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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, January 18, 2020

A Few Small Comments

I watched the Golden State Warriors play last night. The young Warriors played their hearts out. Couldn't sustain their effort and lost in overtime to a very multi-talented (and under performing) team. I don't know what the problem is with the Nuggets. I do know one thing, that may keep them from wining a championship: their center, Jokic, is  a big baby. He's a mountain of a man and super talented, with a soft touch and crafty moves, yet he lumbers around, snuffles, feels sorry for himself when player beat on him, whines to the ref (when Draymond smacked him) has to get mad to play great, but keeps pouting.

I feel the same way about Joel Embid of the 76ers with different tells. Lazy? Brittle, misses games, a pouter, on the court loses focus. Lacks consistent motor.

I wonder what would have become of Jokic and Embid had they had to endure the game-to-game beating that Wilt, Russell, Jabbar, and Nate 'The Great" had to take, and not one pout or whine from any of them over long careers of being physically attacked.

Am I wrong? Maybe I'm being too critical. But I swear if I'd played against Jokic, I'd have tested him with a well placed elbow. I can hear the outcry now: Oh, we don't do that sort of thing in the modern game.

Now, let's consider the Nugget's back up center, Mason Plumlee. What a shame Jokic doesn't have Plumlee's attitude: Ball's-out all game long; never quits; hits and takes hits; no excuses. Gotta love the guy. Can you imagine, if the young man possessed shooting skills? My wife calls him a "good-ol-boy."

Looks like the Nuggets were right bringing Michael Porter, their first round draft pick in 2018, along slowly. He's got game. Sweet touch.

Glad to see Jordan Poole starting to get some confidence shooting his three. It's a good looking shot, no reason it should not be swishing. Nuggets so crowded at every position, it's like a back up on the freeway. They're going to have to sort out a solid rotation before the can compete for the Larry O'Brien Trophy.

It seems to me that from the start John Lynch and Kyle Shanahan were going to be a powerful duo. The same age group, same football mentality, similar personalities.

 Forty-Niners vs Kansas City for the Stupid Bowl.

Patrick Mahomes is footballs version of Steph Curry. Just plain fun watching these two intelligent, innovative, and daring athletes. I was thinking Bret Favre as a Mahomes-type predecessor, but Favre was an idiot savant, and Patrick looks like a pigskin PhD.

Comment on Life: When asked to read a section of the United States Constitution, Trump tried and got frustrated, saying it looked like a foreign language. I'll let you judge the man's mentality.

CLEAR PATH   by Tom Meschery

Life seemed pretty clear to me when I was young.
At 21 how going forward for me was the exigency
of playing basketball for a living. Like driving the freeway,
I never let up on the gas pedal. I never gave
much thought that at the end of the freeway
there might be an accident waiting for me.
That's why when the referee signals a clear path
violation, I think how I might have saved myself
from so much bullshit had there been a referee
to whistle the play dead, instead of allowing me
to continue the way I always did, with a kind of
fuck-it-all attitude, toward the hoop and the inevitable
collision in the air, and landing. Let me tell you,
it hurt like hell, And usually in my day
the referee never called a foul, let me lay
on the freeway like the wreak I was.

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