Dalem-Bits

- I'll start with the most unsurprising piece of "news" I have. AJ Feeley lost a game at QB and is being hailed as a savior. Listen, I'll admit that McNabb has been well across the border of awful this season, playing with one leg and seemingly diminished heart, but let's be real, he's just as qualified as Feeley to throw game starting and game ending interceptions. How about we let Feeley win a game before exalting him as the new Tom Brady? Seriously folks, we go through this every year with the same results every time, and yet never seem to learn anything from it. I'm really beginning to think that the Yuengling factory shares a water supply with Three Mile Island, which would explain A LOT about the common Cuz.

- In happy Eagles news, Sports Illustrated is calling Brian Westbrook the best running back in the NFL! Actually, some dude over at SI.com is calling him the best running back in the NFL, but we'll happily take it. Full story here.

- Kyle Korver's back! Wait, Kyle Korver was gone?

- Remember when I said that the Andre Miller trade rumors were false? Bet you didn't know that I frequently speak too soon and simply can't be trusted

- I'm dangerously close to retracting my statement regarding my lack of hockey interest. It turns out the Flyers are straight thugs. Yesterday it was reported that Boston was going to be gunning for certain Flyers in retaliation for some acts of violence which occurred in their most recent game. What I didn't realize was that it seems in Boston, the term retaliation actually translates into "getting our asses kicked even worse than before". Sure, the Flyers lost the game, but won the lack of concussions and blood shed competitions. I can live with that.

- Nostra-J Roll is at it again. Asked last night to forecast the upcoming Phillies season, the MVP decided to keep it simple, and kept his predictions to 100 wins, another NL East title and a Broad Street parade. My prediction: J Roll will easily lead the league in the Hit-By-Pitches category. The man is zeroing in on the cockiness of Jay-Z in his prime, and I love every second of it. April can't come soon enough.



- Finally, on an extremely rare serious note, I'd like to take a moment to send the DR's best wishes out to the family and friends of Washington Redskin's cornerback Sean Taylor who died early this morning as the result of a gunshot wound sustained in what is being called an attempted robbery. I'll admit that on numerous occasions I've wished death upon opponents of the Eagles, particularly those in the NFC East. It turns out I didn't really mean it. At 24, Taylor certainly had a long career of punishing the Eagles ahead of him, and it's tragic that it had to end the way it did. So on behalf of the DR and Philly in general, RIP Sean Taylor. Put ya lighters up.

Spark Up the Phillies and Pass the Stout b/w A Dalembert Report Family Thanksgiving

With the exception of Matt Holliday's wife (get the ice packs ready honey!), the world of sport was thrilled today with the announcement that our very own Jimmy Rollins was bestowed with baseball's highest honor, the MVP award. Okay, he got half of baseball's highest honor, sharing the spotlight with the American League MVP, Alex "Fuck You, Pay Me" Rodriguez. However, we at the Dalembert Report choose not to acknowledge the American League , what with it's bigger names and nonsense designated driver* rule. Or hitter. Or something. Either way, by default, that makes J-Roll the lone best in baseball this year and we couldn't be any happier for him.

I would post J-Roll's stats for the year compared to the aforementioned Holliday, but that would be about as exciting of a read as the minutes to a meeting of the mutes, so I'll just take a moment to reference some of the genius shit the man accomplished this year on the path to HNIC-dom. In January, the dude pointed a middle finger high in the air, aimed it approximately 100 miles north and told the Mets that the NL East was the Phillies' block this year, and they'd best consider slangin their product elsewhere. Took a little longer than expected, but it turned out to be the truth. He played in every game this season, and managed to pull out a silver slugger and a gold glove award (which are given to the best offensive and defensive players at each position on the field – yeah, the man got em BOTH) while doing it. He became the first player ever to do some hot shit, the details of which elude me as of press time, but just trust me, it was great. However, of all the accomplishments which led to this glorious achievement, nearest to the hearts of your DR editorial staff is that the man has been righteously giving it to one of our fellow high school alumna, and while he and she may object, that practically makes us all related.

So, to you Cousin Jimmy, we spark the Phillies and pass the stout, and congratulate you on your well deserved 2007 NL MVP award!!!

Speaking of family, the Thanksgiving holidays are upon us, and with the exception of the first half of the Eagles' season, there is much to be thankful for. In the spirit of the holiday, I would like to take a moment to share a few of the things for which I am thankful with my highest of dysfunctional families, you, the DR loyalists:

I am thankful that eldiablogrande did not fire me from my free job here, despite numerous drug and alcohol fueled threats

I am thankful for the turkey that has made the ultimate sacrifice so that I may fill my belly and provide a solid foundation for the after-dinner drinks which will render me unfit for the operation of heavy machinery

I am thankful for percocet for very similar reasons

I am thankful that neither Alfonseca nor Mesa were made top priority free agent signings

I am thankful that JC Romero was

I am thankful that hockey does not interest me**, as it seems that many Flyers fans are of the angry breed

I am thankful that Sixers fans would rather stay home, thereby providing me with many oppurtunities to upgrade my seats free of charge

I am thankful that the Andre Miller trade rumors have been deemed false

I am thankful that LW3 doesn't realize that he could be the biggest star that The Wire has ever seen and has instead chosen to continue to catch total wreck for 11 minutes a game

I am thankful for Brian Westbrook

I am thankful for every King and Cuz in the city and their collective willingness to commit to alcoholism and in turn remind out of towners exactly whose stadium it is that they are in, and that cheering for the other team is not only forbidden, but grounds for multiple acts of violence

I am thankful that the bartender does not judge me

I am thankful for the anonymous gentleman who leaves the sports page in the handicapped stall at work on a daily basis (a true American)

I am thankful that my employer is unaware that I am writing this on company time

I am thankful for Mr. Sammy D himself, a greater muse there has never been

Finally, I am thankful for YOU, the DR readers, who apparently do exist regardless of the comment sections being all 28 Days Later-esque. Happy Thanksgiving, bitches.





* The Dalembert Report reminds you to stay safe this holiday season. Know when to say when, remember that friends don't let friends drive drunk (unless they REALLY need a ride), don't learn this from watching me, and please if you've taken nothing else from this DR PSA, do NOT allow eldiablogrande to take home men in dresses. Not that there's anything wrong with that.

** I reserve the right to retract that statement at any time

Philly Blunts Are The Hot Dogs of Tobacco

To Cheeks, or not to Cheeks, that is the question. Over a few shots of Southern Comfort (it was on sale at Las Vegas Lounge, and much needed after half the dalembert report editorial staff spent two hour watching a movie that began with Philip Seymour Hoffman fucking Marisa Tomei doggy style and proceeded to go way, way downhill from there) Tutkwon and myself considered this query.

"He's a mediocre coach" spaketh 'kwan, and, though I count myself as one of the contingent of Sixers fans who have been pleased with coach Mo, I was hard pressed to disagree.


But is a mediocre coach really such a bad thing for this team? Is it a bad thing for any team, really? And just how many quote unquote "good" coaches really exist? When Lawrence Frank pulls Bostjan Nachbar aside to tell him something tremendously tactical and complicated, is that really more effective than when coach Mo grabs LW3 and says "they can't stop you young bul -- go and get yours"?

I personally think that Mo is the perfect coach for this team right now. He's relentlessley positive, never brings any drama, never criticizes his players and is willing to play almost anyone, anytime, in any combination. If the Sixers win any games this year, it will be from hustle, defense and hot shooting, not because their coach drew up an unstoppable out of bounds play. LB can ski pole Ed Snider all he wants -- this season it's not about winning the close ones.

That being said, if we keep getting blown the fuck out in the fourth quarter of games I'm gonna have to start going all bunny suicide on mufuckas.

Department of Hilarity and Frustration

So...I am swimming in my own head right now, drowning actually.
Full of ideas, for posts, columns, reviews, TV shows etc, but I cant get a single one of em out. They are all trapped in my dome. In the interest of getting something semi productive done, I will post right now damn it! None of it is my intellectual property, but i did "find" it so fuck you!





This guy is crazy, doesn't he know there is nothing in these mixing bowls?


Sadly, we will never see this again...ever. Two of the greats. Damn a nuh it really just hit me. (pause...sob sob)




How do you say double standard in Spanish?


Everyone, all my minions, join now!

Sieg Hill!

The dalembert report prides itself on our ambivalence towards the american political process (though we do support future philly mayor mike nutter after spending the eve of the election drinking beers with him in Grace Tavern), preferring to devote our energy to questions of Quebec separatism , the liberation of Guy Philippe, and increased funding for fecal bacteriotherapy. However if we did decide to support an imperialist candidate, it would definately be white supremacist Hillary Clinton (below).

Sieg Heil, Hill!



(Thanks to DR enthusiast and noted counterrevolutionary stringer bell for the flicxture.)

Midnight Has Come and Gone & Iguodala Has Turned into a Pumpkin

To give a max deal, to not give a max deal that is the question.

Does the new AI deserve 5 years 85 million dollars? I say no. how many players in the League have a max deal? 21.

Well you say, "Andre Iguodala is not one of the best 21 players in the league." while this may be true, it is not that simple. Of the 21 players with max deals, I would take the new AI over at least two of them: Starbury and Antawn Jamison.

That being said, my colleague Eldiablogrande and myself held an impromtu fantasy draft (30 teams) during the sixers opener on Wednesday and concluded that Iguodala would be an early second round pick...possibly the 1st pick of round two. My question is this: can you really justify giving a player a max deal if he will not be the #1 guy on his team?

No no no no no.

It is hard to justify having multiple max contract guys on a team unless you have Shaq and D Wade, the original AI and Melo, or KG and Pierce. Now I know the new AI would be/is our best player, but does that mean we should overpay him? We have seen how Moneybags King giving out huge contracts has hurt the team in the past (see Kenny Thomas, Brian Skinner). He also traded Bruce Bowen, Larry Hughes and Billy Owens for Toni Kukoc. (I don't like Billy King)

I say to you new AI come down with your demands a little, and to you Billy King pay the man more than our beloved Sammy D!

5 years 65 million. Fair is fair. There ya go, contract talks over deal done everyone happy. Now take that money we're gonna save after CWebber's contract comes off the books, and sign E Brand.



P.S. Eric Piatkowski is still in the league, Way to go white!!!

The Return of the Jedi

And so, in a just a couple of hours, the Philadelphia 76ers open the curtain on their 2007-2008 campaign of thrilling mediocrity. And once again, as it has for so many years past, the fate of the team, and with it the hopes and dreams of the 7 or 8 people that still follow the Sixers, rest squarely upon the corduroy-suited shoulders of our favorite mercurial big man, seen below giving dap to Philly icons the RAM Squad.


The Sixers will not be good.

The once Titanic division is no more so...the woeful Celtics frontline of Kendrick Perkins and Al Jefferson being suddenly transformed into a frightening frontcourt tandem of Kevin Garnett and, well, at least they still have Kendrick Perkins.

The Nets still have Richard Jefferson, Viet Cong and of course J-Kidd, plus another year of improvement from Marcus Williams and Nenad Krstic and the addition of future Sammy D Team Canada teammate Jamaal Magloire, who is sort of a rich man's version of Calvin Booth, which is at least not as bad as being Calvin Booth himself.

Even the Knicks, having gotten rid of Stevie Franchise in return for Zach Randolph have at least traded a backcourt cancer for a proven frontcourt cancer, always a step in the right direction in an eastern conference where the power forwards are 'Sheed and a buncha semi-serviceable fuckbergs. We can only hope Big Zach is shot in the leg by one of Remy Martin's entourage members before he settles into the swing of things.



Which brings us back to the boys in black, with newly instituted red piping down the side. Who exactly are these Sixers? What do we know about them? What can we expect?

What we know: very little.

We know Andre Miller is a quality, veteran point guard with the proven ability to run a basketball team with grace and aplomb and hit a few mid range fadeaways when called upon to do so.

We know Kyle Korver can shoot, is a mediocre though no longer horrendous defender, and can be counted upon to average 12-15 ppg in 25 - 30 mpg off the bench.

We know Kevin Ollie is not very good, is paid too much money, and will not see the light of day on this young team until come December when his expiring deal becomes trade fodder.

Aside from that, everyone on this team is an enigma.

Andre "Don't Call Me Iggy" Iguodala: a burgeoning superstar in need of only a nickname to etch his name on the pantheon of east all stars for the next 10 years? Or a perennial Pippen, forever scouring the basketball middle earth in search of his Jordan.

Rodney Carney: A rich man's Hot Rod Hundley? Or a poor man's Rodney Buford?

LWIII: Is he ready to be like Leandro Barbosa, a quicksilvery combo guard that's unstoppable once he decides its time to score bushels and bushels of points? Or will he turn out more like Felix Barbosa from Deep Cover, and get stabbed in the throat by Charles Martin Smith.

And what of Jason Smith, Young Thad, Louis Amundsun-Scott, and of course, the enigma that renders all other enigmas unenigmatic, the one and only Dalembert.

What can we expect?

Socrates (or was it R. Kelly?) once famously said that the only true knowledge lies in knowing that you know nothing. Unless the unthinkable happens, this Sixers team will not win 40 games (though shit, 36 wins could be playoff worthy in the east this year). But the true joy will be in watching all these enigmas/basketball players try to establish themselves as a part of the Sixers future (a positive part, not like a Kevin Ollie part). It's like taking all the shit you have left in your fridge and throwing it into a gigantic crockpot with some hot sauce and maybe like a little bit of seasoning and seeing what flavors stand out. And seeing whether the mixture tastes like Filet Mignon or if it tastes like dog food.

The Sixers gave us a tantalizing taste of the good stuff at the end of last year. Lets hope it wasn't all just bacon bits.

CRACK ATTACK!

I awoke the other morning finally ready to publicly deal with the disastrous results produced by the Phillies meek attempt at playing playoff baseball. I knew it would be a rough undertaking, which I can admit I was not looking forward to, but my respect and admiration for the loyal DR readership transcended my personal demons and fueled me to put the pen to the pad and spew a diatribe the likes of which hasn't been seen since the Rizzo administration.

Then it happened.

Most, if not all, generations have their share of sobering moments. Pearl Harbor, the A-Bomb, the assassination of JFK, who shot JR, 9-11...the list of these events is long and evokes emotion, memories and all those responses associated with truly historical moments, especially those that had the added element of total surprise. This was not one of those moments. In fact, file this one even higher than Irish people getting drunk on the list of least surprising shit that has ever happened.

Yes folks, life proved not to be a true fan, and was indeed cruel to Bobby Brown, dealing him his first in what is sure to be a long string of heart attacks. He's 38.

Brown's spokesperson attributed the attack to diet and stress, which must be the fancy new term for crack and malt liquor, because the best part about being a career drunk and basehead is that you're too damn wasted to be stressed about anything. Well, maybe with the exception of that little, multicolored, unidentified creature who is following you around trying desperately to kill you, but is so damn quick and chameleon-like that no one else can actually see it and then they tend do hurtful shit like label you as "insane", but I digress.

The point is that yes, the Phils shit the bed BIG TIME, but take some time to think about what's really important. This damn good team will be around for quite awhile and there truly is always next season, but can we honestly say that about Bobby Brown? Break out your Don't Be Cruel album, put Roni on repeat, fake hump something (bonus points if you pretend it's an underaged fan) and remember the good times. Because you may very well be in the middle of a 2008 World Series celebration, but what will there truly be to celebrate if you didn't take the time to say goodbye to a great crackhead?

So, join me as I take a moment to salute Bobby and let him know that he will be missed. But remember, don't pour any liquor out, Bobby wouldn't have wanted to see booze wasted.

We are at the Party, Why not Dance?

Phillies Fans,

It recently struck me as odd that Phightin Phils was even considered a legitimate nickname and not an ironically cute joke; how could a team that so often failed to show any fight possibly use fight in the nickname? Well, whether or not I've stumbled upon a linguistical and anthropological dilemma for smart people to delve into to, the important point is that we finally have a Phillies team with some actual fisticuff potential.

I, like you, am swollen with pride for the 2007 Phightin Phils. However, watching them lose today in Game 1 of the Division Series made me realize how awful it would be for the dream to end so soon. The fact is, making it to the playoffs is great, losing to an expansion team that plays in a ballpark named for the Coors family is unacceptable.

How quickly moods can swing in sports. Earlier today I was free and loose, swaggering around town with the easy smile of Texas cheerleader, bounding with confidence in Cole Hamels, in our home fans, in our fight. That lasted exactly 1.5 innings, at which point the clock struck midnight, my carriage was replaced by a pumpkin and the easy-going demeanor flew straight out the window, bitter expletives nipping at its heels.

Being a sports fan can be hard work. Being a Philadelphia sports fan is manual labor. One of the hardest feats is maintaining a genuine sliver of positivity in this sweat shop of athletic failure. Staying positron in Philly is akin to achieving transcendence in Buddism.....or something like that. I often stay safely in glass-is-half-empty territory, but once a team gets into the playoffs or exceeds expectations, like this Phillies team has, it's time to push all the chips on the table and buckle up.

That's why this team needs to win. Today. However, just in case, I'd like to inform you loyal readers that earlier this evening I began detailing in my mind the road to the playoffs for the 2007-2008 76ers, a team sure to keep us all on the edge of our seats, both cheering and vomiting. So let us keep the faith in Philly sports, in upcoming seasons of untouched art, and in the hard work of watching it all.

Back in the USSR

Hah hah! Just kidding Phillies fans! I am back in the tri-state area at last, and courtesy of my good friend Tragedy Quaddafi aka the Intelligent Hoodlum who lives in Queens, I was able to procure some fantastic reading about my least favorite baseball team - the Mets. You see, the Mets are full of Dominicans of the non-Abraham Nunez - those who are more adept with the bat than with the glove, and who oftentimes are seen crossing over the border to practice their particular brand of Pedro Martinez-inspired homosexuality on the poor oppressed people of rural Haiti.

Now, I have nothing against the Sodomites as rule. In fact, I am ace rollies with the well-known carrier John Amaechi, as we are both technically subjects of the Queen (Elizabeth, not Freddy Mercury, though I am a fan of his as well).

But these Mets, on the other hand, are the worst kind of pillow-biters. Which is why I was so thrilled to be reading about how badly they sucked it up (pun intended) at the end of the season. These headlines really are too fantastic not to share with you, my faithful readers. And so here they are:
href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG34p1-WJZLErElrHKISdNdZMYGIK0FhvdeO_h1i1PfF9t-EyD9OjOCtsMnP-tjLNCiy_-K-Ec8DS0Z8X6brwUHGeY2aClQk3NPaURqmXeDOUt5TaL04mNdnSxIORnUwAhreIjCY60exg/s1600-h/front100107.jpg">

Surrealism

I mean, I'm speechless. As much as we all hoped this would happen, not one of us believed that it actually could. Wild card, maybe. Doubtful, but we thought maybe, possibly it could happen. Anyone who though we would win the division (with the exception, maybe, of J Roll) is a lying sack of deuce.

I was in Dallas this weekend, and as such didn't see any of the games. Which, we all decided, was probably for the best. Could I have handled the stress of Sunday? Probably. Would it have taken years off my life? Almost definately.

Let's not beat around the bush: getting into the playoffs is what matters. I would have been just as happy to get in under the auspices of the wild card as winning the division. But to get in at the expense of the Mets makes it all the better. It's kind of like the Phillies were Coach Kevin and the Mets were Steve Capanna. Or more apropo, though no less homoerotic, it's like the Phillies were Pat Burrell, the Mets were "Up to the Elbow" Mike Piazza, and Sunday afternoon was actually Friday night in Chelsea. In the 80's.

I don't particularly hate the Mets, but I do hate their recent success. Which made me feel not the slightest bit of pity for Colin as he watched his teams last best hope collapse in an inferno of first inning mayhem. Mack, your boys should know better than to fuck with Hanley Ramirez. And because I don't really have any better way of describing it, here's the weekend in text messages, courtesy of C Mack Mets Fan.

Friday 10:35pm

Colin: the losingest franchise in sports history is about to go into first place. congrats my friend.
Me: Mets game's over yet
Colin: I'm breaking out the cyanide
Me: You should probably begin construction of your own guillotine. Just in case.
Colin: And I think before I use it, I'll test it on Wagner.

Saturday 3:07pm

Colin: Mets are taking care of business today, will the phillies beat the mighty Nats?
Me: Doubt it. Eaton is pitching
Colin: Eaton could be my new hero. Hopefully Burrell has spread an outbreak of crab lice around the clubhouse to make things extra uncomfortable. I will buy an Adam Eaton jersey tomorrow if he blows this thing.

Saturday 7:07pm

Colin: Shit's tied up again.

Sunday 1:07pm

Me: Who you got pitching?
Colin: Glavine. Could go either way. The Marlins are talking a lot of shit about how they are gonna kick our ass.
Me: Glavine is your best pitcher. I think you gotta deal with Dontrelle though.
Colin: Who's going for you? I got the game on right now - shit's nerve wracking.
Me: Moyer. I'm still in Bid D. Gonna be flying during the end of the game - Phils need me closer to God.
Colin: Mets losing 4-0 cuz Glavine's a pussy.
Colin: Glavine's out after one third of an inning, 5-0, bases loaded.
Me: placed call
Colin: 7-0. Disgrance. I feel like I'm dreaming.
Me: Me too. It's gonna hurt so bad when the Phillies blow it.
Colin: Mets miss a grand slam by 2 feet. I haven't been this heartbroken since high school prom. Phils up 1-0.
Me: I'm stressed out and I'm not even watching.
Colin: Delgado broke his wrist. 3-0 Phils.
Me: Getting on plane. if the Phils manage to fuck this up it will be the worst thing ever.
Colin: Your probably in the air, but its official - you get to enjoy october baseball. and the national league is wide open. Hit it to me J Roll. Hit it to me.

I Have a Dream

When I fell asleep Thursday night I dreamed I was watching baseball on TV. Which is kind of unremarkable, especially for a dream. I mean, one time I dreamed I was flying a helicopter in Vietnam, only it was a cartoonish Vietnam with Viet Cong that were different species of monkey, firing GI Joe style laser guns and my co-pilot was an anthropomorphic feline that was some kind of combination between Chester Cheetah and Heathcliff.

The point being that my dreams generally resemble bizarre and particularly frightening acid trips, and so a dream where I was watching baseball on TV seemed to be a little weird. I mean, who dreams of mundane shit like that?

Unsurprisingly, in my dream I was watching a Phillies game. And also a Mets game. In the dream, both games began at the same time, and by the end of the first inning, the Phillies led their game 7-0 while the Mets were losing 6-0. Did I mention this was a wet dream?

It was at that point that shit started getting a little weird. Cabrera hit one deep to the wall in Shea; Endy Chavez went up to try and reprise his outfield heroics from last years NLCS; the ball sailed just over his glove for a homer. I rejoiced.

Then, as he came down, he inexplicably tore the part of the outfield wall down with him. At first it was only a small part that kind of peeled away. Then it got bigger and bigger, like when you’re peeling off old wallpaper and all of a sudden he’d ripped down the entire left field fence. Shit went downhill after that; the scoreboard came crashing down on Endy’s head, then the light towers and finally the bleachers and the upper deck. It was really quite awesome.

I’m guessing this dream was some kind of unsubtle left-brain metaphor for the Mets impending collapse. Or maybe it’s the work of residual psilocybin floating around my cortex. Fuck it though, let’s play three.

Department of Mustaches

Would you buy a burrito from this man:



I probably wouldn't either. You know who would though? Geoff Geary. That rat-faced monkey is the kind of guy that would probably buy a burrito from anybody. You know what else he would do? Give up a bunch of hits in a close game so that the Phillies lose and Timmy Dych has to restarin himself the next morning from strangling some innocent dusthead ex con with his rally towel.

Published reports (and by published, I mean reports that were sent to me via text message by extremely drunk and otherwise unreliable sources) indicate that Geary has been seen hitting the town with Pat the Deviant. Which might go a long ways towards explaining his suckitude, in addition to his rumored colorectal blockages.

A Truly Great American

As children, many of us had things taken from us unlawfully. Our only options of recourse were to tattle on the offender to our mommies or a swift kick in the balls followed by some very fast running away.

This man, my nominee for American of the Year, shows us one more option for getting yo shit back.

Fuck It

Hey, Adam Eaton, guess what?



I hardly consider myself an optimist. In fact the potent combination of being a lifelong Philly native, far too Irish for mine and society's good and currently being so deep in the ranks of a pathetic 9-to-5 existence has likely engrained pessimism so deep into my DNA that my great grandkids are going to be such miserable sons of bitches that they'll make Hitler and Stalin seem happier than Balki Bartokomous and that waterhead from Life Goes On and the McDonalds commercials. Therefore, it should be painfully obvious that optimistic moments are few and far between for your humble narrator, and you know what? I'm fucking done wasting them on this years Phillies.

Adam Eaton may not be the actual anti-christ, and some people might say he isn't the only one to blame, but it is hard to argue that he hasn't lobbied an awe-inspiring campaign to be the official posterboy for failure. His triumphant return was the punch in the balls I was in dire need of that finally made me drop the Kool-Aid and get ont he early bus in proclaiming: THIS SEASON IS DONE. FUCKING DONE. Sure, some 'key' games may be won, a late run will likely be made that will prompt the four of you out there who actually frequent the DR to tell me I'm a beatoff who should be exiled to the top of the Citizens Bank bleachers clad in nothing but a Carlos Beltran jersey, but deep within that many-times-over surgically repaired heart, you all know I'm right. Don't do it to yourselves again people.

Seriously folks, we need to be strong and another year of allowing ourselves to be heartbroken is simply unsafe. The way Gang Green looked in week one (this week's re-signing of the legendary Reno Mahe aside), you really might need strength come January. Besides, if our teams are going to be a bunch of weak pussies, we as fans can not be, as exhibited below:



Ahhhh fuck it, after seeing that, I'm back in. That shit is motivational. Go Phils and fuck the Mets. We fight our own security guards, their fans waste beer.

(7 minute version of video here.)

Reno and the Gang

The Eagles played offense played like shit on Sunday, that was obvious. The Eagles special teams played like some sort of sub-human cave dwelling foul smelling disgusting excuse for a trolls shit...that was obviouser, much obviouser. What may not in fact be as obvious is what do we do now?

Fear not pessimistic herds, for I have thine answer. Well answers technically, but you see my point. Reno Mahe has been resigned to take over punt return duties. Reno was fine when he was here and we could always depend on him to at least CATCH the ball. The one thing I find very disturbing about Mr. Mahe is that this is the Only "highlight" clip I could find of him on youtube. Never a good sign when your only youtube clip is low quality and from a video game.

May I present to you my list of the top 4:

Local Media Members Who Should get the Punt Returner Job

4) This man has been amusing us with his elfish Jewish look for what seems like an eternity. Some of you know who I am talking about...for those who don't...let's hear it for the man the myth the legend. It would be fun to watch him return just one punt, and then wish him well on his recovery.

3) Separated at birth? I for one am counting on it. Have you ever seen his brother play? That guy is truly one of the greats, there is nothing he can't do! (Quincy Carter sucks)

2) This guy played football,was an Eagle, was dominant for a period, good locker room guy, plus he can sing.

1) In all seriousness, I would really like to the Birds bring this guy back and give him a shot. Like Reno, he will catch the ball. Unlike Reno he has a chance to score a TD. Who knows, he might even get to do this.

Department of Same Shit Different Day

Words to Live By

The Good, the Bad, The Phillies.


Following last Thursdays epic victory over the diminished Metropolitans, a misguided, miscalculated, completely insane idea permeated the small brain cavity of every Phillies fan in the city: We can do it. We can win. There is hope!! Let me be the first to admit to this foolish though familiar mistake, and also be the last to tell you it's gone the way of the electric typewriter, the home phone, and Friendster: the scrap heap of human evolution. We Phillie fans must change our way of thinking soon or forever be consigned to a lifetime of singular and spectacular pain, the kind of pain only the Phillies can inflict. Here's a brief recap of the week that was.


The Good: The 4-game sweep of the Mets was masterful theater; a blow-out, a come-from-behind, a frantic controversy, and a ulcer causing series clincher blew The Mets and their droopy followers out of Philly and back to the deep suburbs, tails limp and sad between their legs. This team, the Phillies, DOES have a lot going for it, namely an infield that borders on the edge of insanity. Numbers tend to read slow and boring, so what I will say is that collectively, the infield could very well end the season leading the league individually in batting(Utley), hits(JRoll), doubles(Utley), triples(JRoll), home runs(Howard), rbi's(Howard), and runs scored(JRoll). Oh and strikeouts(Howard). Imagine that infield with a real player at third base. Besides the potentially historic quality of those fellows
exists a team that is easy to root for. They have a clubhouse that appears fun, loose, and ethnically diverse, not to mention a pitcher with 12 fingers and 12 toes. they like each other. They root for each other. They are so good sometimes. So what's the problem?

The Bad: For starters, the starters. In closing, the closing. The pitching is just plain stupid. Rare is the game when they get a well-pitched game by the starting pitcher AND the bullpen and lose. It just doesn't happen; when they pitch well they win, when they don't sometimes the offense bails them out. Or they lose. A lot. What looked like a potentially nasty rotation, nasty like Barry Sanders in the open field, has turned into a different sort of nasty. Nasty like Colonel Sanders in a open field, with his pants down. Taking a dump. Yes it's bad, very bad, and there doesn't appear to be any cure for a pitching staff that can't get guys out. Up 8-2 in todays game against the Braves, Charlie Manuel handed the ball to his two "best" arms in the bullpen: Tom "Flash" Gordon and Brett Myers. Twenty minutes later the game was over, 9-8 Braves, season in peril for real. This lack of pitching, more than the cumbersome strikeout totals, questionable managing, and injuries to Utley and Howard, have been the reason for such a up-and-down summer. Here's what we must remember:

The Phillies: This is, after all, the Phillies we're talking about, the losingest team in the history of professional sports in this country and maybe the world(even more than the washington generals??). I soothe myself in times of trouble with the simple mantra: It's the Phillies. No three words can sum it up any better because really, It's the Phillies, and it's not so much the players on the field doing well or playing horribly but a bunch of guys running around in a uniform that I'm fairly certain is cursed to some degree. I love the Phillies and I've rooted for them my entire life, but when it comes to believing in them, well, I'll have to tilt my head and scratch my chin and take a deep breath and sigh. I understand my choice to be flawed. The Phillies are the cupcake that Bart keeps trying to grab even though Lisa has connected electric wires to it that shock Bart every time he touches it. As for this season, those who think it's truly over have no idea how this team works; it's not over, well, of course it's over I mean there's no way we'll make the playoffs, but the drama is just starting to take shape. We'll get back into the wildcard chase. We'll be close enough to touch it, just like that cupcake. And then we finish up the season against the Washington Nationals. Sounds good don't you think? Thinking that maybe this year is different? Just keep one thing in mind when we go to DC needing to win 2 out of 3 from the last place Nats to make the playoffs: It's the Phillies. Buzzzz!!

Sunday Specials

Thought that your love for the Eagles could be no greater? You were wrong.

On a much less appealing note, I can't believe I know these people.

Finally, yet ANOTHER thing polar bears and Jed have in common.

Happy Labor Day, bitches.

Back Like Cooked Crack

Many of the DR faithful have been sending me kites wondering where I disappeared to after my introductory - dare I say legendary - post. Well, now that the various legal proceedings have been taken care of and my lawyers, affectionately referred to by Curtis Jackson as the 'Jew Unit', have cleared me to discuss with my DR brethren. I could explain, but I'd rather let the good folks of YouTube do it for me:








A good night indeed.

Drinking the Kool Aid

Before the baseball season began, your Dalembert Report editors sat down over some Kiwi-Strawberry Special Brews to discuss the Phillies chances for the upcoming campaign. One and all concluded that Phightins would win somewhere between 86 and 89 games and finish one game out of the wild card, just like they do every year, and as such we shouldn't get out hopes up and in fact we should probably just ignore the fact that Philadelphia even has a baseball team and focus instead on Team Dalembert's (Canada) campaign to beat Puerto Rico in the FIBA America's championship.

Even as the season wore on and we were bored stiff by lack of interesting Sammy D news and our inability to get in touch with Britt Reid's pharmacist, we swore there would we no Phillies until they reached 10 games over .500.


4 days ago I changed my mind. Game 1 against the Mets led me to believe I should at least watch, and maybe, in a limited way, hope. The improbable win in game 2 had me mixing up a sugary pitcher Jim Jones-sponsored yumminess. Last night clinched it.

I'm drinking that goddamned fucking Phillies Kool-Aid again.

We all know what's gonna happen in the end: 88-74, losing to Washington on the last day of the season to blow a chance at the wild card. But fuck it. I'm drinking anyway. And when the Kool-Aid runs out, well, then we can all start smoking meth instead.

Gems of the Week

- Does this look like a cheesesteak to you? If your answer is yes, then you my friend have never been to Larrys. Home of The Belly Filler

- Have you ever been looking through your closet wondering to yourself "Why in the good name of Owen Wilson do I own all of these random jerseys?" I have the answer to this question...right here.

A History of Violence

Are you scared of the man in this picture? Be honest. It's okay if you are. Seriously Fintan, you can admit your scared. We won't judge you.

Ha! Fooled all of you. The man in the picture is DEAD. But, were he still alive, it's almost certain that a certain 6'11" Haitian born naturalized Canadian center would not be afraid of him, even if he did point a finger in said naturalized Canadian's grill and threaten him with bodily harm.

One would think other local athletes would follow SD's lead and be unintimidated by those frailer, older, less physically imposing and more paraplegic than they. Sadly this is not the case. Example A being Phillies closer Brett Myers, who threatened to kill an aging and mustachioed beat writer by the name of Sam Carchidi during a postgame presser the other day.



Carchidi, as you can see from his photo, is slightly more nerdy, older and less intimidating than the Phillies closer. He also has nothing in common with Christopher Reeve (at least that the Dalembert Report is aware of). And yet, the two are inextricably linked through the vagaries of Google image search. Cosmic.

Anyway, here's a transcript of Myers' and Carchidi, thanks to the magical power of Bill Gates. There's audio of it somewhere but I'm too lazy to go searching for it. It's much more hilarious to read anyway.


Sam Carchidi: “You thought they both were pop ups?” (ed. note: these were the two home runs Myers had just given up to lose the game.)

Brett Myers: “Yeah, didn’t you? You think they crushed ‘em?”

SC: “The first one I thought was out, the second one no.”

BM: “Yeah, cause you’re a retard, you don’t know shit about f***in’ baseball. You’re filling in for somebody.”

SC: “How do you spell ‘retard’?”

BM: “You know how to spell it, it’s in your f***in’ vocabulary, I’m sure you know.”

SC: “You are classy, I’ll tell ya.”

BM: “Go on. [Get] outta here, you f***in’ idiot.”

SC: [pointing at Brett Myers] “You’re the f***in’ idiot.”

BM: “Hey! You pointin’ at me motherfucker?! I’ll tell you what, dude, I’ll knock you mutherf***ing out! FUCK YOU!!! You’re tough when f***in’ people are standing in front of you, aren’t you, you piece of shit! Come on! You fucking idiot. Yeah, you’re tough when f***in’ people are standing in front of you, you stupid ass.”

SC: “I’m a retard?”

BM: “Yeah, that’s right, YOU ARE, you’re a fucking idiot. You ask stupid ass fucking questions!”

Keep on Hats Like Adebisi

Do You Like Fried Cheese?

This man likes it as much as anyone I know...except myself. Note: Do not eat 8 fried cheese sandwiches in a 40 hour period, it makes you feel less than stellar.

Now that we have the serious stuff out of the way, on to the really serious stuff.

Q: Am I racist for not ever wanting to be in the same movie theater as black people?

A: No, I actually want to enjoy the movie I paid to see.

I found myself in the newish Pearle theater on Temple's campus this past Saturday night, everything was going well until the last quarter of the movie. At approximately 11:45 PM EDT a family of 16, who coincidentally were sitting directly in front of us, decided that "Superbad" was indeed Superlong and all got up to make their slow move toward the isle. Leaving Early? Fine. Leaving early and screaming about how:

"This movie is too fuckin long! "

"Yeah, what the fuck"

"This shit super shitty"

This equals ignorance at its best. If ignorance is bliss, these douches must reside in Shangrala. Without giving anything away, there are some scenes at the end in which the costars express their happiness with their friendship, to which the dudes sitting behind me had this gem to say:

"Yo son, this shit just got mad gay"

"Yeah MAD GAY son!"

Thanks you fuckin ty voles I finally know what constitutes "mad gay". Needless to say none of the above even comes close to the time that the guy sitting next to me left the theater only to return 8 minutes later with 4 Styrofoam containers of wings and bleu cheese. I enjoy wings, but smelling another man eat them in the movies is awful.

Whew...now that i got that off my chesticles, on to the-

Gems of the Week

-Can you say Best Movie Ever? (watch the trailer)

-I love Philly!

I Also Love the Eagles.

Memories from the Land of the Empty Orchestra

Many weeks have passed since I departed on a Dalembert Report-funded scouting jaunt to Japan, in search of talent, vistas, and blog fodder. Safely home I now realize that internets allow us to blog from anywhere in the world; "The DR-Live from Japan" sadly will have to wait a year(at least). Instead of wasting time filing scrupulous reports and meeting insane editor expectations and deadlines I chose to relax and investigate the beach.

Between sunny days in the sand and humid nights on the town I had plenty of time to contemplate and absorb my surroundings. I played basketball with a local squad of 20-somethings who taught me the simple pleasures of warm-up drills and a scorekeeper. I waited out a typhoon by closing all the shutters and watching season 1 of 24. I blended in to my surroundings like Waldo in a peppermint factory, Britney at a Penn party, or Pacman at Delilahs. Besides my exclusive use of English, the subtle wardrobe entirely built around Sixers, Phillies, and Eagles shirts, and my 8-inch height advantage over nearly everyone, I barely stood out. I'd like to pass along some of what I observed.

People think of Japan and dozens of predictable images pop into the minds eye: sushi, karaoke, samurai, karate, atomic explosions, sumo, Mt. Fuji, geishas, rice, crazy television, keen fashion, and many other things, some flagrantly racist and others simply sexually disturbing. I'll try to tackle the list one by one:

Sushi: yes they have sushi here. Yes it is good. Yes it is probably much much better than the sushi you eat at the nearest Teriyaki Boy in the mall. Personally I didn't eat much sushi in Japan. There's a lot of other great food that I'd never seen or tried before and I also ate way too often at the nearby Hokka Hokka, a chain in Japan that serves up meat and rice on the fast and cheap. The food here is delicious. If you go to Japan I seriously recommend eating yourself into a disgusting fat stupor.

Karaoke: Karaoke is damn fun. I'll qualify that by adding I sang in tiny bars with almost nobody I knew while respectfully sauced. Would I be equally inclined to offer my version of Bohemian Rhapsody in a crowded American bar with dozens of familiars in attendance? I'll cross that bridge when I reach it. Until then, Karaoke is great. Try it and see.

Samurai and Karate: Stunningly I didn't see any swordsman or karate kids in my time there. I guess they vacation like everybody else in the summer.

Atomic bombs: We bombed the motherlovin' crap outta Hiroshima and Nagasaki in August 1945. Check that new HBO documentary and feel the weight.

Sumo: I didn't get to see any sumo in person but I am sure it is cooler than anything ever. One aspect of small-town Japanese life I appreciated was that according to my contacts, basically all the fatboys you see are training to be sumos. Isn't that a wonderful system? Replace the stigma of fat and lazy with the honor of fat and sumo and no young boys will worry about body insecurity again. I'm not sure they have a system to displace the negative body-image problems of the fat girls with positive ones but I'm sure they don't.

Mt Fuji: Big famous mountain tourist trap. Never got close top it. Also a big famous female wrestler from G.L.O.W. who filled the Asian role.

Geishas: As with sumo and Mt. Fuji, sadly I was not lucky enough to spend my time with any geishas. I did find Japanese woman to be both attractive and effusely deferential. Oh yeah, no fluoride in the water there(at least where I was) so lots of bad teeth.

Rice: Fuck Uncle Ben's dry shitty rice and get yourself some Japanese sticky rice. Seriously, invest in a rice cooker and live to be 100.

Television: Ridiculous. Most shows tend to revolve around at least 5 people sitting around tables eating food, discussing bullshit, and quipping dramatically about nothing. Big emphasis on drama and intrigue. For my own sanity I watched close to no tv but from what I did see I would say the Japanese took the View and added men, more tables and food, and put it on every channel for 18 of the 24 hours a day.

Fashion: forget about modern styles and sharp cuts, the best fashion tool in all of Japan is the sweat rag. Where I was(Shimizu) was so hot the sweat rag was THE accessory of the summer, coming in all shapes and sizes and even morphing into a do-rag piece that ties in the back and soaks up sweat while knocking down trend-setter jaws.

Before I end I want to thank my tour guides, my cat Gay-Gay, and Bunno sensei.

Gems of the Web

Allow myself to introduce myself...I am the newest contributing member of the DR, Tha Bul Bubak. I am a professional at this thing they call the internets and also enjoy long walks on the beach, rough sex, and demoralizing/defiling others. Now, on to the Gems of the Week.

-By now all of our three readers have seen the Chocolate Rain video on youtube, but have you seen this?

- Has there ever been a better time to be a pinko commie ruskie bastard?

-No explanation needed

-Email conversation of the week: (names have been altered to be much better)

Tavarious Pounds: coincidentally, yesterday, i found the end of the internet.

Nate Newton: if it involved poop and asians, then I think I found it too....

Canadian Bacon

The dog days of summer means that the Dalembert Report takes a break from bringing you the workd of Sammy D in order to engage in exciting summer vacation endeavors. These include recieving handjobs from Ukrainian strippers (eldiablogrande), puttering about in a rural Japanese garden of Daikon radishes (tutkwon), and giving out obligatory courtesy wipes (flintskins).

But unlike us lazy pieces of shit, Sammy D has been busy this August.

Samuel Dalembert of the NBA’s Philadelphia 76’ers became the latest member of Canada’s Senior Men’s National Basketball Team today after becoming a Canadian citizen earlier in the day at a swearing-in ceremony in Hamilton, Ontario. Dalembert, was born in Port-Au-Prince Haiti, but moved to Montréal where he won a Quebec High School Championship and played on Quebec’s provincial basketball team before completing his schooling in the United States and attending Seaton Hall on a NCAA scholarship. Dalembert has kept his strong ties to Canada, with his family continuing to live in the Montréal area.

That's right...Sammy will be following in the illustrious footsteps of Bill Wennington, Jamal Magloire and Mike Myers and repping team Canada in the Olympics.

I'm feeling a little conflicted about this news, kind of like when I found out about Pat Burrell fisting Giuliano. On the one hand, I'm excited for Sammy to get some more practice, and thrilled to hear that he lives in the Munt (just like i was titillated when Giuls was able to confirm my longstanding suspicions as to Pat the Glove's sexual deviancy). On the other hand, instead of being the NBA's only Haitian player, Sammy is now just one of three Canadian ballers, and there's a long history of players sucking after spending their offseason with the national team (ie: learning that a close friend let Philly's most hated baseball player massage his prostate in the mens room of Bar Noir).

Department of Non-Frivolous Lawsuits

You don't know Jonathan Lee Riches. Michael Vick says he doesn't know Jonathan Lee Riches. The Dalembert Report, with the possible exception of flintskins, (who spends his free time engaged in pursuits about which we have no idea) doesn't know Jonathan Lee Riches either. But judging from his latest legal filing, the guy is definately someone we would love to share a 40 of Coqui 900 with.

Riches is suing Michael Vick for the amount of "63,000,000,000 billion dollars" which as far as I can tell is somewhere in the neighborhood of googolplex dollars, which according to Wikipedia is more dollars than molecules exist in the entire universe.

He's suing Vick because he says Vick stole two of his dogs, then used the proceeds from the dog fight where said dogs were involved to buy missiles from Iran and give them to Al Qaeda. Which is obviously true and makes me wonder why they're even bothering to send Vick to trial and not just shipping his black ass straight to Gitmo.

So when Fox News is broadcasting a breaking story tomorrow about Mike Vick being extraordinarily renditioned to Syria, you'll know why.

Me and Sammy McDee

The man pictured here is Brian Roberts, the CEO of Comcast Corporation. Comcast owns controlling interest in a company called Comcast Spectacor. Comcast Spectacor owns the Sixers.

Thus, Samuel Dalembert technically works for Comcast. I also work for Comcast. Brian Roberts is mine and Sammy D's boss.

I work for a division of the company called Comcast Interactive Media, which is a fancy way of saying 'the internet.' Sammy works for a division called "The 76ers" which means he plays basketball.

When Sammy is at work, he reports to 76ers head coach Maurice Cheeks. Coach Cheeks reports to Team President Billy King. Billy King reports to Comcast Spectacor Chairman Ed Snider, who reports to Comcast Chief Operating Officer Steve Burke, who reports to the aforementioned Brian Roberts.

When I'm at work I report to the Executive Producer of Comcast.net, who's name is Neil McManus. Neil reports to a guy named Charlie Herrin, the Senior Vice President for Internet Development. Charlie reports to Amy Banse, the President of Comcast Interactive Media. Amy reports to the aforementioned Steve Burke, who reports to the aforementioned Brian Roberts.

So in the eyes of Comcast, Sammy and myself are essentially the same person. Which makes me almost as happy as if I'd discovered that Sammy and I were earning the same salary.

Ron Mexico is Dead

Some amazing and baffling new revelations are coming to light in the wake of the federales indicting Michael Vick on dog fighting charges. For one, we now know that that menace to society, that one man crime wave, that scourge of the NFL and the Atlanta metro area goes by the terror-inspiring nickname “Ookie”.

That’s right. The NFL’s most dangerous QB is named after a game where teenage boys compete to see who can be the first to ejaculate onto a pastry.

Equally as perplexing is the name of Vick’s alleged operation: Bad Newz Kennels. I’m assuming that the ‘bad newz’ part is a double entendre, referring not only to the intimidating nature of the pit bulls housed therein but also to Vick’s hometown of Newport “Bad” News.

But why drop the second z after kennel? Why, if your going to replace one s with a z would you not continue with the theme throughout the whole title of your operation? Did Vick feel as though a second z would have been overkill? Is he so bad at spelling that he truly thinks the word “news” ends with a different letter than the word “kennels”? Maybe “badnewzkennelz@gmail” was already taken.

We may never know.

Still in Effect!

Sorry for the short hiatus - you can thank both the corporate (.net) and the much more mundane (my internet installer) sections of Comcast Corp for the suspension in posts. That and spending way too much time watching LW3 bung down thunderous dunks on hapless and oafy Harvard-attending white centers by the name of Cusworth.

More on the Sixers summer league team soon to come. In the meantime, here's how I feel about the Phillies chances of making the playoffs:



On the bright side, at least we have our 10,000th loss to look forward to.

The Draftermath

Some critics of draft analysis bitch and moan that true critique of the draft should be held in check until two or three years from now, when the players chosen have properly aligned themselves into categories of boom and bust, wow what a great pick and what the hell were you thinking?? I disagree. I believe I'm properly credentialed to render verdicts now and with absolute certainty. Besides, who has time to wait three years when global warming could cover the East Coast with ocean before I can fairly decide if Thaddeous Young was the right pick instead of Al Thornton? There's an old saying in Texas, maybe they have it here in Philly too: I'd rather be rash and stupid than patient and smart. No wait, it's I'd rather be a stupid dummy than a patient genius. No, no, it's better to be wrong right away than right all along. It's something like that, but one thing is for sure when the draft is involved, fool me once, shame on you, fool me year after year after year, you're not gonna fool me twice. Onwards with the draft of 2007.

Big Stories:

1) Greg Oden and Kevin Durant went to Portland and Seattle and seem destined for greatness. This was the big story of draft night, making it one of the most boring big stories on draft night ever. One of the super nice developments of draft night for me was seeing how funny Greg Oden is in interviews; we need more sarcasm, wit, and charisma from our superstars these days, and if he give us 15 years of solid soundbites who cares about his success on the court?

2) Trade Frenzy Gone Poof- It was thought that picks 3-14 could get shifted around through any combination of trades and player swaps. This didn't really happen. Atlanta held the 3rd pick and took Al Horford. Memphis stayed at #4 and took Mike Conley Jr. Boston, who we'll get back to in a minute, DID trade the #5 pick to Seattle, but after that everybody got scairt and clammed up like some bitch-ass clams.

3) Joakim Noah looks exactly like Shuggie Otis.

4) Zach Randolph got traded to the Knicks, ensuring two things: 1)Isaiah will get to keep his job even longer(a great thing for non-Knick fans) since Knick fans love this trade and 2) Strip clubs, never short on paying customers in the Big Apple, are about to enter a period of sustained patronage and prosperity not seen since Babe Ruth patrolled the town in furs and velvet hand gloves. If Randolph can continue to average 20-10-10(points, rebounds, and misdemeanor arrests) this trade works out for everyone, including the residents of Portland, who can go back to leaving their doors unlocked at night now that the final link of the Jailblazers is safely relocated.

Winners:


1) Portland, Seattle and Atlanta. Duh.
2) The Clippers got Al Thorton at #14. Good pick.
3) The Sixers!! Ah Yes, the Sixers.

Initially I was disappointed when I heard the name Thaddeous Young called at pick #12. Who is this guy? After careful consideration I've decided he's a great pick and will eventually be seen as a better player than Julian Wright and Al Thornton, the two guys most Sixer fans wanted to see with that pick. I like that he's a lefty. Lefties have cool looking shots, and nice, crafty games. Jalen Rose, Michael Redd, Mo Peterson, all lefties. He's got a great name. I'm in no way looking forward to the day but at some point he'll have a bad day at the office and the Daily News headline will read "Hideous" and I'll chuckle. He's 19 so look for him to grow more, fill out, and become much stronger. And the dude is funny. In his first week as a Sixer he lit up the press corps with gems like "Everybody loves me" and "I'm like Dirk Nowitzki except I play defense". Bravo young Thaddeous. That gave me a great idea to call him young Thaddeous instead of Thaddeous Young. Who's with me?

Besides Young Thaddeous the Sixers drafted Jason Smith and Derrick Byars, and a dude named Herbert Hill who hopefully is related to Henry Hill. Smith is a 7ft whitey with shotting skills and athleticism. I love the pick. Byars has 1st round talent and pedigree and I fully expect him to make the team. The big complaint from Philly fans is that Billy King didn't trade up, didn't make a splash, didn't do diddly-poo. Well folks, apparently he offered Milwaukee all three first round picks plus Steven Hunter and Rodney Carney to move up to #6 and they balked. I'm not sure he could have done more without getting totally ripped off. Anyway, we got some pieces, some athletes, and a dude related to Henry Hill. Good work.


Losers

1)The Celtics. Traded the #5 pick, Delonte West, and Wally Sexyback for Ray Allen. Granted, the C's will probably be better for the next year or so with Ray Allen on the team, but they got a lot older with this trade and that's back-to-back years they traded a lottery pick away. Last year they could have had Brandon Roy or Randy Foye and this year they could have had Yi Jianlian or Corey Brewer or even Young Thaddeous. Instead, they got Sebastian Telfair and Ray Allen. Nice work Danny Ainge. In three years when Allen is washed up and Pierce is slowed down, these moves will be seen as titanically moronic.

2)The Milwaukee Bucks. Passed on numerous trade opportunities and drafted the one dude who didn't want to play for them, Yi Jianlian. He's Chinese. Milwaukee has as many Chinese people as the movie Schindler's List. This can't work. Hopefully they'll trade him to Philly for far less tha we offered on draft night.

3)Yi Jianlian. I feel bad for the guy, biggest night of his life and he goes to the one city he and the nation of China expressly stated he would not play for, then is forced to talk to Stuart Scott for five minutes. Nobody should have to go through that.

4)Us, the viewers for having to watch a split screen of Stephen A. Smith and Dick Vitale. That's called a shit screen.

5) Lastly, the Lakers, T'Wolves, and Suns, for wasting everybody's time with all that trade talk involving their star players only to do nothing and leave themselves with mopey superstars and blue-balled fan bases. Never a good combination.

Draft 2007: Scenario 2

The Stay-Put:

I have to first confess that Scenario 2:The Stay-Put is currently buried away in a dark corner of my mind while Scenario 1: The Trade Up bobs and weaves at the front of my mind. So before delving into The Stay-Put let's touch up on some things.

I've been hearing stray and totally baseless rumors about Philly trading up, potentially even dangling Andre Miller to get into the top 5. Which raised the throbbing question: would Andre Miller get us into the top 5?!?! That would seem ridiculous, be let's tackle this potential coup before it happens. Question #1: Would the Hawks trade the #3 pick for Andre Miller. Hmmm, I would say no in every language I can say no in for this one(since no is universal that's a LOT of languages), except they DO need a point guard, Miller is under contract for 2 more years, he's big, crafty, and surprisingly resilient offensively, and he would probably do in Atlanta what he did in Philly last year, namely be a smart, stabilizing leader for young guys who need one. He appears to be a good teammate, his handguns are registered, his dogs have tags, and his career, college and pros, has taken him from Utah to Cleveland to Los Angeles to Denver to Philly. Hot, cold, mormons, models, mile high to mad wide, this guy can adapt to any surrounding and do his thing. Still, I'd be shocked if Atlanta, with the option of Horford, Conley Jr., Brewer, Noah, Wright, etc., would pass and instead take a 31 year old dude with decidedly un-sexy highlights and statistics that leave you cold. Would Billy Knight dare?

Which leads us to the other terrible Black GM named Billy, Billy King. Question #2: Would the Sixers trade Andre Miller for the #3 pick in the draft? Straight up, player for pick, I'd have to believe it would be a no-brainer yes. I like Andre Miller a lot. Having watched him over the past few months of last season I saw a rare player, a true point guard who makes his teammates better by getting them the ball in effective spots, by setting a tempo that works best for the team, by scoring when needed and pulling back and getting the hot hand the ball. He's real good. But we have the make that trade. Our immediate future might be a bit murky due to a void at point guard(Louis Williams is still a year or two away from....something good hopefully) but over the long road we'd be set-up nice with Horford or whoever. Now, would I trade the #12 and Andre Miller? I think so but then I'd also want to trade the other two first round picks(#21 and #30) to move up and get another good player in the top 20. Let me end this fun trip to Tradeville by mentioning that this trade will probably not happen. Which is what makes the Draft so damn awesome, because until draft night, none of these ludicrous scenarios haven't NOT happened, and the imagination is left fluttering away in its own barrel of boozy delirium, with visions of the perfect frontcourt, the ultimate sixth man, and a draft for the ages.

So, before I go I should touch on the original premise of this feature, The Stay-Put. Staying at #12 makes sense for several reasons. First, you don't want to give up too much to move up only a few slots when you can stay at 12 and probably get a decent player. Second, and this is an extension of the first point, GM's in this league are morons. Only a few of the 30 GMs in the NBA have any clue who is ever going to be great rather than good, or good instead of awful. Look at the drafts from the past and you'll see bums going early and gems going late. Billy King is a moron 4 days out of the week, so for him to give up players and more picks to move up and take somebody who he thinks is worth it could be a huge risk. Remember, this is the man who's responsible for Philly paying Aaron McKie, Chris Webber, Greg Buckner, and probably even Big Shot next year. My point? If you stay at #12, chances are somebody in front of you will screw up, choke, or hit the bottle on the big night and make a mistake, leaving you with something good. Who's to say that Al Thornton won't be the best player out of this draft in 10 years? Maybe Jeff Green will somehow slip to #12. If the Sixers stay at #12 it's because moving up would cost too much, and also because there are players lower on the board they like. The hot name right(at 12) is Al Thornton, but don't be surprised if they take big white man Spencer Hawes if he's available. And don't be surprised if he's terrible. Trade-up Trade-Up!!

NBA Draft 2007: What's The Scenario?

With all the mock drafts floating around the cyberworld, cluttering our minds with heaping helpings of fact-free analysis and useless terminology designed to disguise the poor prospects and overindulge the good ones, you must ask, do I really need to read another? What can the Dalembert Report provide that others simply will not?

It's simple: first of all, turning away from any mock draft is impossible. Do you close your eyes in the movie theater when the previews come on? Would you ever spend all night at the bar drinking beer, smoke a huge blunt in a friends car while listening to Biggie, stop at a Wawa, and not go inside to instigate an epic grub? Could you get off a plane, see the Brazilian womens soccer team in bikinis all holding placards, one of which has your name on it, and walk on by? Yes, no, and no, only because movies suck these days and previews are too long and usually boring. Whatever, sorry. Mock drafts are fantastic, they're easy to read, easy to understand, and it's nearly impossible to be held accountable for one.

Second, here at the DR we make no bones about basing our opinions less on factual reality than on flagrant Philly pride and longing, to go with a healthy dose of gut instinct and blind hatred. I don't pretend to know which scouts like which foreign guy more, nor do I care. In my experience as a fan and prognosticator of talent I've found that judging young talent solely on ethnicity, government name, choice of shoes and tattoos(or lack thereof), and March Madness showing(or lack thereof) tends to do the job, and quite well mind you. I knew Mike Dunleavy Jr. would suck in the NBA. Why? Because he's white! From Duke! Bad name and the #3 overall pick. I also had a good feeling about Kyle Korver. Why? Because he's white! From Creighton! Great name and a mid-2nd round pick. It's the subtle differences of interpretation that we pride ourselves on.

With that explained, here is the first installment of our 2007 NBA Draft Scenario section. We deal most directly with the Sixers picks, but please, read on no matter what team you root for. Somehow we will make this meaningful for fans of each team in the league.

Scenenario #1: The Trade Up

Clearly the first two picks are pretty much set. If Oden and Durant don't go 1st and 2nd, well shit, this draft will be even more fun than The Vikings Sex Boat. The draft really starts with Atlanta at #3, which is like saying the Macy's Day Parade will start as soon as The Hoff and Patrick Swayze sing a duet of Wind Beneath My Wings. You couldn't give the keys to a more drunk and blind driver and ask them to lead you home. From a Sixers fan perspective I want to see them(The Hawks that is) pick somebody with tons of unseen potential and no good grasp of the English language. That hope will actually hold true for all of the teams picking in front of Philly. The best case scenario(within scenario #1), as I see it, is for Corey Brewer, Jeff Green, Yoakim Noah, or Al Horford to slip into the 7-10 range where we could possibly trade our pick and Willie Green, move up, and grab 'em. Willie Green you say? I know it's a stretch, but listen people, the GM's involved in this draft are responsible for hundreds, if not thousands of ludicrous basketball decisions over the past twenty years, most of which have led to this very draft.

I expect Horford and Brewer to be quickly snatched and totally unavailable by the 6th pick at the latest. Both Green and Noah seem sure to go by #10. Can the Sixers pull if off? Will they give up two or even all three of their first round picks for the chance to move up a few spots for the guy they want? I must be fair in discussing Billy King. Overall I think he's done about as good a job as the Principle at Eastside High prior to Joe Clarke. But I'll say this: the man makes moves. He likes trading players, picks, and in general using as many cellphones and blackberries as possible. I expect him to make something happen, and again in fairness, his draft record is not bad. The Trade-Up can happen if he targets a guy and feels the need to go get him. I fully support trading up to get one of the aforementioned studs but will be angry and confused if we get a White or Chinese guy in the Top 10. With four picks out of the first thirty-eight, look for The Sixers to be aggressive. I'll be there. But not before writing Scenario #2, coming later this week.