"Haha, I don't have an agent either!"

Never in a million years would I have ever thought I’d say, “Please, bring back Bow Wow.” But there I was last night, flipping through the channels during a timeout in the Miami Heat’s series-clinching victory over the Indiana Pacers, when I stumbled upon the film Like Mike 2: Streetball, as it aired on BET. I was 23 when the original Like Mike was in theaters, so it wasn’t exactly my type of film, and needless to say that a 2006 straight-to-DVD sequel wouldn’t be my cup of Sanka either.

But there it was, in all its glory – the rehashed, recycled and redonkulous sequel to the story of a kid who receives the magical ability to play basketball like Michael Jordan from a pair of dirty old sneakers hanging from a power line. This time, instead of Bow Wow’s Calvin Cambridge, the young hero is Jascha Washington’s Jerome, who is the son of a streetball legend and therefore wants to be the best as well. The only problem is he’s too young and small and clichéd.

After he learns the pain of losing  - at the hands of a team led by a goofy white kid in a dew rag who poorly channels C-Tates, natch – Jerome discovers the magical shoes and basically goes on the same adventure as Calvin before him, except instead of the NBA he competes in the world’s biggest streetball tournament. The biggest takeaway from this film is that the director has never watched people play basketball in his life.

But at the heart of it, this is a film about family, and Jerome’s family sucks at acting. There’s a scene in which Jerome’s older cousin comes home from schooling haters on the court, and all he wants are his Cheetos. Seriously, he screams for Cheetos like he’s about to beat someone to death, and the fact that he doesn’t is actually a letdown. It’s also important to note that one of Jerome’s young friends is a fat white kid with a Judd Apatow film jewfro who can’t overcome his fear of playing basketball. Jerome resolves that by giving him cornrows, as you can see in the DVD cover.

Alas, I simply could not watch all of it, so here’s the only real clip of Like Mike 2 on YouTube, set to the original film’s theme song. Be glad that you can’t hear the lines.

I’m going to spend the next few days imploring Danger Guerrero to watch this film and give us his patented review, because I think we need it and this film certainly deserves it. But in the meantime, I wanted to actually pitch my own movie idea to any of the hundreds of Hollywood execs that I know read this blog on a daily basis.

I give you, Like Mike 3: Boner of an Owner…

Ext. Poorly Lit Neighborhood Basketball Court – Night.

13-year old Quincy Jenkins has just lost a one-on-one game to the local bully. Quincy can’t afford to pay the $5 they bet, so the bully pops his ball and pushes him down in a puddle, ruining his already worn out Velcro Roos.

Quincy

Man, I’m never going to be any good at basketball. I wish I could just be a little taller and faster, and then I’d show everyone that I’m the best ever.

Lightning strikes a telephone line and a street light explodes. Quincy looks up and notices a pair of $6,000 custom Crockett & Jones alligator skin wingtip dress shoes hanging from the pole. He climbs up and grabs them. Suddenly, an old, short, white, Jewish man appears.

Magical Jewish Man

Well hello, son. Those are some fancy dress shoes that you’ve found. Say, I’ve got a NBA franchise for sale, would you be interested in buying it?

Quincy

I’d love to, but I don’t have that kind of money.

Magical Jewish Man

Well what’s with that giant mountain of cash behind you?

Quincy turns around to see a massive pile of cash that must be hundreds of millions of dollars.

Quincy

WHOOOOOOOOOA!

*guitar screech*

Magical Jewish Man

So what do you say, kid? Would you like to be the owner of the Charlotte Bobcats?

Quincy

Boy, would I!

Int. Time Warner Cable Arena – The Next Day.

Quincy is now wearing a mismatched green and brown velvet suit with a black Hanes t-shirt, as he smokes a Cuban cigar while an elderly barber grooms his Hitler mustache. His 13-year old best friend, a fat Chinese kid named Duck, stands near, reading him a list of free agents.

Duck

Sir, here are the free agents available in this offseason… Lamar Odom, Gerald Wallace, Jason Kidd, Baron Davis…

Quincy

Sounds great, give them all max deals.

Duck

But sir, Baron Davis shredded his knee and may never play again.

Quincy

I like it, he’s under the radar. Double max deal! What pick do we have?

Duck

Probably the first overall.

Quincy

Excellent. Trade it for Jason Richardson and release Bismack Biyombo. Someone call Charles Oakley, I’m ready to golf. Also, call Las Vegas and put $1 million on black. I’m the greatest ever!

The Magical Jewish Man cackles in the distance. End scene.

At the risk of turning something like this into a string of awful puns, I’ll let The Hoop Scene handle the intro:

Gerald Henderson shows us that basketball is more than just physical ability. Sometimes, you have to use your head too. He probably learned that at Duke.

And if you look closely at the dunk, LeBron traveled. I think that’s all of the jokes.

But no, I can’t decide whether to feel sorry for Henderson getting monster-jammed in the dome or feel sorry for the Heat for getting such a bullsh*t call. Charlotte should just start drafting the tallest dudes imaginable and have them rush up and put their heads in the net when somebody shoots. Looks like it’s time for Gheorghe Muresan to come staggering out of retirement.

Eh, don’t feel sorry for the Heat. They immediately follow up any dorky sadnesses with amazing plays like this:

When it comes to sports “writers” I’m pretty bipolar over Jason Whitlock. On one hand, I think he’s absolutely hilarious in his unapologetic relentlessness of shoehorning himself into stories. His accusation that Derek Fisher is in cahoots with David Stern to convince the NBA players union to end the lockout by taking a deal that favors the owners is a riot, from the anonymous source to the way he peppered his rambling idea with comparisons to “The Wire.”

On the other hand, the same traits that make me laugh so much are also so incredibly abhorrent and pathetic for someone who claims to be a journalist. But that’s who Whitlock is and that’s what Fox Sports pays him to be, so we have to live with it while he “does the damn thing.” And the latest damn thing that he’s doing? Exposing Michael Jordan for being the greedy corporate pig that he is.

This is the ultimate betrayal. A league filled mostly with African-American young men who grew up wanting to be like Mike is finally getting to see just who Michael Jordan is. He’s a cheap, stingy, mean-spirited, cut-throat, greedy, uncaring, disloyal slave to his own bottom line.

Nike’s “Air Jordan” marketing strategy was based on getting black inner-city kids to worship Jordan and his shoes. Allen Iverson, LeBron James, Dwyane Wade, Paul Pierce, the Fab Five, etc., made Michael Jordan a billionaire. The NBA Players Association fought like crazy so the Bulls could make $30 million balloon payments to Jordan in each of his final two seasons in Chicago.

And now Jordan, as the owner of the Charlotte Bobcats, wants to be the face of ownership greed and vindictiveness.

Sellout.

And there’s plenty more, but you get the basic point there. You see, the Jordan that most of us knew and loved growing up – I’d say that 99% of my friends had the MJ Wingspan poster in their bedrooms in high school – is no more. The GOAT Jordan is an afterthought, because he’s been replaced by shrewd owner Jordan, and this new version of his Airness is the villain, because he owns something and wants it to make money.

The first thing we learned when the NBA locked the players out on July 1 is that 22 teams may have lost money last year. Actually, we learned that back in January, but it was the main point that the owners hammered home when the league shut down. Jordan, who owns the terrible Charlotte Bobcats, is one of those owners that allegedly lost money. So now, as he’s the biggest name among the middle market owners digging their heels in against the players, Jordan becomes the face of greed.

I’m not saying that I appreciate Jordan’s stance in this lockout – I actually think it’s quite horsesh*t, much like the rest of the owners’ stances – but I certainly understand it. The guy wants to make sure that he’s protected from his own bad decisions, just like the other owners that suck want to make sure they’re not on the hook for the terrible contracts that they give out. It’s not evil or selling out. It’s just business.

Here are a few facts to make you feel extremely old, pending you not being one of those 14-year olds who has had the Internet their entire life and can’t remember what they did five minutes ago:

1. Michael Jordan played his last game in the NBA over eight years ago.
2. Michael Jordan won his last slam dunk contest over 23 years ago.
3. Michael Jordan will be 50 in two years.

I got excited a few months ago when I saw a video of Spud Webb dunking at age 47. I thought, “hey, that makes me feel better about the ominous march of time” and jumped on here to post it. Then I noticed he was dunking with a trampoline. My head sank and I aged about four years. Today I’m happy to say I got at least two of those years back, because the Yahoo! Sports Minute has put up a clip of 48-year old Michael Jordan dunking on a ten foot goal with relative ease. Apparently he’s still good enough to beat anyone he meets, including his staff. And before you ask, yes, LeBron James is on his staff.

Watch the video below.

That Michelle Marie sure knows a lot about sports, doesn’t she? I wonder what her last name is. I’m gonna guess “Jennifer”.

[via Ball Don't Lie]

It’s finally over, friends. Possibly one of the worst, if not the worst, NBA Drafts in recent memory. The Cleveland Cavaliers ended weeks of speculation that they would either make Duke’s Kyrie Irving the No. 1 pick in this year’s draft or they would keep pretending like they were going to take Derrick Williams by selecting Irving. Meanwhile, the Minnesota Timberwolves managed to screw up the incredibly simple task of trading the No. 2 pick of Williams, a player they don’t need, for assets they do need and future picks. And there were plenty of trades that made little sense, European players we’ve never heard of, jackass fans booing every single pick, and a second round full of guys we will never hear from again. Ah yes, the glorious NBA Draft.

Now I’m no expert by any means, and I’m often wrong when it comes to projections and theories. But I have become quite a big NBA fan over the past few seasons, so I’m learning. And I think that this draft was an exceptional learning tool for the fan like me, learning to love a sport that has never been kind in parity, while also being completely aware that the league is locking out in 6 days. So I had some thought while watching this draft and I thought that I might share them. What can I say? I’m a generous lover.

When the Washington Wizards selected Belgrade’s Jan Vesely with the 6th pick, many of us wondered just who the F this lanky Euro was. Then he shoved his tongue down his lady’s throat and announced to the world, “I AM JAN, SCOURGE OF CARPATHIA!” or something like that. It was fun because I find Europeans to be so delightfully goofy, especially after he butchered his way through his post-pick interview (“I love the John Wall game!”).

But my favorite part of this pick was how he was described by the Keystone Cops of draft commentary, Stu Scott and Jay Bilas. They praised his dunking abilities, with Bilas shouting joyously, “This guy’s gonna win a dunk contest!” Then I imagined Cavaliers GM Chris Grant slamming his fists down on the table and shouting, “Damn it, we could have had a dunk champion!”

With the 56th pick in the draft, the Los Angeles Lakers selected Chukwudiebere Maduabum, prompting the greatest run of the same joke (above) in Twitter history, thanks to Ron Artest’s earlier name change announcement. Regardless, with solid component piece players available, the Lakers took the 6-9 Nigerian, presumably after he informed Mitch Kupchak that his relative, Kupchak Smith, recently died in a plane crash, leaving behind the sum of $19 million American dollars.

In the meantime, Lakers fans were momentarily super excited about a guy who averaged .7 points in three developmental league games, before he was traded to the Denver Nuggets. Basically, he’s the greatest name ever drafted that we will never hear called by a NBA team announcer.

There is only one Dirk Nowitzki. He is a once-in-a-generation perfect storm player with size, ability and heart, and no matter how many Europeans enter the draft, there will not be another Dirk anytime soon. Enes Kanter is probably going to be a very good NBA player, if the ESPN crew’s collective knob slob was any indicator. And like I pointed out before, Jan Vesely has the tools to win a dunk contest, so Washington can get excited about that. But for every analyst that kept invoking the Nowitzki prayer shared by 29 other NBA teams – just stop it.

I want Denver's Masai Ujiri to be my GM.

I’ve never been big on the whole “Winners/Losers” idea because, as I’ve stated, I’m not an expert, but more to the point, this draft was so full of random names that it’s hard to tell which teams actually improved and which didn’t until these guys actually start playing. But if you could see through the foggy frenzy of random, seemingly inconsequential trades, I think there were some teams that actually made progress, as opposed to the teams that seemed to be making trades just for the hell of it.

My Biggest Winner*: Denver Nuggets

The Nuggets had a few issues they were facing, and none of them involved Carmelo Anthony aftermath. First, Nene opted out of his final year and will probably be the most sought after free agent if the lockout doesn’t start next week (it will). Some GMs have said that Nene will get “Dwight Howard money” which is hilarious, considering the reason why the league is locking out, but the fact remains that the Nuggets had to fill that void and they did with Kenneth Faried. Plus, they dumped Raymond Felton’s attitude and contract on Portland for Andre Miller’s non-guaranteed contract, so they can either trade him easily or drop him. Either way, the league’s other GMs need to look at Denver GM Masai Ujiri and learn. I’m speaking to you, Otis Smith.

My Biggest Loser*: Portland Trail Blazers

I don’t have a feeling on the Nolan Smith pick, as it could be great or he could be like most other Duke draftees and just fizzle out. I don’t like what Portland did because they were trying desperately to move Andre Miller, which most teams should have been biting on because of his empty contract, and they ended up looking desperate by taking Felton. I get that Rudy Fernandez was unhappy and pissing and moaning, but they still just handed his potential to the World Champion Dallas Mavericks. It’s probably irrelevant and harmless, but it still looks like the Blazers jumped too far when they had the advantage all along. Portland should have pressed the Orlando Magic harder for Jameer Nelson like they reportedly wanted, because Smith is one of the most desperate GMs in the league, and at least he’s not in the same division.

*Obviously there were other big winners and losers, but the two other teams that I consider to fill those spots get their own spots next.

Just two years ago, the Minnesota Timberwolves were in a great draft position as they had the 5th and 6th overall picks in the draft. Then David Kahn really introduced himself to the NBA world by drafting Ricky Rubio and Jonny Flynn and giving us two seasons and counting of “Boy, David Kahn loves point guards” jokes. So how well have those picks played out for Kahn and the Wolves? Last night, they traded Flynn – the No. 6 overall pick just two years ago and one of the best college point guards in the nation leading up to that – for 35-year old Brad Miller. The Wolves also get a future first-rounder out of it, but blah blah blah how does David Kahn have a job?

Also, the Derrick Williams pick was obviously the best the Wolves could have done, considering the outlandish nightmare trade rumors that were circulating in the days leading up to the draft, but it hardly solves the team’s needs. Seriously, if Kahn had sent Kevin Love and the No. 2 pick to the Lakers for Pau Gasol, how many days would it have taken before an ice fisherman was reeling in Kahn’s bloated frozen corpse? Trick question – 0. Wolves fans don’t care enough anymore.

The Bobcats were perhaps the most active team before the draft began, as it was rumored that they basically put their entire roster on the table and said, “Have at it, boys.” While that’s about as sexy as Christina Aguilera’s FUPA sweat, teams came calling, notably the Milwaukee Bucks, who will now play the coffin in the closing act of Steven Jackson’s career. The Bobcats, on the other hand, acquired a decent enough veteran in Corey Maggette and they scored the 7 and 9 picks to use on Kemba Walker, who could be great or could be a colossal fart, and Bismack Biymobo, who caused a record number of laugh-free Biz Markie jokes.

Now it’s just a matter of whether or not Michael Jordan keeps the team there. I hear Seattle is lovely this time of year.

I didn’t even stick around to watch the 60th pick of the NBA Draft, as I was dipping my toes in Lake Slumber while I watched Futurama. But every time that Washington guard Isaiah Thomas was mentioned during the draft, I cringed a little. Sure, he’s similarly named after one of the best players in NBA history, but that great player also went on to become one of the most inept NBA executives ever. I watched the NBA growing up and I remember watching Zeke’s Pistons, but I will never remember him for being an arrogant-but-great athlete. I will remember him for crippling the New York Knicks and being the reason that I believe that the NBA has the dumbest, most ham-fisted general managers in professional sports. I hope that Isaiah, selected with the final pick of the draft by the Sacramento Kings, has some success ahead of him. Perhaps then I won’t think of this every time I hear his name:

When BYU’s Jimmer Fredette was selected 10th by the Sacramento Kings, my reaction was, “Aw, poor guy.” But to hear him talk about his excitement for playing for possibly the most poorly run team in the NBA (with all due respect to the New Orleans Hornets previous ownership) was incredibly baffling, but somewhat refreshing. Look, he knows as well as you or I that he’s walking into a greasy taco fart cloud at best. He’s treating it with class when a lot of other players would have pouted and stomped their feet. After all, Jimmer has a lot to prove now that his ability had been questioned so much leading up to this draft. Most experts and analysts wondered if he’d be good enough for the NBA or if he was just another awesome college player that would spend his NBA career coming off the bench. Now he has to prove that he’s not Adam Morrison and he can play in the NBA. But first he needs to get laid.

First of all, I’d like to take this moment to thank any random gods that Chris Berman is not a NBA Draft analyst for ESPN, because I guarantee that we would have heard Kyrie “A Laser Down the Road That You Must Travel” Irving at least 2,000 times last night. Rock on, Mister Mister. Rock on.

Leading up to the announcement that Irving would be the first pick, the ESPN crew was relentless about Irving’s future in Cleveland and the comparisons to LeBron James. It was funny every time they mentioned Irving and then added “… or Derrick Williams” but it became so awkward when they talked about how valuable Irving was going to be to the fans.

Cleveland is like an average guy who had been dating out of his league for 6 years, and all his friends agreed that he had the hottest girlfriend on the planet. Everybody was so happy for Cleveland that they never bothered to keep him in check and tell him, “Dude, you better treat her right or she may leave.” But Cleveland got sloppy, always leaving his underwear on the floor, walking into clubs and showing her off like a piece of meat, and he never bought her any nice accessories. Eventually, he’d come home from work and she wouldn’t have a filet mignon and lobster tail waiting for him, so he’d lash out at her for not being perfect. So she left. Without any notice, she just started dating some hotshot with slicked back hair and now Cleveland was alone. Just an average guy again.

Along comes this new girl. The last one was a 10 and this gal is cute, too, maybe a high 7 or a low 8. But she’s not that last girlfriend. Not even close. And no matter what happens in this new relationship, Cleveland is always going to be thinking about that last girl and comparing her to the new one. Eventually Cleveland and Kyrie will be eating dinner and Cleveland will say, “Can you pass the salt, LeBron?” They’ll awkwardly laugh it off, but then one night Kyrie will wake up and Cleveland will be standing over his bed holding a LeBron jersey, whispering, “I made this for you.”

It’s not going to end well. The rebound never does. Treat this one right, Cleveland.

By far the highlight of last night’s draft was NBA Commissioner David Stern’s dickhead smirk every time he was booed at the podium. If there was an award for the guy who most thinks to himself, “Blow me, maggots, I am your God” Stern would have no more trophy space. But the absolute icing on the cake was at the very end of the first round when Stern was saying goodnight and introducing Adam Silver, when the crowd got in one last, strong boo, and Stern smiled and said, “Thank you very much.” I loathe Stern like an abusive stepfather, but the man has giant brass matzoh balls, and I respect that. Until the league locks out, that is.

If I were forced to select my favorite player between James Posey and Stephen Jackson, I suppose I would have to go with Posey. The guy clearly knows how to set a pick.

I suppose this means that Posey and Jackson aren’t buddies, because as the old saying goes, “You can pick your friends and you can pick your nose, but you can’t pick your friend’s nose,” and Posey is almost knuckle-deep in Jackson’s nostril.

What do you mean booger jokes aren’t funny? These bits were (nose) gold, Jerry, (nose) gold!

[H/T Skeets]

Needling Henderson relentlessly for being from Duke, the North Carolina product kept clanging jumpers off the rim as Henderson quickly won the first shooting game.

But then Jordan, wearing jeans and sneakers, started getting hot. He hit a free throw with his eyes closed to take the lead in the second game.[..]

But Jordan did start missing, and Henderson, who has played little this season, started making shots. Teammate Gerald Wallace even started calling him Kobe Bryant. –CBS Sports.

In summation, arguably the greatest player to ever put on a pair of shorts lost two straight games of H-O-R-S-E to a guy that’s playing less than 10 minutes a game. For the Bobcats. I blame the mom jeans. And the incessant hitting on younger women. But mostly the jeans.

Some basketball team from Charlotte went up to Massachusetts and actually defeated the Boston Globetrotters last night.  Jason Richardson was the key to the upset, shooting 14-of-22 in a 34-point, nine-rebound performance.  The Celtics, who fell to a league-best 29-4, were hindered by a poor shooting night from Paul Pierce, whose no-look hook shot from half court wasn't falling, and by Kevin Garnett, who drew a critical technical foul for pulling down the referee's pants during a timeout.

Elsewhere in the Association: The other Beast from the East, Detroit, also lost last night, falling 102-86 to Dirk and the Mavericks… Steve Nash left with the "stomach flu" (he's totally pregnant), but the Suns still rallied from a 16-point deficit to win in OT over Indiana.  Nash will rejoin the team after its game in Utah, right after he donates some stem cells, so to speak… Whoa, LeBron had an amazing game but his teammates suck?  Who could have ever predicted such an outcome?

Charlotte Bobcat fans have to be disappointed at the loss of small forward Adam Morrison, the third pick overall in the '06 draft who tore his ACL on Saturday night.  Morrison will miss the entirety of the coming season, and you can bet that his production will be sorely missed.

[Thursday] night, Adam Morrison further proved that he is the worst 6'8" rebounder in the history of the NBA. Adam managed ZERO rebounds, ZERO steals, ZERO blocks, and for good measure, ZERO assists. In 31 minutes of play (he did manage 8 points). So far this preseason, in 5 games, Mr. Morrison is averaging 1.6 rebounds per game. In case you are wondering, Spud Webb averaged 2.1 for his career, and Damon Stoudamire had more rpg last year (and over his career than Morrison). 

So, okay, he's not the best defensive weapon.  But he sure can shoot!  And I contend that he's the best diabetic NBA player that I've ever seen.  And he makes Joakim Noah look downright handsome. Don't hate the player, people… hate his complete lack of game.