I read this morning in The Athletic about the Sun working to establish a G League team for next season. Good for them. Sometimes I make comments at the end of articles. I wasn't going to, until a I read a comment about this article posted by a reader. It was not about basketball, but climate change. He questioned if in the future there would be a Suns team to write about, given that with climate change, the heat in AZ would be intolerable. That made me think of all the other cities in the NBA that are going to be massively affected by climate change: San Antonio, Houston, Orlando, etc. The City of Miami is going to be flooded. The Sun's new owner Matt Ishbia might want to consider moving his team to the Northwest and let KD finish his career where he started in cool and beautiful Seattle.
Today's 7.25.;23 Athletic had a marvelous, touching story about how Charlie Villanueva has helped rookie Celtic draft choice Jordan Walsh deal with their mutual condition, Alopecia, a disease that keeps hair from growing and lightens ones skin. According to one of the comments following the article, when Villanueva was playing, Kevin Garnett said to him that he looked like he had cancer, a mean and childish thing to say. I had never thought of KG as a knucklehead. To bad, he was one heck of a player. If he hasn't done it already, let me suggest that he apologize publicly to Charlie and meet Jordan Walsh who is a Celtic draft choice and embrace Walsh, also publicly. Of course, he doesn't have to. He can continue being a childish knucklehead. But one day, God forbid, KG might get cancer and then he'll have to look in the mirror.
Just thinking: Anybody out there just a wee bit tired of hearing: Ya Know, bottom line, at the end of the day? And as much as I admire Leborn James, I could stand to open a sport page and not see his name for a few days.
Women's soccer players are finally going to be paid the dame as the men's team. About frigging time.
I just watched SLAM BALL. Holy Hops! They have finaly come up with the perfect sport for people suffering from hyper active disorder. Major sponsor Red Bull?
While the super sports are going on, the fishermen are out abong the streasm and lakes, among them, my two son-in-laws. Here's a fishing poem for all the fishermen.
CATCH
(anything instead of fishing)
In faded, pre-war elegance, tropically flowered wallpaper
(jigs, flies, speckled lures and mr. twisters)
Drooping lushly like the evening sea-breeze
(damn the wind, they won’t bite now)
And you in sailor whites – tuxedo, if I blur my eyes
(black, shiny, slimy leeches, grubs, chubs, fathead. . . )
The band plays 40’s swing, a dark man croons “Darling”
(I’m a rapid oxidizer,” you announce, sweat streaming down your nose)
“Darling, Take My Heart. . . “
(walleye, pike, sunstroke, crappies)
And my red dress spins faster as you lift me off he floor
9jesus Christ, a four pounder!)
Its ruffled hem streaming round my knees
(landed)
Like a school of tiny iridescent fish
(darling, take my heart)
You sing at last.
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