Saturday, March 17, 2012

D.Fish, You've Been Chopped.


A TV camera zeroes in on two basketball players as they enter the court.  Each dribbles a basketball.
The camera pans in on the four of us in the stands.
“Our two finalists,” I say. “Derek Fisher and Ramon Sessions.”
The camera swings back to the two on the court.  They shake hands.
“Derek, good luck,” says R.Sessions
“You, too,”  says D.Fish.  “You think you can handle this?”  He smiles.  “I’ve been doing this for quite some time.”
“D.Fish.  I’ve been watching you since I was…”
“Grade school?  That’s what you were going to say?  Come on, let’s do this.”
They bump basketballs, and look up to us.
I look into the camera. “Derek Fisher is a 37 year old professional basketball point guard for the Los Angeles Lakers.  It’s a career that has spanned 14 years, during which he won five NBA Championships.  He is the President of the National Basketball Players Association.”
D.Fish waves up from the court.
“Ramon Sessions is a 25 year old NBA point guard for the Cleveland Cavaliers. The 56th pick in the 2007 NBA Draft.”
He too waves.
“Gentlemen, please take your positions.  A simple game of full court one-on-one, and we will critique the results. Your referee, Mr Technical, will keep a close eye.
“You will be judged on Speed down the Court, Shooting Ability, Past experience, and Return on Investment.
“You have five minutes, gentlemen.  Your time starts now.”
And the game is on.
Traveling...charge...three point shot...first personal foul...into the paint...ball is kicked...out of bounds to R Sessions.  Do we see Sessions step out of bounds?  Do we see a push off from D.Fish?
“And let’s introduce our panel of distinguished judges.
“World renown basketball historian Charity Stripe.  Asphalt  and public park scout for major basketball teams, Streetball Dunkington, and,
Miss Lily Layup, owner of the Crazy Blonds, Brooklyn Ladies over 50 Basketball League.”
Three smiling faces.
Again we see the players.  Two and a half minutes left to play.
D.Fish dribbles into the front court, toward the basket, shoots off the glass, scores. 
R.Sessions takes the ball, speeds down the court, puts up a three, swish. 
“Gentlemen, you have ten seconds left.  Nine, eight, seven…”
Block by R.Sessions... Three pointer by D.Fish...R.Sessions hard to the hoop.  D.Fish, rimmer, in and out...
“Two, One, All done. Gentlemen, drop the ball. Game over.”
The players shake hands with Mr. Technical.  They both smile up at us.
 “Thank you, players,” I say. “Give us a few minutes to make our decision.”
The TV camera follows the two into the locker room.
“I almost got you,” says D.Fish. “ That last shot, gone in it would have been closer.”
“Twelve to seven.  I had you,” says R.Sessions.
The music begins. “So,” I say, “Who will be chopped?”
We go to commercial:  “…then add a half pound of butter, for taste…” and it goes on.
“We’re back,” I say.  “So, Judges, what do you think.?”
“This might be Fisher’s final moment on the field,” says Miss Layup. “  His presence alone on the court was what made the Lakers who they are. He's not the best point guard to ever play, but it's not just about points, assists, steals, it's about being a team, working with the same guys to achieve a goal. “But,” says Streetball Dunkington.  “As we can see from their five minutes on the court, the Lakers need to get a younger, faster, quicker point guard.  I think it is time.”
“You must remember, “ says Charity Stripe. “Kobe Bryant makes $27.8 mil next season and over $30 mil the next. Can't afford to have any dead weight. Not about what the Lakers are worth. It's about the salary cap and ability to sign new players.”
“But don’t you think D.Fish deserved better.” Says Miss Layup. “He is the consummate pro and does not deserve to get pushed out the door to shave a few dollars off an already over-the-cap payroll next year.
“Layup, you're delusional,” says Charity Stripe. “ What do you think Fisher wants? Does he want to sit on the bench and maybe play five minutes every couple weeks or play on a team that needs a point guard this year and will get 15-20 minutes a night.
“Charity, locker room presence most have value,” says Miss Layup. “Leadership.  It's not so much the stats that make him valuable, it's what he does off the court for the team. Without D.Fish the Lakers wouldn't have won those 5 championships."
Streetball Dunkington raises his hand. “R.Sessions, at 25, is much younger than the 37-year-old Fisher and is in a better position to help the team in the years ahead.  We saw his speed on the court just now.”
“So,” I say. “Do we know who will be chopped?”
They all nod.
And another commercial. “…then add three cups of sugar, to give it that sweet…” and it goes on.
“And we’re back,” I say. “So let’s call them back out on the court.”
We see close ups of each as they arrive at center court.
“Gentlemen, after considerable discussion, we have made our decision.”
On the court, Mr. Technical, bounces the ball, then shoots it to D.Fish.
“Derek Fisher, I’m sorry, but you have been chopped.”
D.Fish waves up at us. “Well, we had a good run.”  He bumps fists with R.Session,
Smiles, waves to all of us, and walks off the court.
“R.Sessions, You’ve won Chopped.  How do you feel?”
“I don't know what to say.  This is great. To play alongside Kobe Bryant, Pau, and Andrew.  Yes, this is great. I hope I will measure up.”
And the newspaper reports it the next day.
‘The Lakers sent first-round draft Derek Fisher, a 37- year-old guard who is the president of the NBA Players Association, to the Houston Rockets in return for Jordan Hill.
Los Angeles also dealt forward Luke Walton, guard Jason Kapono and its 2012 first-round pick to Cleveland for guard Ramon Sessions and forward Christian Eyenga.
The ball's now in Derek's court.
-----------------------------
Help comes from:
Google/Images, readabilityformulas.com,
espn.go.com/los-angeles/nba/story
upi.com/Sports_News/2012
And catch an episode of, "Chopped," on Food Network.

Tuesday, March 13, 2012

IS COMPETITIVE EATING A SPORT?

I arrive at 11:45.  The weigh-in is at noon.

I sit in a booth back by the kitchen at the Montana Galley. There are only a few seats available.  I watch two men, wedged into a small booth, breathing heavily, arm wrestle.

"Yes, yes, yes,...yes.  Gotcha."  says the winner. They both smile. "Well, it's about time."  They squeeze out and walk up toward the microphone in the front reception area. 

TV trucks park on the street in front.  The place is full, with people standing out on the sidewalk.

I sit with Helena, the owner, who picks at my breakfast,  A Peyton Manning Special: A waffle sandwich of peanut butter, jelly, and chunks of lobster.

"I can't sell enough of these." says Montana.

"Food is good," I say. "But it's you that keeps 'em coming back."

She looks at me, her finger twisting her blond hair. "Pishaw," and slaps my shoulder.

"It's true."

"That the reason you came in?"  She looks up at me.

"Business, my dear.  Big crowd. TV cameras. Pro-Eaters going on diets?  Gotta be a story here.  The Valley Post Picayune loves stuff like this."

She glances at her watch. "It should be starting right away.  We got the scale up front."

She took a deep breath. "Coke prices just went up. They had to change the recipe so they won't need a warning label. Some kind of chemical in the caramel causes cancer.  Who knew?"

She smiles. "So this weigh-in is perfect to drum up business."

"You're so smart."  I say.

Someone calls "Helena, " from the other side of the room.

 "Let's do something later,"  she says. But before I can say that she might not be the only blond in my life, she punches my arm and is off.  Customer satisfaction.

"Hey, Belair," says another lady,

"Abilene. Wow," I say.  She slides into the booth, and hugs me.

"Thanks for that tip on Jose Canseco. That was good.  I need to repay you somehow."

Short brown hair, low cut blouse, sparkly eyes.

"I'll have to think of something." I say. 

"We'll have to get together, but I got to do this."  She moves out of the booth. 

"I got maybe five minutes before we go live. You gotta call me more often."

A group of young men in the next booth, closely watch her move in and out of the booth.  All smiles.

 She smiles back, and is off to the cameras.

Helena is back. "Will I have to warn everyone now that Coke causes cancer?  What next?"  She looks at me.  "Abilene, you seem to know her?"

"Shhush," I say.  "It's starting."  I nod toward the front.

"Four...Three...Two..." The cameraman points, and waves.

"Abilene Austin, here at the Montana Galley.  It's time for the weigh in."

Three very over weight men stand next to her. Two have clutched hands and are working their thumbs.  "Yes, yes, yes...yes, I win," says the winner. "Gotcha again."

"Gentlemen, what brought all this on. Pro-Eaters getting weighed before going on diets?  We'll start with you Will." 

He moves up to the microphone.  "I'm  Will 'The Champ' Millender. I'm from Brooklyn.  I'm the  current New York Stinky Cheese Eating Champion; I've been on Discovery Channel, MTV, and National Geographic.  We decided to go on diets.  We really had no choice, so were officially weighing in.  For me it was doctor's orders."

He steps onto the scale.  446 lbs.

"I'm Joel 'The Cannon' Podelsky,  from Laurence Harbor, NJ.  I'm the current National Bun & Cheese Eating Champion.  Maybe you saw me on “America’s Got Talent.”

He steps on the scale.  271 lbs.

"And I'm Mike “The 'Sisco Kid' Sisco. I'm from Brooklyn.  I'm very competitive, that's the reason I'm here. There's a coupla records I'd like to break this year.   The SPAM record, 6 pounds in 12 seconds,  Four - 32 ounce bowls of mayonnaise in 8 minutes, and the record for cow brains, 17.7 pounds in 15 minutes.  And of course Kobayashi's unofficial record of 69 hotdogs and buns in ten minutes."

He steps on the scale. 268 lbs.

"We're not crazy," says The Champ.  "We have to lose some weight.  So, this is great.  Thousand dollars, winner take all.  Any kind of a challenge, I'm up for it. Even something like this."

"Professional Eating." says Abilene. "Let me ask you, do you think this is a sport?"

"Got to be more exciting than Darts," says The Sisco Kid. "Or Ribbon Dancing or Curling, that was in the Olympics.  And being interviewed by such a gorgeous sports announcer, well, isn't that the definition of a sport?"

"Problem here obviously," says The Cannon.  "Is that our fans want us to eat spaghetti and meatballs, pizzas, hot dogs, not Caesar salads.  So this is not going to be easy."

"Training must be difficult, I would think." says Abilene.  "How do you train?  You're Pro Eaters.  Do you just eat a lot?"

"Pretty much," says The Sisco Kid.  "I usually go into a restaurant and ask for 5 pounds of beef, and start there.  But, now, staying in shape, and dieting at the same time?  This is going to be a real challenge.

"What's up next on your agenda?"

"The 2012 London Bridge Resort Lake Havasu National Spring Break Eating Championship   The winner of this event will establish a NEW National Cheese Fries Eating Record."

The Champ looks at The Sisco Kid, and The Cannon. "It's lunch time and I'm hungry. Who's up for some chicken wings?  Get this weigh-in off to a good start?"

"I'm game,"  says The Sisco Kid.

"But," says The Cannon.  "We're supposed to loose weight...but...it is lunch time?"

"Chicken?" asks The Champ. He looks into the crowd.  "Where's a chicken place.  I don't think they'll have enough here."

"Zankou Chicken, in Toluca Lake."  People point. "Just east of here."

The three rush out.

"I did 230 in ten minutes..."

"That's nothing..."

"Loser pays..."

And they are gone.

"Well," says Abilene.  "Official record is 68 hotdogs with buns in ten minutes, by Joey Chestnut. Unofficial is 69, by Takeru Kobayashi.  Fourth of July in Coney Island, we'll see how this all turns out.  So, reporting from the Montana Galley here in the Valley., this is Abilene Austin, KLUK-TV News."  Big smile...hold it...and...we're out.

Abilene is back at my booth.  "Gotta get back. Call me sometime. Stay in touch. We'll talk sports."

She looks down and thumbs her iPhone.

"You think doing something like this is a demotion?  Is this real sports?  I hope not.  But, what the heck.  I got some good camera time."  She looks at me and winks.  "See ya Belair."

Heads turn as she clickity-clicks in her high-heels through the restaurant and out to the TV truck.

Helena, slides into the booth. "You know her?"

"We worked on a few sports stories while she was on a TV station in Texas."

Helena watches Abilene through the window.  "She's sure a fast talker."

"Fast? Yes, that she is." I say.  "That she is."

----------------------

Help comes from:

DietBet.com, an online social dieting site.
http://www.competitiveeaters.com/events.html
http://articles.cnn.com/2011-07-04/us/new.york.hot.dog.contest
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Takeru_Kobayashi
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/news/all-pro-eating
Google/Images  Wikipedia/Kobayashi
 (See my posts: The Rehab of Peyton Manning/Feb 2012, and
   Jose Canseco and The Hall of Fame/Jan 2012)


Sunday, March 11, 2012

A VISIT WITH A $10,000 CLAIMER

"So, follow us ladies," says Hampton.  "We're going to the stables.  See the horse we claimed.  Unresponsive."

"That name," says Newport.  "Something we have to eventually change.  Ladies, you'll be up close to a real race horse."

"Believe it or not we didn't have enough money to buy the Washington Redskins, so instead we got involved in the Sport of Kings.  We bought us a $10,000 claimer.  I'm excited."

"Horse stables?" says Ginger. 

"We're walking all the way, over there." asks Pepper.  She looks down at the short man next to her.

He puts out his hand.  "I'm Rank. That's what they called me when I was a trainer, and it had nothing to do with my odor." 

He laughs.

"Rank.  It means very difficult to deal with. I'd take some pretty fractious horses, horses that just didn't obey, and I made them winners.  So the name just stuck."

The five walk past the track, beyond the far stretch, to where they stable the horses.

"So we're having breakfast," says Ginger.  "We're relaxing, and you call us.  We're going to Santa Anita.  Want to go?  What are we going to say?  Of Course.  Fly over, box seats, maybe lobster lunch, make a bet or two, watch your horse run, then fly back."

"We thought you ladies would like to go." says Hampton.  "Maybe we won't call next time.  We really like you two, but you and Pepper aren't the only two escorts in Vegas, you know."

She clutches Hampton's arm.  "Hampton, don't be like that, come on.  I'm just saying, didn't expect this, spending time in the stables. This is kind of a walk."

Sweat forms on Pepper's forehead.  Ginger wraps her sweater around her waist. Over dirt and gravel, and ten minutes, they reach the stable area.

"This is it," says Rank. "There's probably 2,000 horses in here.  We'll find Unresponsive right over here.  Come on."

Pepper looks down at her high heels, and lifts her leg.  "Is this mud, or OhMyGod..no...nooooo..."

She looks at Ginger, and then at the other three.

"Part of owning a horse," says Hampton. "You're going to get some horse poop.  Comes with the territory, my dear."

Rank smiles toward Pepper.  "Ma'am. We have boots you can change into. Wait right here,  I'll get two pair."  He jogs off.

Pepper looks at Ginger.  "Something. Anything. This isn't funny.  These are $250 shoes. Ruined.  This isn't happening."

Horses from all through the stable turn and look at the two ladies.  Pepper hops on one foot, while she dangles her gunky shoe from her finger.

"Wasps,"  says Ginger, and jumps back. She waves her hand violently in the air.  "Wasps, don't sting me, don't sting me. Please."

Rank jogs around the corner, holding four well used boots.  "They're okay," he says.  "They're supposed to be here. They feed on fly larva. It's a natural way to get rid of flies."

"You're kidding?" says Ginger.  Her body stiffens. "Wasps instead of flies, brilliant." 

"Don't worry.  They don't sting. It's better than spraying tons of pesticide, or fly traps or putting up Sticky Strips.  With them the flies just keep coming back."  He smiles.  "He's right up here, everybody."  He points.

They get to the stall.  A horse watches them arrive. His name plate: Unresponsive.

"Hi, Unresponsive." says Rank. "Are you ready to meet your new owners?"

"Who named you, my friend," says Newport.  "Somebody with a sense of humor. You look fast to me."  

"But, yeah," says Hampton. "We need a new name.  You're a thoroughbred, so I'm thinking..."  

He touches the nose of Unresponsive. "Something like, Swifty, or Immediate, or maybe FastAndLoose?"  He rubs the horse's nose.

Pepper jerks back. "Boy, it really smells in there. So gross.  How about Stench, or GodAwfulSmell.  You got any kind to spray for this?"   She makes a gagging sound and holds her nose. 

"Stinky," says Ginger. "Hey, Stinky."

Unresponsive blinks and stares at Ginger.

"You two have to get into the spirit of this." says Hampton.  "This is all part of being a horse owner.  All you've seen are pictures of horses in the winner's circle.  Can't have it both ways ladies."

"How about Momentum?" says Newport. "That's a good name."

A horse in a close stall whinnies.

The girls jump back, then duck down.  "No way," says Ginger. "I got to get out of here. It smells so bad, and all these tiny knatty thing buzzing around, and these boots?  Hampton, sweetheart,  I can't be seen in these."

"And they hurt my feet," says Pepper.  "Can we just go back to the Box Seats, or somewhere.  No offense horse, but I can't be in here much more."

Unresponsive whinnies and nudges Pepper hard in the back.  She pitches forward, and falls onto the muddy/strawy/poopy ground.  "Son of a bi..."

She stares up at Unresponsive. Their eyes meet. Unresponsive whinnies again and paws his straw.

"I hate you, horse," says Pepper.  Her breath is heavy.  

"Time to go," says Newport.  "Unresponsive, you're running in the Eighth race today. Rest up, my friend. Remember, we can easily put you in another claiming race,"  He helps up Pepper.  "He must just be off his feed."

"I like this horse," says Hampton. He laughs, and pats Unresponsive on the nose. "You keep your name.  Supposed to be bad luck to change it anyway."  He looks at the two ladies and laughs again.  "But it's time..."

Ginger and Pepper hold onto each other, and trudge toward the open end of the stables.  Pepper hobbles in those large boots, while Ginger waves at the tiny wasps in her face.  Both lurch forward toward the fresh air.  Newport helps, his arms around both of their waists.

Hampton turns to Rank.  "I like this horse. How good is he really."

"Bet him to show, you'll have more fun with him. He's not a bad horse at all.  And don't change the name.  With a name like Unresponsive he'll have some very good odds. Who wants to bet on a horse named Unresponsive." 

Hampton shakes Rank's hand, then turns and waves to the horse.

Unresponsive bows his head, whinnies, and paws the straw.

Other horses watch the fraidy-cat humans leave their stables. They whinnie loudly, look at each other, and shake their heads.



--------------------
Help comes from:
http://arcadia.patch.com/articles/
StiffLeftJab.com/Let's Buy the Redskins/Jan2012
Google/Images, Wikipedia/Santa Anita
http://www.arbico-organics.com/category/fly-control-program
http://www.readabilityformulas.com