Why I Hate Basketball.

First of all the NBA.
Why would I want to watch a bunch of freaks of nature run jog around a basketball court for two hours when the winner of the game is decided in the last five minutes of play anyway? This is more true in the NBA because the teams are so good that the "winner" is the team who happened to score last when the clock ran out. "WAIT," you say, "that is true of most sports!" With that I would have to agree.

But the difference is that it is much harder in every other sport to make points. In other sports, you win because you did some really hard thing to score. Not so in basketball. I trust no sport that has scores in the hundreds when the time runs out. If you knew nothing about basketball and all you knew was that the final score was 103 to 101 at the end, you would assume that 1. it must not be very hard to score points and 2. both teams are evenly matched. These two facts... *yawn* sorry, I almost just fell asleep on my keyboard.

The games should be five minutes long. It would make my life less tedious and watching a game wouldn't be a total waste of my time. Also, in other sports, especially football,  you can be proud of your team's effort despite the outcome. In basketball I would be more mad at the clock and the nature of the game's flawed structure rather than my team if they lost. I would hate to play basketball, knowing that despite my best efforts, and despite staying within several points of the other teams score throughout the game, that oftentimes the result of the game would depend entirely on which team's center raised his arms above his head last. And he makes how much money?! How is the center's effort worth two points when a little guy shoots the ball from almost 25 feet away and gets only one more point for doing so? Points should be worth less if you are as tall as the hoop.

I wonder what sport he plays? 

Little known fact: 

Those would be full length jeans on any other person.

This brings me to College Basketball.
There isn't much to say except that the games are shorter. This is a great first step. The major reason I hate the NCAA is because of March madness. This single-elimination "tournament" embodies all the problems of the time limit flaw. Teams can be upset so easily and lose by only one point, such that any victory can't really be called anything of the sort. The winner of this tournament shouldn't get a trophy. They should all get four-leaf clovers for being so lucky so many times in a row.

This brings me to brackets. Bracket is the worst word in the English language. I hate all bros and their brackets. Because the tournament is completely based on luck, there is no point making predictions about who is going to win. I consistently hear the following statement after the tournament is over: "this chick in the office who knows nothing about basketball had the best bracket, bro!" That's because you have biases. And because you did a stupid thing.

All exaggerated cliches aside, you literally have a better chance of winning the lottery than filling out a perfect bracket. Like, a WAY better chance. The odds are ridiculous. "The point isn't to get it perfect, brah. The point is to get 'most of them right.'" Yeah, you know who else said something similar to that? The local trash fisher at the sewage treatment plant when talking about his short stint in grade school. If there is 0% chance of even getting most of the picks right, why try? Because of the nature of the system, picking winners is pointless. It would be like me trying to fish a lake with a gun from a mile away. And not only fishing, but predicting which fish I'm going to kill out of the 68 fish in the general vicinity.

30 MILLION people fill out a bracket each year. Stop it. I don't want to hear how your bracket is doing. I don't want to hear it because I already know. It sucks. You weren't even close.

[Keep Following.]

Fruits Of My Labor

I have recently been on the hunt for rad t-shirts. I think I called them appropriately ironic t-shirts on facebook. And I just wanted to share with all of you the bountiful harvest which I have experienced. I braved the sweet sickly smell of Savers and Deseret Industries. I braved the crying children and harsh fluorescent lighting. I braved the unhappy cashiers and mustard-stained clothing racks. I braved the wash of cold, odd guilt that came over me as I realized that I have the money to shop elsewhere. I braved the unorganized ruddy shelves and piercing sideways looks from observers in my furious quest. All for these gems. The beacon and source of artesian hope. I had a large budget, yet this is probably the best $2 I have ever spent.

Ok, Donny and Marie Osmond are cool enough in their own right, right? But what about the Osmonds you've never heard of? The coolness is simply exponential. They are even clad in 90's regalia. The 2nd Osmonds have a phallic 'G' as their symbol. It is a symbol of prowess, kinda like The-artist-formally-known-as-Prince. The color scheme is a delight to behold, as are their shining, quasi-toughguy  faces.

There isn't much to say about this one. Maybe it is the unintentional play on words, that makes us read: "Right on! Freedom!" Or maybe it is the fact that everything is starred and striped, but the fact remains, this shirt made my day. I don't know if Lady Liberty has ever ridden a Chopper. But maybe she should consider it. After all, she looks dang good. This shirt also makes me want to Ride On Freedom. I also ride on the fact that America will continually ruin its own patriotism with strange mash-ups of revered symbols. I love freedom just as much as the next guy, but now I can wear it on my chest. Right on!
 
[Keep following children, I'm saving for a motorcycle.]

If at first you don't succeed, don't reproduce.

So I may have just seen the best YouTube video that I have/will ever seen/see. But before I embed it, a few remarks. First of all, I know that none of my readership will ever go into motivational speaking so this may all be moot. But just in case any of you ever consider it, please remember: "The motivational speaking profession requires no formal training or certification, however skills in public speaking in many cases addressing large audiences are vital" (Wikipedia).

This is one of those things in life that encourages dumb people because they think, "No formal training required?! Bonus bonus bonus! I can do that! Easy!" What they fail to recognize is that this is exactly what should discourage, rather than encourage them. If the movie "Little Miss Sunshine" was any lesson, not just anyone can be a motivational speaker. If something requires no education, it is usually the hardest thing you can possibly do. Things like being an inventor, entrepreneur, or freelance writer should be viewed with more caution. If you are amazing at any of these things naturally, then by all means, jump in. But if you don't have anything more to say besides:
1. Figure out what you want to do
2. Believe in yourself
3. Formulate a plan of action
4. Follow through with it
5. Never give up
you should probably consider trade school. Well enough babble, just watch. And hold on, or you may fall out of your chair, as I.



Also, some things just can't be done. Or at least without maiming yourself. Maybe he should change #1 to: Figure out something USEFUL AND PREFERABLY NOT UTTERLY ASININE that you want to do. Watch the hilarious follow up. It won't disappoint.



[Keep following. And I promise you will be inspired to climb Everest. Naked.]

I've Always Wanted

A scar on my face.

THINK about it. I would have instant street cred., no awkward silences, and I would be super intimidating/sexy.

Street cred. because everyone would be like, "Whoa, he obviously knows how to handle himself on the streets." They would see my sweet gnarled scar tissue and listen up when I spoke. If I escaped with only this scar on my face the other guy would necessarily look much worse. The fact that I would survive any encounter with anything that would leave that sweet of a scar makes me automatically a leader of men.

No awkward pauses. Think about it. If any silence in conversation were to arise, there would only be one option, and that is to ask, "HOW DID YOU GET THAT SWEET A** SCAR?" And if they had asked me, like most, immediately after meeting me for the first time, and subsequently had already heard the awesome story behind it, they would ask about it again. Just because it is so unbelievably awesome. They would need to hear the story again to make sure they didn't miss any details.

How would all men react upon seeing my scar? I'll tell you. They would first get out of my way, second give me all their cash/girlfriends, and third try to elect me into public office because I obviously know what I'm doing. All of that or they would simply cower in fear of my manliness. What would women do? Besides swooning, not much.

THAT is why I want a scar on my face. Not too big to obscure any of my features, not too small to be confused with some minor injury incident, and just deep enough to make all your wishes come true. Like gazing into a leprechaun's pot. Maybe a curved line down one of my cheeks. Yeah, that's the ticket.

Try and tell me you don't want to ask him where he got his scar. Awesome.

[Keep following. Who knows what I'll do next?]