Sunday, March 9, 2008

The Sixers Are The Next Wire

A small but dedicated collection of television viewers, following tonight's series finale, will be without the crown jewel of their entertainment snobbery, The Wire. As a fringe Wire nut, somebody who spreads the gospel but faces harsh condemnation from nuttier nuts when I fess-up to not having seen all of season 4, I lament the end of a dope-ass show; as a Sixers fan I feel honored and lucky to be part of a new cult club, a small army of forward-thinkers soon to be known simply as "The I-Told-You-So's".

The Wire has provided 5 seasons of genuinely groundbreaking writing and acting in comparison to what has passed for television cop drama. It avoided the trappings of primetime television: stock characters, clunky plot devices, and resolution, predictable, satisfying, or otherwise. When it ended tonight with a montage of debatable worthiness, it left many with a huge void. Where will you find such realness on tv? Can it be matched, or even approached?

Eight hours previous to the start of The Wire, a basketball game began in the depressing town of Milwaukee. Over the course of the next 3 hours the Sixers ruthlessly emasculated the Bucks in front of their quiet contingent of fans. They rebounded and pushed the ball with the fanatical joy of Omar robbing the re-up and tossing the stash down the sewer. They passed the ball with equal parts generosity and greed, McNulty playing wingman to Bunk, knowing Bunk will get him laid next time around. We saw Avon Barksdale go to jail and lose his corners. We saw Stringer Bell try to implement a new corporate model and get rewarded with(fuck a spoiler alert for an episode from 3 years ago but there it is for anybody who needs it) shotgun shells in his gut. We saw Marlo rise fast, lose the crown, and return to the corners to rebuild his rep.

The King is always under siege from younger(or as Bul Bubak and myself like to say, youthier), hungrier cats, who crave corners, demand respect, and yearn for a crown for themselves. The Sixers are Michael, the next top dog, who is too young to be taken seriously by established hustlers but too hard to be ignored for long. The Sixers are The Wire, the realist show left, the show you should start watching now before a buddy from work tells you you should.

The Sixers are the next Wire. Only better. Much better. The Sixers ARE real, and instead of blocking search warrants they block lay-ups; they don't steal scrap metal they steal outlet passes, and as they streak down-court like a getaway car pursued by the cops the only ending tends to be predictable yet satisfying: a Sammy D ultra-bung. Mourn the Wire for tonight if you must. Be sad. But shake it off and take heed: it begins anew in new form vs. the Celtics, at the Wachovia tonight at 7pm.

The Dalembert Report is telling you this now so we won't have to say I-Told-You-So later. But we will anyway.


  1. Yo, awes. Go Sixers. Beat those stinkin' Celtics.

  2. me thinks you know not what it means to bang and bung... sammy d has never bung shit (especially ultra bung shit) except the shit from his ultra haitian bung hole.

  3. truly inspirational. I will be scouring the depths of Connecticut in search of NBA league pass tonight.

    Miche has obviously never seen Sammy shoot a lil' jumpie, or else he'd know that His Haitianess bungs 'em like no one else.

  4. El Diablo and Tha Bul Bubak will be courtside for tonights affair, as such all can say is watch out legs of KG and Ray Ray. We have also paid Benzino to come to philly with a know what that means Paul Pierce.

  5. this may be the greatest post in the DR's illustrious history. Celtics is snitchin' ass Cheese Wagstaff and Sixerz is Slim Charles!