Hit by a Pitch

Archive for the ‘Nuggets’ Category

Video Friday: JaVale McGee

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Today, I have an article and two videos for you, all featuring JaVale McGee, who, it turns out, I like more than I thought I would.

You can read the Sports Illustrated article by Lee Jenkins here.

Written by Tracy

April 13th, 2012 at 3:49 pm

So Long, and Thanks for All the Opportunities to Say, “Damn, that dude is really hot.”

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Photo by Garrett W. Ellwood/NBAE via Getty Images

Today, the Denver Nuggets traded Nene to Washington.

From a basketball perspective, this doesn’t really bother me. The thing with Nene is that he never lives up to his potential. I mean, really, dude is huge. He should be going hard in the paint (sexy!) on, like, almost every play. If he drives to the basket like he really means it, with his size and power, there are very few guys in the NBA who can stop him. The problem is that more often than not, he doesn’t do this. He plays lazy a lot of the time.

I understand it’s a delicate balance for a guy like Nene. He’s strong and powerful but, despite his gigantic, sexy contract, he’s not a superstar and he never gets superstar treatment from referees. He gets called for ridiculous fouls. So to some extent I understand when he wants to lay off and take it easy. On the other hand, it frustrates the hell out of me because damn, nobody is going to stop him if he really goes for it, you know? He had an awesome game the other day and I was all, yeah, more like that! But it never happens on a consistent basis.

Although I’m not upset about this trade from a basketball perspective, I am disappointed from a hot-guy perspective. Seriously? Nene is quite possibly the most beautiful man I have ever seen in my life. Gorgeous. Stunning. I mean holy hell dude is smokin’ hot.

And don’t get me wrong. I don’t watch sports because I want to see hot guys. I watch sports because I love watching sports, and watching sports is what I do. But I’m not gonna be mad when, as a side benefit, I get to check out remarkably attractive men while enjoying sports.

So I’ll miss Nene because he’s, like, the hottest guy ever — hotter than my boyfriend Jon Garland, and if you know anything about me, that’s really saying something.

The Most Beautiful Boy In Brazil by Physics on Grooveshark

Written by Tracy

March 15th, 2012 at 10:33 pm

WTF Wednesday: Danilo Gallinari is, um, dancing??

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I just . . . um . . . I . . . um . . . it appears I have been rendered speechless by what I’m about to share with you.

If you don’t know, Danilo Gallinari is from Italy and plays for the Denver Nuggets. As we speak, the ink is drying on the 4-year, $42 million extension he just signed with the team. He’s also on my fantasy basketball team, which appropriately and lamely is named the Galloping Gallinaris (in my defense, it’s only named this because I was totally messing with the guy who kept trying to trade some dude I’ve never heard of, a melted Snickers bar, and a bag of Fritos crumbs for Gallo, but goddamn if I didn’t know better than to take that deal).

Danilo Gallinari also apparently has some killer dance moves, if by “has some killer dance moves” I actually mean something else entirely. I hate when people post videos and tell you to watch them, really, they’re hilarious, but that’s exactly what I’m doing here even though it fills me with the existential angst that results from doing what you hate people doing. I’m not only speechless, I’m also incapable of conducting myself in accordance with the standards to which I hold others. I hope you’ll forgive me, though, because I make the party start.

Much love to @nuggetsnews for bringing this to the world’s attention.

Next time I go to a Nuggets game, I’m going to bust out the Gallinari.

Written by Tracy

January 25th, 2012 at 12:27 pm

Posted in and life,Music,NBA,Nuggets,Sports

Tagged with , , , ,

Who knew?

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Who knew that losing Carmelo Anthony would be one of the best things to happen to the Denver Nuggets in a long time? Nuggets games now are more fun to watch than they’ve been in years.
Melo is still arguing.

This is a picture I took the last time I went to a Nuggets game, which was December 1. This was right before Melo was ejected from the game for arguing with a ref (it was a crappy call).

We had some good times together, Melo, but the truth is I don’t even miss you. I hope you, your talents, and your ability to play defense (LOL) are happy in New York.

Written by Tracy

March 2nd, 2011 at 10:02 pm

Where were you when?

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Where were you when ______?

It’s a question that has been asked through the ages. Where were you when Kennedy was shot? Where were you when the space shuttle Challenger exploded, its snake-like smoke plume shooting up over the dashed hopes of America?

Where were you on February 21, 2011?

I was at home, getting ready. I should’ve been ready by then, but I always wait until the last minute. Although I wasn’t ready, I had the supplies you need for this kind of situation: knee socks of the proper density to keep your feet and at least half of your legs warm while allowing you to wear short shorts and slide across hardwood floors, a highlighter that perfectly matches the short shorts, an almost untouched container of chocolate chip ice cream (a relatively simple, old-school flavor, which is comforting) and one sterling spoon that matches no other silverware in the house, a hairbrush to use as a microphone in the event of sassiness, and a fan-fucking-tastic playlist of you-suck-asshole music just waiting for you to hit “play.”

How does it happen? It happens like these things always happen. There’s a hushed phone call or a text and somebody somewhere says something like, “We have to talk.” You could just cancel the postgame show right then because you know what’s going to happen and you shouldn’t even have to bother with the rest of it, but you stupidly always think there’s a chance you’ll say something so witty, profound, and cuttingly accurate that you’ll change the path the earth travels around the sun and this won’t happen. It never works that way, ever, but I suppose thinking it’s possible is inherently part of the human struggle. While you get ready to meet him, your mental Rolodex spins out of control and randomly stops on different thoughts:

She won’t make you happy.

She’s not that smart. Eventually, sooner than you think, you’ll get bored. (You’re much more subtle than this, of course, but “you’ll get bored” is a good one to pull out because it implies that you are much more worldly, sophisticated, fascinating, and sexy than she is and if you couldn’t keep him, well, you know.)

Nobody understands you like I do.

Your heart pounds as you put on your jacket and meet him somewhere, probably a park, which is better than a bar or a restaurant in case things get ugly. He’s wearing jeans, Uggs, a ridiculous striped knit hat that’s too big and has a pompom, and mittens that are attached to a string you wear through your jacket so you don’t lose them. (Whatever, this is my story and I can have him dress however I want. Making him look stupid now is the only power I have left.)

City Park

I have parks.



We walk around Ferril Lake. It’s colder than I thought. I think he’d offer me a mitten, but doing so would require removing the whole mitten-string contraption from his jacket. I put my hands in my pockets and glare at the wind and flash-debate whether I want to hear him say it or whether I don’t want to hear it at all.

“So, I –” he starts.

“I know,” I blurt. I guess this means I don’t want to hear it at all. “When are you leaving?”

“I don’t know. Tuesday?”

It’s Monday. I almost ask where he’s going to stay, but I don’t want to know. I can’t care about these things any more.

“I’m taking Chauncey, AC, and Shelden.”

“Chauncey? Aaaaaa Ceeeee? Really?” I’m going to have nobody left.

“And Balkman.”

“Renaldo? Fuck.” That’s low. Renaldo is my favorite.

“You’ll get guys,” he says.

“I know. But they’re strangers.”

“It’s not you. It’s –”

“Oh don’t even.” Of course it’s me, you jackass. What does that even mean, anyway? It’s me it’s you it’s going to New York because it’s the only city big enough for your ridiculous ego.

We walk and my eyes are watering from the biting wind.

“What about the dogs?” I say. “You’ll miss the dogs.” This wasn’t true.

“I know.” He doesn’t look at me.

There are dogs everywhere. I don’t know if they have them where he’s going. I’m sure they do, I mean, but it’s different. They don’t have dogs in Subarus, lolling their tongues out the window on the way to the mountains, muddy paws on the upholstery because, as a people, we don’t care that much about our cars but we still have them. We don’t have a subway.

He’ll be happy with her, of course. They always are. She’s energetic and dark and light and sparkly and honestly probably has a rough coke habit and a closet full of Jimmy Choos. I’m quieter, earthy, don’t always do my hair, and have been known to wear Birkenstocks (only occasionally, like on a Sunday afternoon when you go to the park to listen to live jazz and watch the neighborhood gangsters in their color-coordinated shirts and baseball hats perform their elaborate display behavior on a large scale). I like hiking and microbrews and medical marijuana and don’t think I’ve ever been to anything that qualifies as a bodega. I don’t have an accent (if you try to tell me I have a Chicago accent, like Jennifer Beals is trying too hard to have on The Chicago Code, her “a”s all flat like a hissing bike tire that just ran over one of those things Ben calls Baumgarts that get stuck in Coltrane’s paw and make him limp around like a pirate, I’ll fight you on it because it’s not true and, for the record, I also don’t make random things plural for no reason (the store is Jewel, not the Jewels, and nobody calls it the Jewels) and also nobody calls it the “el train,” while we’re at it). As far as I know, I don’t have a meatpacking district, although I do have unfortunate cowboys who stand on the street by their old pickup trucks and pretend the litter blowing by is tumbleweeds and that this is still the wild west.

The last time I was heartbroken after a relationship ended, I sat on the couch and watched hour after hour of ESPN. I don’t go out with the girls, get drunk, and talk shit about the latest man to break my heart. That was never my style. I watch an endless loop of late-night SportsCenter, over and over, until I can tell you exactly who will be the first team out of the NCAA tournament, which I’m looking forward to even in my diminished state. That doesn’t even help now because it’s all about him. I don’t even want to mention the shit ESPN wrote on my Facebook wall earlier this evening, “Hey, I threw together a little video montage of highlights from your relationship with Melo. I’ll be airing it 100 times a day for the next week. Hope you’re okay xoxo hugs.” I change my status to “single.” I drink too much and tweet inappropriate things to @JR_Swish. (Oh crap, JR Smith just deleted his Twitter again but his pictures are still up.) I’ve always had my eye on that guy, if you want to know the truth.

I turn off the tv and bust out the “I just got dumped” soundtrack. Helen Reddy has always been there for me.

Oh yes I am wise
But it’s wisdom born of pain
Yes, I’ve paid the price
But look how much I gained
If I have to, I can do anything
I am strong (strong)
I am invincible (invincible)
I am woman

Shit, she’s right. I am wise and if I have to I can do anything. Anything. Not that this is what Helen Reddy had in mind, but I can even find a new man. A better man. A new star.

I turn the music down, pick up my phone, and make a call. He answers after one ring.

“Hey, Ubaldo?”

Written by Tracy

February 22nd, 2011 at 10:44 am

Suggestion for the Nuggets

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We went to the Denver Nuggeenjoying the gamets game last night and it was pretty dead at the Pepsi Center. I suppose the Milwaukee Bucks aren’t a big draw, but apparently the economy is hitting NBA fans. We were the only people sitting in our whole row, which, don’t get me wrong, was really nice because Soren got his own seat and our stuff got its own seat. It’s awesome that Soren is big enough to sit in his own seat at sporting events and we don’t have to worry about the seat snapping closed and eating him like a venus flytrap, like we did in the early days.

It feels like we hadn’t been to a Nuggets games since Hector was a pup (Chris Marlowe, Nuggets play-by-play guy, says “since Hector was a pup” all the time). Let’s face it — that shit is expensive. Well, it’s either expensive or your seats totally suck and you’d be better off staying home. Without free tickets, we would’ve blown almost $200 last night, and I had only one beer. Tangent: I don’t know why, but it’s hard to find good beer on the club level of the Pepsi Center. Fat Tire was the best option at most of the bars we checked and I’m not a fan. No offense to New Belgium (they’re cool and I like some of their stuff), but Fat Tire is the microbrew you like if you don’t know anything about microbrews. Eventually we found Dale’s Pale Ale by section 248, so keep that in mind next time you’re wandering around the club level at the Pepsi Center drinking water with lemon because you don’t want to bother with Fat Tire or Stella. (I freely admit I’m a ridiculous beer snob, but what are you gonna do? I’d rather not drink beer than drink beer I don’t love.)

Anyway, my suggestion for the Nuggets is as follows: Look. My sources tell me you’ve had terrible attendance for most of the season, and last night indicates that this is correct. It’s kind of embarrassing to have so many empty seats. So here’s what I’ll offer you. Feel free to give me free tickets any time you’d like, and I’d be happy to attend the game with Ben and Soren. We’ll fill up a few seats and scream our asses off like the crazed fans we are and also spend a few bucks on good beer when we find it. This is a win/win situation, right? I’m happy to help!

I’d also be happy to take crappy pictures and post them on the internet. I’m sure there’s a need for this somewhere that is not being met. Check out my stunning photo montage that includes the events leading up to the Carmelo Anthony ejection last night!
NeneCheck out who's on the bench.Chillin' club-level styleTrouble is brewing.We're about to have a problem.Watch out.Melo is still arguing.Melo is about to be ejected.Now everybody is pissed off.Ben @ the game

Written by Tracy

December 2nd, 2010 at 3:41 pm

Things I Like: Sports Edition

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  • Although the season is over for the Denver Nuggets (much to the delight of David Stern and the NBA referees, but whatever), there’s some good news for the team. Super-mascot Rocky made the Forbes “Top 10 Sports Mascots” list. (Unfortunately, some of the other winners also made my “Terrifying Mascots” list.) Even if you’re not all that into sports mascots (and I couldn’t blame you for that), Rocky is the shit. The last time we were at a game, he climbed from the court all the way up to the top of the third level (and he climbs up, like, walls and stuff, not just stairs), shot out some confetti, and then ran back down to the court, all in record time (I don’t remember how much time, but it was really fast). He does crazy shit with ladders and stunts that would be impressive if done while not dressed as a mascot.
  • This just in from the U.S. Department of Badassery: Shit, dudes, Colorado Rockies catcher Miguel Olivo. I already like the guy because I picked him up for my fantasy team after A.J. Pierzynski went like 2 for his last 873. He’s been hitting well and isn’t so bad at throwing out runners. Don’t get me wrong — that’s just garden-variety badass for a catcher. But here’s the thing — during the 8th inning of Monday’s game, dude slipped into the team’s bathroom near the dugout and — holy shit — passed a kidney stone. Then he went back into the game. (I’ve heard that passing a kidney stone feels kind of like giving birth. I have no idea if this is true, but if it’s even half as painful, holy shit.) I wish my team got bonus points for that. Dude.
  • From the LOLWTF files. I present Melo’s People of Utah:

Written by Tracy

May 1st, 2010 at 12:05 pm