The Return of Basketball

Note: this is a purely basketball post. This will not interest 97% of you readers. Don't say I didn't warn you.

 

Recently, I played proper team basketball for the first time in 5 years.

While this may not seem like a topic worthy of a post for most, those of you that have followed this blog for a while will understand how passionate I am about the game of basketball. However, the corporate life and the lack of basketball amenities have resulted in me becoming an armchair player, if there is such a thing.

So imagine my surprise and delight when I heard that our company has a small practice session every Saturday morning in Colombo! The session starts at 7:30am, so naturally I was awake from 6am, turning up at the court a full half hour ahead of time.

After introducing myself to the players as they turned up, I stepped up to the free throw line to shoot my first free throw in years.

First though, I need you to watch this.

My free throw was only marginally, microscopically better than that (at least I hit the rim).

Now, it's not as if I didn't expect there to be some rust after not touching a basketball since 2008. But I was in for a long, long morning.

My shot mechanics were off, I couldn't seem to get my range at all, and even my layups were caroming off the backboard like I was trying to play dodge ball with it. Needless to say, the initial drills did not make me look very good in front of my new teammates.

Soon we split into two teams for some pick-up games. I haven't played basketball in Sri Lanka, and while in India we run either the standard 2-3 zone or man defense, here apparently they play 1-2-2 zone defense; something I was very unfamiliar with. We played a few points and I think I made a defensive gaffe on almost every possession. This was not going well.

However, after a few more minutes of confusion, things started becoming clearer. And then, finally, it started coming back to me.

See, while the shot was most definitely completely missing in action, and my dribble was shaky at best, the defense was still there. After shutting down a few players on a couple of possessions, I started feeling my confidence returning.

Over the next hour and 15 minutes, I started to really get back into the  groove on both the offense and the defense. My team was horrible on the boards so I started playing under the rim, boxing out and cleaning up a few rebounds. I made a few nice crisp passes for assists, disrupted a fast break, and then found myself on a fast break. Unfortunately, I got fouled on the play without trying to anticipate the contact and get off a good shot, for which I vowed vengeance (in a very team-friendly, competitive way, of course). A few possessions later I got the defensive rebound and broke on the fast break again. The same defender turned up, and this time I side stepped him, went behind his momentum and tossed up a floater - a shot I almost never use.

Nothing but net.

Right then, I knew things were going to be okay.

This being the first game in front of the other players, I was determined not to leave without a good report, so even though my abysmal stamina was threatening to shut entire parts of my body down, I kept pushing and hustling on defense, even managing to get a huge block on one play. Somehow, I made it to the end of the practice before collapsing on a bench. I had used up almost every single iota of energy in my body; and it was only 930am.

I know this may all sound rather self-congratulatory, but it really was a celebratory moment for me. I'm glad I get to play at least on weekends now, and the opportunity gives me an outlet to try out all the geeky basketball strategies and plays I've been storing in my head all these years. Even right now I'm researching the best way to break 1-2-2- zone defenses, as well as the proper ways to play it. Hopefully in a few weeks I can try to convince people to shift to man defense and have some proper pick-n-roll, pick-n-pop plays.

Small joys, but they make the week go by a lot easier. Look forward to more basketball posts!

 

Why Sri Lanka Deserved To Win Yesterday's T20

If you're a cricket fan, you probably know of the events that took place in Melbourne yesterday between Sri Lanka and Australia. For those of you who aren't, however, let me recap.

Sri Lanka were playing Australia in their second and final T20 match at Melbourne. After winning their first T20 match, Sri Lanka had a chance of winning the T20 series and going home on a high note, especially after they lost the test series and drew the ODI series. After scoring a solid 164 in their allotted 20 overs, rain interrupted the Australian innings, forcing the game to be shortened to a Duckworth/Lewis adjusted total. Fast foward to the final over, and Australia needed 12 runs off the last 3 balls.

Now, here's where things got interesting.

vol fin_to_DivX_clip0 by Ianbishop

There's been quite an uproar about this whole incident from both sides, and quite frankly, almost all of them are wrong. An overwhelming majority of Sri Lankan supporters feel that we were fully within our rights to not only take time during the last delivery but to also retaliate in the way we did. Many cite the history of sledging done by Australian cricketers, especially against Sri Lankans, and justify using 'karma'. Then there are some who feel that we acted in an 'un-gentlemanly manner' and are embarrassed. I was very annoyed to hear the YES FM DJ Shanaka last night discuss the incident at length during his show, as he seemed to be one of those who thought we shouldn't be proud of this win, and that we had violated the "spirit of the game".

 

(He also says "mate" a lot, and that didn't help.)

 

I find all this mildly ridiculous. Who told us sport has to be civilised? The reason we have rules against misconduct is because in any contest of skill, be it boxing or backgammon, people get worked up. Expecting some form of natural decency in sport is like expecting the paparazzi to decline from publishing nude pictures of celebrities. Let's not forget that there was a time when the word 'sport' involved half naked, armed prisoners thrust into a ring with wild animals, fighting for their lives. You didn't have people walking away from the amphitheatre going "Oh well, that last decapitation was a bit much no? Bad manners to slice someones head off from left to right..."

 

I'm not saying we should allow games to descend into madness, but I'm all for allowing people to allow their emotions to get them going as long as it's within the rules of the game. If we expect players to behave under such a strict rule of conduct, up to the point where we don't allow them outbursts of anger or frustration, then we might as well stay at home and watch computer game simulations instead of the real thing.

Recently in the NBA there was a huge hue and cry during the Knicks and Celtics game, because a Celtics player (KG) allegedly insulted a Knicks player's wife during a game, which led to the Knicks player (Carmelo Anthony) not only losing his mind on the court, but also to waiting outside the Celtics team bus once the game was over to confront KG.

 

(Apparently he said his wife tasted like Honey Nut Cheerios, a claim he has since denied but that inevitably led to these t-shirts. I admit, I find it hilarious!)

 

But this is all irrelevant, because guess what - Carmelo took a series of ridiculously bad shots after that incident, made bad decisions, and was basically taken completely out of rhythm. Most importantly, the Celtics won.

 

The same applies here. If you're a professional athlete, with endorsements, a contract to play sport and have made this your livelihood, you better play with the right mixture of head and heart. If something as simple as delaying the game is going to irritate you to such an extent that you feel the need to push things along, perhaps you need some more time in the minor leagues. So what if the Sri Lankan players told him to eff off? Did he expect them to fall at his feet and immediately heed his words and bowl? Tempers flared, and for a change the Sri Lankans channeled their aggression at the opponent instead of themselves. A seasoned player would have recognised it for what it was - a simple, basic time wasting strategy aimed at unsettling the batsman. Hiding behind the vague and ambiguous "spirit of the game" banner will do you no favours, because at the end of the day contest has been designed to pick a winner, not the most gracious in defeat. 

 

Was it rude? Definitely; no one is denying that, and certainly Mahela's squeaky clean image will be tarnished. I'm sure he won't mind. Was it good for the sport? Perhaps not, but let's be honest; the cameras and mics don't catch everything that goes on during a game, be it cricket, basketball or any sport for that matter. Players say a lot of stuff in order to get under their opponent's skin. Michael Jordan, perhaps the greatest player of all time was known to be a an especially good (and by that I mean bad) trash talker. Do you think he'll be remembered for that or for the 6 championship rings? Exactly.

 

David Warner and the crew can say what they want about the win, as well as the Channel 9 commentators. The bottom line is that while it wasn't pretty, the Sri Lankan team did nothing wrong.  No, the Sri Lankan's didn't deserve to win this because of karma or some form of justice. They deserved to win because they played like adults in the face of adversity, for the first time in recent memory. They played with fortitude and emotion, and it was the Australians who, for the briefest of moments, wilted like daisies under the glare of the Melbourne lights and a few accented invectives.

 

Women's Sports - Don't Fix The Sport, Fix The Players

Women's sport in general has always been dancing on the precipice of failure.  Take any sport, and the female variant or league is generally struggling to gain revenue and viewership. Women's cricket for instance - next to no interest at all in most of the sub-continent. Women's football exists purely at an amateur level, and a professional level exists mainly in the States as far as I know. Women's tennis does well, thanks mainly to the Williams' sisters and whoever is better looking in a skirt these days. Women's water polo is a horror film of underwater cutting, tearing and scratching.

Then there's women's basketball.

 

 

The WNBA, which is the women's league of the more popular National Basketball Association, has been active since 1997, making it a relatively new league. There are 16 teams, moderate attendances, and average to little interest in the sport. There have been many suggestions on how to improve the interest in the league, and the latest one has me all annoyed.

There are many small variations in the sport internationally, but generally all the principles of the game are the same. Standard court sizes, standard ball size, standard rules except for one or two minor tweaks. Now, the innovators think that we need to change some of these to suit women; they want to reduce the height of the rim from 10 feet to 9'6".

 

There's a reason I'm extremely against this. First of all, it's a silly idea simply because the premise behind this alteration is that women will display more 'high flying' feats of athleticism, thus bringing more people to the games. Secondly, they feel that shooting percentages will go up, thus making it more interesting to watch. Both these assumptions are wrong. The WNBA is not going to have more fans entering stadiums just because a few women will now be able to graze in a two-handed dunk all alone on a fastbreak. Neither are they going to be interested just because the ball goes in 1%-2% more often than earlier.

 

However, the main reason I'm against this is because it - yes I'm going to say this - defiles the sanctity of the sport.

 

Look, sport is rarely made for a particular sex. Suggesting that we alter the height of the rim simply because men are taller makes absolutely no sense to me; what about school yards and colleges? Are we going to have a system that reduces the hoop height just because girls are playing? Is that the message we want to send women anyway, that they're just not tall enough to play with the 'boys'? What about short guys? I haven't played with anyone who came close to being able to dunk; how come we don't have shorter hoops for the sub-continent?

 

Sport is sport; it is universal and applies to both genders equally. By altering the rules to suit women, we set a precedent that kind of negates the point of sports in the first place. If the idea is to see how many times you can shoot a ball into a hoop in 45 minutes, wouldn't it make sense to improve your skill rather than reduce the goal?

 

This whole problem starts because we compare the women's game to the men's game, which is a fundamentally flawed and unfair comparison. Men and women play the game at a very high level, just with different skill sets. While the men's game is definitely more polished and more athletic, it's taken years of evolution to come to this stage. Back in the 60's, it was unheard of to see the kind of dunks, crossovers and blocks we see nowadays. We don't even have to go that far back; just in 2000, Vince Carter's through the legs dunk at the dunk competition had people falling out of the aisles. Now, people expect players to dunk over cars or dunk on two hoops at the same time for anyone to take notice.

 

The women's game will have to make a similar evolution. I'm not saying that women will start performing 'flying death machine' alley-oops (they might though) but the game will definitely improve, given time and input. Let's not forget; the NBA was as good as dead before the famous Lakers - Celtics, Magic Johnson - Larry Bird rivalries of the late 70's and early 80's. That's what got the crowds in, and got television ratings up. The women's game needs that kind of renaissance as well.

 

Not a shorter hoop.

 

Fastbreak

I miss running a fastbreak.

I miss that instant when you switch from defense to offense; that sudden burst of power that rushes through your body when you know the opponent has missed and you break for the opposite basket.

I miss that adrenaline rush when you realise that you have numbers, when it's a 2-on-1 or 3-on-2. Like sharks reacting to blood in the water.

I miss that feeling of cold calculation as you decide how to break down the defense; whether to pass to the open man, or to take it strong to the hoop. I miss watching the defenders frantically scamper to even the odds, but to no avail.

I miss the sound of the net, whipping the ball as it falls through.

I miss back-pedalling to defense, staring into the eyes of the opponents and saying, "You're turn".

---

Man I miss basketball. And I'm not just talking about watching it (damn you David Stern, end the lockout!); I miss experiencing it.

Because playing basketball was more than just a game, it was an experience.

Basketball..

.. is awesome.

'Nuff said.

Kobe Bryant Takes Everything Seriously

Kobe Bryant is an assassin.

Not the type flying over ancient Jerusalem in white robes, nor the bald guys with bar codes on their head and very red flimsy ties.

Just a cold-blooded assassin on the floor.





My respect for Kobe has lasted a long time, even if I only started 'liking' him recently. Despite his many run-ins with the media regarding his on-court spats and off-court lawsuits, the man comes back season after season, hits game-winner after game-winner after game-winner, all with that look of death plastered on his face.

Here's an excerpt from his article with GQ that I felt like sharing.

On being surrounded by the best of the best athletes at the Olympics: "I felt like Harry Potter going to Hogwarts."

On his relationship with Shaq: "The biggest mistake I made was responding to what he was saying about me. Once I responded, now that made it seem like I was part of that whole thing. It's like, Okay, these two are against each other. As opposed to just staying quiet, which is what I've been doing the last few years. Let him say what he needs to say."

And finally, this hilarious exchange on how Kobe's win-at-all-costs mind-set does carry over to the rest of his life:
"What people see on court is another side of me; it's not me. That dark side that's coming to get you — ha ha! I'm not losing this [expletive] game — that's not who I am. That's part of me. Off the court, I'm completely different."

In almost the same breath he admits that a simple game of Cranium with his wife can turn into guerrilla warfare.Cranium? The kids' board game? With Sensosketches and Cloodles?

He purses his lips, nods his head slowly: No joke.

Have a great weekend!


G

Life And Basketball

(Sort of continued from here)

I vividly remember the nights playing basketball in college. The sweat, the lights, and the heat emanating from my body mixed with the cool night breeze that blew across the floor of our outdoor court. Most of the time we played in the evenings from 530pm till about 8pm, but I often found myself on the court either before or after this period, usually due to some personal issue that was weighing on my mind.

You see to me, being on the court was always therapeutic. When I was angry, alone, frustrated or depressed, stepping on the court never failed to fix my mood. Those of you that know me or have been reading this blog should know by now that I have a passion for basketball that borders on obsession. Perhaps that was why some of my best and worst memories from college all involved the court in some way; the highs being reflected in soaring through defenders for a basket, the lows in the taste of blood after hitting the merciless concrete floor. But it wasn’t just the triumphs and failures of my sports life that were affiliated with the court; even my personal struggles were somehow intertwined with it. Often I have paused at the court when walking back towards my hostel after a lonely day and smiled as I watched some kids playing under lights, just chucking the ball around and falling over each other in laughter. Other times I’ve waited there for a special someone to meet me for a nice late dinner, nervously checking to see if I was presentable or not.

To me, basketball and life are very similar. I was never very good at the game, despite my passionate love for it. I have thrown up many ‘Hail Marys’ from beyond the three-point line, missed tonnes of assignments on defence due to lack of concentration, made terrible decisions in transition and watched several of my not-so-clever passes being intercepted by the opposing defence. Yet such is the game that there is always a way to redeem yourself somehow. I’ve played in tournaments filled with personal failure that still ended with a performance that saved the team, mainly because the opposing team didn’t think I could play due to my lack of scoring, and so, much to my great pleasure, left me relatively unguarded through the finals while I hit mid-range jumper after mid-range jumper. ‘Player of the game’? Why thank you very much.

Life is not too different either, for despite my love of life and everything that it symbolises, I have proven to be rather bad at living it. I’ve made so many wrong decisions, foolish choices and missed opportunities due to my lack of focus and direction. It seems that my 25 years on this earth has done nothing to remedy that.

Yes, life is a lot like basketball, but it isn’t; the difference being that this life isn’t a game. Second chances are hard to come by, and the odd ones that do come our way are very few and far between. Plus, how many times have we buckled at an opportunity to make things right simply because we couldn’t face what was wrong in the first place?

So here I am, looking back at things that I wish I could change, things I wish I could do over and make up for, and I realise that as much as I want that, perhaps I would have more luck lacing up my sneakers and looking for my jersey.

Cricket, Sex And Humour

It's not often that Cricket gets injected with humour, unlike many sports such as football and basketball. The NBA especially has some of the funniest in-game commentary, post-game analysis and is almost as fun as the game itself. Click here, here and here for some proof of what I mean.

However, I stumbled across this article on the Cricinfo Page 2 Section, and I just HAD to share it. Click here to read the original article. Enjoy!

---

Some years ago I remember reading that FIFA World Cup footballers were told by their coaches not to have sex before an important match. Apparently lack of action in bed focused their attention on the field, or sent the energy flowing to their feet, or some such sundried-tomato theory. Now cricketers, it appears, work in opposite ways. Gary Kirsten and Paddy Upton (apparently his real name) made headline news last week with their injunction to the Indian team to get some before a game, allegedly in order to raise their levels of testosterone.

The news that sex improves cricket, if true, may have come too late for some. Sadly we will never know whether Sir Donald Bradman, had he been a bad man, would have been rewarded with those elusive few fractions of a percentage point.

The theory is in its infancy, of course, but one surmises that if this works for the Indians, other teams will follow suit, though hopefully they will also heed the wise advice of Professor Tim Noakes, who pointed out that while a good bout of rumpy-pumpy might be beneficial if followed by a long, sound sleep, hanging around in bars till all hours trying to find a willing subject is likely to have an adverse effect on performance.

Watching my home team get eliminated from the ICC at the hands of England last night made me wonder whether this latest piece of cricket lore might be in any way to blame. Did the English take Upton and Kirsten's instructions to heart, and did following it give them an advantage? Someone with the pre-Raphaelite good looks of Stuart Broad or the tousled cuddliness of Jimmy Anderson wouldn't have had much of a problem finding a participant. Could this have enhanced their already not inconsiderable bowling skills? Collingwood and Onions might have had more difficulty, unless they told the girls their names were Smith and Jones, but even they put up a sound show.

Which brings me to my next question: does a team's collective performance rest on the cumulative level of satisfaction experienced by the individuals in a side? Does some sort of critical-mass theory come into play, where the amount of good sex had by one team is weighed against that had by the other?

If so, the South Africans may need to brush up on their chatting skills. Although they put up a good fight, particularly our gutsy captain with cramp, the early dismissal of some of our finest hitters makes me wonder, since we're pursuing this line of inquiry, whether these players neglected to get their greens, or whether their state of play is perhaps related to their prowess elsewhere. Is it the quality rather than the quantity of sex that makes a difference at the crease? Is a premature exit from the field indicative of anything other than bad light or good bowling by the other side? I hope not, because if this is in any way proved, it opens the door to a dirty-tricks campaign not seen since the incident of the laxative-laced lemon meringue pie.

Just imagine it: a flotilla of beautiful women sent by unscrupulous nations to lure their rivals to their doom - letting them down at a crucial moment, or worse, making them feel inadequate - a fate made all the more excruciating by the fact that these players had been encouraged by their superiors to commit such acts. It's an awful thought.

We have to hope that no self-respecting female cricket fan would stoop so low. There are limits to what one will do for one's national team, or there should be. That said, whoever the skilled damsels were who helped South Africa to their historic 438-for-9 win over Australia in 2006, please would they come back?

Sue de Groot is a Johannesburg-based journalist, columnist and television scriptwriter

Late Night Bonus Post: "Magic" At The Magic Game

Stole this from the "NBA on Yahoo! Sports" page. Just in case you are too lazy to click on a link, I'm going to add it here as well. Yes it's that good!

Wed May 27, 2009 1:55 pm EDT

Magic's 7-year-old good luck charm works again

By J.E. Skeets

It's only fitting the Orlando Magic have found the "magic formula" to pull within one game of advancing to their first NBA Finals since 1995: trot out an adorable little girl to sing the national anthem.

Poof! Magic win!

Gina Marie Incandela — a talented 7-year-old who as a toddler had a speech disorder that made it impossible for her to form words — once again belted out the anthem before Game 4 Tuesday night, and low and Hedo, Orlando won 116-114 in overtime. Again.

The Magic are now 4-0 in the postseason when little Gina sings.

"It just makes peoples' heart feel good and they like it when I sing," she recently told Shannon Owens of the Orlando Sentinel. "And it makes the Magic win every single time."

Her singing talent was discovered after her parents enrolled her in a special needs program at the University of Central Florida where instructors used music to help coax her to talk. Shortly there after she took a liking to Leanne Rimes, and when she heard Rimes' rendition of "The Star Spangled Banner," she mastered the tune.

Here she is performing before Game 3 vs. the Boston Celtics last round. Chills.

All Heart, All Heart

You probably know by now that I am a bit of a sports junkie (hence the little NBA Playoffs Widget on the sidebar). Cricket, Formula1, Tennis - love them all, but nothing gets my blood pumping like basketball.

The thing about team sports, or any sport for that matter, is that it isn't just about winning or losing. As cliche as it may sound, it is about how you play the game. It would take the combined descriptive powers of Tom Clancy and Dan Brown to illustrate the sheer raw electricity of playing with a good team. "Well oiled machine", another cliche, comes to mind.


While teen movies potray the high school jock as a bit of a brain dead attention seeking neanderthal, I applaud kids that take part in sports. It would be impossible to find a more effective platform to teach the essentials of life.

How to work towards a goal.
How to make sacrifices.
How to work with others.
Communication skills.
How to think on the fly.
How to work according to a plan.
How to handle defeat.
How to handle victory.
How to trust your team mates.
How to shoulder responsibility.


They just don't teach this stuff in class.


However, you could preach technique, strategy, defence and hard work till the cows came home, but if you don't have heart - well, none of that matters.


Two things came to mind while I was writing this. One was an article written about Pat Riley, a legendary coach that led the Lakers to four NBA championships, and cemented them as one of the most dominant teams in basketball. Many years down the line, close to retirement, he finally had his new team, the Miami Heat, into the NBA Finals for the first time in franchise history.

Dwyane Wade and Gary Payton had gotten into it during an early round playoff game; someone taking the other’s shot. All of a sudden Pat Riley could see the 2006 postseason going the way of all his others since he had left the Showtime Lakers.

No matter how good, tough and disciplined he made the New York Knicks or these Miami Heat, they always fell short. What once seemed almost easy had become all but impossible.

He had fired his protégé in midseason and installed himself as coach again to make sure this opportunity, his last best chance at a title, wasn’t wasted. He couldn’t have petty stuff ruin it.

For all the fancy suits and slicked-back hair that he used to glamorize the coaching profession, Riley was still an old-school basketball soul out of working-class Schenectady, N.Y., and the University of Kentucky, the son of a minor-league baseball coach and a believer in every motivational ploy he could muster.

So right in the middle of the playoffs, he decided to have a big container built in the Heat locker room. The next game he pushed a wheel barrow full of little cards with pictures of the players’ families on one side and the motto “15 Strong” (as in 15 teammates) on the other. Each game, home and away, he’d bring out more cards to remind each player just what they were really playing for.

It was more than a bit trite, more than a bit hackneyed and it more than a bit worked. It worked so well, in fact, that here was Riley, standing over his pen in the final minutes before Game 6 of the NBA Finals against Dallas, his Heat just one game from a title.

All eyes on him in a silent locker room, he pulled out a set of rosary beads with five NBA championship rings hanging from it. Four were from his days coaching Magic Johnson’s Lakers. One was as a reserve player on Wilt Chamberlain’s.

With Shaq and D-Wade and Alonzo and the rest watching, Riley held the beads and rings up high and then threw them into the pen.

“I will give all five of those up to win this one,” he said.

The players, all those millionaires, went charging out the door like a high school team. Forty-eight minutes later, they returned as champions.

- By Dan Wetzel, Yahoo Sports

The other thing that came to mind was this scene from "Any Given Sunday".

So perhaps it IS just a game, and sometimes it IS just about winning and losing, but sometimes - just sometimes - it's all about heart.

Superman Returns

Last year, "Superman" Dwight Howard won the Sprite Slam Dunk Contest, and one of his highlights was this.





This year, could it get any better?


Maybe.......






I love this game..

Choose Your Illusion

Let me start off this post by apologising to any disgruntled Guns 'N' Roses fans that were misled by my blatant take on the iconic album "Use Your Illusion". Yes, all seven of you, I'm sorry. Now go cut your hair and grow up.


Just last week we all witnessed a part of history as the United States swore in their first African-American president. Sure, they sort of botched the whole oath taking bit, but the hard work of showing the world that any person irrespective of race or the colour of their skin can rise to any level in their society, even that of president, was done. Yes, in America, the land of opportunity, you can become anything. Surely, the world is becoming a better place.


You wish.


As much as we'd like to say that every person has equal rights and opportunities, unfortunately the truth of the matter is the world is just not built that way. You see, in this our new found utopia, appearances still do matter. How else can you explain Anna Kournikova's super stardom, despite her lack of playing talent? Or the fact that Danica Patrick was already famous and successful before she won her first race in three years last April, thanks mainly due to FHM and Sports Illustrated? Then there are the Jonas Brothers. I had the misfortune to see a live show of theirs on TV, and I can only assume the horde of screaming girls all had tiny headphones that were playing good music, because they certainly weren't getting it from the stage.


Yes, appearances matter. And really, is that such a bad thing?


Think about it for a moment. Anyone that has ever been on an air plane would have noticed that flight attendants are always tall, slim and generally good looking. This provides the perfect platform for the 'other' women to say "Hey! We fat people have rights too! How dare they only hire slim girls??" How dare they indeed! You go girl! Fight for your rights to flight!


But wait a minute. Are they really hiring them simply because their body types are appealing to men? Or is it because if you aren't slender, you wouldn't be able to manoeuvre yourself and the food cart up and down the aisle without rubbing up against the unsuspecting aisle passengers? Ooh, the short people are protesting too? Sure, let's see you put luggage in the overhead bins when you stand at a towering 5 foot zero!


The same goes for men as well. You don't seem me throwing a fit because I'm only 5 foot 9 inches and hence pretty much automatically disqualified from pursuing a career in basketball. But no, the protest people probably would raise the VERY valid point that they should have a league for vertically challenged basketball players too. It's only fair. I can just imagine the millions of self-respecting men that would want to sign up for this kiddies league. Boston Celtics? No - I'm a Boston Leprechaun!


Then of course there is the whole case of the media. Ah yes, the media. Whenever there is something wrong or evil or slightly bizarre happening in the world, chances are that in some way you can lay the blame on the media's door step. Yes, the treadmill adverts show only super fit models on them, but that's because they want to SELL them. If an overweight person sees an ad for a treadmill with another overweight person on it, they'll immediately realise how absolutely ludicrous they would look on it and never even think of exercise again! Yes, fashion models need to look pretty; their ultimate goal is to sell what they're wearing, which may be a bit hard if you look like a cross between Tina Turner's grandmother and Gollum. Yes, receptionists need to look pleasant to the eye because who wouldn't like to be received by a charming person with a good smile? It's not personal, it's just business.



At the end of the day, perhaps the biggest illusion is that we can be whatever we want to be. Sure, let's fight against racism, sexism and all other forms of cultural and religious biases. But let's not get lost along the way and try to elect a Muslim pope.

The Basketball Analogies

I love analogies. A good analogy is like a beautiful tour guide - even if you don't understand her properly, you still get the general idea; and if you don't, you still tell everyone how wonderful she was.


From the above statement, I guess it's pretty clear that while I may have a fascination for the art, I myself am no Van Gogh when it comes to.... oh hell, basically my analogies suck! But I make do with what my rather controlled imagination gives me.


I love basketball, with a passion. And just like every other person that is passionate about something, to me life is somewhat similar to basketball. So here are a few basketball analogies, just off the top of my head.


1. The Next Shot Is Going In

If you're a shooter, one of the biggest problems you can have in a game is if your shot is not falling. You get open looks, you find your spots on the floor, but no matter how hard you concentrate that ball just refuses to go in. Too long, too short, too much arc - suddenly you're thinking about things you never did while taking a shot. Should I get inside more? Am I jumping enough? Should I try the other side? In your desperation to try and get the shot in, you start reinventing your entire shooting motion in your head or on the fly, trying things that aren't helping you in any way.

So what do you do? If I may steal a line from 'Rocky Balboa' - "shooter's shoot". If you're a shooter, you have to believe the next shot is going in before it leaves your hand. You need to keep throwing that ball up, because the only way to break even after missing your first five shots is to make the next five.

How often in life do we find people that quit after one failure, one wrong decision, one 'air-ball'? Just because it doesn't work out for you now, or tomorrow, or the next week, doesn't mean you stop trying. Unfortunately we live in a world that is brought up on instant coffee, instant noodles, fast food and the the internet. Everything has to happen NOW. No one wants to wait it out.

Maybe we should learn to keep shooting.

2. Taking One For The Team

'Driving the lane' is when a player aggressively attacks the basket by dribbling straight in towards the hoop, and is sometimes the most effective way of putting points on the board. See, if you are fouled in the act of shooting, and the shot goes in, you get to take a free throw which is worth another point. If you make the free throw, you end up scoring 3 points from one possession. So if you think about it, you could either take the chance of scoring three points by shooting the ball from the three-point line which is 23 feet away, or you could be brave, drive the lane, get banged up among the 'trees' (the taller players that are usually positioned around the rim) and take one for the team.

While there's nothing wrong in shooting a 3 pointer, when it comes down to the wire, sometimes it's best to take the route less travelled to ensure that no matter what, you either make the shot or you at least draw some contact to stop the clock and go to the free throw line to make some easy points. Win - win situation.

I have these phases in life where instead of manning up and getting my hands dirty, I rather sit away from the action and take the long-distance option. Sure, perhaps I can solve the problems that way too, but more often than not the only way to make sure things get done is to get inside and get hurt. As long as the 'ball' goes in.


3. The Last Shot

It's the fourth quarter. You're down by one point, and there's only seconds remaining in the game. Call a timeout, gather around the coach. There's time for just one shot. Coach looks at you. Your heart stops. He's going to draw up a play for you, you know it. You're going to be taking the shot. "Alright, draw this defender out, drive, and throw it out to X." He turns to your team mate - "X! Make this shot, boy! You can do it!"

When this happens, there are two trains of thought that can go through your head. One is, you can be relieved. Phew! No responsibility on you! All you got to do is get the ball safely to X, and he can make or break us. And if it doesn't go in, it's not your fault. The second is, you can be upset. Damn, so coach doesn't believe in me?? He thinks I can't make the shot?? Doesn't he trust me??

Both trains of thought are wrong. While I was playing ball in college, we had one guy on our team who basically carried us on his back with his amazing shooting ability. He had a great shot, made good decisions, and was the star of our team. To top it all off, he was my best friend. So did I get bummed when he was the go-to guy on the team? Sure. I wish I was the one making the game winning shots and being trusted with the ball when we were down, but the bottom line was that wasn't my role. We had a shooter, a good shooter, and his role was to take these kind of shots. As for being relieved at not being chosen, sure; but every now and then these plays break down, and suddenly you're the one with the ball in your hands thanks to good defence from the other team. And if that happens, pressure or no pressure, you need to be mentally ready to take that shot.


Often I've met people that have an attitude of "why him and not me??". I'm sure those of you that work will come across the over-enthusiastic co-worker that seems to get all the big incentives, big assignments, and the big accolades. The fact of the matter is that we all have our roles. In any team, be it on the court or in the office, the only thing that matters it that the team wins. If our pride and ego issues get trampled on the way, that is of lesser consequence.



In closing - check this video out. One of the greatest buzzer beaters ever!

Exhausted

I'm exhausted. And I like it.

There is something personally gratifying to be completely and utterly physically exhausted. Despite how that may sound, I am definitely not masochistic; I assure you that the only 'rush' I experience out of cutting myself is the rush to the first aid cabinet.

When I was in college, I used to play basketball for at least two hours every day without fail. Somehow I'd drag myself back to my room (which, despite changing blocks several times during my studies, was never on the ground floor) and simply collapse on the floor. There I'd lie for at least 30 minutes, sitting under the fan, drenched in sweat, feet on fire and muscles burning from exertion. It was a good feeling; so good that many times I have considered just laying like that till morning (of course, I never did though; I may be a guy, but I have some sense of cleanliness - my room mate's continuous wailing helped too). I may never have been a great basketball player, but I have always considered myself an athlete. Being able to tell myself at the end of the day that I squeezed out every drop of effort (and perspiration) into the game left me with a feeling of achievement, which made the resulting body ache, exhaustion and occasional bruises, muscle pulls and rolled ankles completely worth it.

So after a few minutes of lying comatose on the floor, I'd gingerly pick myself up and have a nice hot bath. Yes, a hot bath; despite the fact that I lived in 32 degree heat, for there are few things on earth more soothing to aching muscles than a hot bath. That, and being pampered by your girlfriend over a late dinner after a nice hot bath .

Physical exhaustion and mental exhaustion are too very different things. Mental exhaustion leaves you feeling helpless, and incapable of handling anything more that comes your way. It is a state of desperation, occasionally depression, and has a much longer lasting effect on a person.

And, it is something that is so prevalent in today's world. Everywhere I look, everyone I meet, is exhausted from dealing with the stress and strife of today's modern life. We are told by our elders that it is necessary to go through this phase to become complete. What they're really telling us is "this is the real world, get used to it".

This is not a rant, I'm not complaining about the way life is, or how hard it is to get through it while still holding onto your sanity.

No. I'm just tired. Physically exhausted. And I figure, I should enjoy this while I can, because soon there won't be oppurtunity for me to run the floor, or to push myself to the limits during my evening runs, or working out in the gym. Soon, I'll be employed somewhere, most likely Colombo, and the only type of exhaustion I'll be experiencing will be the mental kind.

So, let me enjoy this. While I can.

Old School

I hate kids. Well, not hate; despise. Well, not despise; I just don't like them. Kids are annoying, they're always dirty, they're always trying to do something beyond stupid, and they're always loud. Generally when I'm confronted with a kid, they can sense this; and so the little gears in their undeveloped brains go clickety-clack, and tell the rest of the body to stay away from that tall dark mean looking person (me). Maybe they're not so dumb after all.

I believe that kids need to go through school before they can attempt to have a conversation with me. I just don't have the patience to discuss things like why the world is round and whether a tyrannosaurus rex could defeat a woolly mammoth in single combat. Come back when you graduate from high school please.

However, the way things are going in school these days, they may not come out of it as mature or intelligent as I would hope. The last time I stepped into school was 7 years ago, and while things weren't exactly ship-shape back then, there was always a level of sanity that existed amidst all the madness. Today, that level of sanity has dropped off the charts so to speak, and I kid you not (no pun intended), some of the stories I hear from my younger brother now just boggle the mind. No, I'm not talking about gun violence; thank God, that is reserved for the Yanks.

My brother plays basketball, and the school takes the basketball team as well as the girls netball team together to the university courts for their weekly practice. Now, the netball court is adjacent to the basketball court, and in between these two courts there is a tap for drinking water. Last week, during a break in the training, the boys from the basketball team went over to get a drink from the tap, at the same time that the girls from the netball practice were doing so. While they were all standing around the tap, suddenly from the distance one of the teachers in charge for netball comes running and starts yelling at the boys.

"Go away! Can't you see there are GIRLS here?!?"

Now, just to be clear - this is an open field we're talking about, with two concrete courts set in. The above mentioned tap is in plain view to one and all, and it's not some cordoned off ladies toilet. It's a tap, for crap's sake! Yet this 30 year old primary teacher went into a panic, almost as if the boys had somehow invaded the ladies locker room and were involved in 'vulgar' behaviour. And I've met my bro's friends - even if they did invade a girls changing room, the most outlandish act they'd accomplish would be to stick their tongue out at someone and run laughing from the room. They probably still believe in 'cooties' for crying out loud.

When my bro told me this story, I almost didn't believe him. These guys are in 10th grade! The girls were their classmates! They were standing in line at a tap to drink water! Did she think there was a chance of a spur-of-the-moment wet t-shirt competition breaking out?? Are we still living in the 17th century?! Are these the values our teachers are preaching to the kids?!

Further evidence that our teachers are still in the dark ages - recently I went for a school choir festival, in which our school was taking part. There were 16 items in the programme, with choirs from both primary and secondary schools taking part. They were all of varying talent, but one thing united them all, and that was their songs - only two schools performed songs that were less than 50 years old. The rest were smiling and singing "Home on the range" and "Old black Joe" and other such 'classics'. Later my Mom told me that she sang "Old black Joe" when she was 12 - and even THEN it was considered old!

I love the classics, but why are we teaching songs that my parents sang when they were in primary school? Surely there are better choices from the modern contemporary scene they could choose from! Instead our schools are sticking to their old tried and tested practises, refusing to attempt something new. Why can't school at least be relevant to the students in the music department?

There was a time when we used to curse our educators for not having an open mind towards sex and alcohol, but now we have a new and darker evil; teachers that are preparing our kids for the 'real world'. The world their grandparents lived in.

Speaking Someone Else's Mind

I'm all in favour of freedom of expression.

Hence the blog. Duh.

In today's day and age, we have grown accustomed to the whole we-have-the-right-to-say-whatever-we-want rantings of the general public. Hence we have protest marches, peace marches, gay rights marches and any other kind of march that you care to name. But for those who are a little anti-social, agoraphobic or just too lazy to march anywhere save to the kitchen for some beer, there are less tiresome ways of expressing yourself.

Let's start off with the "t-shirt message" - you know what I mean, those t-shirts that have something witty, funny or 'cool' written across them. Don't get me wrong, I don't have anything against them; in fact, I love those kind of shirts and look for them whenever I can. My current favourite is my And1 t-shirt that has a picture of a guy dunking a basketball on the back and a message saying "You can't hold me; that's your girls job!". How true.

Which brings me to my point. I am an avid fan of basketball, and I've been playing it since I was 12. It is one of the few things in my life which I am extremely passionate about, to the level of obsession! So I feel I am somewhat justified in wearing a t-shirt that expresses my mad skills on the court (yes, MAD skills! Ladies, again, please, one at a time!). But when I walk down the street and see some seedy looking guy with a beer belly and the athletic ability of an arthritic camel, wearing a ridiculously expensive basketball t-shirt with some good ol' fashioned trash talk on it, my blood starts to boil. Maybe I'm being judgemental, you say, and a tad unfair; maybe he's a fan of the game too. You must remember that I live in Sri Lanka; basketball is about as popular a sport as ice hockey. So it's safe to assume that Mr.Wanna B. Baller is just a dumbass in badass clothing.

However, it isn't just trash talk and witty clever messages that capture the attention of these frauds; there are also the pointless and somewhat bizarre slogans too. Just last week I saw not one, not two, but three girls wearing the exact same top with the exact same nonsense written across it: "Dancer girl fun and cool". What does that even mean?!

Of course, there are other subtle ways that people choose to express themselves. Most of the time people opt for the implied message expressed by their choice of attire, rather than the literal one as mentioned above. In this case too we have the same posers, and they are just as easy to spot. For example, the backward baseball hat, bling bling, baggy pants, XXL football jersey and sneakers is the standard dress code among most of the hip hop loving youth of the country. Again, I have no issues with that - except, perhaps, when the baseball hat says "Titanic", the 'bling-bling' is the sort used to tie up stray animals, the XXL football jersey is his dad's t-shirt, the sneakers are rubber slippers and the baggy pants smell like something that even God would have thought was crossing the line when He was raining down plagues on the Egyptians. Then there are the 'rock stars' - equally easy to spot. They all have the black t-shirt with "Slayer" or some other pointless thrash band on it, some form of narcotic in their hand, a body-mass index equivalent to a toddler and the most disgusting eruption of frizzed out hair on their head. Whenever I see the hair especially, I feel like quoting a line from "Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels" and saying "You could fall in love with an orangutan in there".

Last but not least, we have tattoos. At the risk of sounding annoyingly repetitive, again I must state that I have nothing against tattoos either. I've often been tempted to get one myself, but the fear of being disowned by the family has been a more than adequate deterrent. But surely there is a line one should draw before getting inked. Dragons and weird tribal lines are all cool if you're some kind of grandmaster ninja warlord assassin (I had no idea which order to type that out in!) but showing up to work with a forked tongue sticking out from under your sleeve is just a tad shortsighted. The ladies are no better; unfortunately only a very few women can pull off a tattoo and look sexy. I know a girl with a tattoo of a flower on the top of her foot, and it sort of freaks me out; the colours (yellow and green) when set against her skin make it look like she has some kind of rash.

Like I said in the beginning of this post - I have nothing against freedom of expression. But shouldn't we be expressing our own values and messages instead of stealing an idea out of 50cent's wardrobe? Do we need to pretend we're street ball players when we go shopping, even if we're as tall as we are wide? What's wrong in settling for a nice big "Fosters" t-shirt - an honest and appropriate choice, in my opinion. Besides, the colour blue is, err, 'slimming'. Ladies, don't settle for the 'tramp stamp' without actually thinking about it first.

And for the love of god, all you "Dancer Girls", the next time you plan on buying something at the pavement bazaar's, well, just don't!

Bye Bye Beijing

In keeping with all the Olympic hype, it seems appropriate to write an entry on this, the last day of this year's Beijing Olympics. The USA Basketball team have just redeemed themselves after years of failure at the international level (their last national success was gold in Sydney 2000), and being the hardcore basketball fan that I am, I regret not being able to watch it. Basketball; now that's what I call sport! Athleticism, speed, stamina, strength, strategy, agility and cheerleaders. You couldn't ask for more! Football may be the 'beautiful game' and the sport that is most steeped in history, but nothing beats the thrill of stepping onto the court for me.

We all have our favourite sports; either we enjoy watching it or playing it, and what better showcase than the Olympics to do either. However, I sometimes wonder if the definition for 'sport' and 'game' has been somewhat blurred over the years.

Which brings me to - "Darkside Daily's List Of The Week".

In this edition, we shall focus on Olympic events whose inclusion in the games can be described as ludicrous at best.

Drumroll please!

5. Table Tennis

I don't understand how this works. Table tennis is a sport that is restricted to China, Japan and parts of South East Asia. How does it become an Olympic sport? Take this years games for example; Bronze - China, Silver - China, Gold - China. Yes, international sport indeed. In fact, as mentioned in one of the links in my previous post, the governing body for table tennis is considering major changes in the sport to try and boost its waning popularity globally; i.e., ladies, please ditch the baggy shorts and shirts, and dial Miss Sharapova's number pronto! More nations play rugby, cricket and golf; yet to even consider making these sports an Olympic event is laughed at.

4. Softball

Like most people, I don't understand baseball. Maybe it's because I've grown up following cricket, the sport from which baseball is supposed to be derived from. But I can accept that it is at least a sport, even if it's international appeal is also in question. So why include softball as well? Softball is a watered down version of baseball, and in almost all respects is identical to baseball. It's sort of like touch football (American football without the tackling), and played only for fun or by women. For the IOC to allow both versions of the game to become Olympics events is just bizarre, and apparently even they agree; neither sport will be featured in the 2012 London Olympics. Perhaps the paralympics then...?

3. Triple Jump

I love athletics, and I think no event captures the real essence and character of the Olympic games than track & field. Here is the one platform where all competitors are equals, where an advantage with regards to facililties and training programmes does not play as big a role as other sports. Jamaica proved to the world that all the high-tech conditioning and training programmes in the world can't beat pure speed and desire. But there's one event that I just don't understand, and that is triple jump. We have long jump, we have high jump; who invented the triple jump?? It's almost as if someone was on his run up for the long jump, jumped too early, kept going, jumped too early again, kept going and finally jumped into the pit; then when faced with the puzzled onlookers, he said "Triple jump; pretty cool huh?" In long jump, the purpose is to jump the farthest distance. Fair enough. In triple jump, the purpose is to jump the farthest distance AFTER jumping twice already. As a measure of athletic ability, it is a complete disaster.

2. Equestrian

Apparently I was all wrong about the Olympics. See, I thought it was a tournament to promote international goodwill through the spirit of sportsmanship by competing in events to measure athletic prowess. Naturally I just assumed that we'd leave the animals out of this. But no, we have Olympic events to judge how high we can make horses jump, how well we can make them look while jumping, and how well they look while jumping together as a group. The Olympics is probably the only place where men who sit on horses are considered 'athletes', which I believe is just absolute cock! To prove my point, look at this years events. Several animals were found to have illegal substances in their system and were disqualified from the competition. Now, if the riders really were the so-called 'athletes', why in the God's name are they doping the horses?!

1. Synchronised Swimming

A picture speaks a thousand words. So feast your eyes on these.

I rest my case.

The Price Bloggers Must Pay

After ending my last post on a rather unusually melancholy note, I was determined that the next post would contain as much feeling and emotion as that possessed by a mortician dissecting a corpse. Thus I sat prepared, waiting for some bizarre and preferably evil topic to blog about; the more evil and more bizarre the better. Usually inspiration hits me within a few hours; yes, it is no hardship to stumble onto such things in today’s day and age. There’s always some cross dressing celebrity couple, blockbuster movie launch or other miscellaneous nonsense to comment upon.

However, despite my best efforts, nothing came. My mind was as dry as one of my patented and pathetic pick-up lines, and as blank as the expression on the unlucky recipient’s face. I suppose it is to be expected; how often have we failed to do something that usually comes so naturally to us, simply because this time we’re actually trying!

Days flew by; nothing. In desperation, I even turned to Facebook and other people’s blogs to look for inspiration. Perhaps if I saw what everyone else was talking about, I’d stumble upon a direction to go. But that didn’t help much either; most people simply wrote about their life experiences, which on the whole were rather miserable.

And then, just when I was about to give up, someone tried to set me up on a date. Thank you GOD!

No, my gratitude to the heavens is not because I’m single and desperate. Far from it; I was just grateful because finally I had something to write about! Granted, I have already written a post about dating back in April (“My Reason for Blogging…!”) but this time around I wanted to dwell on another aspect with regards to dating; i.e., the setup!

Have you ever set someone up on a date? Perhaps you’ve been the one whose been set up? As far as I can recall, I’ve definitely not set anyone up on a date, and the one time that I was a victim to this ploy it ended in disaster! But we’ll get back to that later.

The entire concept of setting up two individuals, both of whom are usually your friends, on a date together just boggles the mind. How am I supposed to decide whether two individuals will suddenly develop chemistry together? What criteria am I supposed to qualify them for each other? Yes, one of them is a boy, the other is a girl; after that, well it’s anyone’s guess really. Similar tastes and similar outlooks don’t necessarily mean ‘love at first sight’, in the same way that ‘opposites attract’ doesn’t quite work either.

The main issue I have with the whole process is this; the match-making business involves reducing the people involved simply to ‘players’, almost like tokens on a board game. Allow me to illustrate. When I was a kid I used to collect trading cards of NBA players. Each card would have a player’s name, photo, and his career stats. Then using those cards you compare them with others, calling out one of the stats in which you feel your player is strongest in, in order to trump out the opponents. In that respect, if I owned a Shaquille O’Neal card, and I called out field goal percentage or rebounds, I’d definitely beat out Kobe Bryant, whose stats in those departments are lower, simply because he’s a good 6 inches shorter than Shaq and plays a completely different position. However, that doesn’t mean that Shaq would win in a one-on-one game; no statistic can express Kobe’s ability to get to the rim, his quickness, his reflexes or his athleticism.

The same is true about match-making. The fact of the matter is no person, no matter how simple he or she may be, can be summarised into a set of ‘qualities’. Besides, in spite of how well you know a person, there is no way that you can really ‘know’ him/her. The ability to gauge people’s character and true personality is a rare gift, and I’m sure that most of the match-makers out there are not in possession of it. Let’s remember that this is romance we’re talking about, not just ‘making friends’. Aren’t these type of relationships supposed to be spontaneous and, well, ‘romantic’? What happened to the chance meeting, the accidental coffee spill, the ‘oh alright I’ll drop you home, though I really don’t want to’, the shared smile, the stolen glance? Being set up with someone kind of eliminates all that, because now there’s expectation, which makes any form of chemistry seem contrived.

As for hooking up with friends, well, I for one do not see how two individuals who are friends can suddenly try to be partners in romance. Sure, we get along well, we’re of the same age group, we think alike; but heck, that’s why we’re friends! Just because it may seem like ‘a good idea’ doesn’t mean I can press the secret switch hidden on my right butt cheek, go into ‘romance’ mode and see what happens. This goes along the lines of every woman’s complaint about how they can’t be just friends with guys because we apparently expect ‘more’. However, these same women can be found all huddled together over coffee, trying to mix and match their friends together like some kind of human card game.

Bottom line: match-making doesn’t work. And even in the rare occasion that it does work, it shouldn’t! I would hate to be in a relationship with someone that happened because someone else thought it would be a good idea. That would mean

a) I’m not as deep and difficult to understand as I thought I was; which means I’m shallow.
b) I’m miserable when I’m single, which is why I was set up in the first place.
c) I don’t have a hope in hell of meeting good looking intelligent girls on my own.
d) The only reason this person met me at all was because of her friendship with our mutual friend.
e) That mutual friend is now sitting back and feeling like god.

But when my friend tried to set me up, I admit that it wasn’t the above reasons that got to me. The real sting came because she assumed I was single without asking. Apparently, only single men are jobless enough to maintain a blog.

A dagger in the manhood, that was. And I thought chicks dig bloggers. That date doesn’t sound so bad all of a sudden.