Monthly Archives: February 2018

saint john's, seton hall

Round up the usual suspects

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St John’s lost to Seton Hall in over time Saturday afternoon 81-74, dropping them under .500 and back into last place in the BE. (Last place I can live with, but .500 is a big number: only one SJ team in the past sixty years has failed to garner an invitation to the NIT with a non-losing record.) Once again at this point absent the win it was all you could hope for: a fun and exciting game to watch. I think I might even have sat up in my seat at one point. Neither team played particularly well and I’m not much in the mood to rehash it, and certainly not 24 hours later. On the bright side there’s only two games to go and only a couple more of these stupid things to write after which I’m retiring. As Donny Marshall’s terrifying eyebrows noted yesterday, when you get to the end of your career you want to play every minute so I’m really relishing this one. Not.

Ponds had 25 points and six assists, most of that in the second half. Came within a bunt hair of stealing he ball at midcourt on the Hall’s last possession, which if he had would have been reminiscent of Hatten’s steal versus dook that I referenced a couple of posts ago. But he didn’t, because he’s no Marcus Hatten, not yet anyway. And while I understand wanting him to have the ball in his hands at the end of games I don’t really understand all the standing around and pointless dribbling that went on the last ten minutes or so. If I wanted to watch standing around and pointless dribbling I’d watch old tapes of Phil Greene. Marvin Clark doubled doubled (19 and 10) including a couple of thunderous dunks, which I didn’t know I had it in him. Ahmed had 12 and six but missed a huge free throw and a bunny off a very nice pass from Ponds. Simon (8/4/5) threw his usual contingent of boneheaded passes, Trimble shot poorly, and Owens was once again relatively pointless before fouling out. I find it hard to believe that Yawke didn’t play at all because usually he shows up against Delgado and his team mates are clearly worn down at the end of games. Lou used to find minutes for dopey Paul Berwanger and pointless Tom Weadock and he had a full contingent of players. Whereas this team has no front court to speak of and what little it has doesn’t take off its warm ups. I don’t get it.

I hate to keep harping on the same thing but once again the officials were atrocious, mostly John Gaffney. It wasn’t just the free throw differential – Seton Hall shot twice as many as did St John’s in regulation, during which 40 minutes four St John’s players played about 130 and shot a single free throw between them. Of the other 12 three came on a single shot by Ponds and five others in the last six minutes (counting over time), and meanwhile Miles Powell and Kadeem Carrington scored more from the FT line than that by themselves. The real issue was the respect afford Angel Delgado, who if he fails to make it in the NBA, he should become a hit man, because he gets away with murder. He routinely travels. He routinely jumps over guys backs (the one time it was called was in over time with St John’s down three and he conveniently fouled Bashir Ahmed, which if anyone thought he was going to hit the front end of that one and one he wasn’t). He routinely gives players fore arm shivers. On one play he lowered his shoulder and knocked Tariq Owens into the third row; surprisingly Owens was not called for a foul and according to Mullin the refs told him that Owens had flopped, which if that was a flop the Titanic flopped when it got hit by the iceberg. On one loose ball under the basket he seemed to be punching Bashir Ahmed in the head in an attempt to recover possession. And most egregiously he routinely plants himself in the lane to the extent that I’m surprised he did not sprout roots. Before I stopped rewinding and timing him Delgado committed three three second violations – one of six seconds and one of seven seconds and one, unbelievably, of 11 seconds: that one was between 10:10 and 9:59 in the first half and you can check the video tape if you don’t believe me. I find it impossible to believe that stupid John Gaffney can see Ahmed set a phantom moving pick through a forest of players from the other side of the court but that he failed to notice a seven foot 250 pound guy standing under the basket for ten seconds at a time. If he’s wasn’t on the take he might as well have been.

The big news this week obviously was the revelation – and I use that term loosely, because it’s like saying that this week there was a revelation that water is damp – that various successful college basketball programs – and some unsuccessful ones – cheat. Some suspects are obvious: no one’s surprised for example that Kentucky cheats or LSU, they’re in the SEC, the only surprise there is that there are evidently some SEC programs that don’t cheat. The surprise is the blue bloods that were mentioned – not that they cheat but that they were mentioned: Duke and Mike Schrewshrenski, North Carolina and Roy Williams, Michigan State and Tom Izzo, even Villanova and classy Jay Wright. Jay Wright, imagine! To put that in perspective schools currently on NCAA probation include the Mississippi Valley State University men’s and women’s cross country teams, Lamar University men’s golf and the entire athletic program at Kalamazoo College. Meanwhile Syracuse was given two years probation for 20 years of violations and Louisville three for operating an on campus brothel.

Weirder still are the bad teams that cheat and still stink: it calls to mind Mike Jarvis paying Abe Keita. Case in point is rat faced Kevin Willard, who sold his soul for Isiah Whitehead and still has yet to have won an NCAA tournament game. Which in turn calls to mind Sir Richard Rich, whose perjury condemned Thomas More to the guillotine in exchange for which Rich was named attorney general of an obscure British protectorate: “Richard, it profits a man nothing to give his soul for the whole world. But for Wales?” Never mind Wales, but for New Jersey?

On the one hand it’s heartening that every one involved is so cynical that they can’t even be bothered to act surprised. (I am shocked — shocked — to find that gambling is going on in here.). Nearly every report I read and heard this weekend – except for that shameless whore Dick Vitale, who claimed on Twitter last week that Rick Pitino was an innocent set upon by disloyal staff – said essentially, yeah, everyone cheats and everyone knows that everyone cheats and it is what it is: that corruption is baked into the system. Which to a certain extent is true – college basketball has been beset by a variety of scandals going back to the fifties, some of it mundane (“Did I ever tell you about the points we were shaving up in Boston?”) to the sort of activities that led to Jack Molinas being assassinated in Las Vegas. But those things were always anomalies. Today the corruption in ubiquitous and mundane.

Over on ESPN resident intellectual Jay Bilas – let’s face it it’s not hard to be the smartest guy in the room if you’re in a room with Stephen A Smith and Tony Kornheiser – floated, as he always does this time of year, the idea of paying what he blithely terms student athletes. Let’s leave aside for the moment Bilas’s utter hypocrisy: he makes millions of dollars commentating on teenagers who he claims are being horribly exploited, which if as we are sometimes led to believe the NCAA is akin to slavery, that makes Jay Bilas the play by play guy for the diaspora. Leave aside that he played for dewk – as dirty a program as there is, Myron Piggie to the white courtesy telephone – benefiting from their cachet while simultaneously whitewashing (sic) their criminal behavior. Leave aside that he works for a network that makes billions dollars from that same corrupt enterprise, an enterprise that the network itself helped create through slavish shrill deafening hype, routinely lauding the exploits of known cheaters like John Calipari and hiring known cheaters like Mike Jarvis to glad hand on camera with criminals like Sonny Vaccaro. It’s really quite stunning when you think about it.

So anyway what Bilas seems to be saying is that there’s this giant corrupt criminal enterprise known as college basketball and the way to make it less corrupt is to let more people in on the corruption. To let a few more people wet their beaks as it were. That seems at once an absurd solution – you wouldn’t make robbing banks legal because people rob banks – and yet a logical one from a libertarian perspective: the way to eliminate common relatively harmless crimes like marijuana use and prostitution is to decriminalize those behaviors. The problem though is that the kids who are going to be wetting their beaks are allegedly attending university to learn how to behave in the world and lead happy productive lives. Teaching them that cheating gets rewarded seems inapposite to that, in a way that seeing Sean Miller and Rick Pitino in handcuffs might not be.

The other issue is logistics. Who gets paid? How much do they get paid? Do starters get paid more than walk ons? Is their a salary cap? Do all sports participate? Do women’s lacrosse players get the same stipend as Alabama football players? (“No person in the United States shall, on the basis of sex, be … denied the benefits of … any education program or activity receiving Federal financial assistance.”) And who ensures compliance, the same corrupt NCAA that currently oversees the morass that the solution is intended to ameliorate? And leaving that boondoggle aside, how would any of this stop a kid from accepting benefits above and beyond the mandated stipend? The answer is that it wouldn’t. The only benefit I see is that it would sweep the corruption back under the rug, which I don’t know maybe that’s where it belongs. And if a couple of kids lives get ruined along the way – like say Luther Wright or poor dumb Lenny Cooke – what’s that really when compared to important things like the integrity of the game.

marquette, saint john's

MU TE

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I find myself with little interesting to say about St John’s 85-73 loss to Marquette Wednesday night in Wisconsin. I even wrote that in my notes: “I have nothing to say” it says. As losses go it was entirely predictable: a road game in another time zone in front of 12,000 or so antagonistic fans, not to mention Brian O’Connell. I can’t even work up the energy to slam floor slapping dope Steve Wojoasdjhgfski, a mediocre basketball player, mind and coach. (I was struck however by the fact that Marquette, with a full complement of players and a worse SOS has a mere two more wins than SJU, a team that recently loss 11 straight.) Instead I look forward: they’re at .500, they have three games left, they win two and they’re in the NIT, which is just about where I figure they’d be in year three of the five year rebuild. Their destiny is in their hands, let’s see what they’re made of.

Despite playing pretty poorly in the first half St John’s was within a basket with the ball with halftime looming. A bad shot by I am Marvin Clark with too much time left on the clock though led to a MU three that instigated a 17-1 run that effectively ended the game. St John’s got within ten or so midway through the second half but the outcome was never in doubt. And let’s face it SJU isn’t going to win a lot of games when Brian Trimble is the leading scorer. Which is not a slam on Trimble: he’s played surprisingly well for an unheralded freshman: he makes his shots, is a pretty good rebounder and doesn’t turn the ball over. I know it’s fashionable to say that he’s fat but personally I’d take three more unheralded kids just like him, each one fatter than the next. Adonis DeLaRosa was too fat to play at SJ as well, and he’s averaging nearly a double double at Kent State in 30 minutes a game. Shamorie Ponds had for him an off night: 19 points, seven rebounds and six assists. And Justin Simon was not far behind: 14 points, six assists and five rebounds. But let me say this about Justin Simon: he’s a dumb player; he’s Malik Ellison dumb. He turns the ball over way too much and it’s not because he’s dribbling the ball off his foot or travelling or whatever. It’s because he tries to make spectacular plays when mundane ones would suffice. Case in point was a stupid lob he threw on a three on one break a minute or two into the game. I find it really annoying and especially because he doesn’t seem to learn from his mistakes. Speaking of annoying I am Marvin Clark stood flexing under the basket after making a lay up that brought his .500 team that recently lost 11 games in a row to within 15 or whatever late in the second half. Note to I am Marvin Clark: do fewer curls, practice more shooting. Tariq Owens was pretty much invisible, as he has been since his father announced that Tariq should be the focal point of the offense and should shoot every time he touches the ball. Ahmed was invisible as well, despite which I was surprised to see him not start the second half, not because of anything he did on the court but because the team’s won four straight with him starting the second half. Mullin’s so superstitious he won’t let Ron Linfonte change his tie but he’s juggling the line up in mid February. Seems Lavin-esque to me. And dopey Amar Alibegowitz got Kassoum Yakwe’s few minutes; I can only assume they were part of his don’t let the door hit you on the way out farewell tour.

The game was called on YES by Jeff Levering, partner to the great Bob Eucker on the Brewer’s radio network; unfortunately this was a basketball game. Also unfortunate was that rather than Eucker he was partnered with colorman Dickie Simpkins, because Dickie Simpkins stinks. In the first place he’s called Dickie – I mean, what sort of a grown ass man introduces himself as Dickie, especially considering that his Christian name is LuBara Dixon Simpkins, Lubara being the God of Pestilence who was commanded by God to slaughter the people of Babylon, which he did with extreme prejudice, every man, woman, child, and oxen. Whereas a dickie is a piece of man’s clothing that was once called a “detachable bosom.” So let’s see, I can either be the agent of the biblical god’s old testament wrath, or a piece of haberdashery. Yeah, haberdashery, definitely, call me Dickie. In the second place he routinely makes factually incorrect statements: St John’s is a good rebounding team, no they’re not, they’re awful, they’re the 337th best rebounding team in the country out of 351, which carry the one means they suck; Marcus Lovett is transferring, no he isn’t, he quit on his team mates; and comparing Rhonda Andrew Rousey and his stupid Marco Bourgault bouffant to Dwayne Wade. And in the third place and most egregiously Simpkins tries to be cute, like e.g. he kept calling Sam Hauser a PA, which evidently stands for “professional assassin,” which I call that DB, which stands for douchebaggery; and he even comes equipped with stupid graphics to promote his stupid catchphrase HASHTAG OMG which sounds like a trending topic on Instabook or whatever platform pubescent girls frequent to discuss how dreamy Justin Bieber is. HASHTAG GFY.

Speaking of professional assassins and in honor of black history month I note that yesterday was the 53rd anniversary of the execution of Malcolm Little, aka Malcolm X, at the hands of Louis Farrakhan and the Nation of Islam. Ever prescient the liberal bastion New York Times wrote after his death that Malcolm was a “twisted … evil man.” I did not find him so, at least not in his autobiography, which I recently re read. In fact I like to think that we are kindred spirits he and I, sharing as we do a healthy contempt for white people and the US government.

And speaking again of assassins, finally a word about the shooting that took place in Florida this week. Obviously a horrific event – tragic even – and I’d like to think that it’s one that I can view without my usual cheap cynicism, but regular readers know that it’s not. What’s shocking to me about it – and it’s not that a child can be so disturbed that he feels that murder is a rational consequent of resentment, that to me is a logical outcome of post moderism, because if everything is normal nothing is evil – is the lesson that this national teaching moment (gag me with a spoon) has engendered. It’s not that our world is an dystopian mergence of chaos and mayhem and murder and that man is the most pernicious species of vermin that nature has suffered to crawl across the face of earth, the antidote to which is liberty and eternal vigilance. It’s that man is evolving toward perfection in a potential utopia, which potential is only achievable through carefully calibrated intervention by the very same government that runs the schools that trained the murderer and failed to protect his victims. That is, that the antidote to brutality is totalitarianism. Because I think we tried that one already and all we learned was that arbeit macht frei. Which is why I ordered an AR 15 this week, because if CNN and MSNBC and Nancy Pelosi think I shouldn’t have one than I’m pretty sure I need one. The only more absurd aspect of the national discussion that’s taken place in the wake of the shooting is the idea that we should partake in a new children’s crusade: that we should listen to the opinions of the survivors, because their suffering – well, not their suffering, the suffering of the classmates they bullied in the lunch room – has made them wise. That seems to me like anointing the survivors of the Titanic as experts on ice bergs. I do though take solace in the fact that the last Children’s Crusade resulted in the rape, murder and enslavement of 30 thousand similarly delusional teens, who wandered off into the desert, never to be heard from again and hope that after their 15 minutes of fame have expired these brats are similarly expunged from the national consciousness.

depaul, saint john's

It’s About Time

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St John’s defeated DePaul 77-76 in Chicago – or as Pete Gillen would say and did, several times, the Windy City! Chicago! Illinois! – Wednesday night, their fourth straight victory and second in a row on the road. (I thought that last factoid might have been something but they won three in a row on the road last December, @ Tulane, Syracuse and DePaul, so never mind.) Despite winning four in a row they’re still in last place, but assuming that DePaul loses to Seton Hall in New Jersey on Saturday SJU will leap into ninth. Excelsior … For most of it this didn’t look like a win. DePaul would spurt ahead, St John’s would nearly catch them but not quite and then DePaul would spurt ahead again

And in fact DePaul was up four 69-65 with four and a half minutes left when Ponds’ six points and an assist keyed a 10-2 run that put it away for the good guys … Last time I mentioned snatching defeat from the jaws of victory. Case in point last night when a DePaul three at the buzzer made those who’d given the points losers: DePaul went off plus one and a half. I don’t bet college basketball much but when I do I eschew statistical analysis and advanced analytics (I don’t understand math) and instead base my selection on two factors: which team has the more powerful mascot (Demons > weather) and which color is more appealing (blue > red). Those of you who gave the points might want to take that to the bank next time: weather > eagles and red > yellow … St John’s won last night despite the presence of the appalling Pat Driscoll, the worst referee in college basketball. And in fact Driscoll gave them I thought a bit of a gift on a questionable charge that Tariq Owens drew late, which sure looked to me like a block. And I suspect it would have looked to Driscoll like a block if St John’s had been playing Villanova or Xavier …. Ponds continued his unconscious streak: 26 points on 10 for 18 from the floor plus ten assists. The main beneficiary of the latter was Marvin Clark, who had a career high 24 points and six rebounds. He’s averaging six of those a game over his last four, which not coincidentally corresponds to SJ’s winning streak. Simon had 16 points, three rebounds and three assists, which considering how he’s been playing lately seems a tad disappointing. Stiff defense by Tariq Owens held some Eastern European lummox called Marin Maric to a double double, although to his credit Owens made what turned out to be the game winning free throw. Bashir Ahmed had as many turnovers as points and once again Trimble didn’t embarrass himself. And someone called Kassoum Yakwe played two minutes to little effect, he must be a walk on because I vaguely remember his name but don’t recall seeing it in the box score recently …. The play by play guy was someone called Carter Blackburn, which sounds like the name of a character in a Tom Wolfe novel and Pete Gillen, who sounded like an idiot. Gillen babbled incessantly and mostly incoherently, to the point where missus fun wondered whether he was “all coked up.” I told her no, he probably just had an extra bottle of wine at dinner considering the late start. He repeated ad nauseum that Chicago! is called the Windy City! and is in Illinois! and that Sharmorie Ponds played for Thomas Jefferson High! in Brooklyn! New York! and there was for my taste way too much Glory Days talk about his erstwhile coaching career, the upshot of which is that teams he coached – Xavier, Providence and Virginia – tended to achieve better results after he left than while he was there. Most egregiously Gillen does not seem to understand the concept of time. With four minutes left in the first half he said that there was “Plenty of time left in this contest.” Okay, fair enough. Twenty four minutes later, with 34 seconds left in the game he said that there’s “Still a long way to go,” which seems longer than plenty of time, and then with less than three seconds left he said there’s “2.8 seconds, still an eternity,” which an eternity is certainly longer than either of those. If you took him at his word you’d think the game was getting longer as more and more time ticked off the clock and in fact now that it’s been over for 12 hours it still might be going on.

In an odd confluence game day was both Valentine’s Day and Ash Wednesday – odd because the former holiday celebrates carnality and concupiscence and the latter repentance and mortification of the flesh. Valentine’s day is named for Valentinus, a Christian priest decapitated by the Emperor Claudius in the third century, which separation of skull and torso allegedly occurred on February 14th. (This explains why the giving of head is a traditional Valentine’s Day gift.) That a 2000 year old decapitation came to be associated with modern romance is also odd, but associated it is: traditionally February 14th features exchanges of gifts between lovers and especially flowers, which makes a perverse sort of sense, as bouquets of flowers, being themselves an aggregation of severed sexual organs, are delivered to females by males castrated by monogamy and Hallmark. Ash Wednesday on the other hand marks the beginning of Lent, a period of atonement in which the Catholic faithful emulate the deprivations suffered by the Baby Jesus during his 40-day sojourn in the desert, from which he emerged triumphant, having three times resisted Lucifer’s entreaties,  foreshadowing Peter’s failure to do likewise after the crucifixion. In the Catholic tradition the faithful mark the Lenten period by forgoing sensual pleasures, which eschewment is meant to cleanse the spirit in anticipation of the resurrection. I’m a bit fallen away now – in the same way that Oprah is a bit fat – but Lent was a big deal in our household growing up. My father for example gave up smoking for 40 days – he smoked every Sunday though, because during Lent the Sundays don’t count – and promptly resumed Easter morning.

(Pater was a Lucky Strike man.


Talk about your truth in advertising: his throat was devoid of tumors when he died of cancer.)

No doubt my mother gave up something as well, although with her you could never be sure, because she was something of a duplicitous bitch. As youngsters my siblings and I too we were encouraged to give up childish pleasures, at first candy and sweets and cookies and later as we got older masturbation and Southern Comfort. Either way Lenten Sundays were sticky affairs in my parents house growing up.

Not for nothing but there are some St John’s fans whose souls could use a little cleansing this holy season. A few suggestions. If you’re one of those guys I see sitting in the stands sitting on your hands in Alumni hall whose pendulous man tits are dangerously close to bursting through your thread-worn red and white sweaters, consider giving up donuts. If you’re one of those chronic malcontents who sign on daily to St John’s fan forums and whine incessantly and tediously about every little thing that pops into your tiny little brains, maybe give up whining like little bitches. If you’re one of those people who insists on putting mayonnaise on lobster, consider eschewing mayonnaise and try a nice Bearnaise sauce instead. If you’re a plagiarist, consider writing your own jokes, and failing that, hang yourself. And if you’re a cunt, maybe consider not being a cunt. Me, I’m going to give up vodka, starting …. April Fool’s Day

marquette, saint john's

Mass Marquette Fiction

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I wrote yesterday an essay about St John’s 86-78 victory over the Marquette Floor Slapping Dopes 86-78 at Carnesecca Arena Saturday afternoon, noting that it was their third straight win and that the victory moved St John’s back to .500 for the year and vaulted them to within one game of 9th place DePaul in the Big East standings. It’s fortunate that I didn’t post it yesterday afternoon, because in light of morning it turns out that most of it was unreadable. I don’t mean it was garbled, like my notes sometimes are the morning after I’ve been making bubbles in a bottle of spirits, but garbage, like I hadn’t written it, like some untalented unclever hack had broken into my house and pounded out a couple thousand words on my office desktop. It was a half-assed fully-contrived hackneyed mess and I’m embarrassed to have written it.

I had an exchange with a Mullin hating fan a couple of months ago and his take was that Mullin was not prepared for his job because coaching is hard. At first I thought he meant hard as in difficult, which how difficult can it be if cretins like Bobby Knight and Jim Boeheim are good at it. I think it fair to say that coaching doesn’t require much brain power. But no he said, he meant hard as in hard work, that it was grueling and tedious and unrewarding. That seems to me wrong as well, although not quite as wrong. I mean, I can see the drawbacks – you have to be around children and children are disgusting selfish little disease vectors and even the brightest nine year old is dumber than a dumb dog – but coaching little league or CYO can’t compare to being a gravedigger or a roofer or any other type of donkeywork in terms of being grueling and tedious and unrewarding. You can do it sitting down on the scorer’s table while wearing sweats and a hoodie and you get paid whether your team wins or loses or whether your students learn or don’t and you get the summers off. Seems like a pretty sweet deal to me.

You know what’s hard, I mean really hard? Staring at a blank piece of paper knowing that it you don’t fill it with words you don’t get paid and the rent’s due in a week. That’s hard. Which is why I learned a long time ago that sometimes it doesn’t matter what you write, it matters that you write: that starting to type is half the battle. I never suffered from writer’s block because I couldn’t afford to. Effete poseurs and housewife novelists can afford to be tortured artists waiting for their muse to come in but if you write for money you just have to write. And maybe that’s what I did yesterday. Maybe I felt obligated to churn out another one of these stupid essays and so phoned one in. Or maybe some days I’m just a hack, just like everyone else is most days. I don’t know. But anyway the point is that what I wrote was trash and it got dele-ed and I’m happier for it. To the extent that I made any points worth considering here’s the crib notes version:

* winning was good because after the last two it was important for them to protect their home court

* Shamorie Ponds is potentially the best basketball player St John’s has ever had but it’s unlikely he’ll be around long enough for us to see it; Simon is also very good but he need to practice his free throw shooting and he stinks is at in-bounding the ball, please let someone else do it; Clark can evidently rebound when he feels like and so can Ahmed

* hopefully Marcus Lovett is dying a little inside watching his team mates win without him

* the refs sucked, especially this guy

* Wojo is a shitty coach and sweats a lot and recruits an awful lot of white players, just saying

* Steve Lavin still sucks

There was only one vaguely interesting paragraph, which I append, unredacted, as a form of self flagellation

On February 10, 1964 Nobel Prize winner Bob Dylan released his third record, The Times They Are a Changin’, which seemed apropos to mention, St John’s today having achieved their third straight win. Dylan has the distinction of being both the best and worst song writer of his generation: for every Positively Fourth Street and and Like a Rolling Stone he wrote he penned half a dozen Hey Mr Tambourine Mans and Lay Lady Lays and Shelters From The Storm and similar dogs, many of which are featured on The Times, which is pretty much an awful record. The title track, perfectly encapsulating as it does the puerile philosophy of Dylan and his insipid hippie cohort was not surprisingly covered by every half a fag hack with six minutes to fill in a live show. I plowed through inter alia looking for a suitable version to post – even as sadistic as I am I wouldn’t subject you to Dylan’s caterwauling – Billy Bragg, Tracy Chapman, Flogging Molly, The Searchers, Bryan Ferry, the appalling James Taylor, Peter Paul and Moron, Paul Simon, Billy Joel, Eddie Vedder, Richie Havens, Chris Cornell (even he couldn’t save it), Joan Baez, Phil Collins, and pope-hater Sinead O’Connor, each of them worst than the last; even the great Richie Blackmore’s version is enough to make you throw up in your mouth a little. I finally gave up. Instead of that have a listen to this, which contemplates how quickly defeat can be plucked from the jaws of victory:

saint john's, villanova

Nova Harm No Foul

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The temptation is great, in the wake of St John’s improbable defeat of number one Villanova on Wednesday night, to say I told you so. To all the chubby balding middle aged clerks and middle managers who demanded that the great Chris Mullin resign from his job to prove his manhood. To all the gym teachers and CYO coaches who bemoaned the staff’s lack of experience and basketball acumen: Mitch Richmond is a lazy bum, and St Jean is young and dumb and for god sake can’t we hire a true basketball mind like Mike Rice (that’d be the Mike Rice who’s 16–38 lifetime in the Big East). To the utter shit for brains who continue to lament the loss of that chowderhead Steve Lavin and wondered aloud where the program might have been had he been retained. (Hint: it’d be taking incremental or baby steps up the hill or mountain to playing its best ball in February as a prelude to a magic carpet ride to Costco where they could share the bulk priced sugar. Except Rysheed Jordan obviously, he’d still be getting raped in the prison shower.) To all the chronic malcontents who contributed to the cacophony of glothering that has polluted SJU fan forums lo these many months, the ones who figured St John’s should move down to the MAAC or Division 2 where they’d be competitive and the ones who sold their season tickets to some privileged white piece of shit dewk fan for 30 pieces of silver and the ones who impugned the staff’s commitment and character and the players heart, talent and loyalty. In short to the whole conga line of mutts and losers that comprise the worst fan base in all of sports, it’s quite tempting to say I told you so, and then what the hell call them a bunch of cunts for good measure. But I’m not going to do that. Because I’m bigger than that. Besides, they wouldn’t hear me over the racket their claws are making as they this morning scuttle back up the gangplank of the ship that they had for months been assuring the rest of us be sinking. Which none of that is to say that this season hasn’t been a complete disappointment or that the corner has been turned and happy days are here again. Because the season has been disappointing and the only happy days I believe in is rerunning on Nickelodeon. It is though to say: I told you so you cunts … I was trying to recollect a more satisfying moment or more accurately, moments, in St John’s history. (One fan board genyious said this morning something like yeah they were great wins, but “let’s not get too excited.” Hey stupid, if not now when.) Obviously Mullin and company beating number one Georgetown in Landover, a game I watched with the late Dr S_________ while draining a bottle of Lochan Ora, a diabolical Chivas blend that like Dr S____ is no longer available in the states. Marcus Hatten standing at the free throw line with no time left on the clock at Madison Square Garden in front of a weeping dook bench. Elijah Ingram remembering to turn on his cell phone camera that fateful day in Pittsburgh. The great Norm Roberts defeating UMass to become the first coach to win back-to-back Holiday Festival titles since Louie did it 20 years earlier. And if you’re as old as dirt there was Black Sunday – March 10, 1979, I was just a rosy cheeked optimistic tad then – when on the first weekend of the NCAA tournament last-in St John’s and lowly Penn beat the number one and two seeds UNC and Dook in a game conveniently sited in Durham North Carolina. But honestly these two might be sweeter. Not only because of how horribly things have gone wrong this season but because the victims were the two whitest most lauded programs in college basketball and their repulsive coaches, rat face Mike Schrewshrenky and Schrewshrenky light, Jay Wright. Anyone who didn’t feel last night a shiver of excitement seeing classy Jay Wright red faced and bleating piteously to the referees as he watched his number one ranking swirl slowly down the toilet has no soul and is dead inside. Because fuck Villanova and fuck Jay Wright and he still should get that mole under his eye looked at, because I’m pretty sure it’s starting to grow legs … I’m not going to rehash the box score but a couple of things stand out. St John’s, which has been getting hosed by the referees for months now, shot 24 free throws to Nova’s 12 and 11 of those were by Jay Brunson. Only stupid Donte DiVincenzo – the Moors did so much fucking with Sicilian women – shot one; DiVincenzo , much beloved by Iona fans, who usually kills St John’s, beclowned himself for 38 minutes before fouling out. Sweet! St John’s, 321st of 351 teams in team total rebounding percentage – behind such powerhouses as Nicolls State, High Point, and NJIT – outrebounded Nova, led by Justin Simon, who was a couple of assists short of triple double. (Just a week or so ago I was assured by a knowledgeable fan board poster who “understands math” that Justin Simon wasn’t good enough to start on Rhode Island, which ridiculous assertion he justified based upon “advanced analytics” that were too complicated for your humble author to comprehend. Question: if there were advanced analytics that proved that Lena Dunham was a more desirable female than Charlotte McKinney would you start jerking off during Girls or would you throw your statistics in the garbage?). And Shamorie Ponds – who 10 days ago scored two points on oh for 12 shooting versus Butler – continued a remarkable run – 31 versus Xavier, 33 versus Duke and 26 versus Nova – that saw him named the Naismith National Player of the Week. As a sophomore. Hopefully he cools off a bit, I’d hate it if he were a lottery pick. This year at least … So where do we go from here. Certain fans are this morning parsing their way to an NCAA tournament bid, which that’d be nice, but oh and eleven’s a lot to overcome and frankly that reeks just a bit of wishful thinking, of Hitler in April 1945 hunkered down in his bunker pushing nonexistent Panzer divisions across a map of Europe. What isn’t too far fetched is that SJU wins four of their next six games, all of them winnable – it’s okay, I don’t believe in jinxes, if you do go light a candle – and gets an NIT invite. Which all things considered would be a remarkable outcome and one anyone would have signed up for – I would have signed up for an NIT bid at the beginning of the season, but that’s me, I’m a bit of a pessimist – considering the state of the roster. The optimistic Mullin haterz among you can still hope that this week was a brief respite from his inevitable failure, an oasis in the desert of suck that is Saint Johns basketball, and that you were right all along. In which case  you can say I told you so and call me a cunt. But not this morning. This morning the sun is shining and me, I’m going to Carl Junior’s for a burger and maybe a bit of the hair of the dog.

dewk, saint john's

Rats

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With six minutes left in Dook’s inevitable victory over St John’s on national television at Madison Square Garden on Saturday Day afternoon I wrote “a lot of bad things can happen in six minutes” in my notebook and turned off the TV and went upstairs to pleasure Missus Fun. (For those of you scoring at home, I nearly succeeded.) I haven’t checked the score yet and it doesn’t matter: after yet another humiliating defeat snatched from the jaws of victory I’m firmly in the Mullin-Must-Go-Camp. I admit it: all you CYO coaches and gym teachers were right: Mullin has no idea what he’s doing and must be fired, Mitch Richmond needs to go, Greg St Jean is a disgrace, Matt Abdulwhatver is a horrible recruiter, and Dan Matic whoever he is is as useful as tits on a boar. It’s time for St John’s to make a change, to hire some up and comer like Will Browne or Bruiser Flint, and failing that to consider moving down to the MAAC or some other completely shitty horrible conference, because there’s no way they can compete against upper echelon teams in Division One, especially teams like those coached by the great Mike Screwshrenski. Suffice it to day that this was another horrible loss in a string of horrible losses: it’s just a shame that the great Lou Carnesseca had to be in the crowd to witness this humiliation, because he deserves better. If they couldn’t beat dook today on their home floor they can’t beat anyone … I can’t be arsed to look at the box score, but no doubt it reflects the inevitable St John’s choke. No doubt Bashir Ahmed, an over rated out of control loser, shot one for ten from the floor and turned the ball over half a dozen times. Good luck in China next year Bashir, and good riddance. No doubt it shows that Tariq Owens is too skinny to compete in Division One basketball, as opposed to Brian Trimble, who can’t compete because he’s a fat tub of lard. No doubt it proves that Shamorie Ponds – hey Shamorie, you’re oh and eleven, stop taking so many threes! – is kidding himself if he thinks he’s going to be a professional basketball player and that Justin Simon is no Federico Mussini and that Marvin Clark transferred from MSU because he knew he was incapable of playing for a real coach like Tom Izzo. Amar Alibgowitz was as usual garbage. All of these players stink and that’s all on the staff, who are over rated and over matched. Hopefully all of the players transfer and if the staff is half the men I think they are they will all resign to prove their manhood …

NOTES: The game was called on CBS by Gus Johnson and Jim Jackson. Jackson is more or less fine but Gus Johnson has a ridiculous habit of reciting mundane facts as if he’s reporting on the assassination of a president: Bashir Ahmed! is from the Bronx! He enjoys tuna fish sandwiches! His favorite band! Is Dexi’s Midnight Runners!. Note to Gus Johnson, not every fact is an epiphany … I know I said just a moment ago that Jackson is fine but because I like to contradict myself Jim Jackson is also an idiot. For example he said at one point and I know this because I wrote it down that “dook might have gotten away with” after which I went into a coma, because here’s a partial list of what dook might have gotten away with: a shot clock violation on the first play of the game, several muggings, various goal tendings, and a dozen fouls that weren’t called – when I turned the game off dewk had made 11 more free throws that St John’s had attempted. You might as well say that “Dewk has gotten away with murdering Nicole Brown Simpson and are helping OJ search for the real murderers” or “Dewk has gotten away with crucifying the baby Jesus.” Dook has gotten away with is enough. They have gotten away with stuff forever and had they not they’d not have been as successul as they have been. (I’m looking forward to the Villanova Duke NCAA championship game, which if that happens either no fouls will be called or all the players will foul out before the first commercial time out.) If they didn’t get away with stuff, maybe St John’s would have had a chance at the upset them Saturday afternoon. Instead we’re left with what is it now 12 losses in a row now and no light at the end of tunnel. It’s a sad state of affairs … Lest the day be a complete loss here’s a picture of poet laureate JJ Reddick picking his nose

and here’s Mike Schrewshreki dunking

and here’s a funny song

This, I don’t know what this is, it’s probably Russian Bots