Manute Bol

Imagine this, Manute Bol, a freakish 7'6" of pure bone and skin galloping down the court like Smarty Jones galloped into our hearts in 2004. The man looks like a starved version of a bulimic light post. Hailing from the most unpopular vacation spot in the world, Sudan, Manute Bol towered his way into the NBA with the Washington Bullets (now known as the Wizards), late in the 2nd Round of the 1985 NBA draft.

Like a true wizard, Manute spent the next 10 years absolutely dominating the NBA the way Muggsy Bogues dominated a tall person contest. Get it? Manute's Warrior like attitude on the court came second to his Sudan Charity giving. The man gave back millions of dollars off the court and millions of laughs on the court. Laugh with me as we travel back in time and relive the memory of the man who's torso to legs ratio is more shocking than the candy that made Willy Wonka look like the Einstein of the 20th century.

During Manute's short 3 year tenure with the 76ers, a good buddy of mine, who's father owned court-side seats, invited me to a game. After laughing at the "Special Blessing" (Manute's self proclaimed nickname) for 4 quarters, we pranced on over to the player tunnel, hoping to obtain a sweaty headband or a high five. As Manute strolled by after another stellar performance, I said, "Hey Manute, you couldn't dunk on a Little Tikes Easy Score set!" (I didn't really say that, but thinking back, I should have). I actually didn't say anything, just nonchalantly stuck out my hand for one of those sneak attacks where you pull your hand away just before the slap occurs, then point and laugh at the guy because he was too slow. Manute knew what was in store and decided to give me one of those "Talk to the hand cause the face don't understand" acts. That's right! Manute jacked his sweaty palm into my face like a Mark Summers Pie in the face on "What Would You Do?" That night ended in a mixture of laughter, tears and 45 minutes of washing my face, as if I were a Bozo the Clown impersonator who accidentally used nonwashable markers as facepaint. Time for some sweet revenge Manute. I'm about to bash you like Dean Portman and Fulton Reed took care of business in Mighty Ducks 2. If you are reading this, Manute, you probably would have been more successful as a boxer, horse jockey or rock star than you were on the basketball court. But I'll leave that decision up to the judges. Thank you Simon, Paula and Randy.

Since that day, I've had it out for the man who ended his 10 year career with only 2,647 rebounds. He was 7'6" and only had 2,647 rebounds in 10 years. That's 264.7 rebounds per season. Divide that by 82 games a year and he pulled down a glorious 3.2 rebounds per game. Granted, the guy probably missed a fair amount of games like Shaun Livingston did after he practically snapped his leg in half. The thought of those weak knees that Manute protected with kneedpads larger than pillows, being able to hold 220 pounds of flesh day in and day out is about as unrealistic as Barry hitting 762* career homeruns without the juice. Hey A-Rod, if you are reading this, let me be the 1st (or millionth) to tell you that the asterisk is on it's way to New York and will arrive at the new Yankee Stadium in time for opening day.

Some would argue that Manute Bol was not actually a human, but a walking, talking, shot blocking broomstick. That statement, however, is about as true as GWB being a good public speaker. Over 10 seasons, Manute racked up a monumental 2,086 blocked shots. Remember, this gigantic sized pencil frame was 7'6" tall and should have blocked more shots than Eddie the Eagle and Saint Patrick Roy. Don't get me wrong, sitting 13th overall on the all time shot block list is something to write home about, but a 7'6" freak should be blocking shots left and right, quicker than a Tyson Combo. All in all, Manute led a pretty successful career, with about as much potential as Russ Tyler's knucklepuck popularizing itself in the NHL. Zdeno Chara's 105.4 MPH slapshot would make the knucklepuck look like a Chet Steadman fastball.

Claiming the rights as the tallest man to suck at basketball is about as hip and cool as Screech Powers at Bayside High School. Mr. Belding would dunk on Manute, give Zach Morris detention and sleep with Kelly Kapowski quicker than Manute Bol would stand a chance at the Hall of Fame, or even an All Star game. Manute, however, has a kind soul like Ty Pennington from Extreme Home Makeover. He has spent much of his overpaid salary giving back to his homeland of Sudan. He has given about $3.5 million to the "Ring True Foundation", a charity that he established to help fundraising for Sudanese refugees. Manute Bol deserves the Nobel Peace Prize like the Philadelphia Eagles deserve a Super Bowl ring.

Manute spent some time in 2004 recovering from a car accident where he broke his neck when his taxi driver hit a guardrail and overturned. How he fit himself into the backseat of a taxi is about as interesting as how Obama plans to bring our country out of a recession. Some questions are better off left alone, like what happened to the mischievous Kevin McCallister we fell in love with. Kevin's slick rick attitude against the Wet Bandits was about as clever as Bret The Hitman Hart proclaiming his finishing move as the Sharpshooter. Any man who can pull off wearing pink tights is worthy of a tribute, like Urkel was worthy of a date with Laura.

Big L (RIP), was an Underground hiphop artist who rapped, "And every time I'm jammed, I always find a loop hole. I got a crime record longer than Manute Bol." Big L claimed to have a crime record 7'6" long and he was finding loop holes to stay bright on the streets like a lite-brite. Manute Bol should consider tossing some of that Sudanese charity money, that he so dearly earned during his NBA career, to put punks with crime records like Big L in jail with dog lover Michael Vick.

Until Shawn Bradley, Gheorghe Muresan and Yao Ming joined Manute Bol on the "I'm tall, so I play basketball" list, Manute was outcasted like the fat kid in gym class. Thanks to screwed up DNA, our world has been blessed with a number of gargantuan people who have been given the ability to tie their shoes and stand straight with their hands up in the air, like a pencil dive off the high board. Like the famous little league quote goes, "You can't teach height." This is about as true as Hulk Hogan wrecking havoc on Rick Flair in a 1994 Steel Cage Match. Manute and his oversized compadres changed the face of the NBA like Flava Flav changed the art of reality television. Manute is lucky that I didn't chase him down the tunnel and lock him up in the sharpshooter after he pulled that hand in the face antic on me. Seriously.

Wax on... Wax off...

"Man who catch fly with chopstick, accomplish anything" - Mr. Miyagi

The Karate Kid is a helluva boy, aint he? Watch him pose on that wooden block, balancing on one foot, ready to kick the face off of a pigeon. Arms hanging off to his side, flexing like Hulk Hogan after he drops the legendary, 600 pound Yokozuna. To wax on and wax off with such physique and composure is an accomplishment of the equivalence that which Tom Brady has become accustomed to. I'm talking about supermodel fiancee, Giselle Bundchen, not his 3 Super Bowl rings. Although, 3 Super Bowl rings is 3 more than my man McNabb has gotten his hands on. Ouch! His drop kick is so lethal that Chuck Norris cried and Bill Cowher had to retire his under-biting chin back to the streets of Pittsburgh. Mr. Miyagi changed the face of the art we call Karate with one slip of the tongue. As he is approached by the Karate Kid, time after time, his wisdom is made clear like pepsi from the 90's. Allow me to interpret this quote which made us scratch our chins, as if we were duct taped to our locker with no analogical explanation. On that note, is "Duct" not one of the most difficult words to pronounce? What's up with the oddly placed "T"? I think we need to reconsider the possibility of sharing the word duck. The ducks didn't mind it when Gordon Bombay transformed District 5 into a winner. Why not give it a shot, Mr. Ducksworth? But I digress... back to the quote that changed my life like steroids changed Barry in 2001.

Lace up your skates, put on your literary thinking cap and hush up as I break down this quote using more analogies than frolicals in the unibrow sported by Ravens gunslinger, Joe Flacco. Edgar Allen Poe would turn in his grave if he knew his cherished Raven was being represented by a man who looks like a clone of Eddie Munster and Mindy's buddy Mork.

The fly, which Mr. Miyagi speaks of in this show of brilliance is an object of life which rattles our weekly go-around. Think about a moment in life that has shook your mind like a tilt-a-whirl. Have you recently ended a long, heartfelt relationship causing a bit of corruption like an 8.0 Richter scale earthquake? Have you lost your job due to the global warming infestation we call a recession? Thanks a lot Al Gore. Are you down in the dumps because you have nappy hair like Cory Matthews? You get the point. So this fly, which we can't seem to deflate, is a haunting black cloud hovering over us like Harry Potter and his golden snitch. We try to pop this fly by jabbing it with uppercuts, roundabouts and full fledged star punches from Mike Tyson's Punch-Out. Those star punches, also known as chopsticks, are what we use to end this streak of gloom. The chopsticks are the positive things in our life that we use to overcome our shenanigans. Maybe you just received a bonus at work and your boss took you out to do Jager-bombs. Maybe you just met a fine woman at Starbucks, while sipping your Iced Latte and writing in your diary the way Doug Funny tortured Porkchop for all those years. Maybe you're having a good hair day like Uncle Jesse. Whatever it may be, these positive, joyful moments are chopsticks that we use to catch that nasty fly, haunting our souls like green Ecto-Cooler Hi-C haunts my dreams. Why did they stop making that stuff? I drank it, as I'm sure you did, like it was going out of style. Without that drink, Elementary School lunch time would have been full of nasty lunch ladies, floppy hot dogs and stale chocolate milk cartons.

To recap this nonsense, Cory Matthews, Mr. Miyagi and Ecto-Cooler, along with you, me and Uncle Jesse can all appreciate the valuable things in life like Lil' Wayne appreciates his platinum grill. Focus on that fly, hold your chopsticks tight and, my friend, you will see success. If that doesn't work, kick somebody in the face with a roundabout and you'll feel much better. It worked for Chuck Norris.

Cold Stone vs. Stone Cold

Let's play the debate game where we choose one possible "Can You Live Without" item, flip the words around and compare it to life without the other. First up, "Cold Stone." Yes, Cold Stone Creamery, home of the "The Ultimate Ice Cream Experience." Why is that their slogan? How does one become so utterly cool that they become the ultimate? The only two ultimate things that I'd nod an okay to is the Ultimate Warrior and Ultimate Frisbee, the toughest face paint wearing wrestler of all time and a game that you can basically chalk up to a mix of football and futbol, with a frisbee of course. Sounds intriguing, eh?

Let's admit it, life without Cold Stone would be ok with me. Truthfully, I don't even think I've ever stepped foot into a Cold Stone, let alone sniffed their ice cream during a frequent mall visit. I pretty much ignore them completly and turn down all the free samples because, let's just face it, Cold Stone to Rita's Water Ice is like comparing Shaq's free throw to a Kobe fade-away jumper. As the Southerners would say, "Dat aint nuffin, I'mma Nascurrr fan." Rita's Water Ice runs laps around Cold Stone like an offspring from Usain Bolt and Speedy Gonzales. That's all I have to say about that.

Stone Cold Steve Austin. Need I say more? Yes, otherwise this wouldn't be interesting. After pondering what life without Stone Cold would be like for months on end, I've come to the conclusion that we just wouldn't be the same without the man. How many people do you know that can break thru glass, chug a beer (with 3/4 of it missing your mouth and landing on the front 5 rows), smash that can of beer on your forehead, then throw the Stunner on your boss (Vince McMahon)? That just doesn't happen in everyday life. Life without Stone Cold is like Bob Barker surviving 35 years on The Price is Right without Plinko, Rod Roddy and Wilford Brimley. Let me break that down for you in Stone Cold language. Plinko was rigged, we all know it. The zero slot had tiny magnets that attempted to draw the chip to it, slightly missing the $10,000 slot (just kidding). Even with that sick knowledge, we continued to watch and cheer obnoxiously on every drop of the chip. Rod Roddy (RIP), and his silly crowd jittering "Come on down" celebration, never failed to amaze us. Barker would have been screwed if he was stuck with that slob they dumped on Drew Carey. Wilford Brimley brought a new meaning to commercial watching. Whether riding the horse or chillin out in the rocking chair, Wilford continued to intrigue us with his knowledge on diabetes. Doctors scurried with their notepads and pencils everytime Wilford appeared on our TVs, hoping to learn something new from the Ultimate Wilford. Diabetes without Wilford is like MJ without Scottie. Whoever said "One hand helps the other" could not have been anymore right here.

The debate is over. Stone Cold Steve Austin lays the smackdown on Cold Stone Creamery. And that's the bottom line!

McQuestions

I have 2 questions. These 2 questions have been on my mind for an awfully long time and I really need to crack down and get some answers. First off, the year 2010 is quickly approaching. Times are tough and money is scarce. The weather is playing mind games on us like a sick David Blaine. As we reach this milestone that hits us 10 years after the Y2K bug bit so hard that El Nino got pissed and dropped a Mentos into a bottle of Coke (that was a metaphor, you should know the result; If you don't, you haven't lived), we ask ourselves important questions day in and day out, driving us crazy like the "breakfast mcmuffin bum" from Big Daddy. Honestly though, how do you go from co-staring in Armageddon with Bruce Willis to sleeping in a shopping cart and watching roller skaters trip over sticks? Where am I going with this?

Question 1: In the year 2010, will you say "Twenty-Ten" or "Two thousand and ten"? In 1910, we said "Nineteen ten", not "One thousand nine hundred and ten". That sounds silly, doesn't it? So I ask again, "Twenty ten" or "two thousand and ten"? For the sake of time, and based on our countries extreme level of lazyness, I'm going to jump on the phrase with less syllables. It's a tricky situation, I understand. I almost wish that congress would pass a bill on the proper way to address the year, and take that responsibility away from me. I just don't know if I could handle that pressure. Not that this is a matter of life or death (or maybe it is), but we should have some sort of rule set in stone. Go ahead and test yourself by saying random years in the 20's and see how it sounds. Nine out of ten times, I bet you'll choose the "twenty twenty" version. I suppose it's only a matter of time before we all must decide. The single digit years have to be pronounced "Two thousand and nine" because "Twenty Nine" would just get confusing. Do I make myself clear? Ask yourself, WWGWBD, then do the complete opposite.

Question 2: Social Security Numbers. I'm no math wiz, but won't we eventually run out of 9 digit combinations? Then what do we do? Add a 10th number? Add letters? This is mayhem. Not nearly as important as the whole pronounciation of the year question, but still extremely necessary to have an answer. If Einstein were still alive, he'd just multiply 9 times something and get an answer, but sadly he's no longer with us. If anybody knows of another math wiz with the likes of Big Al, please ask the question. With hundreds of people in the world already ("in the world" or "on the world" - damn, another question), we only have so much more time before a decision is needed. Obama, if you are reading this, WWGWBD? My vote is to switch to letters. That could be fun. I hope my future child is born with a SSN of 9 letters and it spells out "GOODSPORTS". I know, that's 10 digits, but you get my point.

Brad Pitt

The most (well, one of the most) amazing moments in sports history relating to the score tracker on the top left (or right on some channels) corner of the television screen came in 2006 during the NCAA Tournament. This monumental score tracker moment occurred the same year that #16 seed U of Albany almost (had an 11 pt lead at half) upset UCONN (U-Can't) in the 1st round. This would have (and should have) been the 1st #16 win in NCAA Tournament history. That's not the point of this story though. The point is, in fact, that in round 2, 3 or maybe 4, Bradley played Pittsburgh. Funny, huh? It gets better. The score tracker on the top left (or right on some channels) corner of the television displayed BRAD above PITT. Who cares what the score was or who won?! Brad Pitt became an overnight NCAA Basketball sensation due to this sillyness. Never again, to my knowledge, has a team played another team and together their abbreviated names on the score tracker made up a real person, let alone someone with the star-studded celebriance (it's not a word, i know, but it fits) to the likes of Brad Pitt. Sure, Tom could play Cruise. But Tom and Cruise are not abbreviations for NCAA Tournament hopefuls. Think about it. I assume if Archbishop Ryan High School (abbreviated "Ryan") played Howard University in Virginia (I think that's where it is) that would mean Ryan vs. Howard. But I highly doubt that Howard could fit into the score tracker unless they made the font really small, which would make it look weird. It'd be more like Ryan vs. How, and that's just not funny. Not to mention, people outside of the Philadelphia area probably have no idea what Archbishop Ryan is (it's a lame Catholic high school that charges way too much for tuition). Also, they'd probably never get invited to the NCAA Tournament, hence NCAA, not High School. Also, Howard, no offense, is not good at basketball. They, too, will probably never play in the tournament. Brad Pitt, you are the man! Good luck to Bradley and Pittsburgh this year. I hope you two meet in the NCAA Tournament again in the near future, purely for comedic enjoyment.

http://sports.espn.go.com/ncb/recap?gameId=264000006 (i'm not lying, this really happened)