Athlete Christmas Lists: Barry Cofield

(sotto voce)

um, hey santa. my name is barry. um. cofield. barry cofield.

how are you? i hope things are ok. because at christmas-time, things should be ok for you.

/laughs nervously, coughs, clears throat

sorry. um. i’m kinda nervous, like, talking to you. not that you’re mean or anything, no, uh, that’s not what i mean. it’s just, um, i get a little shy around celebrities. it happens a lot, i guess. like, um, when i met the real estate agent lady from the bus stop ads. i got real shy then.

even though she’s, um, on all these bus stops, she’s talking to me and holding my arm, just because i have a two-pound ring. i couldn’t believe it. it was so great.

i mean, not great like talking to you, though. um, you’re a different kind of great. oh, man.

/laughs nervously, coughs, clears throat

anyway. um. there’s really just one thing i want, if you don’t mind, santa — i mean, if it’s ok to ask you, um, sir. i know, uh, a lot of the guys are asking for expensive things or the hangover on dvd, or, um, even to try to kill you and stuff. but if you could get the guys to stop making fun of when people do cosplay, i’d like it. it’s nice to feel like someone else sometimes. less, um, scary.

like when you make your own aquaman costume and pretend like you’re the ruler of an underwater kingdom and you get to make all the decisions, and there’s no osi or strahan or justin or antonio or coach steve or coach tom or anyone else to tell me to just be quiet and push the pocket, barry, I’M NOT A MACHINE I’M A MAN AND SOMETIMES I’M BETTER THAN A MAN I’M AQUAMAN.

/laughs nervously, coughs, clears throat

um, that’d be nice, santa.


Athlete Christmas Lists: Tyson Chandler

Hey, Santa Brah! So stoked that you’re all, like, “giving people presents” and crap, dude. If there’s one thing that Tyson “Halfpipe” Chandler suuuper digs, it’s presents and Christmas, y’know?

Well, I guess that’s two things. And also, I totally dig halfpipes more than either presents or Christmas. But I guess fat old dudes don’t always “get” the siren song of SkateStyle and SkateLife — or, at least, not in the same way that 7’1″ CaliBeardBros get it.

See, Boom, like, kinda gets it? On account of being a CaliBeardBro? But not fully, because he’s lil’ler than 7’1″.

But you prolly knew that already, on account of being all-seeing and all-knowing, like a totally chill fat God. DUDE YOU’RE LIKE A WHITE BUDDHA! But not like that Keanu Reeves Lil’ Buddha? Because you’re mad old. You’re, like, Oldie Hawn.

I mean, no offense or nothing. You seem like a good dude. Matter of fact, you know what, brah? You want to skate my halfpipe with me? Or smoke my fullpipe with me? Or go to Ampipe with me? Or wield a leadpipe with me?

Whoa, Santa. Pretty lame that you don’t want to go halfsies on a pipe fight. Whatever, bro. Guess I’ll just “give you my wish list.” Pffffffffffffffff.

  1. I mean, I could prolly use some Sector 9’s. Keep my board’s bearings tyte.
  2. I “wish” you would’ve wielded some leadpipes with me, but you had to be all Father Bitchmas. Sucks, dude.
  3. Maybe, like, a $2,000 donation in my name to the Northern California Downhill Skateboarding Association? Those guys just really have the right idea, y’know? Clip the strings, move for yourself an’ just SKATE, Santa Claus. For once? Totally.
  4. Hangover on DVD.
  5. Maybe, like, a plane ticket to NOLA? Just kinda miss some of my bros.  Well, this one bro, especially. Never “got” SkateLife, but he was pretty dope at FriendshipOllies.

Señor later,

Athlete Christmas Lists: Roger Mason Jr.

Good morning, Santa Claus. I trust you slept well — all guests at the Mason compound lie upon the finest high-thread-count sheets, pillow-top mattresses that cradle and cushion, and even double egg crates for additional luxury while slumb’ring.

And don’t worry about oversleeping — as you seemed very tired, I thought it best to instruct my servants not to wake you.  You see, I wanted you to be rested, refreshed and invigorated, of sound mind and body and in perfect condition to fulfill my lone Christmas wish.

What do I want, you ask? An interesting question with an all-too-simple and satisfying answer, Mr. Claus:

I want you … to die.

Look into my eyes, Claus. See deep into my soul. Do you not understand? LOOK AT ME!

Surely my dispassionate gaze has chilled you to your very core. Mine has been a life of grand accomplishment, unthinkable pleasures and, at times, uneasy alliances. Such a life of leisurely luxury has allowed me to accumulate a vast fortune, as well as the time to pursue more … fantastic endeavors, such as the dark science of alchemy and the mystic art of telekarate.

Yes, it’s karate times telekinesis. Ha. Of course you wouldn’t understand. Your compatriots didn’t, either.

The Easter Bunny. Frodo Baggins. Andre 3000. El Chupacabra. Zach Galifianakis, from The Hangover on DVD. All of your fellow supernatural figments of contemporary popular culture scoffed at the notion of telekarate.  That was before I vanquished them — first in Mortal Kombat for Genesis, then in mortal combat for reals — and stole their lifeforce.

Amid the easy perfection that is being Roger Mason Jr., one prize has eluded me. But no more. Here you are, trapped in my underwater castle, with only one way to escape.

That’s right: I am your Apocalypse, and I am come. Face me, Claus. Stare into the cold, dead eyes of your reckoning.

Sunday Afternoon: I Gets Deep

I’m late to the party on eLZhi — thankfully, the good folks at Passion of the Weiss have allowed me to redeem my late pass for points and prizes like The Leftovers UnMixedtape. From where I’m sitting, the tape’s grand prize is the Black Milk-produced “Deep,” a slick boom-bap bombshell with a beat that science has determined makes you drive faster, and slick lyrics to match. It’s a pretty dope pre-Christmas present for hip-hop heads, and a nice track to have racing through your head as you head into the late games. Enjoy, ballers.

Au revoir, childhood love of Lenny Dykstra

EDITOR’S NOTE: As I’ve been exhuming this blog over the past couple of days, I’ve found that I had a couple handfuls of draft posts saved up.  Some of them never went live for totally understandable reasons — they needed a Photoshop job that I never got to, a joke needed tweaking, etc. — and this was one of them.  Had the video, but never wrote what I wanted to.  So, here it is, hopefully as awkward and fun as I’d initially hoped. – DD

Seems like a pretty chill video of Roger McDowell and Lenny Dykstra having a woefully uncomfortable interview with Martha Quinn on MTV before the Mets went to the World Series in 1986.

Seems that way. Except for when Martha Quinn asks them what kind of band they’d like to be in, Lenny Dykstra says, “If I was in a band, I’d like to be in a band like Huey Lewis.”

Which is a sick bummer when you grew up worshipping Lenny Dykstra.  When you taught yourself how to hit lefty even though you were right-handed just because that’s how Nails hit. When you made your mom get “DYKSTRA 4” iron-ons for the back of your replica Mets “jersey” (which, back in the late ’80s, was basically a nylon T-shirt).

When you started to develop a soft spot for Duran Duran just because they were the dudes who sang “Wild Boys,” which was the song that played during the landmark montage sequence of Nails/Wally Backman hustle plays that totally tied together the 1986 Mets: A Year to Remember commemorative video — a soft spot that would later grow even softer when an 11- or 12-year-old you liked “Ordinary World” a little too much and started to wonder if that made you gay.

OK, let’s get back on track. Here’s that “Wild Boys” montage:

Seems like a hard-rocking WildBro wouldn’t want to be caught dead being “hip to be square.” But then, I guess I’m not the first person Lenny Dykstra has totally bummed out recently.

Still, though, it’s pretty sad. Feel like I need something to pick me up and boost my spirits.  Um … don’t mind me.  Just gonna go watch some football and make love to a woman.  BRB.

Explaining Knicks fans in 100 words or less

EDITOR’S NOTE: As I’ve been exhuming this blog over the past couple of days, I’ve found that I had a couple handfuls of draft posts saved up.  Some of them never went live for totally understandable reasons — they needed a Photoshop job that I never got to, a joke needed tweaking, etc. — but I have no idea why this one didn’t go up.  So, here it is, woefully out of context and for no apparent reason whatsoever. – DD

“Something tells me that even the most bellicose Knicks fan will allow him that courtesy, rather than resenting his contract from dusk till dawn.”

Knicks fans will forgive anything — anything — if we believe you’re trying hard. The reason we’ve hated Eddy Curry (and why we hated Jerome James) isn’t because they’ve been bad players when they’ve played (though neither was exactly Moses Malone). It’s because it became obvious very early and very often that neither one of them gave much of a shit about trying to get on the court or trying very hard once they got out there. Dude, Knicks fans remember RICK BRUNSON fondly, and he was terrible. It’s not the money; it’s the malaise.

Athlete Christmas Lists: Darko Milicic

What’s the point. It doesn’t even matter. Presents don’t make you feel better. Nothing makes you feel better. Whatever. I don’t even care.

  1. That Deftones CD that has their cover of the Smiths’ “Please, Please, Please Let Me Get What I Want” on it. It’s darker.
  2. Gift card to The Black Angel. I don’t care for how much. Whatever. Like it matters.
  3. Johnny the Homicidal Maniac: Director’s Cut. Right, like you get why it’s cool. So lame.
  4. Hangover on DVD.
  5. Admission ticket to Disneyland Paris for when I get back to Europe. “Why?” You wouldn’t understand.