Of relationships, good and bad, and some real estate news
Anybody else got this crappy head cold that’s going around, making one feel like there’s an anvil inside your cranium? Just wondering.
And I believe it makes you hallucinate a bit ‘cause this piece of paper in front of me with all kinds of numbers on it says something about the Torontos winning another basketball game.
|ANDREW WALLACE/TORONTO STAR|
|As if he hasn't had enough trouble with injuries. Calderon shrugged off a dislocated finger last nigh to lead Raps past Bucks.|
Back to the Nyquil, I guess.
But first …
Action: Jose’s game
Reaction: What if …
I know it’s a silly idea to even think about it but what if Calderon doesn’t strain his hamstring in November and hurt it again in January and doesn’t miss 14 complete games and be hobbled in probably a dozen others?
Does it mean 10 more wins out of those 26? Eight? Twelve?
I can’t, won’t, put a number on it but, believe me, there are people around that locker room who think it’s a double-digit and truly believe they’d be getting ready for the playoffs now if he hadn’t been injured and seeing last night, it’s hard to argue against them.
But as my man Sam used to say:
“If ifs were fifths we’d all be drunk.”
If you’re trying to figure out a good way to explain some of the antics of this team this year, Jose probably summed it up as well as anyone yesterday morning after shootaround.
“We lost so many stupid games or something like that.”
Someone over in the comments section yesterday asked me to elaborate a little bit – without getting into specifics – on the general relationship between beat grunts and columnist at newspapers.
Generally, and this holds true for your favourite grunt, it’s a really good working relationship; guys will talk about what angle they’re going to take after games or on off-days to make sure there’s no duplication and the readers are better served.
They sometimes share information, but that’s not always the case, especially if it’s just run-of-the-mill stuff that comes up in the course of a day.
Generally, they let their personalities dictate the “tone” of their copy, one may be more conversational in style, the other more reportorial, it’s not something done of conscience where one will say: “I’m going to be funny today, you be harsh.”
It’s just like you and the other widget salesman in the other cubicle. You work together, grab a beer together after work’s done every now and then, whine about the bosses and the company (that’s you widget folks, not us newspapermen, of course) and live your merry lives.
It is not always that way, though.
There have been writers and columnists at the same newspaper who’ve hated each other with such passion they didn’t speak. One would be sitting at one of a press box, for instance, and call the desk to find out what the other was writing about when the other was sitting about 25 feet away.
Action: Two Jason shots
Reaction: Two teammates reactions
Some people gasp when a shooter gets ready to shoot (remember that Moon fellow?), some people don’t.
It’s late in the third quarter and Shawn Marion has the ball in front of the Milwaukee bench when he sees a wide open Jason Kapono on the other side of the court. And after he makes the pass and Kapono gets ready to release the shot, Marion starts walking back down the court, his hand up, his back to the basket, confident the shot would be good.
A couple of quarters earlier, after Kapono had drilled a couple of shots in a row, he’s got the ball relatively uncovered right in front of the Toronto bench. Just as he’s about to release another shot, we hear, clear as day, AP yelling “he’s on fire.”
T. Enlund, man of the people and an equally-popular but not nearly as frequent habitant of the Harbour Sports Grille, summed up last night’s affair thusly.
If we’re talking overweight, often out-of-shape, shoot-first, non-defending, chemistry-killing, lazy ball hog, Zach Randolph may be right in his assessment of his talents compared to Chris Bosh.
But since I’m reading one of the better blogs out there done by beat grunts and it appears Randolph is talking about legitimate basketball skill, I can come to only one conclusion.
Dude’s on crack.
This is super secret code only a few will get. But you know who you are.
The Chicken talked to Bango and the Stuffed Animal is feeling all right.
Another request from a commenter yesterday was to chat about physical or verbal confrontations between players and writers and broadcasters here in the centre of sports universe (bad teams division).
Sadly, on the basketball side, there have been precious few, at least that I can summon from the dark recesses of my mind at the moment.
Antonio Davis went off yelling at Perk one day in the doorway of the practice gym over something Perk had written about AD’s betrothed but, other than, I can remember only one of note.
Victor Alexander got all pissy at then-Sun columnist Craig Daniels way back in Year 1, I think it was, probably because Craig had pointed out that Victor was, um, not so good; more Zach Randolph than Chris Bosh, you may say.
Well, Victor approached us courtside the next day or so with malice aforethought and we really wondered if he might do something stupid.
Craig, to his everlasting credit, came up with one of the best lines of the first few years. It went something like this:
“Hang on. If you’re going to hit me, let me get a photographer over here so we have a story.”
Of course, Sam used to threaten Stumpy all the time (was gonna put him in a barrel along with various embarrassing items and toss him over Niagara Falls, if I recall) but he was just joking.
Action: Real estate values
Reaction: Looks like they’re dropping
The Newbie Douby (hey! A rhythme!) got some prime chunk of Raptor turf to call his own.
Because they seem to have so many players now that Nate’s back and Quincy’s here, Douby got the locker right next to Chris Bosh just inside the room.
Don’t think anyone’s had that spot for at least a couple of years.
One thing, though. Bosh, despite his status as, you know, best player and all, has never expanded his empire to take over the other stall.
All right, Nyquil or NeoCitran? Or a journey for a triple vente non-fat latte? Decisions, decisions, decisions.