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What my musings are all about...

Blogging might well be the 21st century's form of journaling. As a writing teacher, I have always advised my students to keep a daily journal as a way of organizing their thoughts for future writing projects, a discipline I have unfortunately never consistently practiced myself. By blogging, I might finally be able to follow my own good advice.

The difference between journaling and blogging is that the blogger opens his or her writing to the public, something journal- writers are usually reluctant to do. I am not so reticent.

The trick for me will be to avoid cluttering the internet with more blather, something none of us need more of. If I stick to subjects I know: sports and literature, I believe I can avoid that pitfall. I can't promise that I'll not stray from time to time to comment on ancillary subjects, but I will make every attempt to be interesting and perhaps even insightful.

Saturday, February 25, 2017

Duratnt is right about Shaq

Kevin Durant is right that Shaq is acting childishly for criticizing JaVale McGee, not once, but on a number of different occasion. So, what in the heck is the deal? Did McGee do something to Shaq that we don't know about? It would have to be some form of disrespect for Shaq to be so vindictive.
Because it is vindictive when you question a person's intelligence, when you continue to mock his performances. As Durant, JaVale's Warrior teammate, said, McGee has come to the Warriors and done everything they have asked of him. Durant twittered:"He (JaVale) only wants to be respected just like anybody else," Amen, Kevin.

I thought Shaq was a Ph.D? If that's the case, I guess it proves you don't have to be a sensitive and caring human being to earn one of those.

Let the young man alone, Shaq. Don't be such a bore. And, JaVale, you've answered back, so now leave it alone; let Shaq alone to embarrass himself.

On to a different subject. DeMarcus Cousins has stated for the press that Vlade Divac and owner Ranadive acted in a cowardly manner, first promising him he was not going to be traded, then trading him without any warning. I'm sure DeMarcus felt he was hoodwinked and, at first, I believed him. I have no particular confidence in King's management. But as Vlade explained in the newspaper this morning, he (Divac) and owner had little choice. They had shopped DeMarcus (the kid's agent must have known that) and found little interest. (No surprise, given the emotional instability of DeMarcus). According to Divac, the Pelicans deal came into play at the last minute as the trade deadline was about to expire, and they had to make a decision quickly.

That's the business end of the NBA and these kind of last minute deals have happened since the league began. Unless there is a written clause in a player's contract that states, he (the player) must be informed about being traded, (a la Carmelo) then management has no responsibility to do so. A GM and an owner have only one responsibility and that is to the team as a whole, to put together the best team, to provide the best entertainment for the community, one that is competitive with playoff possibilities.

DeMarcus' hurt feelings comes from his own insecurity, emotional instability, and lack of understanding of the business of sports. 

I was on the Warriors team when our owner Franklin Mieuli traded the single greatest force in NBA history, Wilt Chamberlain, to the Philadelphia 76ers. Did Wilt whine? He packed his bags, left, arrived in Philly and later lead the 76ers to the NBA Championship against, you guessed it, the Golden State Warriors.

The difference between Wilt's reaction and DeMarcus' is that Wilt was an adult, and DeMarcus is not. Not yet, at least. As I've said on numerous blogs: Grow up DeMarcus!

Spring Training. Can hot weather and hotdogs and cold suds be far behind? Lot's of baseball poetry for me to chose from. Here's a wonderful little poem, full of innocence.

How to Play Night Baseball    by  Jonathan Holden

A pasture is best, freshly
mown so that by the time a grounder's
plowed through all that chewed, spit-out
grass to reach you, the ball
will be bruised with green kisses. Start
in the evening. Come
with a bad sunburn and smelling of chlorine,
water still crackling in you ears.
Play until the ball is khaki -
the girls' bare arms in the bleachers are pale,
and heat lightning jumps in the west. Play
until you can only see pop-ups,
and routine grounders get lost in
the sweet grass for extra bases.

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