• Glenn Greenwald - Political Blogs and Opinions - Salon - Glenn Greenwald receives an angry e-mail from General Petraeus’ spokesperson, Col. Boylan, who then, channeling his inner G.O.B. or George Costanza, denies sending it. More on it and here and here, and Greenwald has written a bunch of follow up posts about it as well on his blog (he finally made the OJ Simpson “real killer” joke I’d been hoping would go unmade until I wrote this week’s Bush Admin round-up).
• Salon.com | News Wires - An unbelievable judge.
• Mexicans put own mask on Halloween - Los Angeles Times - The Catholic church has a beef with Halloween
• nirav vs. the unbearable lightness of being: A breakdown of the popefuls - Now, the Halloween thing isn’t as bad as, say, opposing birth control, but whenever the church does something that annoys me (whatever happened to Liberation Theology? I could get behind that), I turn to Nirav’s reporting on the Papal election, and I feel a lot better.
• Specialty Beers on the Rise in the Land of Sake - New York Times - I’ve always wondered why microbrews aren’t bigger in Manhattan. How many bars do you go to where the best beer is Stella or Heineken? (Lagers really dominate.) The ready availability of good beer was one of the things I missed most about the West Coast when I was in NYC. Anyway, it looks like Japan is joining the brew-snob game.

Finally, I was doing a little reading on Zubaz, the weightlifting pants from the early 90s (you remember them–the ones with the tight zebra stripes) that became big with NFL fans and were often advertised in the back of sports magazines, when I found this awesome video on the official Zubaz myspace page:

Big thanks to Mike for the new look on the site!

Greetings, NBA fans! Today the magic begins, so without further ado, I present you with NBA quotations and anecdotes, and the thoughts they inspire in me about the league.

Riley once put a large bucket of ice water in front of him and told his team: “If you want to win a championship, you have to want it…” Stopping in mid-sentence, Riley plunged his head into the water and kept it there for several seconds, which turned into a minute, which turned into even more than a minute. His players sat dumbfounded, watching, until Riley finally pulled his head out of the water and finished his sentence: “…like it’s your last breath.”
http://sports.espn.go.com/nba/dailydime?page=dailydime-060621

I recount this anecdote in honor of Lebron James, whose mailing in of last year’s first half earned him plenty of negative press at the All-Star break…and a fresh set of legs with which to torment the Pistons in the Eastern Conference Finals. Among the reasons the Spurs win so many championships is that they haven’t had a player average more than 35 minutes a game since the 2003-2004 season. Riley can want that breath as badly as anything, but the smart player’s bringing some Scuba gear down with him, or the smart coach isn’t keeping him down too long. It’s a fine line between fresh legs and fresh out of luck, but somebody’s gotta walk it.

I recount this anecdote in honor of Kobe Bryant, who always wants it like it’s his last breath, and who would steal your last breath just to exhale it in your face, a useless shell, robbed of its nourishing oxygen. As Phil Jackson’s apocraphyl tales of Kobe’s artificially dramatic fourth-quarter high school heroics suggest, perhaps more than any other player, the man who calls himself Black Mamba has learned to pace himself while still being in position in the end to make the kill. Of course, that kill can also take the form of a tank-job aimed at showing his teammates and everyone else what he thinks of the Lakers front office.

Finally, I recount this anecdote in honor of Mike D’Antoni, one of the few mustachioed white men left in the league, a guy who constantly looks like a 1980s businessman who didn’t stay in a Holiday Inn last night. Mike wants it as badly as anybody, and here’s hoping that his experiment in letting the Suns’ players run, improvise, and think for themselves produces a championship, if only to inspire other teams to do the same, and to shut up all the clowns in the announcers’ booths who continue to insist that the 1990s Fratello/Riley model of bang and grind is how titles are won. (Note that Riley never won a title with his thug ball teams.)

About halfway through the 70-minute workout, Bucks assistant coach Brian James told the players he wanted them to “put the ball on the floor,” meaning take a dribble before shooting. Fesenko was first up, and after taking a pass near the baseline, he softly set the ball on the court and walked away looking puzzled as if to say, “Why did you want me to do that?”
http://www.detroitbadboys.com/archives/2006-06-16/kyrylo-fesenko-is-a-funny-guy/

Now that he’s finally in the league, here are some other coaching commands I’d like to see Fesenko execute:

–Take your man backdoor.
–Put a body on him.
–Seal him.
–Give him a pump before you go up.
–Try an up and under on him.
–Throw it down, big man.

(I picture Larry Brown reading the above story and literally vibrating at the thought of a big, physical center who interprets his every command literally. Larry’s glasses are slipping down his nose as he shakes his fists and chants “Right way! Right way!” the way Beavis would chant “fire!”)

As we celebrate his brilliance and when you talk to Boris Diaw, what a classical human being he is. It was 201 years ago today that Beethoven’s Symphony #3 in B-flat, which escorted in the Age of Romanticism…and when I look at Boris Diaw, I think of Beethoven and the Age of the Romantics. This guy has got it all.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FSZS6sRVWsk

I provide this quotation in honor of Bill Walton, who said it (there is likely little I can say that will change your opinion of him one way or the other), and in honor of his second favorite player in today’s league, Boris Diaw. Here’s hoping Boris spent the summer balling rather than beigneting—there are few things more depressing than watching a young player eat his way out of stardom.

Other individuals and eras I’d like to hear Bill compare: Larry Brown and the Spanish Inquisition.

Garnett and Pierce organized a team outing to the early-season Patriots-Chargers game. “Those guys are stars, and they could have easily taken their own limos,” says rookie guard Gabe Pruitt. “But they rode over with the rest of us in a bus.”
http://sports.espn.go.com/nba/news/story?page=mag-celtics&lpos=spotlight&lid=tab6pos1

Either Gabe is showing his youth or I am ignorant: I’ve always believed that large SUV’s—usually Escalades, but occasionally other models—are the preferred method of transportation for NBA ballers, stars or not. True story: walking down Seattle’s 1st Ave. last April, I saw a Yukon Denali with spinning rims idling in front of El Gaucho Steakhouse. “Hey, spinners!” I loudly announced to my friends. As I did so, I saw that the passenger window was open, and I was looking across the empty passenger seat at none other than a wide-grinning Rashard Lewis, or, as my friend Camp Jones calls him, RaCharmin’ (ever softening–now comes in Ultra! Have fun, Magic fans—5 rebounds a game never cost so much.).

By contrast, this summer, the aforementioned Kyrylo Fesenko asked his agent to find him a car in the $3,000 - 4,000 range. “I am not actually NBA player right now, and I’m not really good driver. I need something cheap that if I get some problems, it wasn’t so bad on my soul.”

So even ballers can deny themselves luxuries at times, and personally, I was moved by the unselfishness of the Celitcs stars. On Thursday, I will attend the Sonics-Suns game, using my press pass for the first time. After reading about how Garnett, Pierce, and Allen mingled with their people on the bus, I’m considering passing on the comp treats and instead buying a soft pretzel, for which I will wait in line with you ordinary fans, who can eat cake.

Let the games begin!

Dear Norm,

It’s me, Damon.

Congrats on all the press you’ve been getting lately. It seems the world is listening to your ideas.

Now, since this is just the two of us talking (more or less—hardly anyone reads this), I want to level with you: I’ve read what you have to say, and I think you’re fucking nuts. Now I’m not talking about your insecurities from back in the day; I know it was tough for you losing fights on the playground and that you found those black kids scary, yet strangely alluring. I’ll be generous and take you at face value and respect your professed desire to keep your playground scars and racist instincts out of your policies.

But now I see that you “hope and pray” that we bomb Iran? You want to do it “as soon as it is logistically possible“? It seems you still haven’t put those playground defeats behind you. There’s a lot of rage in you, Norm. And now you’re directing it at Iran, and a dubious collection of unallied groups you call “Islamofascists.”

So I thought to myself, Norm needs a productive—or at least harmless—way to get his aggressions out. I thought about buying you karate lessons, but I worry that in your advanced age, you’d risk injury. And I don’t think a real gun would be a good idea. It almost never is. But a virtual one? Pretty harmless.

So my offer is this, Norm: I will buy you a copy of Halo 3 if you promise to take your aggressions out through that, rather than through advocating the bombing of Iran. If you don’t already have an Xbox 360, this won’t do much for you. But if that’s the case, I imagine we could get some people to chip in. I know I said I don’t have a lot of readers, but I believe the ones I have are generous.

Readers, if you’d be willing to chip in for an Xbox for Norm so he can play Halo 3 instead of advocating bombing Iran, just say so in the comments below. You know, I bet we’d even be able to raise enough for extra controllers so Bill Kristol, Jonah Goldberg, and others can play.

This is a standing offer, Norm. At least until the first bomb drops. Btw (that means “by the way”)—and I know this may not be a concern, as you and your cronies aren’t given to actual combat—I don’t recommend riding it down. It may look fun in the movies, but you won’t live.

Damon

PS—Don’t worry: we can keep this real quiet. My readers know how to be discreet.
PPS—I see you’ve taken to referring to the “War on Terror” as “World War IV” (with the Cold War being WWIII). Now, if the Cold War, with its multi-decade span and relative lack of actual combat, can be elevated to the status of a World War, do you think we can get Wrestlemania—and its twenty-three years of edge-of-your seat battles—in the history books? Maybe as, say, a “major regional conflict”?

This is you showing Bill and Jonah (and Ahmadinejad!) how it’s done!

Photo credit: Darryl Bautista

Monday, October 22nd
-Blackwater security guards scramble to kill Iraqi civilians before they’re forced to leave the country.

Tuesday, October 23rd
-Our reporter catches up to L. Paul Bremer III at his home in New Canaan, Connecticut, where he’s working in the garden. “This is pretty much what I do with my days,” he says. “My wife won’t let me near the household budget.” Asked whether he keeps up with events in Iraq, he grows pensive and wistful, fingering the Presidential Medal of Freedom he wears at all times. “You know, this means a lot,” he says, holding the medal up. “But I’d give it back—the money, the medal, all of it—for just one more chance to really fuck something up.”

Wednesday, October 24th
-George Bush reads the coverage of the Republican primary campaign and realizes that waterboarding is different than surfboarding.
“Dick, you got me again!”
“I couldn’t have done it without Al,” says the Vice President.
Meanwhile, in Texas, Alberto Gonzales looks for his keys. “I don’t recall where I put them,” he mutters.

Thursday, October 25th
-In an interview with CNBC’s Kudlow and Company, Dick Cheney refers to Congress’s new children’s health bill as “veto bait.” Lynne Cheney, who is patriotically eavesdropping from the next room, bursts in with a smile: “George is going to veto another children’s health bill?!”
Dick smirks. “That’s right.”
“I’ll go to the store,” she says. She then leans over and whispers something into his ear.
“You know I prefer oil-based, Lynne. Maybe petroleum?”
Lynne looks to the interviewer with a smile. “See: after 33 years, he’s still a romantic at heart!”
-The Poughkeepsie Journal announces that Dick Cheney plans on hunting in the Poughkeepsie area Monday morning. His motorcade is expected to disrupt school bus service. Inside sources indicate that Cheney insisted the trip occur on a weekday.
“One less day we have to pay to feed those little fuckers.”
-Condeleezza Rice continues implementation of her new Subtlety Doctrine. On a widely publicized memo from Maliki’s office specifying that government officials aren’t to be investigated without his approval, she tells the House Committee on Oversight, “I don’t know precisely what you are referring to.”
On the case of Maher Arar, the Canadian citizen mistakenly flown by the US to Syria for an “extraordinary” vacation of sensory deprivation, waterboarding, and other forms of tor [REDACTED FOR NATIONAL SECURITY REASONS]: “mishandled.”

Friday, October 26th
-FEMA holds a news conference with FEMA employees posing as journalists. The nation’s press corps is outraged. “Only we can pose as journalists! Iran has WMD!”
-The AP reports that the Army has begun their investigation of Iraq contracts for fraud and waste. The article quotes Frank Anderson, president of the Defense Acquisition University at Fort Belvoir, as saying that deceiving the checks and balances in the (cronyistic, no bid) federal procurement system takes careful planning.
“You had some smart bad apples. It had to be someone who understood the business well enough to figure out how to get around the system.”
Somewhere, an enterprising and morally flexible contractor licks the tip of his pen and begins a list:

No bid contract (all Halliburton????)
Make friends with Dick?

Donate money to GOP (Erik Prince)

Find $9 billion??

A phone rings in New Canaan, Connecticut, and L. Paul Bremer III bolts up from behind a tomato plant, his Presidential Medal of Freedom jingling against the zipper of his sweater jacket, his heart swelling with hope.

No, not his Easter candies, though he was one of their early spokespersons:

Rather, I write of our tendency as humans to be like the famous scientist’s dogs and respond reflexively to a stimulus. Specifically, when cleaning the refrigerator today, I accidentally knocked over a bottle of soy sauce, the cap to which had not been secured by my lovely girlfriend, Katie (to whom I have repeatedly suggested “Cap School,” wherein she and I practice securing the caps on various bottles). The soy sauce spilled onto the kitchen floor and the smell instantly reminded me of…sports cars and leather bucket seats.

You see, on one trip to the grocery store with my mother when I was around nine years old, she bought me a magazine filled with images of Ferraris, Lamborghinis—basically, all sorts of cars that I thought were really cool. It was in the bag with the other groceries and I couldn’t wait to bring it inside and read it. (I wouldn’t feel that way about a magazine for another few—actually, I didn’t have to wait long.) As I was carrying the groceries inside, I somehow managed to drop the bag, and a bottle of soy sauce shattered, soaking my magazine. I brought the magazine inside, dried it out, and pored over it for the next several months. The sight of a Lamborghini Countach, of leather bucket seats, and the smell of soy sauce are now inseparable to me. If you put me in one of those cars and it smelled like Soy Sauce, I probably wouldn’t give it a second thought.

This kind of conditioning isn’t unusual. I’m sure lots of people, like me, grow hungry at the smell of charcoal and lighter fluid, despite the fact that we wouldn’t want to ingest either.

Funny animals, we humans. Easily fooled.

• As Campaigns Chafe at Limits, Donors Might Be in Diapers - washingtonpost.com - Voter fraud isn’t a problem, so we design voter ID schemes that will suppress turnout. Donor fraud, on the other hand…
• An unlikely treasure-trove of donors for Clinton - Los Angeles Times - More fun with money. More than a little shady. The rest of the country ought to look at Arizona’s public financing scheme.
• Turkey blames US Jews for genocide bill | Jerusalem Post - Defying time, retired Secretaries of State, common sense, Nancy Pelosi tries to bring floor vote on non-binding, strategically unwise, feel-good resolution regarding genocide that occurred roughly 100 years ago. One in five Turkish citizens blames US Jews for the proposed statement. Way to live up to your caricatures, everybody.
• New Commentary Editor Denies Neo-Nepotism - New York Times - John Podhoretz is looking about as battle-ready/hardened as his warmongering old man. The first paragraph contains a comical quote from Adam Bellow (Saul’s son), describing the “new nepotism” as combining the “privileges of birth with the iron rule of merit.” Bonus question for John P. regarding his photograph: Is that an American flag lapel pin or a Lacoste Alligator?
• A tale of two decisions (or, how the FBI gets you to confess) (PsychSound by Steve Bergstein) - Interesting what qualifies as “classified.” (Thanks to Scott for link.)
• “It’s Good to Play” | Slog | The Stranger | Seattle’s Only Newspaper - Dominic Holden compares cigarette companies’ and lottery agencies’ ads aimed at selling their products with their ads allegedly aimed at discouraging young people from using those products.
• The Litlab: Sharma Shields: Three Way Story - An entertaining short story from my friend Sharma.

Just because he’s hobbled doesn’t mean he can’t have fun. And just because he didn’t ask us doesn’t mean we can’t help him. So vote early and vote often!

(I’ve suggested a tarantula, Inspector Gadget, or Steve Urkel, but feel free to add your own suggestion to the poll.)

The original Coach was built on the Andy Griffith model, with a big, decent guy as the lead and a goofy, smaller man as his devoted but sometimes inept sidekick. You could argue that it’s a timeless model. But right now, it’s not what’s hot. And moreover, it’s not really honest—not when it comes to college football.

Everyone knows that college football is big business. In most states, the highest paid public employee is a college football coach. Washington just lost to Oregon, whose wheels of ascent were greased by the liquid fortune of Phil Knight. USC rode Reggie Bush to several top five finishes, while he and his family allegedly rode in a limousine and pulled in $280,000 in benefits. And the tradition goes back: some of my favorite college football teams are the Miami squads from the late 80s, when 2 Live Crew’s Luther Campbell stalked the sidelines, doling out cash in pre-set amounts as rewards for big plays.

Isn’t it time, then, to resurrect Coach, but take it the Desperate Housewives route (except for scrapping the laugh track—the laugh track must be kept)? Maybe Hayden has some friends who can make some “problems” disappear. Maybe Johnny Heisman roughs up a valet who scratches his Escalade. Maybe a touchdown earns you more than a shining star on your helmet—it earns you a star shining your helmet. A place where everybody knows your name, where the steroids flow like water, and where it only rains when your cornerbacks make it.

I’m currently in the King County Courthouse, where I’ve been called on jury duty. I have about as much chance of being selected to a jury as Nancy Grace, though for precisely the opposite reasons. Since I’ll soon be asked to put away any electronic, potentially communicative devices, I brought with me Legacy of Ashes: The History of the CIA, a Pulitzer Prize winning book by Tim Weiner that covers what Mr. Weiner argues is 60 years of intelligence failures by our Central Intelligence Agency. Having poked around the book a little, I can attest that it’s an interesting read. However, if you’d like a shorthand for why the U.S. might not excel at intelligence, have a look at the new counterterrorism logo for the CIA/DCI (Director of Central Intelligence):

Thanks to Shannon for the hot tip.

Congratulations, Red Sox “Nation”: it appears the wheels haven’t come off your bandwagon yet. With your newfound familiarity with the boys from Beantown, perhaps you could help me out with a tricky question.

When he was just coming out of college, back in 1998, I remember Sports Illustrated or ESPN publishing a piece on J.D. Drew in which he said he doesn’t dance because he considers it prohibited by his Christian faith. However, I’ve had a hard time confirming this online. Does anyone else remember this article (or remember seeing or hearing this elsewhere)? Is it still the case? And if it is, here’s my question: at what point does an elaborate high-five ritual or celebratory pigpile violate that prohibition?

Nobody puts Baby in a corner