Don’t deny it. Don’t hide from it. We elected that guy. How did this happen? And what’s next for us? Shit just got real.
Assemble your posses, because we’re in this together, just like LeBron.
Russell Wilson’s got his crew looking good, and he’s added a new team on the side, too. First football, then baseball, now the Seahawks quarterback tries his hand at basketball. Do we even deserve this guy anymore?
Plus, the reintroduction of Singlehawk, and a whole slew of Tindermonials to get you through the week.
All that and more on this week’s Karate Emergency!
Intrepid reporters Josh Liebeskind (The Seattle Times) and Jacob Thorpe (The Spokesman Review) join the program for a cavalcade of discussion topics.
From bachelor parties, to dudes tanning themselves on the beach, to LeBron James, to the warmth of Jack Zduriencik’s hot seat and more, we touch on all the things you may or may not care about in Episode 5.
The show really takes off with the return of the Rex Looks for Love segment, which answers the question “What happens when you only send quotes from Ichiro Suzuki to prospective love interests?”
I was rolling down Interstate 405 the other day when I came upon a crappy sedan plodding along the highway at about 50 miles per hour. Forced to spend a miserable ten seconds or so behind the Casey Kotchman of automobiles, I noticed that this slow-moving bastard had an Obama sticker on his bumper.
Now, I’ll be honest, I like Obama. He seems like a cool guy. I’m not really big on politics, but I can tell that he’d be a good dude to hoop and drink with. That sort of thing goes a long way in my book. He’s a guy’s guy, basically. And being a guy’s guy myself, I appreciate that.
At this precise moment, however, I was experiencing frustration. Frustration brought on by the operator of this clunker compact car. Frustration instigated by someone who happened to be advertising the current President of the United States of America.
“The Greater Man upstairs know when it’s my time. Right now isn’t the time.” –LeBron James, on his Miami Heat team’s inability to capture the 2011 NBA Championship.
If you’ve ever been to Wal-Mart, you’ve undoubtedly seen the divorced fat woman with eight screaming children, beating the hell out of those poor kids as if she can pummel the sound right out of them, wondering why on earth the world has done this to her.
To say she doesn’t quite get it would be an understatement. Never mind the fact that in her younger days she made some bad decisions — sleeping with every guy bearing a snake tattoo, for one. Even those missteps could not fully explain why God would curse her with an octet of banshees, each conceived from the sperm of a different man. I mean, we all make mistakes. Uneducated, morbidly obese, socially inept female degenerates are no exception.
You have to be asking yourself this question after Thursday night’s “Decision.” It’s a legitimate inquiry. We already know that Mrs. James got with Delonte West at some point. So what’s to stop her from engaging in a little three-way with her son’s newest teammates?
What I really want to know is if she got a sampling from all of LeBron’s suitors. Six teams came calling for The King’s services. Did she fool around with Blake Griffin, too? What about Eddy Curry’s BBW ass? How ’bout a little Brook Lopez (Blo-pez, to the uninitiated)? These are the hardball topics that Jim Gray failed to broach. Come on, Jim. Do your job.
The consensus ruling we can take away from all this is that someone affiliated with the Heat has mad skills in the bedroom. Everybody knows that to get to LeBron, you gotta get to his mama. And I figure between D-Wade or the other newest Miami baller, Chris Bosh, one (or both) of them got the job done. Call it a Cleveland Steamer, if you will. Boom, roasted.
Ever since the NBA stole my beloved Sonics and dropped them in the middle of Podunkville, USA, I’ve wanted nothing more than to see the world grab the league by its backside and plow it relentlessly into submission.
It’s not often that we get to see the world screw the NBA, but it could happen this year, this summer in fact. And that pillaging begins and ends with LeBron James.
Bron Bron, as we all know, is a free agent. He is willing and able to sign with any of thirty NBA franchises. Everyone has an opinion on where they think LeBron should land. Some people want him to stay in Cleveland. Some want him to go to New York. Some to Chicago. Some to Miami. Some to New Jersey. The list goes on.
There is one team, however, that isn’t getting the credit they deserve in their pursuit of King James. Even though they happen to reside in the nation’s second-largest media market. Even though they have plenty of ample cash to ink LeBron’s John Hancock. And even though they might very well possess one of the more promising nuclei in the National Basketball Association.
Yes, ladies and gentlemen, in case you haven’t figured it out by now, the team I desperately want LeBron to sign with is none other than those underdog Los Angeles Clippers. I know what you’re thinking. But I don’t care.
I was checking Seattle Sportsnet’s Facebook profile this morning when I came across an invitation to join the LeBron-Timberwolves group. I was about to decline the invitation, based on relevance, when I paused and thought twice about the issue.
First, what are the odds that LeBron actually signs with Minnesota in the summer of 2010? I’d say somewhere around one-in-a-billion. Maybe one-in-a-trillion. King James will become a Timberwolf (Timberwolve?) around the same time that Rush Limbaugh fathers a child of Afro-Mexican ethnicity.
Second, why not root for the underdog? If LeBron actually did sign with the Minnesota Timberwolves it would be the feel-good story of the century. The lowly T-Wolves. Whudathunkit?