Where Amazing Happens Sometimes: Kendrick Perkins Is Cool-As-Fuck

Let me preface this delightful little piece by saying I TOLD YOU SO... Recall when I mentioned that the Perkins trade from Boston would totally crush the morale of the team? Well, I was right - the Celtics can barely beat Carmelo Anthony and 4 retards at home these days.

Anyways, this is an article by Alan Siegel, republished with permission from Deadspin.com. Here's hoping some of you feel the same warm and fuzzy sensations I did upon completion.

Fuckin' love me some Perk.



How These Two White Guys Wound Up In This Kendrick Perkins Family Photo



Alan Siegel — Like most white guys from suburban Boston, half-brothers Brian Johnson and Justin Tsouros had never hung out with an NBA player. So when they arrived at the condo in Waltham, Mass., one evening in the fall of 2007, they didn't quite know what to expect. The place was dark. The blinds were drawn. But they knocked, because, well, they were expected. A few silent moments passed before they heard rustling, looked up, and noticed a large eyeball staring at them through a window. Then the front door creaked open, revealing an empty foyer. Again, silence. Probably sensing the sheer incredulity of his guests, Kendrick Perkins, who'd been hiding in another room, came out smiling.

"I'm just fucking with you guys," Perk said in that deep Southeast Texas drawl. "Come in."

For the next four hours, they watched television, ate Funyuns, and talked about the Kevin Garnett trade and the upcoming season. Perk was still skeptical about the deal that sent his friend Al Jefferson to Minnesota for KG. Brian remembers Perk saying that the Celtics better win a title that year or else "they're gonna blame me." At the end of the night, Perk brought Brian and Justin into the kitchen and offered them some homemade spaghetti and meat sauce. For some reason, Perk didn't want them to eat in front of him. Instead, he shoveled single portions of pasta into plastic containers and instructed his new buddies to call him later, when they were finished with dinner. He wanted to know what they thought of his culinary skills. "But don't tell anyone," he said. "I don't want people to know that I do the cooking around here."

There were other gifts. Earlier, Justin — then a junior in high school — had eyed a life-sized cutout of Perk in his Boston Celtics uniform. Naturally, Perk told Justin to take it. Justin did, but not before his host had him prop up the cardboard doppelganger next to the real thing.

You ever wonder what it's like to befriend a good-but-not-great NBA player, to drift along in the wake of his semi-celebrity, to be, in a way, his very own Mars Blackmon? For Brian and Justin, at least, it was pleasantly, irresistibly, even delightfully banal. It was Funyuns and dinner in Tupperware and sleepovers, and it was playing Xbox as Ricky Davis with the real Ricky Davis just a few feet away. It was weird, in part because it was all so normal.

It was this:

"Damn," Perk said, eyeing the cutout. "I'm big. I must be scaring people sometimes."

The spaghetti, by the way, was delicious.

* * *

In the whole history of the NBA, I'd wager, few friendships have been as unlikely as the one that sprang up between Brian, Justin, and Perk. If you wanted to be fancy about it, I suppose you could say that it had something to do with the dawn of sports blogging and the simultaneous arrival in the NBA of Millennials like Perk, athletes who routinely broke the fourth wall that had traditionally separated them from fans. Mostly, though, I think Perk and Justin and Brian were three guys who were in on the same joke.

The first meeting actually happened a few years earlier, at an open practice for Celtics season ticket holders in September or October 2004. (Justin's father, a Boston attorney with close ties to the team, had purchased a package after the 2001-02 season.) Justin may have barely hit puberty by that point, but he was an uncommonly persistent fan boy. At a post-practice autograph session organized by the team, Justin complimented Perk's hook shot. The secret to it, Perk said, was that it was "au naturel."

"I'm just chillin'," Perk said when Justin, then a middle-schooler, asked how he was doing. "Just a squirrel trying to get his nut."

Justin was smitten — even if he had no idea what the expression meant — and so was Brian, who's 15 years Justin's senior. "When I heard he had a 9-6 standing reach, I said, ‘I love this guy,' before I even saw him," Brian says. Perk quickly became one of their favorite players, even though he barely saw the court his first two years as a pro. Justin changed his handle in the Celtic Nation forum to Perkisabeast after hearing an interview in which Perk expressed his desire "to be a beast" for Boston. By the end of the 2004-05 season, Justin and Brian were Perk's unofficial hype men.

At the time, Brian was working at a newspaper about 30 miles north of Boston. That's where I got to know him. I was a sportswriter. He was an NBA obsessive, but covered business. His time at the daily didn't end well. Management moved him, in addition to several other talented reporters who were part of a futile union organizing effort in late 2005, to the paper's satellite office in New Hampshire. When he quit in the spring of 2006, he figured his journalism career was over. He needed an outlet. That summer, while vacationing with family in Rhode Island, he found one. On a wave-less day at the beach, he and Justin conceived Perkisabeast.com. They began to build the site that afternoon.

Neither Brian nor Justin really had any idea what the new project would become. At first, it was a simple tribute. But they loved Perk. And Brian, for one, thought it would be funny to mythologize an unknown late-first-round pick, crafting for him a persona that was more Bill Brasky than Bill Russell. As it turns out, the real Beast was a hell of a lot more interesting than the made-up one. "We started this thing as jock sniffers," Brian tells me. "But the Perk we ended up knowing was much cooler than the one we created."

* * *

They wanted an interview with Perk, and, somehow, Justin managed to convince the Celtics' media relations staff that such a request from such a website wasn't totally ridiculous. In 2006, Brian and Justin were allowed to attend Celtics media day. Justin interviewed Perk with Brian's Palm Pilot, but the teenager was too damn short to get the thing even close to the 6-foot-10-inch man's face. Perk noticed and said, "You want me to do that?" And so the interview proceeded with the big guy holding the Palm Pilot as if it were a microphone.

Full sizeThe questions weren't typical, at least not for a soul-crushing pseudo-event like an NBA media day. Not that Perk seemed to mind.

Justin: What does Perk put on the stereo to impress the ladies?
Perk: Is my girl gonna hear this?

Justin: What do you put on to impress her?
Perk: Like you gotta kind of go the other way with them and put on like that old Beyonce, not this one that just came out, but the last one, that was jammin'. I like Beyonce so I'll put that on and you know all that stuff that she be singin' "I'll cater to you." Yeah that's my type of stuff.

Perk liked the idea of a digital shrine to his beastliness. It wasn't official, of course. "I don't know if he knew half the crap we did in there," Brian says, "but he didn't care." (It should be noted that Perk is a Beast had a habit of flaming other NBA blogs. Bethlehem Shoals of dearly departed FreeDarko once wrote that he "personally can't stand them." Brian says now that PIAB's thin skin was just part of its ethos.) Perk would later introduce Brian and Justin to his friends as the guys "from my website." Perk even gave Justin his cell phone number (it seemed to change every time Justin saw Perk). That season, Perk had Doc Rivers's assistant leave family passes for Justin, giving him access behind the curtain. After games, Justin would ask Perk a bunch of questions, then hand over the recorder to Brian, who transcribed the interviews and put them up on Perk is a Beast. Perk even suggested to Justin that they should hang out. At the end of Boston's putrid 2006-07 campaign, Perk gave Justin one of his size-19 Adidas high-tops.

* * *

That summer Justin phoned Perk — obsessively. At one point, Brian asked Justin how many times he'd called. "Ten," Justin responded. "This week." Garnett's arrival had them a little worried about future access to the team, and to Perk. Would it evaporate? Their fears subsided a bit when they got word that they were allowed at media day, again. They came prepared this time, churning out more on-camera interviews. Brian even made sure to bring along a limited edition Perk is a Beast onesie for Perk's newborn son, Kendrick Perkins II. (Perk later returned the favor by giving Brian, whose own son was born around the same time as Little Ken, an entire box of outgrown baby clothes.) Perk told Brian and Justin to come over later. That night they ate Funyuns and talked basketball for four hours.

Perk began to treat Justin as a sort of little brother. Every so often, he'd take Justin out to dinner after games. They'd go to Strega in Boston's North End. The first time, Justin was afraid to order too much — or too little. "Just get what I get," Perk told him. That turned out to be a two-pound lobster, fettuccine alfredo, and a whole chicken. Justin ate leftovers for days.

He looked up to Perk. They got their hair cut together. ("Give him the Pat Riley," Perk told the barber when his protégé sat down in the chair. The first thing Justin's mother said when she saw him afterward was, "Oh my god.") They talked about women. Once Perk invited Justin to sleep over. Justin had been away at college, and Perk just wanted to catch up. Still, Justin was shocked.

"Why not?" Perk said. "You're family."

* * *

All of a sudden, it seemed, Perk was more than a bit player. In 2007-08, his fifth season as a pro, he became Boston's enforcer. Still, Brian, a keen observer of all things Perk, knew that the big man didn't feel like his job was safe. This was, after all, someone who never had it easy.

When Perk was 5, his mother, Ercell Minix, was murdered at the beauty salon where she worked. He was a grown man before he met his father, Kenneth Perkins, who spent his son's childhood playing pro basketball overseas. Perk's grandparents raised him in Beaumont, Texas. Although he was a McDonald's All-American at Clifton J. Ozen High, he lasted until late in the first round of the 2003 NBA Draft. After the Memphis Grizzlies snagged him with the 27th overall pick, they traded him to the Celtics. Brian sensed that Perk hated the draft. It was just a reminder that he was replaceable.

Full sizeBut then his career finally took off, and Brian and Justin were sitting shotgun. Perk is a Beast saw a jump in traffic as the championship season progressed. By then, Brian had sold an ad to Gold Rarities — High Quality PCGS & NGC Certified Coins at Competitive Prices! — the only sponsor the site has ever had.

After the Celtics clinched the title with a blowout win over the Lakers (a game in which Perk had held Pau Gasol to 11 points) the two brothers waited for a chance to see their guy. "You kept wondering when you would get big-timed," Brian says. It never happened. An hour and half after the buzzer sounded, Perk brought Brian and Justin backstage to join in on the celebration.

"That was the most incredible moment," Brian says. "There were no owners [around], just the players, the coaches and the trophy. Everybody was taking pictures with their families and the trophy. As a sports fan, you live to be a part of that."

All Brian wanted to do was say congratulations. Perk wasn't having it. "Y'all come back and get a picture taken." Brian and Justin posed in a big group shot and got to touch the Larry O'Brien trophy. "It was," Brian says, "the complete sports fantasy."

* * *

Perk married his girlfriend, Vanity Alpough, on July 25, 2009, near Houston. Brian and Justin, who was bound for Providence College that fall, were guests. They flew out a few days before the ceremony and showed up at Perk's house in The Woodlands, a posh planned community. Their luggage had been lost, and Brian wore an oversized white T-shirt he'd bought at a drug store. Justin was in a Star Wars shirt he'd worn on the plane.

They figured they'd be able to hang out, relax, and then crash at the hotel. They were wrong. As soon as Brian and Justin arrived, they were told to get ready for the bachelor party. "These white dudes are my boys from Boston," Perk explained to his assembled friends, among them Rajon Rondo. "They run Perk is a Beast," Perk said. "They're from out of town. They don't know how we do it." Justin and Brian soon found out how it was done. "We're [at a club] in downtown Houston, with a cavalcade of the hardest-looking dudes you've ever seen," Brian said. "Right behind Perk is Justin, in a Stormtrooper T-shirt and shorts."

Still, Perk and his friends made them feel comfortable. "I didn't spend a dollar," Brian said. By the time they got back to Perk's house the next morning, he'd been up 28 hours straight. He'd gotten his wallet stolen. He'd driven his rented Kia into a drainage ditch. It was as bizarre as it was exhilarating. Brian would later admit that he felt like an alien that weekend. His wife and young son were at home, and here he was at the wedding of an NBA player almost 10 years his junior. After the reception, Brian and Justin pulled up to Perk's driveway to find Stephen Jackson in his red Rolls Royce Phantom, blasting a song by late Houston rapper DJ Screw. Perk was in the middle of it all, singing every word.

The next day, when things had slowed considerably, Brian and Justin drove back to Perk's to hang out. While Perk, Rondo and Jackson sat playing cards, Brian took on his brother in a game of NBA 2K on Xbox. Justin picked the Clippers, who had one of his favorite players, fellow wedding guest Ricky Davis. Davis happened to be in the room. Video Game Ricky proceeded to drop 50 points on Brian. Every time Video Game Ricky scored, Actual Ricky did a little dance.

* * *

In February, Perk was deemed replaceable. The Celtics dealt him to the Thunder, a trade that may cost Boston a shot at another title. Brian was numb. "Thanks for the Perk love," Brian wrote from the Perk is a Beast Twitter account. "We're crushed. It's like the kid in almost famous when the band denies the story."

Maybe the relationship wasn't so strange, in the end. I put the question to ex-Celtics assistant coach Clifford Ray, Perk's mentor, a few months ago. Why did Perk trust those guys so completely? "They weren't after anything," Ray said.

That's not to say that Justin and Brian didn't get anything out of the friendship. "In a weird way," Brian says now, "Perk was my muse." Through Perk is a Beast, he'd appeared on Comcast's Celtics Now as a panelist. He'd gotten back into journalism, co-founding Mass Device, a Boston-based online publication. He also began hosting a weekly podcast with Ray.

On the dance floor at Perk's wedding, Brian thanked his muse. By that point the reception was wrapping up. Perk had shed his giant white tuxedo coat and was wearing a wife beater.

"You saved me," Brian remembers blurting out.

Perk looked confused.

"Huh?"

"You saved my career."

"Huh?"

And then, the Beast laughed.

Ruminations 15.0

The foreman at the local construction site hired a Newfoundlander to be in charge of supplies. Friday, before closing down, the foreman searched everywhere for the Newfie and the shipment of finishing nails they had ordered.

He searched high and low to no avail, only to arrive home and find a massive box sitting sealed in his foyer.

The foreman approached the box, only to be completely floored as the Newfie leapt from within the box, screaming "Surprise".

Often, things are lost in translation, and where one person may find humour, another person may not. Which reminds me;

Anyways, busy day today, but before I go I just wanted to impart some nuggets of wisdom for my people.

1) The Raptors are leading the NBA in first-quarter production and scoring. Considering how rubbish the team is, at first glance, this may appear a positive statistic measure of a sub-par squad.

Think again - The Raps are so shit that opposing teams don't lace their kicks until the second quarter. Patience is a virtue, and the league's other 29 teams are well aware of this.

2) Sunday's loss by Arsenal in the Carling Cup Final against lowly bottom-dwellers Birmingham City really took the wind out of my sails. Today, more than 24 hours after the ref blew the final whistle, I'm still left gutted by the result.

3) I overreacted about the whole Kendrick Perkins thing Friday. I went back and looked at some stats from 2008 when the Celtics won the championship, and Perk played only 18 minutes per.

He's a physically imposing character, but as a free agent at the end of this season, rumours had it he was looking for a contract somewhere in the range of 9 million a year. Once again, it seems in hindsight that Celtics GM and former Toronto Blue Jay Danny Ainge has made a brilliant move.

4) Finally - the other day, while sitting at the local Starbucks enjoying a cup, "Take My Breath Away" came on the digital satellite music service. After vomiting my Captain Crunch into the remains of my Caramel Macchiato, I came to the conclusion that the song is not about love and the effects it has on a woman, but on respiratory illnesses and the thousands of Canadians who experience such difficulties annually.

It had me thinking about weak-ass tunes and their ulterior meanings, such as Celine Dion's "My Heart Will Go On" and the preachy angle it takes towards promoting the cryogenic freezing of the heart.

Tomorrow, Scotty flies out to Kiev, Ukraine to work for a year. Let's all wish him a safe flight and a splendid time acclimatizing himself to the country. We'll miss ya bruh.

Where Amazing Happens Sometimes: Trade Deadline (Peace Kendrick)

With the close of Wednesday's NBA trading deadline came a list of moves typically made by teams looking to stock-up for the playoff run and by those hoping to shed some dead-weight and provide financial stability for future seasons.

The league is a business, and sometimes it's easy to forget this.

Regardless of how much you love a player, he's simply a part of a whole, and a team, as a sum of its parts, is but a viable business plan in place to turn a profit. On the court winning is all that matters, and in the boardroom, winning is essential for meeting the bottom line.

Sure, there are more important issues today - but I don't really give a fuck - I wish the Celtics didn't have to trade Kendrick Perkins. I've followed his career path from an at-risk straight-out-of high school prospect to a fundamental piece of the Celtics success. Watching him play for the Celtics and witnessing the comaradorie shared by with his teammates offered but a glimpse of the family they had become.

When asked about the trade last night following Boston's loss to Denver, coach Doc Rivers had this to say; "I told them before the game, someone told me, 'Well, it's not personal.' I said, 'No, it's very personal.' Perk is a family member. He's more than just a player for us, and when you lose a family member like that, it hurts. It's emotional, and that's how the guys are. They understand the trade and all that stuff, but that still doesn't mean it's not emotional for you."

His loss leaves some questions about depth at the center position, with hopes that Shaq's aging knees and new acquisition Nenad Krstic can carry the load left by Perk. They've remedied an apparent weakness at perimeter defense by getting 24-year old stud Jeff Green back from Oklahoma City in the Perkins trade that also sent Nate Robinson packing, but I'm left nonetheless with a sour taste in my mouth.

These guys really were a family, and as a fan, I feels like a periphery member, a satellite cousin brought together by the luxury of digital cable.

ESPN's Bill Simmons covered the trade deadline in his column this morning at ESPN.com. He's an unabashed fan of all things Boston, and like many of the Celtics players, he loves Kendrick Perkins like family. Say what you will about Simmons and his penchant for writing as if it was recorded verbatim and transcribed, but in this case, the man perfectly conveys the feelings I have today. The last few paragraphs of his column hit the nail on the head;

You might remember LeBron and Carmelo getting excoriated for stabbing their respective teams in the back. You want to know why they didn't care? Because, deep down, they know that teams don't care about players, either. They probably witnessed 20 variations of the Perkins trade during their first few years in the league. Hey, it's a business. Hey, that's just sports. Hey, trades come with the territory. Isn't loyalty a two-way street? When a team does what's best for itself, we call it smart. When a player does the same, we call him selfish. We never think about what a double standard it is.

I thought Perk deserved better than getting blindsided in Denver, then having to limp around with a sprained knee and pack his stuff with tears rolling down his face. Maybe I'm a sap. But that was our guy. Family. On the phone, my dad decided -- completely seriously -- that he would rather have lost the 2011 title with Perkins than have tried to win it without him. Why?

"Because he was truly part of our team," Dad said. "I don't want to root for laundry. I watched that guy for eight years. That should mean something. Continuity should mean something."

Within a few weeks, both of us will have talked ourselves into the Jeff Green era. That's what fans do. We take the hits, shake them off, keep coming back. The Celtics will morph into something slightly different: a little more athletic, a little more flexible, a little younger and, hopefully, almost as tough. Perkins will fly to Oklahoma City, live out of a hotel room, make new friends and try to help Durant and Russell Westbrook make the Finals. Maybe the Celtics will see him there. It won't feel weird at all, because that's the way professional sports work. We are rooting for laundry. Whether we want to admit it or not.

Where Amazing Happens Sometimes: Picture Of The Year

First off, yes I am aware that the title "Where Amazing Happens Sometimes" requires a comma after the Happens. In order to modify this I would need two things I don't have a surplus of to go-back an alter the tags on all of my NBA bits; patience and time. So for the time being, it is what it is.

See all those bald, portly Jewish-looking dudes sitting on their asses underneath the baskets at NBA games? No, not Jon Lovitz sitting courtside, the other ones. The same guys that get flattened by Shaq and kicked by Dennis Rodman are there to take photos of the action taking place before them. Often the shots are mundane and indicative of the repetitive nature of the game and what transpires in the paint; white dudes getting dunked on, players leaping en mass for a rebound and homo-erotic scrums for a loose ball.

Sometimes said photographers capture brilliance. In but a week's span, two shots were captured that require noting.

The first I stumbled upon while reading Bethlehem Shoals in-depth coverage of the Miami Heat in "Heat Strokes" which my friends at Deadspin.com publish following Heat games. Shoals also writes for FreeDarko.com, which is one of my favorite sites on the interweb. They also recently published an amazing book on the subject of basketball which is a must-have for fans of the hardwood.

No, not that hardwood, if you fancy that well I can't help you, well actually I probably could, but I have my eyes on something else. Shotta!

That right there is a statement picture. Captured accidentally, it displays the "Big Three" in various stages (Yup, that's Chris Bosh marinating under his own basket - way to run the break buddy.) At the time, I thought this might be the photo of the year.

Until last night, following the Celtics win over the Knicks at MSG, whilst trolling online I found this gem. Despite the fact it's not during game action as is the above photo, find me another shot that features four teammates each in a different stage of celebration. Not sure what Nate Robinson is up to, but you have to love Garnett's Vaudeville-like pose no?

Funny how similar Paul Pierce's pose is to Mr. Wade's in the previous photo. Trust me, Pierce is very aware of this fact and enjoys being 20-4 while the rest of the league talks about the Heat.


How aware is my boy P Squared aka The Truth about the goings on around the league, following a second consecutive defeat of the Heat, he tweeted this:

"It's been a pleasure to bring my talents to south beach now on to Memphis"

Obviously trivializing LeBron's choice of words in "The Decision" to which, in reply, Heat power forward called Udonis Haslem said this:

"Paul who? Man, ain't nobody paying them dudes no attention, man. You know what studio gangster is? Look up that, look up the definition of studio gangster. I'm here to play basketball. First of all, I don't tweet. So I wouldn't know what he tweeted if you guys didn't tell me."

Damn, that makes me chuckle every time. Haslem calling Pierce a studio gangster - ouch.

Just another reason this season, like I've said numerous times before, is the best since Michael left the Bulls for the final time. The Bulls I said, fuck that 27.6 points a game with the Wizards with Tyronne Lue at the point, I don't count that rubbish.

A Very Celtic Halloween

These photos have been posted elsewhere, but I thought why not put them up on badnews since many of my devoted readers are fans of the ol' game of peach basket. I've mentioned before how this season I am switching my allegiances to support the green and white, which is lame, however I know that at least one of my loyal readers is Celtic crazy. Enjoy.


P Squared aka The Truth channeling his inner-frog, Ray Allen doing the Off The Wall era MJ, an unknown chubby brother as a ghetto-ass Batman and KG dressed-up as some dude from Yo Gabba Gabba, or so I'm told.

Marquis Daniels exploring a post-NBA career change. Hey 'Quis, there's no pussy in the priesthood.

The Big Shamrock in drag as Shaqueasy with some chick dressed as his pimp I assume

Rondo lookin' all Tiger, Jermaine O'Neal as Mr. T, Big Baby Davis as a man who woke-up only for the ribs, Delonte West doing the V for Vendetta thing (he fucked LeBron's mammy) and KG and Pierce preparing to sexually assault that dish of Mac N' Cheese.

Damn I'm hungry. That last photo has me thinking about one genre of cuisine in particular:

NBA 2010-11 Season: The Best Thing Since Ass

If there are two things on this planet I despise, they are LeBron James and the Boston Celtics. Generally I hate all Boston franchises and their white-washed fan base of Tom Jones singing, pink jersey wearing, Tom Brady masturbatorial inspiration douchery.

Next Tuesday, LeBron and his new bunk-buddies the Miami Heat square-off against the Celtics in the opening game of the 2010-11 NBA season and I could not be more excited.

Considering how many vitriolic statements I've made towards the Celtics, it may surprise you that I am actually disregarding my past hatred to throw my complete support behind the Celtics Tuesday (there is nobody as surprised as my ex, who is a massive Kevin Garnett and Celtics fan. I once bought her a KG shirt and nearly vomited as I handed the cashier my money - however I must point-out I drew wood every time she made an NBA related anecdote.) Furthermore, since Queen James and the Heat are the odds-on-favorite to win the Eastern Conference and dethrone Doc Rivers and his boys, and my hometown team, the Raptors look to be nothing more than a skeleton of their former selves, I will be supporting the Celtics this year in hopes they destroy Miami.

I offer three postulates for why this match-up and season-long battle will be the best story in the NBA's best season since Michael torched the Utah Jizz in 1998.

Dwanye, Chris and a Pussy. An entrance fit for a professional wrestler - soooo gay

1) As previously stated on this very blog, I hate LeBron James because he pussied-out and signed with Miami. A true champion a la Kobe, Michael, Magic or Larry Legend would never compromise their standing as an absolute killer to join a team because their collected worth seemed destined for greatness. True champions are pioneers, not followers.

The result of the bow tie selection was not as slimming as initially thought.

2) Boston's off season signings were made to defeat Miami and expose their weaknesses. Celtic's GM Danny Ainge could not give a fuck about the rest of the Eastern Conference. Where Miami's strength is in their perimeter play with James and Dwanye Wade, new South Beacher Chris Bosh will have trouble not being brutally raped each night alongside center Joel Anthony - who is Canadian - need I say more?

Because of this apparent weakness, Ainge went out and not only signed 7-footer Jermaine O'Neal, but also his namesake, and generally one of my favorites, the Big Aristotle, Shaquille O'Neal. The addition of these two to a frontcourt that already features future Hall Of Famer Kevin Garnett, 7-foot defensive specialist Kendrick Perkins and Glen 'Big Baby' Davis should spell disaster for the Heat. I can't wait to see Shaq take a massive dump on Bosh's chest while he dangles nearly 400 hundred pounds of blackness from the rim.

With PhotoShop, any moms can bang a baller. Gloria seen here carousing with Delonte at a Cleveland area club.

3) Finally, the main reason why I am really pumped for this match-up, LeBron's mom is a slut. During last year's playoffs, LeBron and the Cavs had a commanding lead on the Celtics, until games 5 and 6, when LeBron apparently gave-up and shit the bed. There has been much speculation as to why, but the most likely scenario is a rumour that has gained a fair deal of momentum online. Legitimate sports media broadcasters have made only subtle references to it, but the fact remains, LeBron's ex-teammate in Cleveland, Delonte West, had an affair with LeBron's mother Gloria James. Don't believe me? Google that shit - it's true.

Apparently, the secret affair between Gloria and Delonte was uncovered in the hours leading-up to game 5, and at that exact moment, LeBron stopped giving a fuck about Cleveland and the empire he had built there. You may be asking yourself 'why is this relevant to the Heat-Celtics match-up'? Well, because Celtic front-office maestro Danny Ainge signed Mr. West to play back-up point guard. This was clearly a move to frustrate LeBron, since Boston's starting point guard Rajon Rondo is an All-Star and back-up Nate Robinson proved his worth in last year's playoffs and the need for another point guard is clearly not required. Perhaps Mr. Ainge has wisely found the kryptonite to LeBron's SuperWoman. Genius move.

Can't wait for Tuesday night.