 WiscNews- The finance manager of an Illinois car dealership has been accused of pretending to be a Lake Delton restaurant employee in phone calls with a cable company.
His aim, police say, was to change the restaurant’s cable package so he could watch a basketball game when he visited the area for the weekend. Sauk County prosecutors have charged 51-year-old Kevin M. Cayton of Arlington Heights, Illinois, with felony identity theft for financial gain and unauthorized use of an entity’s identifying information. Each charge carries a maximum six-year prison sentence. Lake Delton police began investigating in February after the business manager at Buffalo Phil’s noticed a significant increase in the restaurant’s cable bill and contacted authorities, according to the criminal complaint. The officer eventually obtained 11 phone calls that were recorded by the cable provider, Charter Spectrum, in December. In the calls, a man who identified himself as Pat Barkley asked to add the Pac-12 channel to the restaurant’s cable package. He mentioned wanting to watch an Arizona Wildcats basketball game later that week. In one of the recordings, the caller allegedly stepped away from the phone and spoke with someone else in the background, saying “Hey it’s Kevin.” In another call, police say, someone can be overheard purchasing a vehicle in the background and explaining that they work a second job at a health care facility in Illinois. Through social media, the officer learned that Cayton was a finance manager at the dealership, and the only employee named “Kevin.” The officer also contacted Lake Delton hotels, and found that Cayton had checked in at one of them in late December. Social media posts also helped establish Cayton’s visit to Lake Delton in late December, police say, and that he is an Arizona Wildcats fan. --------- Shame. Shame, shame, shame, and I direct it not at the Wildcats' fan who - while definitely a criminal - had the fidelity, foresight, and follow through to do whatever it took to watch his team play while out of town. Rather, I shake my head slowly at the sports bar for bringing felony charges against the type of psychotically devoted patron that keeps the sufficiently simple business model of booze+buffalo wings+college basketball timelessly profitable. Look, I get it. Stealing someone's identity for any reason whatsoever is a pretty big no-no, but if we can't believe that our barkeeps will judge the intent of our actions ahead of their consequences then who can we trust to appreciate our lack of rational thought in regards to sports?! It takes a certain breed of fan to find the idea of watching a game other than the one he/she is emotionally invested to be so unsettling that they do the single most aggravating thing imaginable by contacting the idiots at the cable company ad nauseam. I'd be willing to bet it's the same breed whose ass leaves an imprint when last call has them cashing out a sizable bill before stumbling from their barstool at Buffalo Phil's. Therefore, it would have been nice if the victims just tipped their cowboy hats to the type of outlaw who keeps those saloon doors-a-swingin' well into the night, as opposed to potentially putting him behind bars for monetary damages that were merely fitting of a misdemeanor. Now, if I had to offer a word of advice to Kevin Cayton I might suggest exploring avenues other than identity fraud en route to watching an out-of-market college basketball game at your nearest convenience. Still, I think we can all admit he made an otherwise praiseworthy amount of head way in making sure that all he'd have to worry about is the head on his draft beer going away once we sauntered in seconds before tip-off. If nothing else, he took the phrase "I just want to watch the damn game" to a whole new level, even if it was one that was quite obviously punishable by law.
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I would typically consider it childish and immature for one grown man to ignore his celebratory surroundings and chose to punch another grown man in the face while he was in the process of swallowing his pride and trying to make peace for something that happened during a game that took place months ago. Unfortunately, there is nothing typical about earned this assault was. Warriors' fans might disagree from atop their bandwagon, but - no matter how much you appreciate all that he brings to the game of basketball - I legitimately don't think there's any way to view Draymond Green getting punched in the face as anything other than a long time coming. It doesn't matter if it happened at the club, in a tub, on the court, or in a fort, because not even Dr. Seuss could've conjured up more obvious rhymes and reasons than Tristan Thompson had for trying to hand out the longest of overdue ass whoopings. The NBA's preeminent antagonist has built up bad will amongst the best players in basketball at such an alarming rate that he's probably still a couple dozen cold clocks short of receiving his relative retribution. I can't even say it's been one kick, crotch shot, or disrespectful taunt at a time, because that would discount the likelihood of the professional pest delivering two shots below the belt simultaneously. Of course, being an annoying asshole is basically in Draymond's job description and he's damn good at that job, but every occupation has its hazards. When that occupation has you going out of your way to show up another man and call out the entire fiber of his competitive being by way of a public outlet on multiple occasions, not even apologizing for it off the clock can (nor should, for that matter) save you from getting punched in the the face by the pride of a human hazard. You'd think someone who can't stop claiming he's really with the shits would realize they don't get wiped clean once you leave the safety of an NBA court...
So, I guess now would be as good of a time as any to stop speaking of the pride of Central Florida as some sort of anatomically anomalous underdog whose feel good story objectively lends itself to being of the short variety? Considering his unimpeded accomplishments in college and at the combine, we're probably already pretty late on withholding special treatment from Shaquem Griffin, but if casually corralling an absolute bullet from a gunslinger like Russell Wilson is any indication then he most definitely doesn't need it to be recognized for his efforts in the NFL. Don't get me wrong, undercutting a throw and coming down with what would be an impressive interception regardless of circumstance is obviously made all the more incredible by the defensive player having no more than five fingers at his disposal. After all, most of us could have four hands and we'd still barely catch a glimpse of a projectile with that type of velocity behind it. That said, by one-handing that sucker as smoothly as he did, Shaquem Griffin made his handicap as noteworthy as what he had for breakfast. Since we'd never ask how he likes his eggs unless he regurgitated them up all over the field, it probably makes the most sense to stop highlighting a hindrance that's only as inherent by look as it is undetectable by play. From here on out, Shaquem Griffin is solely a professional football player with what appears to be the speed, instincts, and - yes - hand-eye to be a damn good one at that. I plan on acknowledging him as such, and only as such, until he gives me literally any reason not to. 
For what it's worth, Jon Gruden has definitely silenced some critics since signing a decade long deal that will apparently last him until approximately two decades after his coaching tactics reached their expiration date. I think he would have preferred doing so by way of actually winning, but the jabs are just objectively less fun to throw with the target of them living out the laughs while they are still on the tip of twitter's collective tongue. What beating everyone to the punchline by becoming a professional parody of Bear Bryant lacks in both sense and potential success, it more than makes up for in self-deprecating humor...even if it's unintentional. The Raiders' redux might not currently get the joke, but - in seeming as though he's bringing Gruden's Grinders to a stadium near you - he's well on his way to making it on behalf of every football fan that spit out their coffee when the details of his ludicrous contract scrolled across their screen. I don't want to call one of the most franchise imprisoning experiments in professional sports a failure without first analyzing a single result, but the initial look into it coming in less than standard definition from a VCR isn't exactly a hot start. As is the case with most sequels, I was already skeptical of the second installment of the Jon Gruden Era, and through opening credits that might as well be in black and white it has yet to change my mind. Using football footage from 1976 as a teaching tool for your NFL team in the year 2018 is less useful than making the rugby rulebook required reading, because it probably has more in common with a sport that's become nearly unrecognizable since the turn of the century, never mind 24 years prior. Add that to the fact that Jon Grudenhates instant replay, apparently thinks that the authoritarianism of the silent treatment is still the best way to block stud pass rushers from securing their bag, and values old-school tactics over talent and...VOILA!...you have the recipe for a mentality that became outdated well before dates were a thing you had to pay attention to in order to catch TV shows when they came out...
It's still wayyyy to early to jump to any conclusions and I don't think he's going to completely phone in his (unlikely to be fulfilled) ten year tenure. However, in dialing up the distant past in designing for the future he's metaphorically calling the shots from a cup on a string as the rest of the football world is communicating by way of much smarter devices. That's a bad sign for the Oak-Vegas Raiders organization, even if it could make for one of the greatest self-fulfilling prophecies in sports' history. 
It really speaks volumes about the coach in question that I did not need 100% assurance from the person that was basically told that "eating your feelings" means taking on the personality of your poultry to know that dietary advice wasn't given in jest. Jim Harbaugh strikes me as a guy whose hilarity is in a lack of intent only, so thinking that the FDA has conspired to withhold "nervousness" from the nutritional facts of chicken is not anywhere close to being as intricate a leg pull as it was a psychotic strong arming. Funny nonetheless, but any laughs had at the suggestion that the anxiety of a dead bird is contagious through the ingestion of it's breast were ironically had out of awkward angst. Jim Harbaugh might be the most egregious example of someone who wouldn't be able to function in a football-less society, but if you still needed a reminder that seeking a profession organizing the violence that takes place on the gridiron requires a loose screw then look no further than this "coaching tip". The cabin fever one might take on by spending 18 hours a day in an office configuring x's with o's might have something to do with a head football coach's clinical insanity, but the predisposition to that type of crazy doesn't exactly lead down too many successful career paths. Thinking that you actually are what you eat is worthy of a chuckle when it's coming from someone who makes millions on the sidelines, but if that workplace weren't afforded to him than it would be probably be worthy of nothing more than a pity penny for a panhandler on the sidewalk. Let's put it this way, if CTE ever ends football as we know it, every 'Where Are They Now?' of a late-middle aged white dude that devoted his adult life to teaching the sport is going to leave the audience thinking he was the one bashing his skull for every centimeter on Saturday's and Sunday's. It shouldn't come as a surprise that what flies on the field doesn't exactly fall in line with common sense, but there's not a more shocking indication of that then the mental image of a well-respected football coach giving his protein a psychological evaluation prior to grilling it...even if I'd love to get his thoughts on the clutch gene of cows. 
And ironically, the most pleasantly surprising aspect of watching the Saints' defense buzz around giving perhaps the most consistent and dynamic offense in the NFL throughout the last decade+ absolute fits is that it was much more pleasant than it was a surprise. For further back than I prefer to remember, a day-long defensive effort that dominant would have a desperate fanbase drunk off false hope. However, I think I speak for the majority of the Who Dat Nation in saying that I'm feeling soberly assured about the state of a group that undeniably reinforced quality with more quantity over the offseason. There's always a back-and-forth nature to training camp, and thus bad offense can sometimes masquerade as good defense (and vice versa). That being said, it's tough to view the caliber of the plays that were executed by the additions made to what was already a young, promising unit and come away anything other than satisfied with their potential to, at the very least, replicate last season's unexpected performance. I don't know if this season will provide the rarity of an improved sequel, but Patrick Robinson, Demario Davis, Kurt Coleman, (to a lesser extent) Alex Anzalone, and Natrell Jamerson all being featured as fresh faces in a lengthy trailer of what's to come is more objectively reassuring than it is subjectively encouraging. Especially considering the completeness and cohesiveness of the starting secondary they are being added alongside. For the first time in a long time, there are actual reasons to believe those flashes will occur outside of the proverbial pan that is the month-long grueling grind of preseason practice. The feeling of confidence in the side of the ball from which Drew Brees does not operate is an unfamiliar one, but it's a hell of a lot more gratifying than the intoxicating-yet-temporary high of blind optimism. They could just as easily get torched by a HOFer next time out, but it's awesome to not be made instinctually bi-polar by the peaks and valleys of the Saints' defense during the innately erratic and unpredictable process of team building that is training camp. 
I'm not going to treat ten of the best female basketball players on the planet not knowing which way to go one second after the tip-off of a game in which they compete professionally as an indictment of women's sports as a whole. It's undoubtedly an awful look for a proud but unpopular league that could use a hell of a lot more good ones, but I'm not going to make more of one laughable display of confusion than necessary. Now, that's partially because I pity how easy of a target the WNBA made itself during the very first possession of their annual talent showcase, but it's also because I recognize how terribly unwatchable All-Star Games are across all sports, regardless of the gender participating. It may have been due to a collective lack of focus that the center who tipped the ball forward in the first place had to completely reverse course, for the second time in about six seconds, to fail miserably in trying to save an embarrassing sequence with an unsightly lay-up attempt. However, if I know anything about gimmicky games in which the winner goes home entirely unaccomplished it's that caring is hugely frowned upon. Being so emotionally uninterested that you start off not knowing which end of the court you are even on is somewhat inexcusable, but it's only a more egregious example of the same type of apathy that has the NBA, NFL, and NHL constantly tinkering with their respective All-Star Games. The only way to "lose" a competition in which not competing to the best of your abilities is a sign of belonging is to be the loser that tries too hard. Therefore, while the WNBA kicked things off with a level of play that could make a 2nd grader's basketball IQ seem like that of LeBron James, it could actually be argued that they kicked things off with the quintessential All-Star effort. Hopefully that makes them feel better about becoming the butt of some pretty obvious jokes that will unfortunately-but-undoubtedly vary in degrees of sexism. 
M. Night Shyamalan, eat your g'damn heart out! Ndamukong Suh causing a stir within the organization that brought him aboard their crew of malcontents and mercenaries to chase a championship isn't what any football fan would consider a surprise, but doing so by proclaiming himself less valuable than a teammate that plays the same position?! That's how you twist a plot tighter than whatever the Rams front office is smoking! Of all the ways in which the 300+ pound mammoth of a man with an extensive history of on-field psychosis could leave those that decided to sign him with their heads placed firmly in their hands, the one you'd least expect is by trying to sway them uncomfortably close to the salary cap out of selflessness! Make no mistake, if only due to inflation, Aaron Donald is most definitely deserving of a contract that tops the one that paid off his defensive line-mate's insanely profitable prime. The "what's that smell?"-like look shared by just about every football fan upon reading that the Rams prioritized locking up Brandin Cooks, of all people, for 16 million per season was proof positive of that. You follow that up by resetting the entire market for a running back (even one as talented as Todd Gurley), and you certainly don't drive down the price on a dominant defensive disrupter who's in his second straight offseason of impatiently waiting for much more irreplaceable efforts to be fiscally appreciated. To put it simply, Aaron Donald's case was plenty pleaded before his new teammate decided to serve as a character witness. Still, I'm quite sure that when the Rams' brain trust picked up Ndamukong Suh to further pressure the pocket they weren't referring to the one attached to the ass of their pants. Hell, if anything, the unmistakable presence of a quality replacement should have deterred a holdout, not spoken out in support of it. Again, one man's opinion, no matter how much experience it is backed by, doesn't really stand to strengthen an argument that's considered so obvious. That said, no one should feel totally comfortable lining up across from what could easily prove to be the most destructive duo of defensive tackles in NFL history, whether it be on the other side of the line of scrimmage or the other side of the negotiating table. 
I suppose the disclaimer here should be that these one-on-one drills that cast a defensive back away to an island that's lonelier than one inhabited by nothing more than a man and his volleyball are extremely friendly to the wide receiver, as every cornerback's best friend (a pass rush) never gets the invite. It is actually impossible to say whether or not these routes would have enough time to develop if not for the lack of urgency on the part of a quarterback whose got no shortage of Mississippi's at his disposal. Keeping that in mind, Michael Thomas' dominance is still noteworthy. Every person who is entranced by the finer points of secondary play speaks of Marshon Lattimore's hips as if they are attached to the ass of Shakira, and his fellow Ohio State alum had them caught up in a web of their own lies quicker than someone hiding a mistress in their closet. There is a limit on the amount of conclusions that can be drawn from the most finesse drill run during a camp that's mostly meant as a physical and mental test of its participants' will, but one obvious takeaway is that Michael Thomas is prepared to ace it despite having no idea what the word 'finesse' even means. I suppose the following isn't news, as his dedication to his craft has been on full display since he was drafted, but #13's mastery of deliberateness, deception, and slap-boxing appear more and more ninja-esque with each passing summer. I can't speak for Ken Crawley, but one of the better #2 corners in the entire league must have felt like he was trying to blanket Jet Li as he was left grasping at air with the imprint of a grown man's hand in the swell of his back. Given his statistical dominance during the first two seasons of his career, it was already safe to assume that it's very, very difficult to guard Mike. That said, the start of training camp has given Saints' fans no reason to believe that the theory behind 3rd year wide receivers won't hold true, and if it does then putting the shackles on a player who is still criminally underrated in some circles might actually be an impossible task for one man to take on. 
HA! Get it?!? Because they are both Asian...::waits out prolonged silence::...and all Asians look alike? Why aren't you laughing? Do I need to explain it again? Sure, that handshake basically symbolizes the passing of the generational torch from one historically accomplished and transcendently talented representative of a nationality that's underrepresented in the MLB to the young player who's most likely to fill his void as the pride of said nation going forward. That's probably a pretty important takeaway from that picture, but - aside from the obvious cultural significance - what else was a league-run social media account supposed to highlight other than the stereotypical similarities between the looks of two Japanese players? Never mind having the potential to mirror Ichiro Suzuki's impact on the entire landscape of baseball, because Shohei Ohtani's potential to mirror him as the lead role in the most racially insensitive biopic ever generated is really nipping at its heels! Ya know, I thought that a league of dwindling popularity amongst younger generations was being stubborn in their reluctance to let the fans they do have in that demographic organically market their product free of charge, but I think I'm starting to come around on the MLB policing their own social media presence. Clearly the most repressive league in sports is more intellectually equipped than the entirety of the internet when it comes having the infinite wisdom to know the difference between engaging and offensive. The argument could be made that their pop culture reference was almost as outdated as their general point of view on just about everything, but I think they really nailed the spirit of the Spiderman meme by turning into something that you'd expect to see forwarded onto your FaceBook newsfeed by the kid that you forgot to unfriend when he dropped out of high school. They may have swung at the lowest hanging fruit, but I'll be damned if their social media team didn't get all of it in pushing it about 100 feet foul. Two Asians, in the same stadium, at the same time! Before the MLB turned the attention on the extremely loose alikeness of their facial features, as opposed to the superiority of their standing in the sport, who would have even thought it possible!?! 
To be honest, I'm not sure if this is more of a damning display of tone-deafness, or a scathing indictment (no pun intended) of every non-homicidal tight end that has graced the Gators roster throughout the last decade. Like, dropping the name Aaron Hernandez in any sort of positive light that reminds a prospect that a murderer was crafting his criminal ways on your campus was both counterproductive and very, very dumb. However, considering it was solely a stylistic comparison, what does that say about every presumably non-deadly weapon that apparently didn't possess the versatility, athleticism, or success to be mentioned in the same breath of he who should have remained nameless? The scouts that didn't see why Aaron Hernandez might be a sore subject to...oh, I don't know...society as a whole after catching nearly as many bodies as he did balls are obviously pretty idiotic. That said, the clueless comparison they chose to go with is only as damaging to their reputation as the lack of appreciating alternatives they given themselves over the years. I have it on the good authority of my own common sense that the University of Colorado didn't have to resort to showing WR recruits Rae Carruth highlights years after he became persona non grata anywhere outside prison walls. Last time I checked, the Buffalos weren't picking from the same litter of NFL-bound talent available to SEC schools, so maybe the Gators' coaching staff should spend more time looking in the bathroom mirror than looking in the bullet-riddled rearview mirror when it comes to shaping their offense. 
Even for someone that defended DeMar DeRozan's human right to feel feelings in wake of his somewhat callous split from the city he spent the last nine years proudly calling home, this feels like a bit much. I'm not often one to side with management, but - based solely on that line of questioning - you'd think that Masai Ujiri lied to the face of his franchise about having an extensive affair with his girlfriend, not trading him to a perennial contender to be coached by one of the best minds in all of basketball. I think every millennial can relate to the need to cut the chord completely - a la the blocking of numbers and the unfollowing of social media accounts - but I'm starting to think that DeRozan is one more visit to Drake's house away from putting out an album titled DeMarvin's Room. Like, I get it. He's upset, but - in my experience - a couple weeks, months, or years down the line he's probably going to look back on this level of resentment with regret. It might still seem devastating, but it's not that serious. Masai Ujiri might have broken his heart, but he didn't retain half his max salary in the divorce. We all handle breakups with differing degrees of adolescence and this is a reminder that we're all lucky that the falling out of most of them aren't on display for the world to see. Still, when they are of the professional variety there has to be at least a rudimentary understanding that business is business. Again, I stand by him being pissed off about how things went down, but the "never talk to me again" tone seems a bit misplaced considering that being traded is an inherent risk associated with the extreme lucrative profession of his choosing. I could be wrong, but - as the Raptors almost assuredly have a tear-jerking tribute in store - time is more than likely going to help heal this fractured relationship. When/if it does, DeMar DeRozan might look back and laugh at just how in his feelings he was in the aftermath of what could easily end up being positive change in his career path. 
The truth is that this is more than likely just a gimmicky way for two competing quarterbacks to show that they are highly committed to turning around the fortunes of a franchise at a position at which it has basically been flipping a coin weighted into a bottomless well of despair in fluidly failing to find a competent passer. Nothing says "we're willing to set egos aside and go above and beyond in trying to get this team to two (or more) wins" quite like professional athletes holing themselves up in a mobile home on their limited free time. Therefore, credit must go to both Baker Mayfield and Tyrod Taylor for putting to rest what can be a problematic situation by putting in some OT hours to find a solution. Also, while I highly doubt this played into their motivation to seek occasional shelter in an RV, I can't help but think it can only be beneficial for two Cleveland quarterbacks who have yet to be fully indoctrinated into team culture to seek refuge outside of it every once and awhile. I don't want to go as far as implying that there still might be second hand smoke mulling around the disposable dumpster fire that has been the Browns' official QB room, but it's better to be safe than sorry and if there's one thing the facilities in question are familiar with then it's being sorry. Maybe Hue Jackson has finally turned around the attitude of the organization, but - considering its horrendous history - a daily sabbatical held by the two players most critical to its success to quarantine themselves from the potential stink of sorrow and bounce untainted ideas off each other is probably for the best...if only because a "you can't sit with us" situation couldn't even make things any worse. 
CBSSports- There was a hole in the college football universe when the Pac-12’s best player — and perhaps nation’s best as well — was a no show at media day.
Put it this way: Try to envision Tim Tebow in his heyday skipping SEC Media Days of because, well, school. Right or wrong, that wouldn’t have happened. The need to better himself, the conference and his school would have outstripped another summer school lecture. That’s essentially what kept Bryce Love back in Palo Alto. “Me, personally, I really wanted to be there to represent the university,” Love said. “But I decided I just wasn’t able to make it happen this year. Based on other commitments, trying to graduate in December required me to take more classes over the summer.” …Let’s just say Stanford forfeited a bit of a leverage [sic] to protest if Love doesn’t win the Heisman. Five different times Cardinal players have finished second in Heisman voting since 2009. But at Stanford, they don’t necessarily chase trophies. That’s fine. too.It’s just that we thought we knew ya, Bryce. We wish we knew more. ------- I had to deduct points for a member of the media taking the "we have a job to do too!" mindset to asinine lengths by acting like the slight inconvenience of him and his Pac-12 peers could have sabotaged the Heisman-worthiness of a season before it started, but I think Dennis Dodd more than made up for the self importance of his take with its originality. The whole premise of a student-athlete being villainized for prioritizing the requirements of the former over the latter in such a harmless way is nothing short of preposterous, but when's the last time you seen a college football player get criticized for being too appreciative of his education? Usually those that get paid off their association with the NCAA are stuck making the argument that a complimentary curriculum is actually the ultimate form of payment to kids that put the health of both their bodies and their brains on the line for the institutions pocketing millions off their hard work. So while I, personally, wouldn't make the war on student-athletes into one of two fronts, I do have to tip my hat to the creativity required to turn their use of their own scholarship against them. Acting as if an end-of-season award based almost entirely on stats and merit could be withheld from a Stanford representative because he was too busy bettering himself to market his conference (at the cost of his only form of reimbursement, no less) is almost certainly a case of publishing abject stupidity for the sake of shares. To it's credit, however, it is unlike any stupidity I have ever read before. I know the top-end talent we're talking about here is Bryce Love, but - in spinning such an outlandish story out of an absent subject - Dennis Dodd ironically proved that he's good enough to do his self-important job without the preseason Heisman favorite present. Sigh, if only the rest of those invested in the Pac-12's profitability were as resourceful. 
If only because the vast majority of fans that think the only thing stopping their words from having a lasting impact on the outcome of a professional sporting event is a lack of volume predictably fail, this anonymous fan earned himself a tip of the cap for some perfectly timed mimicry of Mookie Betts. I suppose it's not all that difficult to out-wit those that slur drunken complete nonsense from the stands. However, if the wide-eyed amazement with which the Red Sox first baseman desperately searched the field for the teammate he swore was on his tail is any indication, then someone out there is showing more attention to detail in helping the Orioles win than the actually Orioles themselves. Even if you're the type of person that, for one reason or another, thinks gamesmanship should be left to those who are actually playing the game, I have a hard time believing you didn't crack a smile while watching Steve Pearce be made to appear as apathetic as Daria by a foul ball that kerplunked at his side as he momentarily looked to be stargazing. If nothing else, it made for an objectively and equally hilarious GIF, which is just about as much we should expect to be gifted by anyone associated with Baltimore's professional baseball team for the reminder of the season. 
TheBigLead- He was asked to answer for his night out upon arriving at training camp Wednesday. Garoppolo spun the resulting silly season into a positive, a chance for personal growth.
“Life is different now,” he said. “My life off the field, I’ve never really been big on being very public with things. Even social media, I’m not out there a ton. My life’s looked at differently. I’m under a microscope. “Like Kyle [Shanahan] said, it is a good learning experience. Just have to take it in stride. It is what it is.” -------- Take that overly repressed NFL fans that prefer their quarterbacks to look like they came straight from the shoot of a Levi's commercial, but have the social life of a shut-in and the urge to keep both their heads in nothing other than their playbook! You thought Jimmy Garoppolo was misplaying his celebrity by gallivanting around town (and tonsil) with a pornstar, but the truth is that he was just undergoing a learning experience, and from an elder no less! In the court of perverted opinion, the jury is still as to whether or not the lesson was taught by someone who dressed the part of an unhappily married and sexually frustrated professor, but it's safe to say it's one that would have left the vast majority of us quite a bit wiser. That's why I'm going to need those people who could benefit most from a 41 year old sex professional's master class to stop bitching and moaning about the enrollment of a 26 year stud who was clearly trying to better himself. As if the schooling is supposed to stop when you become a household name at the preeminent position for a prominent franchise in the most popular professional sport in the country, HA! Knowledge is power, so let's stop judging the expert sources from which the 49ers' provocative young passer gets his brain...
The discussion (which doesn't seem anywhere near as confrontational as the transcript):
The online aftermath:
In a lot of ways, this is the perfect representation of NBA beef in 2018. Nothing said by Kevin Duration in that podcast snippet was false, but just laughing off how insulting it was to the person hosting said podcast was a perfect example of the aggressive passiveness that has come to govern face-to-face confrontations in professional basketball. Yet, if Petty Crocker had a favorite play, it just might be C.J. McCollum letting his frustration bake until he was afforded the safety of his online kitchen before putting the icing on that "cupcake"-esque jabs. Now, let me be clear, I think both players look extremely dumb for rehashing an overdone argument that's only more annoying than it is ancient at this point. That being said, as has become a bi-monthly occurrence in the offseason, Kevin Durant learned a valuable lesson in responding to his critics. That lesson was, of course, don't tell another grown man to get out of his feelings when you're constantly up to your next in your own. C.J. McCollum's over-the-top example was probably uncalled for, but you throw the first stone from the glass house in which you spend your free time arguing with teenage meme makers and you aren't risking a mere crack in your siding in return, but rather a full-blown shattering of the insecure estate in which you take up residence. The unflattering portrayal of a back-to-back NBA Finals MVP as both a traitor and a coward was definitely type slick, but can't consider C.J. McCollum a "snake" without accept responsibility for intentionally shaking his rattle. The Blazers' guard probably should have done it into the mic, as that would've made for an incredible listen, but there's no innocent victim in this squabble of star athletes acting like 7th grade girls. To put it both simply and quite obviously, Kevin Durant isn't built for the back-and forth. Therefore, it's probably in his best interest to avoid doing the podcast equivalent of patting an NBA All-Star on the head before telling him to go play outside and stop worrying about the grown folks' business. The biggest issue with KD going to Golden State has always been that playing the bad guy isn't in his DNA. That doesn't mean he was wrong in punching down, but it does mean that he wasn't ready for the reactionary upper-cut after failing to acknowledge that he up and left a somewhat similar situation in OKC...
Dustin Johnson Played In A Pro-Am Wearing His Soon-To-Be Father-In-Law's Hockey Jersey Yesterday7/26/2018 
Just another added bonus of being 'The Great One', I suppose. Even in the most copacetic of relationships, I'd say that wearing the last name of your soon-to-be father-in-law on your back in the public eye gives him the upper-hand in the unspoken power struggle that typically exists between a daughter's dad and her fiancee/husband. In this case, however, said daughter is the product of such exceptional sperm that even one of the most gifted golfers in the world has thrown in the towel on trying to be the most universally important person in her life. I don't blame Dustin Johnson, as the father to his soon-to-be supermodel bride is basically synonymous with the entire sport of hockey to those that don't even know the rules of it. Wayne Gretzky is essentially the Canadian Tiger Woods had Tiger Woods not gotten the dominance beaten out of him with his own club after screwing the entire wait staff at every pedestrian chain restaurant within walking distance. Therefore, DJ really had no choice but to except that his celebrity will always come in second, if not third (as Paulina still goes by 'Gretzky'), during holidays. That said, he deserves credit to embracing his eternally silver medal. A lesser man might continue to fight that uphill battle out of foolish and stubborn pride, but - if his decision to rock the illustrious number 99 on the links is any indication - then Dustin Johnson is keepin' it a 100 in regards to how retired his place will be in the family power rankings. The fact that he's living a better life than 99.9% of the population sure makes it easier to do so, but there are far too many people of his notoriety that would rather come off as a self-important prick than lean into being lesser in status than even .1% of their peers. Especially if they had to pass one of those peers the mashed potatoes on Thanksgiving, 
Objectively speaking, that's exactly how it's done. That wasn't just a celebratory self-promotional spectacle, it was the thee celebratory self-promotional spectacle by which all others should be measured going forward. There's a bunch of antiquated sports fans out there who are falsely made to feel more comfortable with the placement of the stick up there ass every time an NFL player hands the ball back an official following a touchdown. Yet, even they would have to tip their ill-fitting golf cap to how much sweat and swag was spilled by Bradley Wright-Phillips in the making of history. Take the foresight that went into having an authentic jersey bearing the #100 printed up. Throw in a dash of the self-assuredness necessary to throw it on under his actual uniform while playing a game as exasperating as soccer in the humid hellscape of Washington D.C. during the dead of summer. Mix it all up with the superior skill required to outrace a defender to the ball, stop on a dime, and almost too casually whip it it through his wickets into the back of the net. Apparently that is the recipe for an immaculate amount of moxie, because it would be impossible to argue that Bradley Wright-Phillips didn't "keep it 100" in earning the opportunity to feel himself. Owning a big ego isn't particularly impressive, but keeping it fed off calories that are anything but empty is basically an art form. It's one that the Red Bulls' striker is especially skilled in, and since it's one that's become become a lot more quantity than quality as of late, I hope he goes into teaching when his playing days come to an end. Professor, Stunt 101-401. 
Perfect. Just absolutely, positively perfect. Don't get me wrong, this amazingly ironic sequence of events would be awfully embarrassing if the 'Heart & Hustle' award wasn't only an accomplishment in the same way that Valentine's Day is a holiday. However, as made clear by the nonsensical timing of its announcement, it's basically just some made-up achievement that only stands to make those that try overly hard look good. Therefore, much like a single person watching a couple stroll up to a restaurant without reservations on the night of February 14th, I enjoyed the hell out of seeing Trea Turner make an absolute mockery of both himself and some fabricated institution. I highly doubt the timing of the vote tallying was on his mind when he decided to leave no illusion of effort in his post-bunt pout down the wrong baseline, but the awkwardness that ultimately resulted from it sure did highlight how moronic it is to declare the official candidates for a season-long honor in July. They don't enjoy much, but I bet even the type of baseball traditionalists that would require the use of a defibrillator after seeing the Nationals' shortstop disrespect the game could appreciate the paradoxical nature of him being acknowledged for playing it the right way shortly thereafter. After all, there's nothing traditional about some concocted candidacy that was created in 2005 to, presumably, encourage professional athletes to give it their all...for the first 100 games of a 162 game season. |
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