Photo by Andrew Miller

You may remember Nirav (the dude on the right in the photo above) from his role as “The Shah of Southtown” in Haymaker & Sally. But that was just the tip of his iceberg of talent. The man is a terrific writer, a top-notch litigator, and now a contestant on Jeopardy! Tune in tonight and witness the phenomenon. Lebron’s got nothing on The Shah.

I know I’ve been bad about posting lately. Believe it or not, I’ve actually scored a fellowship with the Seattle Weekly, so I’ll basically be functioning like a staff writer there for the next six months, starting today. That means I’ll probably be posting less here, but writing a lot over there, so go to www.seattleweekly.com and its blogs and read regularly!

I had a few pieces out in the Weekly’s “Best of Seattle” issue, a piece in this month’s Sports Northwest Magazine, some columns, etc. When you’re done reading my articles, browse around: there’s lots of good stuff in both:

Best Intergenerational Workout Facility (On the downtown YMCA)

Best Hangout for the Ghost of Fred Sanford (on R&R Hardware)

Best Friend of the Enemy (on Sonics lead attorney Brad Keller)

Best Sports Retiree at Leisure (on former tennis pro Jeff Borowiak)

Fuck It: I’m Going with the Blazers

Sticking it to David Stern the Barely Legal Way

Congratulations to my friend Andrew for winning the “Dirt Lip” award in the Nike Mustache May competition. Here he is in all his mustachioed glory:

And here’s a shot of him clean-shaven. Ladies, he’s single!

I’ll have some pics from the Sonics rally later tonight, and I know Reid was taking video, so when his work schedule allows it, we’ll likely be treated to another of his gems. For now, though, let’s congratulate him for being among the subjects of the Sports Photos of the Week at the Arizona Republic.

Thanks to Matt N. for the tip.

Update:
Camp Jones, who made the Sonics Take Manhattan video with Reid, is pictured here waving a Sonics flag.

Richard Nixon reportedly viewed Patton–one of his favorite movies–the night before he decided to bomb Hanoi. But while it’s not unusual for hawkish presidents to look to war heroes (or celluloid portrayals thereof) for foul-mouthed, inspirational exhortations, the inverse is nearly unheard of. Until now, that is. Ladies and Gentleman, your President, as presented by General Ricardo S. Sanchez:

During a videoconference with his national security team and generals, Sanchez writes, Bush launched into what he described as a “confused” pep talk:

“Kick ass!” he quotes the president as saying. “If somebody tries to stop the march to democracy, we will seek them out and kill them! We must be tougher than hell! This Vietnam stuff, this is not even close. It is a mind-set. We can’t send that message. It’s an excuse to prepare us for withdrawal.”

“There is a series of moments and this is one of them. Our will is being tested, but we are resolute. We have a better way. Stay strong! Stay the course! Kill them! Be confident! Prevail! We are going to wipe them out! We are not blinking!”

A White House spokesman had no comment.

Dunno how long this will stay up, as it’s being taken down elsewhere for copyright reasons. Enjoy it while you can. This dude is ridiculous.

Thanks to Scott for the tip.

Famous baseball manager Earl Weaver was known for such feats of wrath as getting himself kicked out of both ends of a double-header (three times) and getting kicked out of a game during the exchange of lineup cards (twice). But his best-known bit of crustiness is this interview, which I named the number one sports tantrum of all time, despite doubting that it was unscripted.

Well, Baltimore Sun columnist Rick Maese did the legwork to satisfy the curiosity of Weaver admirers everywhere and find the real story behind Earl declaring that “Alice Sweet oughta be worried about where the fuck her next lay is coming from…if she’d get her ass out at the bars at night and go hustling around the goddamn streets she might get a prick stuck in her once in a while.”

His website calls him “The Perfect 10 Model” (and even provides a recipe). He’s built like a power forward, shoots and passes like a guard, and can get off the floor when the mood strikes him. He also dresses like an Eastern Bloc Walt Frazier and flashes facial hair skills that would make George Michael blush. (It takes a lot to make George Michael blush). He was kicked off the Serbian national team for responding to a coach’s halftime tirade by flippantly peeling and eating a banana; he spent the second half in the crowd, posing for pictures and signing autographs. The current national team coach offered a TV or a laptop for his phone number. He wears mullets, fauxhawks, and braids equally without a hint of self-consciousness, lies about his height to bachelorette parties and about his snowboarding habits to his employer, evinces the mean ambition of a hot-boxed Breakfast Club, and, for all this, boasts over $15 million in career earnings, with another $18 or so guaranteed. He is Vladimir Radmanovic, a singular figure in the NBA.

Granted, underachievers are not a rarity in a league with guaranteed contracts. And there have been more than a few whose failure to fulfill their promise arose from deeper, decidedly unfunny troubles. (Eddie Griffin was perpetrator of perhaps the funniest drunken car accident in history until he died in another drunken car accident and it became hard to laugh at the first; Similarly, Vin Baker’s bug-eyed, jowly ineptitude was born of his constant suckling at the hooch-tit.) Despite his childhood in the war-torn Balkans, all signs point to Vladi being not a demon-stricken underachiever but rather a flamboyantly dressed, comically disengaged playboy, a combination of The Strokes and Steve Martin and Dan Ackroyd’s ‘Wild and Crazy Guys.’

Though I lament his departure from Seattle (for non-basketball reasons; as a GM, I would never sign him), his decision to sign with the Lakers has been a boon to Vladiphiles everywhere. Now he’s just a channel flip away, wearing grandpa-on-vacation knee-high black socks and improbably poised to add a championship ring to his garish get-up. (Perhaps that will finally discredit the ring as the litmust test of winner-ness). But more importantly, in his crusty coach, Vladi’s found his first worthy NBA foil.

Nate McMillan, a more mild-mannered member of the Scott Skiles/Avery Johnson young tough guy school, was way too no-nonsense for Vladi’s bullshit. Mike Dunleavy was just a quick stop on the contract-year gravy train (look—Vladi even rebounds!). But Phil Jackson is as hopelessly adolescent as Vladi (if possessed of a better attention span). His Zenmaster schtick consists mainly of third-hand mystical pablum and a willingness to insult his players in the press. What better situation, then, for Vladi and the Vladiphiles? We used to have to scour awkward translations of Serbian message boards to find the latest nugget of Vladi apathy, but now it’s front page on ESPN. Phil calls Vladi a space cadet; Vladi separates his shoulder snowboarding. Phil says Vladi should see the team psychologist; Vladi says Phil is like Jack Nicholson in Anger Management. Phil says Vladi is not playing up to his potential; Vladi says they’ll talk about it in the exit interview. And on and on it goes, Mean Girls in men’s clothes playing a child’s game.

Cue up the banana, Vladi. Let’s hope that exit interview doesn’t come for a long time.

One Saturday morning in the year 2000, South Tacoma eight-year-old Perley King woke up to find that there were no Cheerios in the cupboard. Cheerios were his favorite cereal, so he did what any bold and resourceful eight-year-old would do: he got the family dog, stole the keys to his sister’s car, and attempted to drive to the grocery store, alternately pressing the gas and lifting himself to see over the dashboard.

I’ve always admired Perley King for his take-charge approach, and even suggested to my girlfriend the possibility of naming future offspring after him. The idea was quickly vetoed.

The legend and his partner in crime pose for the press in 2000

Well, it appears that Perley has been upstaged. Seven-year-old Latarian Milton of Palm Beach Gardens, Florida joyrode his grandmother’s Dodge Durango because he was mad at his mom. Check out the video. How many seven-year-olds get to give their defiant “I’m not sorry” speech on television. He provides some great quotes.

Thanks to Jeff for the tip.