I participated in basketball-themed holiday wishes column which can be seen by clicking right here (scroll down to the Wizards portion)

I also helped with this and this

From 1984 to 1987, my family lived in Newtown, Connecticut. My mom was working on her dissertation, so she was home all the time. My dad worked at General Foods in White Plains, NY, but he chose to have us live in Newtown, so that he could shield us from the hustle and bustle in New York and the surrounding suburbs. Newtown was quite, earnest and overwhelmingly white, which was a shock to my family's system, since we lived in Cleveland, Ohio before that.

We didn't live there very long, but there were some memorable moments. I skipped 3rd grade, which made me feel like the man for 30 seconds, before I realized that I was about to be socially inadequate--a condition I've yet to recover from to this day. I remember Newtown (and the whole state of Connecticut for that matter) was soccer crazy, and I fell for the sport hard. And I also remember how quiet and peaceful that town was, despite its lack of diversity. I made great friends there while playing soccer, and I was devastated when my dad told me in July of 1987, that we were moving from Connecticut to Potomac, Maryland. I cried and cried the day we got to DC.

The first couple of years after I left, I did my best to keep in touch with Newtown soccer and school friends, but after awhile, I got over them and embraced my new Maryland life. Facebook, that annoying, yet addictive site that apparently has the ability to reunite, allowed to me to re-connect with my old friends during the past few years. In fact one of my friends from back then, just so happens to live five blocks from me here in DC, which is very cool.

All of this makes last Friday's events feel very weird. Prior to Friday’s tragedy, when I told folks I lived in Newtown, I had to use Bruce Jenner (who went to high school in Newtown) as a reference point because people had no idea what or where Newtown was. Sadly, no one will ever wonder where or what it is again. Not only that, I've had to read Facebook status message from people I knew back then, who just can't believe their quaint, little town, has had its innocence ripped away so quickly and violently. It is depressing.

But I refuse to end on a depressing note, so here is a picture that was taken in the spring of 1984 in Newtown, CT, on the front lawn of our house back then. My brother and I in our soccer outfits, with our shorts pulled up as high as the law will allow you to pull them. I'm the taller one by the way...

Wizards/Lakers postgame wrap-up

Nyles is mobile

2 years and counting....

Well at this point I have serious doubts that anyone even still reads this blog. But my cluttered life has taken a break from kicking my ass, which allows me to write a bit. So I'll attempt to fill in the gaps...


First off, my son is rubbing his little johnson against the front of the Bumbo chair, while he's in the bathtub. At first I thought it was pretty funny that at the ripe old age of 11 and a half months, he has already discovered the joys of his own genitalia. But now, when I see the determined look on his face, and how important it is for him to press his junk up against this chair, then smile at me, it has morphed into creepiness. But who am I to deny him a gift that will keep on giving throughout his life?

Second, if you are a fan of Bilal, go download this mixtape. He has his greatest hits on there, but he also covers Stevie Wonder's "Too High", which is just awesome.

Third, I have decided to have a 39th birthday party on Jan 20th (formerly known as Inauguration Day before this year). I will post details later, and all 3 of you who read are invited to come and act your age minus 15.


Fourth, watch this documentary on Boyz N The Hood. My brother sent it to me the other day and it is badass:


And lastly, here is an updated picture of my beloved Nyles:

New Prince

Today is one of those days that I'll hold near and dear to my heart--and you should believe that, because I rarely (read: never)use the expression, "near and dear to my heart". My wife had to work late today, which meant I had the rare opportunity to pick up (as opposed to dropping off) my son from daycare.

When I walked into the church, I could hear my son happily screaming and yelling, and this only kicked up a notch when he actually saw my face. The daycare ladies handed me to him, he laughed and scream even more and we left.

***sidebar*** When the daycare ladies initially handled Nyles to me, I noticed that his diaper was not right, and I frowned my nose. The ladies promptly whisked Nyles away, changed and disposed of his diaper, and then handed him back to me. It made me think back to a couple months ago, when Nyles left the house with a clean diaper, but during our travels to daycare, he did some dirty things. I felt guilty about handing over a dirty diaper child..to me it is the equivalent of a woman showing up to work with a run in her stockings. You knew it was jacked up when you arrived, but you were hoping you could slide. I'm ranting. sidebar off. But when I tried to change Nyles, the daycare ladies said no, and they changed him, and I left with a clear conscience. How cool is t that?***

Anyway, Nyles and I went from daycare to the doctor's office, where he got the second half of his flu shot. As you can imagine, that doctor's appointment was not smooth at all, and he was cranky all evening until I put him to bed about 20 minute ago (7:30).

In about an hour, once the wife gets home, I'll be headed to Union Station to meet my 15 year old, who is coming for the weekend. The fact that I can pickup both of my sons today makes me so damn happy. Great times.

Shout out to my lovely wife who dry snitched me on Twitter earlier tonight. Click here.

This song came on my ipod, and I forgot how much I enjoy it:

So my guilty pleasure song of the moment is Keyshia Cole's, Enough of No Love. I don't think that Keyshia can sing, and I think Lil Wayne's rap is uninspired and superfluous, but for some reason I cannot get the song out of my head. Actually, I've never heard the song on the radio, I just see the video at least twice a day(yes I still watch videos from time to time..ok everyday).

Two days ago I decided enough was enough, and I downloaded the song off itunes. I muted Monday Night Football, and I listened to the song while I was playing with young Nyles, so I really didn't listen to the words carefully--only the addictive chorus. Today, while I was commuting into work, I heard the words to the song. I heard Keyshia's curse words, and I heard Lil Wayne's overly sexist lyrics, and I got offended (which isn't easy to do). The video version had all but shielded me from this profanity, so to hear it was a shock to my system. I sat there on the train and said to myself, "Man, f**k this when I get home, I'm downloading the clean version."

Two seconds after I muttered that phrase to myself, I was ashamed. For years I laughed at clean versions of songs, and I attached a certain degree of prudeness to them--especially when I found out Wal-Mart sold clean versions in bulk. I wore my ability to recite copious amounts of profanity like a badge of honor..or flair if you will. Now during my train ride to work, industry powerhouses Keyshia Cole and Lil Wayne were suddently able to blow up my whole operation, sending me on a downward spiral towards the prude folks. I'm hoping this is an isolated incident.

That's all I have for now..except for my latest article of course.

First off, please read this article and then this one.

Then watch this commercial and realize that the wall with all the records is something I need in my 37-going-on-38 life..

My Dad, Nyles and the Ceiling Fan

Number one, please read the latest article I contributed to right here.

Second, I'm tired of explaining why I don't blog as much. My job is demanding, basketball season is here, I have familial obligations, football season is also here, and as a result, I simply cannot keep the pace I used to maintain in terms of blogging.

But I can offer pictures of Nyles as an olive branch..if you care of course

So today I overheard a conversation on the train between two young people (late 20's, early 30s) and they were talking about the Presidential debates earlier this week. One woman said that she just didn't like Mitt Romney because he came off as entitled and detached, and the other woman was harping on the "binders of women" comment (which was funny, but wrong). There was little to no discussion about policies or substance, only the likability of Obama and the opposite emotion regarding Romney. This reminded me of my old basketball coach, Wilbert.

Wilbert was loud, mean, abrasive, offensive, and he yelled at the best and worst players with the same amount of ferociousness. He had a certain way he wanted his players to play (fast and smart) and any failure to adhere to his rules provoked yelling, screaming and eventually a seat on the bench--not next to him, but on the other end. You were out of sight, out of mind. And given that we hadn't lost a single game all year, it was hard to argue with his methods. His assistant coach was the opposite. He wanted the plays to be run correctly, but he was the friend of all the players. Instead of yelling, he'd throw a gentle "come on man" or "get it together" at the players, and because of that, he was the team favorite.

So one time Wilbert had to miss a game, which meant the assistant was thrust into the role of head coach. Everyone was motivated to play hard for him in the beginning, but when we started to get behind, all the players started to shun team basketball, and take matters into their hands (something coaches call "hero ball"). The assistant coach called a timeout, went to his tried and true method of saying "come on man", and a bunch of other gentle, tender and benign phrases, but it did not work. The team wasn't motivated, the quality of play did not improve, and we were blown out. Even back then as a 14 year old, I knew that our assistant coach, as nice and gentle as he was, had neither the demeanor nor the bite, to lead young men to victory.

Now, I'm not saying you have to mean and assholish to run a basketball team or a country, but I am saying that personality has little to nothing to do with the price of tea of China. Politics, much like sports, is a results-based business. And whether you're rich and arrogant like Romney, or you have no money worries and you're seemingly humble like Obama, it really does not matter. What matters is can you run the country in an effective manner.

That was my official 2012 presidential election preview. I hope you enjoyed it.

Please read my latest article here

The title of the article is based on this 22 (yes 22) year old song by GangStarr:

My job continues to kick my ass, and I am behind on my Wizards-related articles, so I haven't exactly been showing this blog much love. In fact, I don't even know if anyone reads anymore..but I promise to be a bit more prolific this month. Just a bit..

My 20 year high school reunion is scheduled to take place the day after Thanksgiving, and I can readily admit that I was pumped when I first saw that it was being planned. I intentionally skipped the 5,10 and 15 year reunions my class planned, because quite frankly it was too soon. 5 years after high school, I still had the maturity of a 17 year old, 10 years after high school I was too self-centered, and 15 years afterwards, I was 3 months off a major fire, and my self-esteem was at the bottom of the toilet.

20 years later, all my ducks are in their proverbial row, the stars have properly aligned, and now I am ready to take on the reunion---and I don't want to go anymore. I initially thought I did when a Facebook group was set up and some of my old classmates started populating their name on the "Are you going?" spreadsheet. And then I got sucked in the playful, what-are-you-doing-now? banter that I saw as well as the where-will-the-venue-be conversations. But as more of my old classmates started to chime in and post pictures from high school, I realized I had grossly romanticized my high school experience.

I was in none of the pictures from high school, because I wasn't a member of any of the fancy cliques (except the basketball team and the newspaper), my two best friends were a year behind me, and the people who were committing to attend were mildly annoying (ok way more than mildly). I reached out to one of the few people I actually keep in touch with, and she put it best: "Rashad, the people we went to high school with are jackasses!" Part of me still wants to go, so I can be "that guy" who makes everyone uncomfortable because I actually dared to show up, despite not really being welcome, but a)I have no clue whether anyone actually really believes that I'm not welcome and b)I'm allegedly too mature to spend $75 on an evening's worth of revenge. But I do wonder how many people go this mental tug of war regarding their high school reunion.

It is worth pointing out that I have ditched college reunions too for this same reason. My main man Sabin (my college roommate for two years) was the man in college and he was popular as hell. Meanwhile, people would refer to me as "that guy that hung around Sabin", which I wore/wear as a badge of honor. There are worse things to be remembered by:

1) That guy who passed out in front of the student union
2) that guy who got beat up at the football party
3) The guy who gave 23 girls herpes
4) The girl who sucked 30 guys off in one night, but held her dignity high because she didn't sleep with any of them

You get the point...

1)I know I posted a video of Maya Rudolph singing Prince's "Darling Nikki" yesterday, but here is one with the legendary Roots crew backing her.

2)Life is precious. My wife was talking to one of her co-workers on Monday morning, and later that day her co-worker collapsed at work, and the next morning she passed away at age 45. The cause of death has yet to be revealed. That is just weird, creepy, and sobering all at the same time. I'm not going to dwell on it though, it is just a good reminder to appreciate folks while they are still around...except for the ones who make you angry, still treat them badly, they deserve it.

3) Nyles is knee deep in the sleep regression pool. He wakes up every two hours, he cries, he whines, and it is pissing the wife and I off. Equally maddening is the b.s unsolicited advice I've gotten from folks involving home remedies that would surely get my wife and I arrested (although we've given each option some SERIOUS consideration out of pure frustration). We love our boy, but damn he's a pain in the ass sometimes

4) I hope you've continued to read these articles on the top 56 Washington Wizards players over the last five years. We, much like Bartles and James, thank you for your support.

I apologize for all the name dropping I'm about to do.

The Tom Joyner Morning Show was in Cleveland this morning, and my mother was in the audience while Kym Whitley was being interviewed. Kym Whitley has been in television shows and movies for the past 20 years or so, and my mother hasn't done too shabby for herself either. But 30 years or so ago, my mother was a high school teacher at Shaker Heights High School in Ohio, and Kym was her student, and the babysitter of her kids (my brother aid I). Kym saw my mother, they embraced, talked, etc, and they took this picture together, which I thought was special (even if no one else does).