Tag Archives: patrick ewing

It’s awesome you got the promotion you’ve been angling for, but I think you need to watch your back


On the telephone, she heard my voice
Tell me to pick her up in my Rolls Royce


If my Rolls Royce is not for ladies
Then girl, I’m gonna take you in my Mercedes


HELL-o?  Hey, what’s up, man, how you been?  Good, I’m good — just out here watching the game, you know.  … Yup, yup, courtside.  (laughs) Right, I know — not too bad a way to pass the time.

Man, it’s been a minute since we talked — whatever happened with that promotion?  The old man finally come to his senses?  HE DID?


Oh, man, that’s great! That’s SO great. I’m so proud of you. I wish you could see my face — the proud, shining smile on my forever-glistening face. You earned that, boy. So, gimme the scoop — new office? Awesome. Secretary? Sick. What kind of raise are we talking — 10 percent, 12 percent? Well, I mean, hey, it’s not all about the money, right? They’re recognizing all the hours and all the hard work you’re putting in. And you’re happy, right? That’s all that really matters anyway.

That said … there’s a lot you should be thinking about as you take this step in your career.


I mean, it’s awesome you got the promotion you’ve been angling for, but I think you need to watch your back. Money’s real tight for everyone right now, and everyone’s scared of losing their job.  When you factor in the fact that you just came up, that means people are going to be gunning for you. Believe me — I know what that’s like. You need to be ready, because dudes will switch on you in a heartbeat.


Oh, yeah, they’ll be smiling to your face. But behind your back? All they can think about is how to knock you off course. How to take what you got and make it theirs. How to play you too many minutes over too many seasons without enough legitimate secondary and tertiary offensive weapons in a bruising style that never quite gets you to the top, but will hasten the eventual annihilation of your knees and back, all the while explaining that “pain is weakness leaving the body,” “Adolph Rupp always said cold tubs are for quitters, Yankees and homosexuals” and “you’re not half the man Swen Nater was.”


Listen, all I’m saying is, keep your eyes open. You’re going to meet new people, new contacts … make sure they’re legit, OK? Some of them could ruin your $#!* long-term if you don’t stay mindful. Even if they’re fine as HELL, clad in designer plaid, with a Mona Lisa smile and a vice grip that could crush a non-giant’s hand yet still feels so smooth, so soft nestled in your heroic paw, stay mindful. Big head over little head, dig?


/deep breath

Easy, Big E. Eeeeeeeeeasy.

Hmm? Whuzzat? Oh, right. Your promotion. Listen, you’re going to have good days and bad days, man. Savor the fun times and camaraderie …


And try not to dwell too much on the bad.


Remember: Tomorrow’s another day, baby. Always another chance to get better, to improve. And hey: Expect the unexpected. Things are going to happen that you don’t anticipate — in any job, some weird stuff goes down that leaves you all like, “What the eff?”


Finding your stride in a new position can be awkward at times; you’re going to make some uncomfortable mistakes.


But if you weather the storm, the people will love you, and man, there’s no better feeling in the world.


(Except maybe one.)


All right, man, I should bounce. You got all that?



Yo, you still there?



You sure are, buddy. You sure are.


A quick one while he’s away (wherein he = me)


I feel you, Diddy; in my case, the overt guilt stems from the fact that I have nothing today.  Well, that’s technically not true — I have a shitload of work, a low-level champagne-and-Champagne-of-Beers hangover, a craving for chicken and dumplings (but not the chicken and dumplings soup that’s sitting at my desk) and a crippling fear of intimacy.  Those are all things that I have today (and in the case of the first and last things, most days).

What I don’t have today, however, is hilarious blog content.  There are reasons — my inability to figure out how to effectively navigate WordPress’ inability to handle certain kinds of video-embedding, for one, and spending at least half my weekend researching/traveling, for another — but they are immaterial.  I’m going to be pounding away at my keyboard until the wee small hours tonight and probably tomorrow, but unfortunately, it can’t be for this thing I’ve come to love.

In the meantime, here are several things:

I’ll be back when I can be.

Photo via Hello Friend, via davidcho.


Sweat stains not included.

One bad thing about getting more into the Internet/sports blogs/memes/clothing sites while making middling money during an economic event horizon: I now want $30 T-shirts more than I have at any previous point in my life. So friends and countrymen out there: Get your Marc Cuban, be my Benefactor and cop me that blue flame I need.

Thanks, FirstCuts.

Devine’s Got TBJ Beef

It especially solves everything if the problem is, My path is obstructed by a douchebag in a camouflage shirt.   1 2 fight u.

It especially solves everything if the problem is, "My path is obstructed by a douchebag in a camouflage shirt." 1 2 fite u. 4 realz.

When the shit goes down

Ya betta be ready

– Cypress Hill, “When The Shit Goes Down”

(NOTE: The music starts around :40, but the dramatic fervor and Latin flavor of the first 40 seconds are both inspired and inspiring, so you should watch.)

That was my mistake: I wasn’t ready. It almost escaped my notice when the gauntlet was thrown down earlier this week.

As has been the case since the start of the basketball season, I was a couple of days behind on The Basketball Jones — I used to listen to the audio podcast at work, but since they moved me into an office (that’s right — the kid’s IMPORTANT) without an easily accessible headphone jack (OK, maybe not) and I suck at remembering to update my iPod before work, I usually trail a bit.  So it was a nice surprise when Brian informed me via Twitter that Skeets and Tas had answered my question on the Jones’ Inauguration Day episode.

Psyched to have worked my way onto the netwaves again, I waited until the coast was clear at the office, cranked up my shitty monitor speakers and set about watching the Jones.  My e-mail was a follow-up on a previous show’s discussion of the league’s greatest post-shot celebrations, and I was pleased that they’d decided to voice my choice: Patrick Ewing’s uncontrollable sweating.

Wanna know the secret to Pat's healthy glow? NEVER BEING CONFIDENT HE'D MAKE AN IMPORTANT SHOT.

Wanna know the secret to Pat's healthy glow? NEVER BEING CONFIDENT HE'D MAKE A BIG SHOT.

So imagine my surprise at the 13:51 minute mark, when Skeets read “my” e-mail:


Hmm.  That’s not what I wrote in about.  Weird.

No big deal, though — I just figured that in the rush of putting together a top-notch daily broadcast while also hustling to do Canadian stuff (you know, like figuring out Fahrenheit-to-Celsius conversions, proudly nodding and smiling at one another while listening to Rush-Bryan Adams-Snow mashups, never littering, etc.), the boys got my e-mail mixed up with someone else’s.  Not wanting to steal someone’s moment of glory, I fired off an e-mail to make the powers that be aware of the mistake.  Here’s the reply:

Did we type that out as ‘Devine’? It was meant to say ‘Divine’. Someone signed off their email that way…

Simple enough.  Question answered, problem acknowledged, crisis averted.  Now chuckle at the coincidence, take a hearty sip of coffee, cue up “Good Life” in your head and recline in your office, baby!

… your TBJ identity has been stolen.

/spits coffee on valuable reports while in mid-chuckle and briefly chokes, turning laughter to choke-induced tears and causing internal brain needle on “Good Life” record to scratch, which brings the strains of T-Pain to a halt


Now you listen here, fellow-Basketball-Jones-fan-who-either-shares-my-name-or-a-variant-on-my-name-I’m-not-entirely-sure-which-since-the-e-mail-wasn’t-super-clear-but-nevertheless-is-totally-not-me: I almost kind of EARNED my Basketball Jones identity.  And I’m not going to have some Johnny-Come-Lately start horning in on my nameturf.

I’ve paid my dues over the last two seasons. I’ve posted comments that no one found funny or insightful.  I’ve e-mailed in a woefully off-base tip about a Simmons column that included an insult of the Raptors’ starting five that was actually an obvious joke, leading to an embarrassing retraction that’s best left forgotten by all.  I’ve called the Jones Line to leave messages about Jason Maxiell’s jump shot that never had any prayer of getting on-air.  And occasionally, once in a blue moon, I’ve contributed something that made JD take pity on me, and let my stuff get on the show.

I called the Jones to admit that I had a hard time deciding between sex with my girlfriend and watching the fourth quarter of Game 4 of Celtics/Lakers.  What have you ever done?!

I’m gonna find you, Jones-e-mailer-whose-Twitter-handle-should-really-be-NOT_THE_REAL_DEVINE/POSSIBLY_THE_REAL_DIVINE.  I’m gonna get Vinny Del Negro, and I’m gonna find you, and we’re gonna assassinate your confidence.  I’m gonna patch things up with Jerome James, and we’re going to eat your self-esteem.  I’m gonna buy Antoine Walker a drink, and we’re gonna DUI your coping mechanisms.

Then, once me and a slew of basketball outcasts have eviscerated your sense of self, you’ll finally know the answer to the age-old question: “What’s beef?”

Beef is innocently and inadvertently usurping someone’s generic commenting handle and getting made fun of on the Internet for it.  Boom.