Category Archives: Beyond Seattle

UCLA’s Dragovic redefines “greatness”

In case you need some bulletin board fodder to carry with you to Saturday’s Husky game against UCLA, here’s a tidbit on Bruin forward Nikola Dragovic.

Dragovic, UCLA’s token Serbian with the awkward-looking name (everyone who’s anyone has one!), is a 6’8″, 214-pound sophomore who may be best known to Dawg fans as the guy who put up two airballs and compiled an 0-4 shooting night in his first trip to Seattle last season. To Bruin fans, Dragovic is a contributing role player who mustered a career-high 20 points against Washington State on Thursday.

Nikola Dragovic, UCLA forward, Criminal

Oh, but there’s so much more to Nikola Dragovic than just numbers. For example, back in November, Dragovic was involved in a domestic dispute with his live-in girlfriend (now, presumably, his ex-girlfriend). The dispute occurred when Dragovic arrived home around 4:00 PM on the evening of November 8th to find his belongings strewn about the front lawn.

Likely bewildered (“I cannot say that I understand this custom of American culture”), Dragovic took out his rage on the only other person present, his girlfriend. A verbal dispute turned into an episode of Cops right after Dragovic shoved the woman to the floor and was subsequently taken into custody. Try doing that to Jon Brockman and see what happens.

Once safely behind bars, a judge set bail for Dragovic at $20,000. Somehow he managed to post bail and escape prison (ahem, NCAA rules violation, maybe?).

Shortly after being informed of his player’s incarceration, UCLA head coach Ben Howland went so far as to call Dragovic “a great kid.” Really? Would we call him great? Because let’s face it, 7.9 PPG is anything but great, so Howland couldn’t have been referring to that.

Maybe Howland was misquoted. Maybe what he meant to say was, “Nikola is great at shoving women to the ground. He may not be much of a basketball player, but you should watch him send ladies flying. Perfect form. Reminds me of the greats: Mike Tyson, Ike Turner, guys like that. He has a real future if he sticks with it.”

Always the ladies’ man.

Why couldn’t Howland just speak the truth? “Nikola Dragovic is a dumbass.” That’s all he had to say. Why does Ben Howland condone violence against women? Hard to say, but there’s no way we should tolerate the presence of Howland or Dragovic come Saturday. It’s an insult to the game and an injustice to society. Stop Violence. Stop Ben Howland. Stop Nikola Dragovic.

*Husky fan Joseph Wood contributed to this story.

The Lookalike List

Over the years, it may have come to your attention that certain athletes resemble other famous people we all know and appreciate. That’s why we’ve created the lookalike list, a collection of athletes who bear a striking resemblance to another public figure we recognize. We’ll revisit this list from time to time, but for now, here are five athletes who can’t seem to distinguish themselves from their celebrity lookalike.

Larry Fitzgerald, Arizona Cardinals receiver, aka Giant Lil’ Wayne. Ever wonder what rapper Lil’ Wayne would look like if he didn’t spent most of his time high on a combination of drugs, ate regular meals, and had never shot himself in the chest? Look no further than wide receiver extraordinaire Larry Fitzgerald, who resembles Dr. Evil next to Lil’ Wayne’s Mini-Me. Take Fitzgerald, place him in a refugee camp for a month, cover him with tattoos, cap his teeth with a grill, then reenter him into society and try to tell him apart from Lil’ Wayne. It just couldn’t be done.

Quincy Pondexter, Washington Huskies forward, aka Wayne Brady. You used to watch Whose Line Is It Anyway? and found yourself gravitating towards that magical Wayne Brady. He could sing, he could dance, he could make white people laugh, he was the total package. Then one day, you tuned into Chappelle’s Show on Comedy Central and, OMG!, there’s that clever Wayne Brady teamed up with Dave Chappelle. But soft, what’s this? Wayne Brady shooting people? Wayne Brady pimping his hoes? Wayne Brady going 187 on the po-lice? What’s the deal here?

Then one day, being the Husky Basketball fan that you are, you watch that mesmerizing Quincy Pondexter playing basketball. He can shoot, he dish, he can play defense, he’s the total package. But let me tell you something about Quincy. You mess with him off the court, you rag on his abilities, and he can turn on you faster than Wayne Brady turned on Dave Chappelle. Is Quincy Pondexter gonna have to choke a bitch?

Mark Few, Gonzaga Head Basketball Coach, aka Mr. Hand. You’re a product of the ’80’s and you just can’t seem to put your finger on who that Mark Few resembles. An actor, you’re sure, but you can’t remember which one. You comb your library of old-school films but can’t seem to crack the code.

Then one Sunday afternoon, you’re watching the watered-down version of Fast Times at Ridgemont High on TBS (meaning no Phoebe Cates, no boobs, no sex). You get to that first school scene, the one where Spicoli (Sean Penn) walks into history class late, and you finally have your answer. Mark Few is Mr. Hand, the history teacher that torments Spicoli through his entire senior year of high school. I’ve heard that the Gonzaga basketball season doesn’t fully get underway until Mark Few walks into the locker room, writes “I DON’T KNOW” on the chalkboard, underlines it, and then stands in front of his players looking for answers.

Taylor Rochestie, Washington State Cougars guard, aka McLovin. I imagine that the first time Taylor Rochestie ever got laid, he proudly announced to the world “I got a boner!” before rounding second base. Such is the life of the Cougar guard, who more closely resembles the teenaged nerdy underdog from the movie Superbad, than a Division I basketball player. If we can get Rochestie to trim his moptop and sport some glasses, we’ll be in business. If we can get him to dress in a white button-up, tan vest, and slacks (“You look like Aladdin”), then we may have a perfect match.

Brandon Morrow, Mariners pitcher, aka Voldemort. Maybe Morrow just happened to be the victim of one of the worst headshots of all-time, but if you went to an M’s game last year and saw the right-hander’s image on the big screen, you might have thought you were looking at the spitting image of He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named. Children flee in his presence, wizards crumble before him, batters buckle at his curveball. Yes, Brandon Morrow may not be the most photogenic baseball player in history, but he does bear a striking resemblance to the villain of the Harry Potter stories, making him our most feared lookalike of all.

If you have a lookalike that you think should be on our next list, email us at

What we can learn from Barack Obama

Whether you’re a kid, a young adult, a parent, a grandparent, or anything in between, there is always more about sports that we can learn. This article, from Sports Illustrated, on Barack Obama’s rise to prominence and the playground, can help anyone find sports and turn sports into a passion. If this motivates you to play, great. If this gets your kids playing, great. The important thing is that Americans take sports and make them an important part of everyday learning.

I mean, we’ve all seen what happens when people shun sports. They turn into angry, bitter, people-hating Emos, who then materialize into the teacher or professor we can’t help but despise, who then turns into a fat loner that calls the cops on you whenever you turn your TV volume past a certain level, who then becomes the senile old person that frowns at kids whenever they have a smile on their face. Don’t become that person. Don’t let your children become that person. Learn sports, teach sports, become involved. Reading this article is a good start. One more time, you can access the link by clicking here.

Pic O’ The Day

In a picture taken from this week’s Sports Illustrated, President Barack Obama schools UNC forward Tyler Hansbrough on his way to an easy layup. Reports out of Chapel Hill confirm that Obama called Hansbrough a “punk beyotch” on his drive through the lane, and told Hansbrough later on that he “played defense like Luke Ridnour’s little sister’s wheelchair-bound friend.” Ouch.

Why are you reading this? It’s Inauguration Day.

Because I know very few people will read this, I offer you some random digressions on sports that I’ve put together. Enjoy.

-Why hasn’t an opposing team’s fans ever started chanting “You are Gay!” at Rudy Gay? It only makes sense. I just hope I can be there when it happens.

-Xavier McDaniel (Sonics), Alvin Davis (Mariners), and John L. Williams (Seahawks) are three players that Seattle sports fans should have a special place for in their hearts.
-The best mascot name that has yet to be invented: Balls Tate, future mascot of Ball State University. Imagine the Western Kentucky mascot (pictured at left), but shaped like a scrotum.

-I’m pretty sure Dave Niehaus invented his “Grand Salami” call while pounding his wife.

-In case you were wondering whatever happened to Kurt Warner’s spiky-haired wife, she’s now pretty darn hot. Click here for more on that story, as well as pictures. A perfect example of what money can do for you.

-Athletes most likely to exit the closet in the next ten years: Derek Jeter, Dustin Pedroia, Tim Hardaway, Eli Manning.

-Names of players I’ve created on Madden or NCAA Football over the years: Woody Goldenrod, Wee Wang, Juan Aphilippines (sound it out, syllable by syllable), Boner Johnson, Deuce Moss.

-Why hasn’t an opposing team’s fans ever started chanting “You are Gay!” at Rudy Gay? It only makes sense. I just hope I can be there when it happens.

He’s Gay!

-A roster of the most obscure Mariners anyone could possibly think of at each position:

  • Pitcher, Jerry Don Gleaton.

  • Catcher, Bill McGuire.

  • First Base, Greg Pirkl.

  • Second Base, Brent Gates.

  • Third Base, Dave Cochrane.

  • Shortstop, Rey Quinones.

  • Outfield, Brian Turang.

  • Outfield, Quinn Mack.

  • Outfield, Warren Newsome.

-Names of players I want to create for Madden and/or NCAA Football after reviewing the list of names I’ve already created: Horace von Schnauzerface, Kareem Abdul-Smith, Tango McBerg, Konichi Wakamatsu.

-A short list of the best (term used loosely) sports comedy movies of all-time: Major League, Major League II, small doses of Major League III (if only because it’s so bad it’s funny, such as when they superimpose images of Taka Tanaka in the Metrodome because, presumably, they couldn’t get him to fly to Minnesota), Caddyshack, Bad News Bears, Happy Gilmore, Air Bud, The Sixth Man, Celtic Pride.

-An image from the soon-to-be-released Reggie Bush-Kim Kardashian sex tape:

And on that note, we are done. Check back later today for our feature article, and in the meantime, enjoy the inauguration.

Attention socially conscious sportswriter: Nobody likes you

Jemele Hill and L.Z. Granderson are two ESPN columnists who share a common goal: bore readers with social issues that infringe upon our love of sports. The interesting thing is, they’re both featured as part of’s “Page 2,” a sideshow of sports media coverage which generally displays a humorous undertone. Hill and Granderson are two columnists who stray far from humor, however. In our Utopia of sports, they’re the buzzkills who tend to rain on our parade. Think of the guy at your party who drinks diet soda, sits in the corner, and refuses to participate in anything fun. That’s Hill and Granderson in a nutshell.

In recent months, Hill (pictured at right) has written articles on the abolition of fan voting when it comes to the Pro Bowl (no one watches anyways, so why take away the only fun part of it), a scathing rebuke of the Plaxico Burress incident (what, like you’ve never shot yourself in the leg?), and a profile of her father and her faith (touching, but definitely lacking intrigue to non-Hills everywhere). At one point, she compared the World Champion Boston Celtics with Adolf Hitler, netting her a suspension from ESPN for her unenlightened (or, perhaps, overenlightened, in her mind) point of view. Granderson (pictured at left), for his part, has interviewed New York Knicks rookie Danilo Gallinari (who?), the inspiration of Mia Hamm (did Sounders fans even read this?), and a piece entitled “Why are we still talking about Pacman?” (why are you still talking about Pacman? Face.).

Now I’m not trying to insinuate that what they’re doing isn’t respectable, because it is. It’s just not what we, as sports fans, want to hear about. Sports, like television and movies, are our break from reality. When we indulge ourselves with sports, we don’t want to hear about the social ramifications of Player X’s actions, or be chided for not reacting in a certain ethical way to what occurred with Player Z. Understandably, Hill, Granderson, and other columnists like them have an opinion on what occurs. That’s great. It’s expected. But we don’t care. We don’t care about why we should appreciate your charity case’s outstanding performance in the Lesbian Professional Curling League. We don’t care about your kid sister’s outlook on life. We don’t care about things like that. We want to be awed, overwhelmed, entertained. We want to laugh, we want to cry, we want our blood pressure to rise. We don’t want grim seriousness. We don’t need flatlines. It’s something that the socially conscious journalist–like an Oscar-winning dramatic film director or the great American novelist–may never understand. What you do is fantastically amazing in the grand scheme of life, but to the everyman, it’s just not that cool.

L.Z. Granderson and Jemele Hill are good storytellers. If they were writing for Time or Life, maybe then we could fully appreciate what they’re trying to bring to the table. But as sports fans, we just can’t sit idly by and deal with their oh-so-holy bullcrap. You may find a certain level of acceptance in soup kitchens or book clubs, but here, in the Great Wide World of Sports, we’re not having it.

Oregon’s Pit Crew: The answer to the question "Where does our trash go when we throw it out?"

If you’re a Northwest college basketball fan, you may be familiar with the University of Oregon student section, better known as the “Pit Crew.” The Pit Crew is an abomination to fandom in general, and especially to the intimate nature of college basketball. While other West Coast schools such as UCLA, California, Stanford, Gonzaga, and Washington have established some of the best, most recognized student sections in the nation, Oregon has attempted to undo all the creative, good-natured fun being had by their rivals with an out-of-bounds attitude towards opponents that crosses all moral and ethical lines of behavior.

To briefly sum it up, the Pit Crew is a waste of humanity. If you were to classify humans into two groups, those who to deserve to walk the earth and those who don’t, most members of the Pit Crew would fall into the latter. That’s not to say that they’re bad people when outside Oregon’s Mac Court, or in a one-on-one environment, but when they get together and form their ocean of green-and-yellow ugliness, bad things happen.

Perhaps their most notable transgression took place last season, when Pac-10 rival UCLA came to town. The Bruins were led by freshman center Kevin Love, a native of nearby Lake Oswego, who spurned the Ducks for greener pastures (no pun intended). Love’s decision to attend UCLA naturally didn’t sit well with Oregon fans. But instead of jousting the 6’10” NBA prospect with witty barbs or tongue-in-cheek chants, the Pit Crew led an all-out assault on the entire Love family. With Kevin Love’s parents, siblings, and even grandmother sitting in attendance near the UCLA bench, the Oregon students unleashed a wrath of abuse that no group of people should ever have to endure. They called Love, the player, names like “faggot,” “pussy,” and “cock-lover.” They offered to fight any one of the Love clan who dared bat an eye in their direction (for the record, I’d put my money on Grandma Love to bust the balls of some well-deserved Duck with a cane to the groin). They made signs bearing R-rated language that was condoned by the MacArthur Court security. They spewed epithets, insults, and basically made a mockery of the sport and of fans in general. The media, appalled by their actions, scolded the university for tolerating the behavior. Stan Love, Kevin’s father and an Oregon alum, publicly disowned his alma mater. None of it made any difference to the Pit Crew, with one Crew member going so far as to justify the behavior in print with this article in Oregon’s student newspaper just a few days later. Like I said, they’re the latter portion of humanity.

After the Huskies overwhelmed Oregon last night on that very same floor, Washington players walked away underwhelmed by the performance of the Duck students. “I just expected so much more, but it was nothing,” said freshman point guard Isaiah Thomas. Anticipating the same treatment that former Husky mighty-mite Nate Robinson received in Eugene four years ago (with chants and signs indicating Robinson’s supposed likeness to actor Gary Coleman), Thomas was entertained by little more than a less-than-creative Pit Crew, who have come to typify the fairweather nature of the Oregon fan base. I guess winning breeds confidence.

The Pit Crew likes to think they try hard. They have their own website, complete with all the Duck propoganda one could pull out their ass, and even go so far as to hold weekly leadership meetings, not unlike high school ASB officers or, perhaps, the mafia. In reality, the cowards who call themselves the Pit Crew are little more than a joke that embodies the lawlessness of the University of Oregon and reflects the less-than-ethical standards of their head basketball coach/Latin lover Ernie “Ernesto” Kent. Like Kent, maybe the Pit Crew would be better off taking a woman to Mexico and having sex with her before trying out some of their unimpressive tactics on opponents, because let’s face it, they’ve had very little to offer in their ten years of existence and I speak for just about everyone when I say we’re all sick of it. With any luck, MacArthur Court, scheduled for demolition after the season, will be taken down with the Pit Crew still inside. We can only hope.