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.
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.