Mister Faded Glory | www.misterfadedglory.com

… About LeBron James? I still believe it, I suppose.

Sports is a business, mostly, and entertainment, and all of that, and I still believe what I said. Even though LeBron James may be a jerk or an uncaring lummox, I don’t think the PR stunt of the last two weeks damages him. In five months we’ll all have forgotten about this, and his coverage will mostly be positive. I believe all of this, and I even believe that he probably energized a core of true fans, and will weather any backlash. After all, we forgive greatness.

But, wow, that did … suck … tonight. Even in a hollow industry with hollow people, I can’t remember feeling so bleak. It was very difficult, very disappointing, and tough to root for anyone involved. If I sat here long enough, I could justify LeBron James sublimating his ego to play a Pippen- or Magic-like role. Maybe that’s him.

I could justify, certainly, ESPN’s special announcement devoted to the announcement. It’s justifiable.

I could even justify the charity – which shouldn’t really need it. Despite several sportswriters claiming the charity was phony, all for show, and a blank facade … Well, I don’t think Boys and Girls Clubs will turn down a $2.5 million check. It’s all justifiable.

And it’s not the end of the world, nor is it life and death, and doesn’t deserve to be romanticized as such.

But that doesn’t make it any easier to stomach. Sports suck sometimes. So does business. So does public relations, and so do decisions, even if they’re justifiable. Onward and upward, then.

Sprint Center, Kansas City, Mo.
Monday, May 3, 2010.
Opening Night.

The review: It was awesome.

Set:
Of the Girl
Animal
World Wide Suicide
Got Some
Unthought Known
Elderly Woman
MFC
Johnny Guitar
Amongst the Waves
Even Flow
Gods Dice
Present Tense
Daughter/?/Noise of Carpet?
Wishlist
Insignificance
Do The Evolution

Encore 1:
Off He Goes
Just Breathe
Given To Fly
The Fixer
Life Wasted
Porch

Encore 2:
No More
Black/We Belong Together
Betterman
Alive
Rockin’ in the Free World
Yellow Ledbetter/Star-Spangled Banner

Join at your own peril.

As you can tell by Franklin’s color, he roots for Syracuse.

In which OUR HERO the SNOW CAT finally DISCOVERS the winter wilderness of his new territory.

With trepidation yet SUBLIME BRAVERY, our SNOW CAT marks his territory, resembling the MAJESTIC SIBERIAN TIGER as he shuffles through dead leaves and the dirty ground.

The majestic snow cat pauses only slightly, SHARPENING CLAWS on discarded railroad ties, and PLANNING HIS STORM of the tree fort.

After traipsing through the FRIGID, BLOWING DRIFTS, OUR HERO returns to HIS CASTLE after TWENTY thrilling minutes.

Oh, right. Like you don’t come here for the thrilling cat play-by-play.

You’re expecting perhaps a recap of the Daytona 500, NBA All-Star game, or Winter Olympics? Well, check elsewhere, my friend. Those events are terrible, and I have a life. I mean, look at this cat!

Just a few quick things:

1. It felt like this one just began slipping away in the second quarter, right after Garcon’s drop and the Colts questionable offensive calls after the huge fourth-down stop.

2. That 51-yard field-goal attempt by Matt Stover in the third quarter should never have been attempted.

3. The Saints were faster and better than I gave them credit for. They executed beautifully, including the fourth-down call that was stopped, but still earned them three.

4. That pick-6 is an awful, awful way to lose the Biggest Game. Just abysmal. In a game that was tremendously well-played, to lose in that fashion really stings. A bitter, bitter pill. I’m done now.

for those of you with reader. carry on.

for all of you with google reader. back to cat fotos soon.

Before you tell me that I’m already on it, let me explain.

I got nothing. I’m off to California, for six days. Try and cope without me.

I know, I know, I owe us all, probably. Who knows, maybe I’m ecstatic at the Cardinals meltdown or the sublime dismissal of TEAM NON GRATA, making the playoffs somewhat (OK, much) more bearable.

Also possible is that my incessant listens to Unthought Known and Amongst the Waves relax my mood and hinting at hopeful futures. cascading peaks and impeccable lyrics perfectly nestle into my brain,

Or perhaps I’ve even found a unique peace, having just turned 32. Not a young age, not an old age. Still, I remember, as a child, thinking 32 was a super-cool age. Boy, when I get big and grown up and 32, I’ll be able to do whatever I want.

This was probably a result of repeatedly watching Remington Steele along with my mom as a kid, and quietly wondering how old the suave Mr. Steele was. She always said, “Probably 32,” and I just assumed I’d turn out as debonair with Mr. Steele, pouring myself into a tuxedo, cruising through California in a roadster, relaxing in my fantastic pad, replete with vintage movie posters, minimalist furniture, and on-cue fireplace. Of course, I would possess the  effortless abilities to recall movie themes on cue and unknowingly sweep women off their feet.

So glad some things turn out as planned.

Regardless, we do enough bitching and moaning around here to fill two blogs (or seven Twitter feeds), but we never do enough shout-outs. First up is Andy Dolan’s post at Desipio, also linked above, written shortly after the St. Louis demise of 2009.

Far be it for us woebegone Cub fans to overlook the bad karma from cheering at another team’s schadenfreude, but, you know what? The Cardinals deserved it. Andy explains why:

But for a franchise that has enjoyed success on the field, their fans have always been oddly obsessed with the Cubs.  On some level, I’m sure it’s because of the inferiority complex that St. Louis feels towards Chicago and that Missouri feels towards the rest of the world.  When your state is best remembered for being the northernmost advocate of slavery during the Civil War, of being the last state in the union to require school children wear to shoes and for using Mountain Dew as toothpaste, you’re going to need to cling to something to make yourself feel better about

Amen, brother. Worry about yourselves, Cardinal fans. We’re nothing. Step outside of the trailer and roll an extra-fat ditchweed spliff to get yourselves through the offseason. Hint: It will be long.

We also bash Bill Simmons so much that it’s incumbent to point out when he’s right. You might remember us repeatedly eviscerating Simmons for his Michael Jordan hero worship. Friday, he was not quite as starstruck:

Here’s what amazed me: Some people defended the speech! Like, writers whom I respect! Really, you’re defending an off-the-cuff, uncomfortable, petty, biting, rambling, vindictive, score-settling speech during what’s meant to be nothing more than a celebration? That was a good thing?

Jordan’s original thesis was incorrect: Other than when he got cut in high school, EVERYONE believed in him … No athlete was coddled more than Jordan, and no athlete had a bigger disparity between “public image” and “what he was actually like.” Hell, for his entire career, Sam Smith was the only journalist with the testicular fortitude to call him out….

He wasn’t a great guy by any stretch, just a bloodthirsty competitor who cared only about ruining everything in his path. That’s it. That’s what fueled him. At the time, we glorified him for that one quality because we love that stuff. How many times did you hear MJ gushingly described by an announcer as a “killer” over the years? A hundred? A thousand? …

Much appreciated, Bill. Simmons also isn’t kind to our favorite friend Brett Favre in this mailbag, but just as correct. In interest of space, we urge you to check it out.

And finally, The Daily Show rips on CNN, and we “leave it there.”

Any status updates in your news feed today reading something like: How can anyone not like Brett Favre, the way he plays just like a kid out there and has so much fun?

No, there is no room for tongue-in-cheek. This sort of nonsense results in an automatic de-friend.

The Facebook police have spoken. As you were.