Why I Hate Bruce Bowen

Why do I hate Bruce Bowen? That’s not a proper question. I think a more appropriate question would be, “Why in the world would anyone LIKE Bruce Bowen?” I’ll bet his mother isn’t even a fan of the way he has defaced the game of basketball. Think of all that this sacred game has brought us over the years: The class of skilled athletes competing against each other for the love of a country and the feeling of being the best. Vailiant comebacks and sportsmanship. Thousands of fans rallying to support national heros! This encompases everything that Bowen is not. He is the undercutting, cheap-shotting cheat that parents hope their children do not become. He is dirtier than Mike Tyson, and more in denial than Bill Clinton. I don’t know how anyone can be comfortable with the idea that a man is gaining a good reputation as a defender by endangering the careers of some of the biggest talent in the game. If you take a look at some of the most successful defenders in the league’s history, you will realize that it doesn’t take a lowlife to win the reputation of a star defender. Consider the tenasity of Jordan, the hands of Stocton, the strength of Mutombo. Notice how there was no shots to the “coin purse,” no flying kicks and no strategically placed feet.

As much as the NBA commentators, managers and journalists try to redeem Bowen by pointing out his “nice guy” qualities, they will not quiet the millions of fans who see right through the sugar coating. We don’t miss the calls that the refs neglect to acknowladge on the court. We can see Bowen for who he truely is. He’s a ‘win-at-all-costs cheat-to-make-up-for-lack-of-talent’ kind of guy. Not to mention, he looks like Mr. Potato Head.

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Why I Hate Manu Ginobili

I have decided that over the next few days, as the Jazz vs. Spurs series winds down, I will write a dedicatory blog about my least favorite Spurs player of the day.  Today’s winner? Manu Ginobili!  First of all, I just have to point out that this man is just straight up U-G-L-Y, he ain’t got no alibi, he ugly… dats right, HE UGLY!  I think it should be against the law to put someone with a face that could make a blind man turn his eyes away in disgust and a nose that could get enough drag to sail an aircraft carrier on national TV.  Ok, I’ll admit that Ginobili’s looks have nothing to do with his quality as a player, but it just gives me one more reason not to like the fool.  How else do I validate my utter dislike for this man?  Maybe it’s because of where he hails from…Argentina. 

That’s right, the man is from freakin’ Argentina!  I have experienced my fair share of the Argentine people, having lived in South America for a large portion of my life and having lived with Argentines for the majority of that time.  I know that Argentines think, to sum it up, that they own the planet.  They are very similar to Texas in this respect.  Like Texas, everything is bigger and better in Argentina. It doesn’t matter if it’s barbeque, soccer or women… both Texans and Argentines obviously have egos that match the size of their country/state.  I’ve even heard it said that Argentina is the Texas of South America.  He really is a perfect fit for San Antonio.  Being from Argentina, this man has probably been raised among the ‘futbol’ population.  I think the one thing he learned from his country’s national sport was the art of the flop.  For the life of him, the man CANNOT stay on his feet.  Everyone likes to win, but doesn’t it feel better to win without being the sissy that has to milk the win from the refs?  Maybe he just doesn’t understand that the reason that thousands of fans boo his entrance to the court is not because they hate that he is a “good player,” but because he is the biggest fake in the nation.  I’m anxious to see if he ever leaves San Antonio… who would want him?  If he left, who would cheer for him?  He’d probably lose the only fan base he’s been able to gain, the fan-base of the cancer of the NBA… the Spurs.  Even though you can’t beat them… nobody likes them.

I’ve always been a Jazz fan, but, if the Jazz end up being beat out by the biggest “lloron” in the NBA… I think my loyalties might move to the east coast.  Any enemy of the Spurs is a friend of mine… oh, by the way, Manu!  Next time you go up against Derrick Fisher, grow a pair and play him like a man!

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Pointless Pockets

I’m sure any guy out there has been on a date, or with a girl and been asked the following favor:  “Can you carry this _____ for me?”  Normally the request is to carry something small, and seemingly insignificant such as lip gloss, a set of keys or a mini bag of peanut M&M’s.  Why in the world do women make men carry such things for them?  Are we like a giant walking dufflebag to them? I don’t know why this bothered me so much, but yesterday, I think I figured it out! Women’s pockets are absolutely useless!  I will expound.  Up until around the 60’s, most women didn’t wear pants, nor did they have an overabundance of things to carry.  Through the 60’s and 70’s, most women were hippies and didn’t even shave their armpits, let alone wear lip gloss, or carry car keys.  Through the late 70’s all the way up until the early 90’s, the “fanny pack” was in style.  After the fanny pack phase went out, women were left with tight pants and no significant storage space.  Thus, men are now required to carry a wallet, keys, cell phone and chapstick in addition to his dates cell phone, lip gloss and any other various comodity needing holding.  I say, if you’re going to have pockets, use them… if not rid yourself of the appearance of being storage compatible…

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My Facial Hair Obsession

I really don’t understand it.  For the last year or so, I have had the wierdest obsession with facial hair.  I have sported everything from the plain old sideburns look, all the way to the handlebar mustache.  I’m trying to decide what motivates me to promote such growth on something so beautiful as my face.  At first I thought it was a form of rebellion.  I know that sounds wierd, but Provo is like that.  It’s a city full of clones, where we pay extra expensive rent to live in ghetto appartments with babysitters that make sure we are cleaning our rooms.  It’s the only city in the world that prides itself HUGELY on the high standards of the students that live there… asks its them to sign waviers promising that they won’t lie or cheat on tests… then provides testing center Nazzis to monitor the suspected villains who break their promises and contracts.  It’s also the only college town that goes to bed at midnight with the Holy Ghost.  Who wouldn’t want to rebel against such a society… especially when it’s so easy?  I guess my mother can be thanking her stars that this is about as rebellious as I get.  I’m curious to know, however, what the croud consensus is.  Do we prefer Facial-Hair-Nate over Clean-Shaven-Nate?  If so, which Facial-HairNNate do you prefer?  The vote is yours…

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I’m back!

I re-welcome myself with open arms to the blog-o-sphere.  Today is a great day in history.  I finally have my own computer.  That’s right my fellow citizens, I have caved. I realized how incredibly pathetic I have been over the last week or so, while I’ve been moving into my new appartment.  Last Monday I began moving things into my new room (with one bed that I share with myself… it’s lovely) to unpack.  I started with some large speakers.  I then brought up a load that included a small printer with cables.  I returned to my car to pick up the box for my external hard drive and noise cancelling headphones.  This was followed by a nice little breather.  (I live on the 4th floor, so after the first couple of trips up and down the stairs, I had to eat a sleeve of Oreos to get my strength back.)  I then proceeded to bring up the box filled with the docking station and cables for my digital camera along with my webcam.  After making my bed and filling my closet with a bunch of clothes I don’t really wear (I prefer to go naked), I realized that I had all the makings of a beautiful willow tree of technology… only without the trunk.  As I gazed up at my near lifeless techno-branches, I realized that clouds were beginning to gather around my room.  Lightning struck!  I realized that I had a farily substantial chunk of change stowed away for exactly such a rainy day as this.  I like the sunshine, so this week, I travelled to the store to purchase the only thing that would chase way those nasty nebuli… a computer.  Sure enough, I’m now the the proud owner of a full sized techno-tree, complete with branches and a trunk.  The best part is… there’s not a cloud in the sky… and I have a handlebar mustache with two more sleaves of Oreos to go!

P.S. Mom, in case you were wondering… the back hair trimmer can be succesfully manipulated into a beard trimmer.  Nobody knows the difference.

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