I’m not much of a sports fan, although I can occasionally enjoy a football or baseball game, even though it requires a rather large investment in time. But, basketball? I really think basketball is a dumb game.

Now, if you’re one of the millions of basketball fans, kindly reach down and unbunch your undies. If you like basketball, that’s fine. I don’t think less of basketball fans, and I am not trying to dissuade you of your love of the game. I am just taking advantage of my tiny place in the blogosphere to express my thoughts on that game that was, after all, invented in 1891 when James Naismith hung a couple peach baskets in the gym in an effort to get a bunch of lazy jocks to exercise during the cold winter months.

Here are some of the reasons why I don’t much care for basketball or “basket ball” (as it was originally known).

Basketball is heavily populated with genetic outliers.
Basketball is a game for TALL people – very TALL people. People of average height and short people need not apply. Frankly, it is difficult for me to be impressed to see a seven feet tall guy jump in the air and plop the ball in the basket with slightly more effort than it takes me to get a coffee cup from the top shelf in the kitchen cabinet.

Now, I know many of you are probably thinking that all sports, to one extent or another, seek out genetic outliers. So, if the genetic cards you’ve been dealt make you neckless, six a half feet tall, and three hundred pounds, football might be your game. Similarly, if you are very short in stature and weigh in at 90 pounds while holding a radiator in their hands, you might be sought out to be a jockey.

However, it seems different with basketball. If you’re a kid who at 16 or 17 is tickling seven feet tall, I’ll bet you hear virtually every day of your life, “Hey, you must play basketball.” What if the kid thinks basketball is a dumb game? I’ll bet that for kids like that it’s easier just humor everyone and play the damned game rather than having to spend your life explaining why it is you’re not a basketball player.

Hell, if somewhere a nine-foot tall guy were to surface, the NBA teams would fight tooth and nail for his services. Then we could just watch this guy reach up and effortlessly drop the ball in the basket. Thrilling. Dumb.

“Dribbling” – Duh.

The original thirteen rules written by James Naismith did not permit a player to move with the ball. The ball could only be advanced by passing it to another player. One day, some smartass (undoubtedly a genetic outlier, taller than everyone else), got the bright idea to pass the ball to himself, thereby permitting him to advance the ball simply by repeatedly tossing it up in the air and catching it.

This self-passing became part of the rules. At a later time, someone had the swell idea that you could move with the ball as long as you did bouncy-ball with it while moving. And, as if this bouncy-ball thing wasn’t dumb enough, someone decided to call it “dribbling.” Dribbling? What a dumb choice of words. What does bouncing a ball on the floor have to do with dribbling? One wonders why it was not called “drooling.” Then again, it could have been worse. The bouncy-ball thing could have been called “barfing” or “farting.”

Grown men doing bouncy-ball. Dumb.

I hate the sounds.
Basketball makes bad sounds. To me, the sounds of the bouncy-ball and the sneakers squeaking against the floor are most unpleasant. Oh yeah, don’t forget the horn that blasts at the end of the periods. Who could possibly like that sound? Dumb.

Foul shots.
These are really dumb. When someone commits a foul, the game stops while the genetic outlier stands directly in front of the basket and tosses it in most times. But, before he tosses it in, we are treated to a little more bouncy-ball. This leads me to wonder why these highly paid, very tall people ever miss, and why they have to do the bouncy-ball thing before the toss it into the basket? Dumb.

Basketball (particularly professional basketball) is a haven for felons of all descriptions.
Now I know that basketball does not have a monopoly on its participants being criminals. But it sure seems like basketball leads the way in this department. Don’t these guys know that if they were not basketball players, they would be largely unemployable? Dumb.

Suggestions to improve the game.
Far be it from me to criticize basketball without being prepared to offer suggestions for rule changes that I think would improve this otherwise dumb game.

Solving the genetic outlier problem.

Simply raising the basket won’t do it. It will still be a game for genetic outliers. I have a more creative solution. Install three baskets of varying heights on each end of the court.. Short guys can only shoot at the low basket, average guys can only shoot at the average height basket and the outliers have to shoot at the high basket. Short and average guys would have a fair chance. And, who knows? Maybe it might be that some day people who are five feet tall will be regularly asked, “Hey, are you a basketball player?”

There is still the problem of the outliers preventing the short guys from shooting. Don’t bother me with details. I’m working on that.

A creative alternative to “dribbling.”
How does this sound? Scrap dribbling altogether, because – let’s face it – bouncy-ball is dumb and is better left to children. I suggest that the rule should be that a player can run with the ball, but he has to sing all the while he running. I think Broadway tunes would be nice. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to hear a nice baritone rendition of “Oh What a Beautiful Morning” rather than the sound of bouncy-ball? It would make the game much more pleasing to the ear.

I would be willing to consider alternatives to Broadway tunes. Rock? Country-Western? Perhaps each player should be permitted to select his own songs. However, I would not, under any circumstances, permit rap, as rap is not music, and it is even more offensive to the ears than the sound of bouncy ball.

Finally, “singing” would be an accurate description of what is actually happening, rather than “dribbling,” which to me describes an unattractive salivation thing, not the bouncy-ball it actually is.

A solution for the other offensive sounds.
Now what about the squeaking sneakers and that awful, blasting horn?. No problem. The game should be played on a carpet, because once bouncy-ball is done away with, there is no need for a wooden floor. No more wooden floor, no more annoying sneaker squeaks. Simple.

As for that hateful horn, I suggest that it be replaced by three Alpenhorns playing beautiful harmony. Much easier on the ears.

A better approach to dealing with fouls.

As noted above, watching foul shooting (along with the obligatory pre-shot bouncy-ball) is boring. The other problem with the way fouls are currently handled is that the person committing the foul is not punished properly. There is no real disincentive to bad behavior on the “carpet.” My suggestion is that when a player commits a foul, the other team automatically gets a point, thereby doing away with the foul shot thing. But that’s not all. I also think that the person committing the foul has to be properly humiliated for his bad conduct. I, therefore, propose that the person committing the foul be forced to wear lipstick and a tutu for the remainder of the game in which he committed the foul and for all of the following game as well.

The solution for the too-many-felons problem.
It is obvious that the NBA does not care whether a good player also happens to be a felon. My solution? Fine. Let the social misfits play. However, they have to wear a ball and chain during the game. That will provide a disincentive to the players who may be considering the commission of a felony, it would make the team owner less likely to keep a felon on the team, and finally, it would protect the fans from these guys who really ought to be in jail.

So, that’s my take on basketball.

I much prefer synchronized swimming.

Apparently someone in Pakistan offered a reward to any person who managed to kill an American, civilian or soldier – it did not matter. An Australian learned of this and wrote this.

Via Drumwaster’s Rants

Update: Sorry for not including the link to the underlying story last night. I’m blaming the Ketel One vodka and the Lepanto Spanish Brandy, courtesy of the original Bill, enjoyed with an excellent Bucanero cigar, courtesy of Bill, the HAM. Obviously, sometimes good living and good blogging don’t go together.

David of Sketches of Strain will be interviewing Rita of Res Ipsa Loquitur on Sunday. Rita is one of my very favorite bloggers. There’s just something about this self-proclaimed hillbilly lawyer, who from time to time rescues children, takes computer courses, knows a bunch of meteorology crap, and who is known to “pack heat,” that I like big-time.

I can’t wait to read it.

Don’t miss Mark Levin on 77 WABC radio every evening between 6:00 and 7:00. He’s a conservative constitutional lawyer, with a voice that is decidedly un-radio and a viewpoint and personality that are decidedly un-NPR. I often catch him on my way home from work, and on a few occasions I have moved into the right lane to give me more time to listen to the show.

You won’t be disappointed, unless, of course, you’re a person who purchased Al Franken’s or Hillary’s book, in which case never mind.

Johnny Cash, the legendary “Man in Black” country singer, and John Ritter, one of the stars on the TV Sitcom “Three’s Company” died today, Cash of complications from diabetes and Ritter of an aortic aneurysm.

I was a fan of Johnny Cash. To me, he always sang right on the edge, sounding like he might go flat any minute, but he never did. I wore out the grooves on the Folsom Prison album. I plan on spending some time listening to his music this weekend.

Truthfully, I was never a huge John Ritter fan, mainly because I was not crazy about the TV programs that made him famous. However, I do seem to recall laughing a bit at “Three’s Company,” particularly the segments involving the “Ropers,” and the dopey blond character created by Suzanne Somers. On the occasions that I saw Ritter being interviewed, he seemed like a pretty nice guy. He was too young to die.

FACTOID: Speaking of Suzanne Somers…..

Suzanne Somers and I made our entry onto this planet on the same day. She, however, looks considerably better than I.

Damn, I knew I should have bought one of those Thighmasters.

I thought about writing my 9/11 story. I even got a few sentences into it, but it just didn’t feel right. It was going to be long – too long, I thought, and frankly, as compared to the stories and experiences of others, my story didn’t deserve that many words. However, today I had no desire to write about anything other than 9/11.

What to say?

I was about ready to call it quits when I decided to pop onto my blog to check out a couple favorites. I noticed a very brief (and most kind) comment to my most recent post from Psycho Dad. Seeing as how he took the time to leave me a nice comment, I popped over to his site, and read his entry for today.

It seems that he watched the entire horror unfold from Liberty State Park, which is to say he was up close, and right in the spot where survivors were arriving on the flotilla of boats that showed up to take people off Manhattan. His story clearly was worth more words than mine, but he made a conscious decision to tell it all in three very short paragraphs. He had exactly the right idea.

With that said, and with a tip of the hat to Psycho Dad, here is my story.

As I was driving to work, I heard on the radio that a plane had hit the World Trade Center. I had just entered onto Route 78, heading away from the City. I looked in my rearview mirror, and I saw smoke billowing from the North Tower. I couldn’t believe my eyes. At that point, like everyone else, I thought it was a terrible accident. A few miles later, the second plane hit.

Knowing instantly that this had to be the work of terrorists, I looked at my watch to note the date, for I knew that civilization had just taken a sharp turn. I knew that, from that moment on, September 11, 2001 would divide modern history into two parts – Pre-September 11th and Post-September 11th.

At work a dozen or so of us gathered before a large television in a conference room. No one spoke. Without warning, the first building came down. There were reports of the Pentagon having been hit, and it was also reported that there were several unaccounted planes in the sky, possibly on their way to the White House or the Capitol. My stomach knotted, as I was absolutely certain that, by this time, someone must have had to issue an order to shoot down an American passenger plane if it appeared to be headed to Washington.

Then the second building came down. Horror, shock, numbness, disbelief, fear, anger – I felt them all at once.

Everyone headed for home, still not knowing whether there were more lunatics in the sky headed our way. I couldn’t get TJ on the phone for several hours, and I worked hard to convince myself that on this day, of all days, she surely would not be in New York. As it turned out, she was, but she managed to get out of the City safely.

As I turned east onto my street, I looked toward the spot where we could always see the tops of the Towers.

They were gone. Just, gone. All that was left was a huge plume of ugly smoke.

Welcome to Post-September 11th.

I had planned to write something else tonight – something quite a bit easier to think about and to write. However, I checked in on Rita’s blog and saw that she had posted a photo of the Twin Towers that her husband took on September 2, 2000, while they were on their honeymoon in New York City. She mentioned that they had intended to have dinner in the World Trade Center, but time did not permit it. They decided that they would have dinner in the Windows on the World “the next time” they would be in New York. That postponed dinner, which now can never be enjoyed, speaks volumes about what happened two years ago tomorrow.

I think it is safe to assume that virtually every American has a September 11th story to tell. Everyone vividly remembers where they were when they learned of the attacks and how they were affected by them on that day and in the following days.

However, I also think it is safe to assume that, even though thousands upon thousands of people have been to the Twin Towers during their existence, most Americans have never had the opportunity and the pleasure of having visited those magnificent buildings.

I am fortunate to have had the chance to visit the World Trade Center and to have had dinner in the Windows on the World restaurant. Little did I know that my evening there would, years later, provide me with a bit of haunting insight into how hellish it must have been for the restaurant staff and people eating breakfast in the Windows on the World on the morning of September 11, 2001.

What brought me to the restaurant in the early nineties was a company-sponsored dinner to celebrate the launch of a new product. Most of the people in our group resided within 50 miles of the World Trade Center (I live much closer), and yet most of us had never visited the place. This is not unusual for people who live around here. Indeed, to this day, I have never been to the top of the Empire State Building, even though I have lived within sight of it all my life.

We were taken on a chartered bus from New Jersey through the Holland Tunnel into downtown New York. The trip took only about twenty minutes, although it didn’t even seem to take that much time, as we were laughing and joking all the way. We were all looking forward to a splendid evening of first-class dining in the tallest building in the world’s greatest city.

As we exited the bus in front of the north tower, we certainly did not look like “locals,” because virtually every one of us speechlessly gazed at the enormity of the Towers. Anyone could have easily mistaken us for a group of tourists from some place like Nebraska (no offense to our Nebraskan friends). Photographs simply cannot fully convey the size and power of those buildings.

We took the ear-popping trip on the high-speed elevator up to the 107th floor, where the restaurant was located. As we got off the elevator, we were greeted by a member of the restaurant staff who led us to a private room where our cocktails and dinner were to be served. I distinctly recall the professionalism and courtesy of the restaurant’s staff.

Before dinner, we all took advantage of the opportunity to stand at the floor to ceiling windows and look down at New York City and across the Hudson River to New Jersey. It was breathtaking. Ironically, I recall thinking then that the only other way to see this wonderful view would be from an airplane. I was particularly taken by how one could actually feel the building sway ever-so-slightly in the wind. At first, it was a bit unnerving. I’m told that the building was designed to be flexible and to bend, up to a foot or so, in the wind. I had no idea that you could actually feel it.

I also remember wondering about what kind of special men it must have taken to climb around at that height on the steel skeleton of the building during its construction. I still wonder about that.

However, one thing I absolutely did not think about was what it would be like if this gargantuan tower was to cave in on itself in a matter of seconds. There was no reason to entertain such a ridiculous thought, for surely such a thing could never, ever happen.

Now I know differently. And now I find it difficult not to think about that which was unthinkable on that evening in the tallest building in the world’s greatest city.

May those who perished there rest in peace, and may those responsible for their deaths rot in hell.

The background is described as containing “subtle green, ‘peach’ and light blue hues.”

Here’s the story.

Coming to your stores in October.

Methinks it will take a bit of getting used to.

Via In Sheeps Clothing

As I have written before, it is true that New Jersey, the most densely populated state in the country, actually does have bears. In fact, many would say that the Garden State’s estimated black bear population of 3,300 is too high, leading to the state’s Fish and Game Council to authorize a bear hunt this year — the first in thirty years.

The weeklong hunt, which is scheduled to take place in December, is decidedly a red-hot topic in the state, with the opponents of the hunt still optimistic that they can convince the Governor to call it off. To press their point, this weekend, more than 200 “bear advocates” gathered in front of the Governor McGreevey’s residence to protest the hunt and what they perceive as the Governor’s having broken his campaign promise that, if elected, there would be no bear hunt in New Jersey during his administration.

One protestor wore a sign on which was a large copy of a letter that Mr. McGreevey (then-candidate McGreevey) had written three years ago to the then-Governor, Christine Todd Whitman, urging her to call off the hunt. The letter argued that “authorizing the hunting and killing of these animals is inconsistent with the state’s commitment to protecting the environment and preserving open space for the benefit of all living creatures.” Governor Whitman ultimately did call off the hunt.

The anti-hunt people view Governor McGreevey’s current position on the hunt as a “flip-flop,” and some were collecting pairs of flip-flop shoes to be delivered to the Governor’s office in Trenton. (Note: The term “flip-flop” had been heretofore reserved for a former Governor of New Jersey, “Flip-Flop Florio,” whom many viewed as having broken a campaign promise regarding taxes.)

The Governor’s press secretary stated that the Governor has not changed his position and that he still personally opposes the idea of a bear hunt, “but the facts have changed since three years ago,” citing the increases in the bear population, the number of nuisance complaints and more frequent interactions with people that were characterized as “near misses.”

Lynda Smith, director of the Bear Education and Resource Group disagrees, urging that the situation is no worse now than it was three years ago and that there were, in fact, fewer “near misses” this year than before. Smith accused the Governor of “bowing to the pressure from the hunters.”

Despite the protests, the state is continuing to issue the promised 10,000 applications for permits, with the goal of reducing the population by 500 bears. Thus far, not nearly as many people as had been expected have sought the permits, which require the attendance of a three-hour seminar on bears. Some speculate that the current absence of a rush to obtain the permits is because the bear hunt will take place during the state’s traditional deer season, and many hunters will want to concentrate on deer hunting.

I am not a hunter, and bears don’t frequent the part of the state where I live, so I won’t be lining up for a permit. However, I can sympathize with those in the state whose back yards are increasingly being visited by bears.

As I said before, I do not pretend to know a satisfactory way to reduce the bear population other than by permitting the hunt. Unfortunately, the bear advocates have not offered a satisfactory alternative either.

So, for now, the hunt is on.

Cousin Jack reports the apparent consensus among tax mavens that Bill and Hillary should have reported the millions of dollars in their “legal defense fund” as income on their tax returns. Of course, they have not done so.

Is anyone even a little bit surprised?