Wednesday, December 31, 2008

Hell Yeah

If you didn't get to watch the Boston/Portland game last night, I feel very sorry for you. It was incredible to see the Blazers work so effectively without Roy in uniform. I think a lot of things happened last night that will contribute greatly to the maturation of the Blazers as a team and the younger guys as NBA-caliber players. Even the six-guys-on-the-court debacle seemed to be a tension-reliever for Portland (not so much for Boston). I'm not going to break the game down because plenty of other places are going to be on that already. Check ESPN (from which I stole the photo) or Blazer's Edge or the Rip City Project for some good stuff.

Sunday, December 28, 2008

NBA Dramatique: If at First

"Twice already."

"Yeah, I know. But I think we can do it."

"Why? What's different this time?"

"We're better. We're more experienced. We've fought them before."

O.J. and Rudy looked again upon the bright and shining exterior of the Machine. In their heads were visions of conquest. They could visualize the flying sparks and oil slicks upon the ground as the Bear Tribesmen laid waste to cybernetic terminators. It was pure imagination fueling these visions, though. The Bear Tribe had been repeatedly beaten by the forces of the Machine.

"We still have that guy from the Sky Fortress. Can we use him for anything?"

Rudy shook his head. "Nah. I don't know if he's ever gonna be any use to us. Maybe we'll eat him."

*****

The Bear-men had encircled their enemy's headquarters, and had been pelting it with stones in an attempt to provoke. The repeated noise of rocks bouncing off steel activated defense programs, bringing the cyborg killers on-line. In the low red light of the staging bay, eye-like ocular sensors glowed green. Relays and motors began to click and whir. Lubricating oil and hydraulic fluid began to warm and the robotic killers began to move at the command of the Great Machine. Their movements were deliberate and calculated. Efficiency dictated every motion. The bay doors opened and the bright sun threw its rays into the barely-lit interior of the Machine. Not one of the cyborgs was still human enough to throw up an arm to block the sun from their eyes, nor even to squint. The sun's light was brilliant on the chrome skin of each fighter, and made their bodies appear wrapped in mercury or molten silver. They began to take heavy but calm steps out into the light to face their opponent. The chants of the Bear Tribe fell silent. Those in fur watched those in metal form their own circle around their fortress. The cyborgs were expressionless, emotionless, and their electric "eyes" gazed at the tribesmen with cold indifference. The enormous spiked cog destroyed the pregnant pause by spinning into action, making a terrible mechanical growl as it drove downward, and just missed a number of tribesmen who were fortunate enough to dodge the surprise attack.

Rudy's assessment before the battle had not been completely incorrect. The fighters of the Bear Tribe had learned. They had faced this opponent and they had faced others, and now they were using their experience to wage a smarter war. O.J. especially was becoming a more fierce fighter with every day that passed. Rudy had moments in which he wondered if O.J would surpass him, and wondered if his friend would eventually usurp his leadership. When he thought about it, he found that to be the most likely outcome. He also thought at times that they might be too competitive to remain friends and that one of them would have to go. For now though, they were tribesmen. They were strong with the spirit of the Great Bear. Rudy was happy that O.J. was his friend, and he was happy to have a fellow hero to fight and bleed beside him.

*****

O.J. was determined. He was no loser, and these cyborgs had tried to convince him otherwise already on two separate occasions. He gave no quarter, and attacked with the strength the Bear had granted him. He accepted blows against him and repaid in kind. He dented and broke solid parts of machine-men and tore or ripped the softer pieces of his enemies. He grew tired, and felt beaten, then would feel the Bear roar in his gut and have new energy to keep fighting. He refused to quit in his head or heart. That would have served him against other opponents, but this was, after all, the Machine. Where his emotions would have been a poison against lesser armies, the Machine was immune. They countered attacks. They defended mightily. They felt no fear of loss even when ebbing. They showed resolve and patience, because they had not been programmed to show anything else. So in the end, they won. Again.

*****

On the trail away from the Machine, with bodies aching and bruised, Rudy and O.J. remained silent. Both had the same thought in their heads:

"Three times already."

Both also followed that thought with another:

"Next time."

Christmas Post

The Lakers, Magic, Spurs, Cavaliers, and Mavericks all got Christmas presents on Thursday.  I saw all of the games except the Magic/Hornets, but I can say for all of the rest that not one of those winners had the game locked up until the final moments.  The Lakers won at home, with a really unusual lack of free throws for the Celtics, so, you know, make of that what you will.  I like it when the Hornets lose.  The Spurs win was yet another classic instance of them breaking the spirit of the Suns.  I know Amare probably left the arena looking for stray cats to punt (I'm sure Amare is not actually cruel to animals.  I was making a joke about his intense frustration.  Please, no angry letters).  The Cavs...man, that was a close one.  Antawn and Caron should get together with Amare for a few drinks.  Drown their sorrows.  I'm pretty disappointed about the Mavericks win over the Blazers.  They earned it.  There was nothing shady about it.  The Blazers played the game and stayed in it.  But Howard got tossed early, and Portland should have capitalized.  Maybe, though, the win sans Josh is further evidence that the Mavs are better off without him.  I stuck up for that guy back in September, but it has always seemed to me like he has a pretty terrible attitude, and I really believe that Dallas has been unable to make the championship leap over the past few years because of poor team chemistry.  I think they have more than one locker room poison.  Dirk deserves better.

Anyway, no Dramatique post on the Christmas games.  I was planning on doing the Lakers/Celtics game, but it was so over-hyped that it feels stale to me.  Sorry to let you down, Lakers fans.  I know you're out there.  But I have no doubt that the Western Banner will continue to play a major role in this tale of mine as the season progresses.

Thursday, December 25, 2008

NBA Dramatique: No Good-bye

"I did not know I would never see them again, but I could tell at the beginning that the night would end badly. I watched Yao looking out of the observation window at the palace below us. He could see the soldiers of the Royal Battalion move into position and our own troops as they rappelled onto the field of battle. His face read disgust and impatience. As he turned away from the glass bubble I knew before I looked what he was not wanting to see. The One Who Would Be King stood atop the parapet on the southwest end of his palace, hands stretched towards the sky. A cloud of dust encircled his form."

"Yao was already in combat fatigues, and I watched him pull the goggles down over his eyes and walk to the jump door, then grab one of the rappelling lines and descend. 'Good luck out there!' I shouted after him. I don't think he heard me."

"We were on the attack right away. Well, when I say 'we' I mean the troops. I wasn't fighting. I haven't fought in a long time. But I was ready, and I would have fought, if they had called upon me."

"Maybe we were over-confident. Maybe we were under-confident. It's hard for me to say now. We knew that no one had bested the Royal Battalion on their own land in this war, but we could have. As an observer, maybe it was too easy for me to see where mistakes were made. We let Big Ben get away with far too much at the outset. The notion that his interest only lies in protecting the King and the castle was proven wrong. The other knights would not relent, despite our superior weaponry, and they continued to fire and fight as if this was a battle to end the war."

"Our troops are not slouches. They're not scrubs. The Commander himself led the attack. Scola and Battier fought as hard as they could. I watched Brooks and Bones launch devastating shots as they were meant to do. I think what really beat us was not the King or his knights. It wasn't our lack of ability. It was the Overlord's secret police."

"Yao's demeanor before leaving the mothership was such that I fully expected him to come back on board with a blood-soaked uniform and human remains under his fingernails. He was going out to spread death. He never got the chance though, because the regulators kept stopping him from attacking. It is a bizarre notion to think of rules being enforced in the midst of war, but it happens. The idea is that all of the armies agreed to this supervision as a means of preventing any other army from developing overly inhumane forms of attack. We follow the Overlord's rules so that everyone else does too. But Yao creates weapons and likes to test them. Sometimes the rules let him. Sometimes they don't."

"Without Yao, we couldn't overcome. The Battalion is strong and fast, and their King fights with nothing in his line of vision but the Prize. Major Artest stepped up to fight the King toe to toe, and Major Artest is not only strong but crazy to the brink of fatality. The One Who Would Be King prevailed. He finished his evening by sneaking behind Yao and crushing Yao's last usable rifle with his bare hands. It was impressive and sickening to me simultaneously."

"As I said before, I expected to see Yao return to the mothership looking like a weary killer. In fact, I never saw him return to the ship at all. As combat decayed, I received a summons to the aft bay. I began walking alone, and at some point, an unseen assailant struck a blow to my head and rendered me unconscious. I write this note now, unsure of what occurred and how exactly I arrived in my current predicament. My clothes have been stolen and I am dressed only in fur. I believe that I have been captured by the Tribe of the Bear, but I have not yet been addressed, and do not know what these tribalists intend to do with me. Perhaps I will fight with them or perhaps they will make me a sacrifice. I write this in a hurry, to you, unknown reader, hoping that you will find it and in turn find me before anything unfortunate befalls me."

"Please send help."

Monday, December 22, 2008

No More Excuses


Excuses. I don't want to write them anymore. You don't want to read them again. Agreed? I'll write some stories. You read them, enjoy, comment. No more excuses from me on why they aren't getting done. Thank you for being here.

***edited for the sake of clarity***

Sunday, December 7, 2008

NBA Dramatique: Check Yourself Prior to Wrecking Yourself

The Legend's Legion traveled through the countryside away from their loss at the Bastion and back towards the land of abundant cornfields they called home. They used high-speed motorcars to move across the land, but the bodies in control of those vehicles slumped in their seats, looking anything but speedy and quick. More than one driver let drowsiness overtake them for a moment, swerving off of the road and rumbling along the shoulder before being startled awake and righting the vehicle. A small castle appeared on the horizon, and Danny made a decision to help his fellow soldiers. He activated the radio within his driving helmet.

"Alright, guys. You're looking very sloppy. If we keep driving tonight, at least one of you is going to wreck. You might get hurt, you might hurt someone else, worst of all me. So let's head to that castle and see if we can get some rest."

There was radio silence for about twenty seconds before T.J. came back across.

"Danny, you know who's castle that is right?"

"Yes, I know, damn it! Are you afraid to go there? You're afraid of the big bad King?"

T.J.'s sigh came across as a static crackle. The roll of his eyes and shake of his head did not transmit. "No. No, man. I'm not afraid. I'm just saying, King James hasn't been showing a great deal of hospitality. But you're the boss. I'm moving in that direction, just like everyone else."

"That's right." said Danny. "I'm the boss."

*****

The ear-splitting growl of combustion engines gave the castle residents ample warning of their approach. A party of knights waited outside of the gates as the Legion brought their vehicles to a screeching halt. Danny stepped out and greeted the knights.

"The Royal Battalion laying out the welcome for me! How kind. I don't see the face of King James, though. Is he not well?"

One of the larger knights stepped forward to reply. "The King is well. He wonders about the purpose of your visit, as do his knights."

"We have been traveling from the Bastion. It was our intention to return home, but my men are perilously fatigued. We would like to sleep here for the night." Danny answered.

The knight turned and walked back towards the castle gate. A small unarmed boy was there, and the knight bent forward to whisper something to him. The boy looked over at the fast cars of the Legion, then turned and entered the gate, running. In just a moment he had returned and nodded affirmatively at the knight. The knight turned back to Danny and removed his helmet. Now recognizable as the King's master-at-arms, Z, he spoke loudly.

"King James welcomes your visit. He hopes that all of you will join us this evening for a meal in the banquet hall."

"Haha!" laughed Danny, and clapped his hands. "I knew it! And the King is gonna cook for us! How 'bout that?" The Legion troops stepped away from their vehicles and followed Danny into the castle as he continued to talk loudly, and the knights closed ranks behind them and followed through the gate.

*****

The clock struck nine as the knights of the Royal Battalion and the soldiers in the Legend's Legion took seats at a grand table in King James' banquet hall. The King himself was the last to arrive. He approached the head of the table where a servant awaited him holding a bowl of flour. King James took a handful of the flour and rubbed his hands together, then threw the flour into the air.

"Let us eat!" he shouted. The King began by carving a large slice of ham and placing it on his plate. The servant who held the flour then lifted the ham and began moving to his left, serving a portion to each diner in turn. A procession of servants did the same for each dish, allowing King James to take what he desired before entering the rotation for the other diners. As the ham reached Danny, he cast a curiously disapproving glare at the King. The King was quick to notice.

"Is there something about this meal that you find unsatisfactory, legionnairre?"

Most of the other members of the Legion looked quickly to Danny then back down at their own plates in anticipatory embarrassment.

"I find it curious that you serve yourself before your guests, 'King' James. I also find it odd that you pretend to not know my name. It's Danny."

King James laughed as he chewed his food and looked at several of his knights, who joined him in laughing. "Danny. Are you suggesting that you should have been the first to dine? Is that my understanding?"

Danny did not smile as he said "Where I grew up, they teach us something called manners. I was raised to know that a guest is to be treated better than the residents of a home."

"Well, Danny, I'll tell you what. When you've got a castle, you treat your guests just as you'd like. In my castle I'll do likewise. And the manners I learned growing up taught me to be a gracious guest when in someone else's home, and to be grateful for anything I was offered." The King gave the young man a steady stare to help drive his point, then joined his knights in eating and laughing. Danny continued his meal in silence.

After dinner the King took his guests to a room of the castle in which he screened films. The King positioned himself in the best seat and allowed his knights to fill the seats surrounding him. The Legion was left to fill the seats on the perimeter, which were positioned less advantageously for viewing the film. The film itself was about the early life of the King. Danny sat in the back of the theater, fuming. With his arms tightly crossed over his chest, he spat words at Rasho sitting next to him.

"He's acting like I'm a nobody! As if I'm entertained sitting in this dark room, barely able to see the self-aggrandizing movie he subjects us to. Surely he's seen my name on the Ballot!"

Rasho simply shrugged and tried to nap. As the film progressed, Danny allowed his sense of slight to fester and grow. He muttered disrespectful comments under his breath, hoping someone else would join him in discontent. There were no takers. At the end of the film, King James and his knights stood and filed out of the theater. Danny, in anger, pushed and shoved his way through the crowd and reached the King.

"I demand to know why you have treated me with such disrespect and low regard from the moment I walked through your gate! You did not come to greet my Legion upon our arrival. The quarters you provided us were more poor than those likely used by your servants! Your meal was heavy and your hospitality lacking! And you 'entertain' us with this tale of your own accomplishments?! Don't you know that my prowess on the field has come to rival that of Miller, the last great Legionnairre?" King James had not broken stride nor even given the appearance that he heard Danny speaking up to this point. Danny reached his hand out and grabbed the King's arm roughly, shouting "Show me your respect!"

The King looked down at the hand upon his arm and stopped walking. Quickly, he spun and drove both of his fists into Danny's chest. The young man collapsed to the floor in a heap. With fast efficiency the Royal Battalion separated the rest of the Legion from Danny, and held them at bay as the King payed his respects. The legionnairre Troy protested "Stop pushing me! Stop pushing me!", but he was no threat and was summarily ignored. Without a word, all of them witnessed King James lift his right fist into the air and mightily drive it downward into Danny's face, then watched him lift his left fist into the air and mightily drive it downward into Danny's face. He repeated this see-saw motion of powerful punches at least a dozen times until Danny was unconscious and his face looked like roadkill. He stopped punching and lifted Danny by the shirt, then dragged him over to the waiting Legion.

"Go home now." he said.

They did.

Thursday, December 4, 2008

NBA Dramatique: Ubuntu

He thought he had certainly lost some teeth. It would make for strange symmetry with this enemy. Rajon checked for gaps with his tongue and was surprised to find everything still in place. His opponent's skull had struck Rajon's mouth hard and caused enough pain for tiny stars to blink about his vision. Rajon stumbled away from the fight and found a place to collect himself.

*****

The Legend's Legion had attacked the Bastion. The Legion was hopeful and haughty after an unexpected victory against the Western Banner, and had brought war with them all the way back east. Rajon and Old Man Sam watched the approaching army earlier in the day from the upper turrets of the fortress.

"Should we worry?" Rajon asked.

"Never." said Sam. "Never worry. They bested us on their ground at the beginning of this war. It doesn't mean anything. They're coming to this fight very proud because of beating the Banner and because we couldn't beat them last time. But it's empty pride."

"You think they're weak?"

Sam waited a moment then answered. "No. They're not weak." He turned his eyes to the young saboteur. "But they're not us."

Rajon smiled and nodded at the old guy. "Yeah. Yeah, they're not us."

*****

Rajon's elbows rested on his knees and his head hung low. He spit, and made a red splatter on the ground between his feet. The shouts of his friend House broke through the rest of the noise and flew to his ears. Rajon shook his head to dismiss the pain, returned to his feet, and stepped back into the thick of the battle. Kevin, seeing Rajon's return, yelled and tossed a large staff to the young fighter. Rajon swung the staff viciously as he caught it and knocked a Legion trooper unconscious. From a distance, the man who had driven his head into Rondo's mouth fired a shot which missed Rondo but hit the wall behind him. Concrete fragments sprayed the back of his head, causing him to find cover. He pulled a grenade from his belt and tossed it back towards his attacker, but also missed the mark. He darted across the field of battle, ducking fire, to get closer to the rest of the Bastion fighters.

"We lost you for a few minutes there." Ray's rifle was still strapped to his back, but Rajon knew that would soon change. "Is everything alright?"

"Yeah." Rajon answered, "Everything's cool. I was seeing stars, but I hid away for a minute."

"Alright, guys." said Kevin as he reloaded an Uzi. "We need to take it to 'em. They are running off of ego and adrenaline, so let's humiliate them."

The gathered Bastion troops nodded in unison and spoke a single word in chorus.

"Ubuntu."

*****

Rajon put his stealth to use right away, sneaking behind the enemy and stealing weapons. Ray fired at will as Legion troops moved across the field and wounded a few instantly. Kevin caught a buzz bomb that Rajon tossed at him and didn't let it rest in his hands for a second before sending it in a high arc back at the enemy. Next, when Kevin threw a knife at one of the Legend's troops, it missed and bounced harmlessly to the ground. Rajon used his speed to race out and grab that knife, picking it up and sending it back through the air in one fluid motion. The knife sank deep into the throat of the target soldier, who bled, fell, and died. He then spotted an opponent trying to take cover, and shouted the hider's location to Ray. Ray sighted the soldier and sniped, ending the soldier's attempts of self-preservation.

Rajon was with the spirit of war, and felt the blessing of the Prize was within him as well. The Bastion knew when luck was with them, and saw Rajon's surging offensive as a strong indicator that they had it in droves. Kevin and Ray continued to shred the Legion mercilessly, and Perk, Leon, and House fed off of the blood thirst of their brothers. The Bastion was not going to allow this upstart insurgency to gain any more confidence. Rajon would send them home, their confidence broken, their delusions of grandeur erased.

*****

Tired and battle-weary, Rajon stood at the top of the Bastion's west turret and watched the Legend's Legion retreat. Old Man Sam stood beside him again, and Kevin climbed the stairs to join them.

"You showed your heart today, Rajon. You were everywhere. That was awesome." said Kevin.

"I told him early today that those guys weren't his equal." said Sam. "He's faster than they can manage."

Rajon was happy to hear the praise of these fighters that he respected so much. "Thanks a lot guys. I did all I could. I'm not your hero, though. I am who I am because of those around me."

Tuesday, December 2, 2008

NBA Dramatique: Street-Fighting Man

Life with the 7th Second Chance was maddening. War was hard enough with your enemies out to get you; having to fight on a second front within your own ranks was a disheartening struggle. Things had started out so well when D'Antoni rolled up 7th with his jet packs and sales pitch. They won a few battles, then they lost a few. Then they lost a few more. Unexpectedly, the 7th Avenue landlords decided to issue some evictions - to make room for future improvements, they said - and some good guys were forced to move away. Those guys had been helping them win fights, and the only change that the landlords were likely to get was that a few bums would have a new home. The jet packs had suffered some casualties of their own and were not fully functional at the moment. On top of everything else, the Clown had let his feud with D'Antoni escalate to a miserable degree and everyone in the gang was feeling the stress.

David had tolerated the madness for a couple of years. He tried to tune it out. He would go to the weights and sweat out his frustration. He practiced his marksmanship, and his draw time, and his protections, and did so alone when the rest of the guys wanted to fight one another like school children.

David decided to go for a run through the city streets. Though he might be surrounded by people as he ran, he knew that none of those people would be the other Second-Chancers, and that relieved him. He put on some earphones, broke into a running pace as soon as he was on the sidewalk, and had cleared several blocks before the first song had finished playing. The air was cold. The sky was gray. David's breath formed clouds in the air as he exhaled, which gave him the appearance of a steam locomotive powering down the street. The longer he ran, the further he moved from the public congestion. He passed by a constantly diminishing number of people until he found himself running in a network of empty alleys and loading areas. There was a way, he knew, to use these alleys exclusively to make his way back to 7th Avenue and avoid people all together, so once he exhausted his energy, he slowed to a walk and went in that direction. Besides, it had started raining.

David gazed down at his shoes and pulled the hood of his sweatshirt over his head. Puddles were forming, and David noticed by the reflection of lights in their surface that the sky had grown dark. Though he was a large man, and certainly not one to back down from a fight, the realization that he was isolated put David on edge.

His instincts were correct.

Metal scraped against metal and cement. A large steel plate was flipped over and created a harsh echo against the tall buildings. David watched a large arm rise out of the hole once covered by the steel plate and then pull its enormous owner onto the street. The figure was impossibly large. The rain bounced off of his skin and created an artificial aura against the street lights. He stood tall and wide, and David watched a dozen other figures emerge from the hole. Then he knew.

The Underground.

David momentarily lunged forward, then, realizing how badly he was outnumbered, stepped back. He was not one to run, but unarmed and alone he would not defeat this foe. He quickly cut to his left and ran top speed down the alley, mentally mapping the twisting route back home. He heard the fast and heavy feet of the Underground fighters slapping the concrete as they gave chase. Although his earphones were still in, the sound of blood pumping hard in his ears drowned out the music. David ran until he thought his lungs were going to tear open. He was within four blocks of home when he began shouting out the names of the other Second-Chancers, hoping to draw them out. He was out of breath. A hand grasped at his head and pulled the hood back. David braced for the blows that he was sure were going to begin landing on his face and body. An explosive roar. A blast of heat. A flash of fire. All of these things at once as something flew just above his head and collided with his assailant. Then, a chorus of like roars erupting behind him as the 7th Second Chance entered the battle against the Underground to protect 7th Avenue.

David saw Duhon standing and brushing himself off. He was the one who flew over David's head, and he stood now over the hulking beast that initially crawled out of the street. David thought that the big guy might have done him some damage if he had gotten the chance, but thankfully he was taken out of the fight before he got the chance.

"I damaged this pack, too!" Duhon shouted over to David. "It's not going to be any use at this point."

"Drop it." said David. "Let's do what we can on the ground."

The two fashioned weapons out of broken pieces of jet pack and joined the fray.

David noticed that the roar of jet packs had fast fallen silent. He and Duhon stepped into the crowd of Underground fighters and hit them with hunks of metal. David swung and landed punches. At times he was back-to-back with Duhon as they swung fists and connected with chins. More of the Second-Chancers were entering the battle, which had rapidly devolved to a low-tech street rumble. He took elbows in the mouth and across the top of his head. His stomach was compressed by Underground slugs. The feet that he had earlier heard chasing him now made their impression in his back. David never gave up. He still was beaten.

The Underground stole any equipment they could from the unconscious bodies on 7th Avenue, then retreated through the manhole covers. Dazzlin' D'Antoni watched them go and paced the Avenue, softly kicking his troops in the ribs to re-awaken them.

The Clown sat on the curb on the far side of the street, watching, laughing loudly and with malice at the defeated salesman.