This is where I do the bulk of my writing if you’d like to read up on Denver sports. South Stands Denver is your home for all things Denver sports. And foul, foul language.
Avalanche hockey related story I wrote over at SouthStandsDenver.com - http://tinyurl.com/cnvy95e
Was combing through some old stuff and came across an old issue of the Hooligan from 2002. Here is one gem from that issue:
Concerning the folks at the “Rocky Mountain News” and their dissatisfaction with the Jackass movie:
“Well ‘get this’ you feeble old hacks, no one cares what you think. You’ll all be dead soon and we’ll all set fire to your corpses and make them ride down a hill in a shopping cart. Now that’s entertainment.”
Such a charmer. Read my current charming ways at SouthStandsDenver.com
Click here for my latest at SouthStandsDenver.com. It’s all about race, religion, Ray Lewis and classic rock DJ’s.
Here’s my latest on the end of the lockout and how I’m taking note of all you hockey haters out there. Makin’ a list, checking it twice: Avs are back! @ southstandsdenver.com
(funny that the last thing I posted here was another JR Smith story….well, here’s another. Please check out SouthStandsDenver.com for more)
It’s truly sad when an ex-player turns on a fan base. Fans can be harsh and often times cruel, but they are also the ones who give the most reinforcement: heaping fervent praise on a player as they do nothing more but perform well for a sports team. So when the fans, who are admittedly a large portion of drunken idiots, get blamed for a player’s divorce from a team, it seems pretty unfair.
JR Smith took a shot at the Denver Nuggets organization, its coach and most curiously the fans in a recent retweet documented here by ace Nuggets beat reporter Benjamin Hochman. I can understand Smith’s frustration with George Karl and Nuggets management during his time here, but claiming lack of support from the “city” he played in is puzzling. A fan base may deserve some scorn along the way, but in this case it seems unwarranted and petty. Ladies and gentlemen, JR Smith!
Smith was just as frustrating to deal with as a fan as I’m sure it was for George Karl to coach him. But when he was on, he was well loved. When he was off? Well, after a few seasons we had all grown accustomed to his quirks and just waited for him to get back in a groove again. I’m sure he had his naysayers in Denver – most sports figures do – but Nuggets fans generally liked Smith and the idea that anyone was glad to see him go is false. The fact that it was indeed probably time for him to go was unfortunately true. With many athletes, when the bloom is off the rose, no amount of Miracle Grow is going to get the good times back. Smith’s time was up in Denver, but his departure certainly wasn’t applauded.
As Hochman pointed out, Smith has flourished in New York and it could be attributed to the fact that he’s curbed his late night partying which in turn could have nudged him into growing up a little bit. That will do wonders for your concentration, especially when it comes to being coached by a hard ass who makes much, much less money than you do. In Smith’s case, the more mature thing to admit would have been that he has grown by all of the good influences in his new city affecting him in a positive way. Not that a coach, management and a fan base from his old team were to blame. Smith might have matured, but not seeing the real problem and blaming the people no longer in your life is a sure sign that he’s got a long way to go.
Fans shouldn’t be to blame when something doesn’t work out. Ok, maybe in a city like Philadelphia, but not in Denver. I’m sure Kyle Orton has nothing but bad feelings for his time here in Denver, but as a seemingly mature adult male, I haven’t heard him venting in this way. Fans can be brutish louts sometimes, but they aren’t the problem: the player and his relationship with the team is the issue. Fans can compound that but they end up being the easy scapegoat because they will be the first to open their mouths and the loudest ones to do so. Josh Kroenke isn’t going to get on drive time radio this afternoon and talk about what a head case JR Smith is. We would all think it was great radio, but it’s just not going to happen.
So JR Smith continues to alienate a fan base that while not specifically rooting for his new team, would have been rooting for him to succeed. But now, after taking it out on ticket buyers who don’t have a say in who stays and who goes, he may have just closed the book on the final chapter of Nuggets fans wishing him well. Should the fans be blamed for how it turned out? Probably not. But the bigger question might be, should JR Smith just grow the fuck up? Probably yes. He may have matured enough to realize he has a lot of talent that was going to waste, but if he’s still acting like a child who can’t see his major role in why he was run out of Denver, a great shooting percentage won’t be able to fill that void in this troubled young man’s psyche.
Here’s my latest column on the farce that is JR Smith.
I started NaNoWrimo only to hit the usual roadblock of life. I’ll never finish, but it at least got me writing and I’m still chipping away at it. Better than not doing it. Here’s a sample:
“Cool.” He didn’t mean it. “Is that it?” Brandt asked.
“No, there’s one more going,” Garcia said. “He’s a physicist. His name is Merrold.” Garcia pointed to the tables with the mountains of paper and lead covered computer boxes. One of the shaggy haired scientists looked up when he heard his name. He quickly went back to his work. Seers yelled at him in his best command tone and Merrold shook himself free of what he was doing to shamble over to the group.
Merrold wiped his hand on his coat before he shook hands with Brandt. Brandt noticed it. A sweater. Wet palms. Nervous. And this was rounding out his group. Three meat heads who looked like they were auditioning for the eventual remake of Predator, two nerds and a twitchy scientist with sweaty palms. Brandt shook his hand anyway. “Nice to meet you professor. Is there anything we should know before we head off to parts and times unknown?” Brandt asked.
“Professor? I’m not a professor,” Merrold said a little confused.
Oh jesus. Brandt’s inner monologue groaned. He looked at Seers who stood off to the side like a nervous matchmaker hoping his Frankenstein like mashup was going to work. “General, can I have a word please?”
Seers held out a hand for them to step away from the group who went back to gathering up gear, calibrating video cameras and tinkering with computer schematics for time travel. The walked and toward a table that had large water dispenser, a trough of egg and some sausage laid out before Brandt arrived.
“General, can I speak frankly sir?”
“Of course.” They stopped now and stood face to face away from the group near the eggs.
“I don’t know about this team sir. I feel very uncomfortable going in to this type of unknown situation with these guys.”
“What’s wrong with them?” The General seemed perturbed and stepped into the conversation a little to show Brandt he was still the boss in this cave.
“Those three guys,” pointing to the hard asses he met first, “are more for storming a dictator’s stronghold than they are for quietly slipping in and out of enemy territory. And those guys,” jamming a thumb toward what he couldn’t believe were actually CIA agents, “will get us all killed and you know that. Don’t get me started on Professor Frink over there.” Merrold stared off into space like he was concocting a secret theorem that no one, nowhere would ever understand.
“Look Brandt, I know it’s not ideal, but this is what we have to work with. Those three hard asses will do what you say and blast you out of any situation you get in. Remember, the Germans are still lingering outside France at this point….”
Brandt interrupted him, “which is precisely why we need stealth and not brute force.
Seer held up a hand. “I’ve personally reviewed their files and they will work. The other two are there strictly to document. They too will do what you say and stay out of your way. They are no worse than probably some of the teenagers who went over to fight in the 40’s right?”
He didn’t give him any time to respond. “And as far as Merrold goes, he’s the only one who really understands how this thing works. He’s your only hope of getting back safe and sound.”
“So why doesn’t he stay here?”
“Someone has to calibrate another device on the other side to bring you back. Stapleton brought something with him that was supposed to do that. Merrold worked with him on this from the beginning and he said that’s how it needs to be done. Someone over there is going to have to make that thing work to bring you back, and I figured it should be him.”
Brandt looked from Merrold to the Cohen Brothers (as he now dubbed Wesley and Dexter) to the 80’s action heroes and thought, fuck I’m really screwed. It occurred to him to just turn around and start walking. He was pretty sure he knew his way out. If he could open the doors or have someone do it for him, he’d climb back up those stairs, out through Carvaccio’s office and call a cab to pick him up at the gate. He didn’t think they’d stop him. He would just refuse to go. At this point they wouldn’t be getting him a new crew. This is what he’d have to go with. He shook his head, figured how many times does anyone get the chance to time travel during any given week, and made the somewhat suicidal decision to give it a go. This all happened in the time it took Seers to blink four times. It wasn’t like stepping off a cliff but more like getting into a metal box that was about to be lowered into the ocean. He knew it was a death sentence, but every time he did it, there was always a glimmer that tickled the back of his ball sack and told him nothing was set in stone.
“Fuck it. Let’s do it.”