Tag Archives: Sink or swim

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.


I mean … she should have put out by now, right?

12:28 PM: EDITOR’S NOTE: After a few hours of thinking about it, I decided to tone down the header of this post. My apologies if its previous iteration offended anybody.

“Listen, I’m not trying to pressure her, all right?  It’s just that, after two months, y’know, I figured this is the city line. would having a little bit more fun than she does.”

Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, Buster Brown. This site isn’t that kind of girl.


And now, without further ado, as we do at the start of each new chapter in this blog’s life: Please rise for your municipal anthem.

Again and as always, thanks for taking the time to stop by.  By all means, feel free to stick around a while and do as the natives do.  Talk yourself out of draft picks.  Read 1,500 words kinda/sorta about how Larry Hughes can force you to define your fandom.  Sign our “Gastebüch” and marvel at our listings of BASKETBALL LEGENDEN.

Crank up the “Bonnie & Shyne,” allowing the soothing tones of Barrington Levy to bring back memories of the time when you thought you could totally dance to reggae-esque songs because all they really required you to do was get as close as you could to a girl (without sweating all over her, Angus), interlocking legs and moving side to side.  Pin thumbtacks of where you’ve traveled in the world on the Map According to Devine.

Get your face annihilated.  Let Big Baby run the show.  For God’s sake, stop biting off Wilt.  Or not.  Whatever you do, enjoy your stay, and let me know if you need some fresh towels.

This site is now learning to turn its head to preferred positions when lying on its stomach or back

At least, that’s what Mama’s Health tells me it should be doing today.


Of course, there’s only one REAL answer here: A healthy dollop of the hottest possible liniment applied directly to your special guy’s testicles.

Yep, today marks one month since I started this little shitshow.  Interestingly enough to no one but me, it also marks one year since I had my last cigarette, a decision I’m supposed to be proud of, but that actually infuriates me every day.  (I know I could have packed in another year or two of smoking enjoyment before anything real bad happened to my innards.)  So, hooray.  I am doubly following through on things.

If you’ll indulge me for a moment (and I’m assuming you will, considering you’re here), I just wanted to briefly thank everyone who told me I should try this and everyone who’s taken a second to read my inane ramblings (not to be confused with the fine site Inane Musings).  We’ve just passed the 4,000 visits mark, which is about 3,975 more than I anticipated receiving when I signed up for a WordPress account.

I especially want to thank those of you who’ve commented on posts, sent e-mails, gotten at me on Twitter, hyped my stuff on BallHype, or linked me in your blogrolls … remarkable enough as it is to have people read this stuff, it’s exponentially more so that someone would want to join in my conversation and suggest that others do the same.

I’ve been lucky enough to have gotten plugs and/or support from some pretty great people in this community, and I am very, very grateful for that.  I hope to validate their votes of confidence, and maybe even earn a few more while I’m at it.  And of course, if you’ve got any ideas for how I can improve the look/feel/content/smell/immune system of this is the city line., please feel free to throw some ideas in the comments or shoot me an e-mail — like most one-month-olds, this place is going to need some guidance (not to mention breast milk) before it can grow into an awkward, parent-resenting adolescent.

And now, without further ado, please stand for your municipal anthem.

Thanks for coming, and feel free to stick around a while — we’re just getting warmed up.

Many thanks, and a trial separation

It’s been a good introductory week — we’ve seen “Biscuits,” background and backstory, Big Baby at the 1, biting (which is really a no-no), a baffling broad and a lamentation on the bastardizing (already in progress) of one of the most singular athletic entities of my lifetime.  (Couldn’t keep the alliteration going forever, try as I might.)

Thanks in large part to a pair of monster assists from Toronto’s most Schweppervescent open-run point guard J.E. Skeets, more than 900 people have checked this site out since its launch.  What I don’t know about site visits/page views/unique users/etc. could fill six warehouses, but the idea that ANYONE would take a few moments to read the nonsense that rattles around inside my head is phenomenally humbling.  (ED. NOTE: As proof of how little I know, that was 900+ PAGE VIEWS, not necessarily 900+ people.  Baby steps toward learning.  The “phenomenally humbling” part still holds true.) So to those who have been kind enough to click here, I thank you.  I hope I’ve wasted your time in exactly the way you’d hoped I would.  (And, hey, if you like what you’ve seen, there’s more coming, so please consider subscribing.)

All that said, it’s probably going to be a slow day here at this is the city line.  In the interest of not totally sacrificing my full-time job as I scratch the surface of what this site can be (and explore the pure exhilaration of the conceiving/composing/breathlessly-wondering-if-anyone-will-read process), I’m forcing myself to unplug for the remainder of today.  There’ll be one in-the-can post up later on — I can feel your steaming hot anticipation through my monitor’s face — and that’s probably going to be it until Monday.

But don’t fret, friends: I’m not leaving you empty-handed.  Boston-area radio listeners might already be familiar with Khabarta from his appearances on WBCN’s fine Toucher and Rich program; those of you who enjoy unbridled excellence may know him through other avenues.  This is him:

If you have not yet been so blessed, allow me to introduce you to arguably the greatest musical genius of our generation, with the possible exception of Clay Bennett (4:48 mark for the ill realness; gracias, Goat Deini).  Listen to samples of his music; check out his YouTube channel; dust off your 2K6 social networking jones and hit his MySpace page for more music and fantastic photos.  Feel free to thank me in the comments for the mind-assaulting tunes/videos.

Enjoy what I hope is a lazy, sales-meeting-devoid, smooth-sailing-’til-happy-hour Friday, and have a great weekend.

Please rise for your municipal anthem.

Because every city needs a theme song, dig?

Ed. note: In case you weren’t tipped off by Deini’s presence in the vid box ‘neath these words, the language, gunshots, etc., within are NSFW.  But the grooves are suitable for everything, everywhere, all the time.

All right, boys and girls. Here goes fuckin’ nothing.