So I guess the Central Connecticut State interns are still in charge of editing the RSS feeds for ESPN

Har har, let's all have a cheap laugh. But seriously, that's pretty weak.

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One of these people is excited to meet a fellow superstar athlete...

And the other is confused as to who this white guy is with the funny accent.


Hattip Deadspin for the photo.

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More fun with press quotes: What makes an asshole who waits four hours for a 23-cent pizza tick

How do you make up for insulting a sports fanbase and its favorite star player? Easy--You cause a public menace by offering 23-cent pizzas to residents near-ish the city where that star player plays.

"It's a recession-busting offer, and we certainly hope we have made it up to Cleveland," Tim North, vice president of the company's northeast division, told WEWS-TV.

I may not be Steven Levitt's financial advisor, but I'm not sure how (essentially) giving away a product that required human labor to create is "recession-busting"--especially given that Papa John's also gave $10,000 to the so-called "Cavaliers Youth Fund" (read: PR platform for Cavs players with a 2.6% organizational efficiency).

"We're certainly a bit surprised about how darn popular this is," North told The (Cleveland) Plain Dealer.

Translation: "Our customers are even trashier than I realized."

"I did it for the principle of it. The principle of it is he's not a crybaby and Papa John's should not have gotten into it," Jennie Moore, 54, of University Heights, said as she waited for a pepperoni pizza.

The principle of it. That's why you waited for hours with hoards of other scuzzy freeloaders to score a low-grade pepperoni pizza. The principle of showing Papa John's management that they should not have called LeBron James a "crybaby." You are a noble woman of great conviction. Clearly, your 54 years on this earth have shaped your social conscience in a profound way.

Randall Hunter, 50, from Cleveland Heights, spent most of his four-hour split between bus driving shifts waiting for his pepperoni pizza. He defended James and what he said were flagrant fouls he received in the Washington series.

So... you waited almost four hours--the entirity of your break, mind you--to get a pizza... a pizza that you will now have to A) scarf down in a short amount of time before having to cramp yourself behind the wheel of a bus for the next several hours or B) bring the pizza on the bus and, at best, watch it get cold or eaten by passengers and, at worst, lose your job for unprofessional conduct.

I'll resist the urge to say, "I think I know why you drive a bus for a living." Oh shit... just did. Well, I'm sure Cleveland Heights is a lovely place. *chortle chortle*

Patrick Mone, dressed in a blue James "Witness" T-shirt, was willing to wait as long as necessary for the bargain.

Wouldn't it be funny if he waited so long he died? No? Ok, fine.

"It's worth it," he said. "All the money is going to charity, and obviously, it's bringing new business to Papa John's. Even though there is a line, I think it's pretty cool. ... Twenty-three cents, you can't beat it."

a) It's not worth it, by any objective or subjective measure (as determined by me).
b) Pat yourself on the back, Pat. You're donating $0.23 to charity, or 0.0000002% (no joke) of the 2005 FY revenue of Doctors Without Borders.
c) Why do you care about the financial success of the Papa John's corporation?

"As I got closer, I was like, 'Oh, boy. This is going to be nuts,'" he said.

"This"="I"; "is going to be"="am"; "nuts"="a stupid cunt"

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Ahhh! Evacuate the Empire State Building!

How could we have been so blind all this time? From the moment he came into the NBA, I just knew that face looked so... so familiar. But I could never place it. But the magazine cover... Oh, the magazine cover. It's opened all our eyes. The predatory glare, the brandished teeth, the thin, lighter-skinned woman in his overwhelming grasp...

"James strikes what some see as a gorilla-like pose, baring his teeth, with one hand dribbling a ball and the other around Bundchen’s tiny waist.”

Magazine analyst, Samir Husni believes the photo was deliberately provocative, adding that it “screams King Kong.”

"Screams" King Kong? No, you fool! He is King Kong. Look at the resemblence! Isn't it obvious? We've gone and made this "LeBron" an icon, put his face on TV, and paid him millions of dollars. He's only biding his time before he crushes us all!

“Everything my name is on is going to be criticized in a good way or bad way,” James told the paper, [using sign language taught to him by Jane Goodall]. “Who cares what anyone says?”

Of course that's what he'd say! Don't listen to him. This follows the premise of King Kong to a tee: King Kong is discovered in a remote part of the world--in this case, Cleveland--he joins the NBA, gets summoned for a photo shoot with a famous model, and then goes on a rampage of New York City. All that's left is the rampage! Isn't anyone else as concerned about this as I am?

“This cover is very hurtful to the white basketball players. It screams that only blacks can play basketball, be successful and that white women would choose a black man over successful white man. I am boycotting Vogue from now on.”

What are you talking about? You're worried about the feelings of white basketball players? How can you be concerned with that at a time like this? It's King freaking Kong!... on the loose... with millions of dollars!

Come on, kids... To the doomsday shelter!

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"Who's officiating tonight?"

Am I excited about the start of the NBA season? Of course. But the reservations abound. (And it has nothing to do with crotchety arguments why the NBA doesn't seem as magical as it did when you were in fourth fucking grade.)

No, I'm not all that concerned with the Donaghy thing, though I highly doubt that the every other ref is on the up-and-up as the recent round of NBA interrogations asserts. But that isn't the root of the problem. That goes back either to a) the dawn of the league or b) the beginning of superstardom in the NBA.

I'm mildly worried that another official on the take is going to impact a game or a playoff series. Who couldn't be? But it's one official--one official with limited chances to screw a certain team in over the course of a game.

My problem, as it's always been, is with the officials in general and their indelible impact on the game. Basketball may be the toughest sport to officiate. It's judgment call upon judgment call upon judgment non-call. The standards are necessarily vague, and thus, the power of the officiating crew is immense. And yet, the overlords aren't entirely powerless, but they sure do act like it.

I'm not sure I will ever take either of the last two NBA Finals seriously. I don't think any honest man can. In retrospect, the same might be true of the Bulls' fifth and sixth titles.

Tell me--What good is a championship when the officials give it to you? Or, to a lesser extent, the chance to play for one? Others may disagree, but I don't see that as much of an achievement.

Listen--I think Dwyane Wade is a great, stupendous, awesome guy like everyone does (especially those of us who went to Marquette). I'm also endlessly impressed with what LeBron has been able to do coming into the league as a freaking child and keeping his head so much better than any of the rest of us could and immediately becoming the most chirismatic man in professional sports.

But they've gotten help. Did they earn 99.5% of what they've returned on sheer talent and commitment? Absolutely. But neither deserved the pinnacle moments that have thus far defined their careers.

The Dallas-Miami finals in 2006 were a travesty. As was last year's Pistons-Cavs series. Neither Wade nor LeBron could do any wrong. No wait--They could. But they'd always have the stripes to pretend otherwise.

It's rare that I don't agree 100% with Rasheed Wallace, and this was no exception:

"There's a lot of people out here who think they really beat us," Wallace said. "It was ourselves. We beat ourselves. We fell victim to the little, personal NBA thing where they're trying to make it a world game and get ratings and all that. They wanted to put their darling (LeBron James) in there, and they did put him in there. Look what ended up happening.

"So this game, this ain't basketball no more, it's entertainment. It's like WWF. Ain't no more real wrestling. All the days of Ric Flair and Rick Rude and Jake the Snake. Right now, the (expletive) is all so fake. Just like this game. It's so fake."

How are people okay with this? How do people watch LeBron pile up points in overtime of a conference finals game with free throws that he didn't earn and not get frustrated?

People rip 'Sheed for overreacting late in Game 6 of that series, but if I were him, I doubt I've even been that civil. The Pistons had just endured a fuckover of a series like I've never seen, and yet they managed to neither attack anyone nor destroy any expensive equipment on the court. I don't think I'd have had such control.

Why does the NBA have to be like this? The black sheeps will never get a fair shake in the public eye or marketing world, but shouldn't the basketball court be the one place they can? It's bullshit--just pure fucking bullshit.

And I don't see it changing. Ever. And what's worse is that we're only at the start of a very long era of NBA superstar culture. Wade and LeBron have many, many years ahead of them. Duncan's not done either.

I still love the NBA. But yeah, it's gotten hard. I usually embrace the adaptations of a league and tell people to come off it when they try to say, "It's not like it used to be." But this is different. It's not progress; it's regression. It's not a natural adaptation; it's the blatant stiffling of natural adaptation. And it pisses me off.

I hope this season can prove me wrong. But my faith is dwindling.

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Eavesdropping instead of working

Funny thing I just overheard at work:

Foreign, non-sports-savvy girl in next cubicle, talking into phone: Yeah, hi... I just tried to get into that file, but when I put in the password you gave me, it didn't work... Yeah... Ok, I typed in "L-E-D-R--"... Yeah, "d" as in "dog"... Oh, "b," not "d." Ok, so it's "L-E-B-R-O-N" and then the number "23." Ok, got it... yep, that worked... Thanks.

Ok, so maybe that was a dumb story. It seemed a lot funnier about a minute and a half ago. Anyway, from now on I'm going to refer to LeBron James as "LeDron James." It will be an inside joke with myself.

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