a five year old girl in the front row. Everyone clapped, because the Magic scored on the other end.


The refs went to look at the replay review in Secaucus and it played an episode of “The Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt” instead. They stood there for twenty two minutes, watching a whole episode of Kimmy and Titus’s adventures.


Ben Gordon played. He is in the NBA.


Mike Rice said “This team will eat pudding during a game” because the camera picked up Andrew Nicholson eating pudding. This always drives me crazy, this horrible confirmation bias thing he does, saying “He’ll do that” right after someone does something, no matter how unlikely it was. Just because Nicholson was eating ONE PUDDING doesn’t mean he always eats pudding!


Luke Ridnour bit himself after missing a shot, ran his finger over the cut, and scored five points and forced a turnover in twenty seconds. Once the taste of his own blood would get him twenty, thirty points. But now, he can hardly make himself walk up a flight of stairs on that kind of blood. He would need to find a new fuel. But where!? WHERE!?


Kyle O’Quinn and Victor Olidipo ran a pick and pop. O’Quinn’s shot his the back iron. He pumped his fist and yelled “ALRIGHT, I HIT THE BACKIRON! I CAN THROW THE BALL FAR AS HELL!”


The broadcast suggested you go see Madonna at the Rose Garden on the Rebel Heart Tour. She hasn’t been to Portland since the Borderline tour! I was there! I grabbed her jean vest and ironed all of my Cub Scout patches to it.


Lamarcus Aldridge posted up on a dude, took three dribbles, went into the lane, and laid it in without contest. A French painting wept.


The Blazers let the Magic score 58 points in one half. In fairness, everyone on the Magic was given an extra inch of height before the game, and had it taken away at the half. Height makes you good at basketball, so it was a real problem!


When the second half started the Blazers were down two points. They got in a huddle. “Hey guys,” said the leader, “We need to get it together and make business happen. We are in a business here, we need to make that point money.” Everyone said “Wow leader (I think it was Thomas Robinson??? We are inspired. Let’s go out there and make business!”


So they made business and they were up, when a magicman got fouled. He missed the first shot and also missed the second.  Oladipo was stalled at the rim by Lopez. A machine fired up in the distance. It was a point factory, and it had a shipment for the Blazers. THey opened the box. It had a bunch of points But would it be enough!?


Meyers came into the game and grabbed the ball and started barking at it, like a lion. A mighty lion’s bark. He said “You don’t like me but you will respect me and you will do what I say!”


Chris Kaman was injured when he went bowling at halftime and had to miss the rest of the game.


LaMarcus became the Blazers all time leading rebounder. He beat Clyde Drexler, which made the accomplishment seems somehow less important, seeing Drexler was a guard. This is really, more than anything, a testament to the Blazers’ habitual problems with big men.


Alexy Shved played. He scored 7 points. He’s on the Magic. He was waived by the Sixers and signed with the Magic. You didn’t watch this game, you could never prove me wrong.


One of the refs sprained his ankle. The trainer looked at him and he had to leave the game. He was replaced by the alternate.


The Magic went ahead in the fourth quarter because they tried really hard. Everyone was really happy. The Blazer announcers said “Well it’s okay because I think the Magic deserve this because they’re trying too hard. I congratulate them, and their fans, and the entire state of Florida.


Terry got mad about turnovers and started eating whole turnovers on the sideline. “IS THIS WHAT YOU WANT,” he yelled at the team, “DO YOU WANT YOUR FRIEND TERRY TO BE A TURNOVER FATTY!”


Then, Lamarcus made a long two pointer. Then, the Magic made two points. This cycle rolled down the street to its inevitable home, an open manhole. The Blazers were devoured by the king of crocodiles who is a Florida resident and a registered voter (Republican.).


“The last time a rookie had back to back triple-doubles was in 1997. Antoine Walker.”