Irrefutable

(((PC(TMT)+(PhD-fd))-Kg)^OF)*WWW = http://goo.gl/xmrT

Where

PC = Pop Culture

TMT = Too Much Time

fd = final dissertation

Kg = has kissed a girl

OF = Other Fans

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Please let me know if you will or will not be playing tomorrow. We tip off at 8:00 a.m., as usual.

Never let 'em see you sweat

Let me tell you a story.

A vendor took some friends and me to last Friday's Timberwolves game against the Lakers. Or Lakers game against the Timberwolves, given there seemed to be more cheering for the visitors. The announced crowd was 20,020, a figure that seemed legit as the seats were full to the top of Target Fiel— er, Center.

We sat in the front row, 10 feet from the Lakers huddle. (We don't have a lot of business, but this vendor gets all of it. Don't tell him.) Here's what I observed: Deep into the second quarter—and I'm about to use the word "literally"—literally not a single player had broken a bead of sweat. Let me say that again: In the late second quarter of an NBA game not a single player was perspiring.

When players came off the floor for time outs Keekley would stand and scream at the towel girl, "THEY'RE NOT SWEATING! DO NOT GIVE THEM TOWELS! THE PLAYERS ARE NOT SWEATING!" I'm pretty sure I went through more strenuous game-day walkthroughs getting ready for Concordia Moorhead.

Now this is theft in my view. Many of these players are pulling down six figures per game. Shouldn't they give that money back?

And the Wolves? You don't have to sit close to see this franchise is headed nowhere. There is no plan. No vision. No players around whom to build. Kevin Love is a fine player, but guess what: He doesn't want to play here, and it shows. Neither does anyone else. Why would they? For the tradition? The tradition moved to L.A. in 1960. To play for a great basketball mind? Rambis, now the worst coach in Wolves history (worse than frizzy Jimmy Rogers at 0.183), will be gone before many of the players. For a chance to play alongside . . . ?

The franchise has acquired the same stench as the Clippers, limiting our ability to attract other than purely mercenary free agents. We're 21 seasons in. Only four NBA clubs have a worse all-time record than the Wolves, and one of them is the Bobcats, est. 2004.

Meanwhile, back at Saint John: Two Saturdays ago a couple carloads of 30-40 year old hacks drove down from St. Cloud for a chance to play our like-minded, like-talented group of hacks. What a blast. Guys sweated, hustled, politely declined fouls, and generally showed what love of the game looks like long after your knees stop caring.

With the clock running, our crew got out to a big lead over the team that had to get up at 6:00 a.m. But a late first-half flurry by St. Cloud closed the gap and made a game of it. The Bad Guys had but one sub to our complete second line, but in the second half it didn't matter. With Carl running the clock and providing increasingly frantic play-by-play, the second half became a see-saw battle. Would it be too much to compare it to Duke-Butler? Time simply ran out with St. Cloud up by two baskets.

Thanks awfully, men, for making the drive, playing a competitive but fun-spirited game, and helping to expand the global supply of hoops camaraderie. Thanks especially to Andy Pearson for cooking up the whole thing. Will we meet in St. Cloud next year, hm?

I don't know about you, but I'm getting too old for this. Which is why I'll never stop. How about you? Let me know if you will or will not be playing tomorrow. We tip off at 8:00 a.m. Or around then.

You can put a cat in an oven, but that don't make it a biscuit

"Some blog posts write themselves," said correspondent Michael Dowding when sending this story:

When a team falls completely short of expectations, fans and pundits have been known to say its players "didn't show up."

It's an expression, of course, often meant to describe indifference or lack of effort. It doesn't actually mean the team didn't show up.

Until now.

The San Francisco Rumble of the American Basketball Association literally didn't show up for a recent game. A playoff game. A conference championship game.

Rather than shell out about $21,000 in travel expenses, the Rumble chose not to travel to Port Arthur, Texas, thereby handing the ABA Western Conference title to the Southeast Texas Mavericks.

"It's a sad day all around," ABA chief executive officer Joe Newman told the Beaumont Enterprise. "In a world of difficult problems, it does not match health care, Israel, terrorism or education. The world won't end with this situation, but it is sad."

The prestigious ABA finals series, pitting the Mavericks and the Kentucky Bisons, begins Tuesday night in Owensboro, Ky.

Enjoy.

For an extra chuckle, be sure to check out the Rumble's roster.

The story does raise the question: What if you threw a championship game and no one showed up? Well, this weekend it would be disastrous. Why? Because you would miss the first-ever St. John Hoops Mega Intrastate Pickup Championship!

Check it out: There's this group in St. Cloud. Bunch of 30- to 40-year-old guys. They play pickup every Saturday morning. At a church. On a short court. 4-on-4. Andy Pearson, their COO and a former SJH playah, recently contacted me and said—and I quote—"It's on."

And so it is. This Saturday we will host our doppelgängers from St. Cloud in the pickup game to end all pickup games. (And by that I mean several of us will probably get hurt.) We tip off at 8:00 a.m. with 2-3 warm-up games. Then it gets real: Two 30-minute halves, running time with stop-time in the last two minutes of each half. Call your own. Our men in whites, theirs in darks. At stake: Well, nothing really. But that's always been the point of hoops at St. John, hasn't it?

I'd like to host our opponents in style. Could I ask everyone to throw in $5 for donuts and Gatorade? Also, I need an accurate headcount for this weekend. Please let me know ASAP if you will or will not be playing Saturday.

Remember: When it's all over they might say you can't play. But they can't say you didn't play.