The second round of the AT&T Byron Nelson is going on right now. I don’t know shit about Bryon Nelson other than he once jumped a dude’s ball like he was shooting pool, hit the match-winning put on that trick shot, then knocked the dude’s ball away in what is one of the most disrespectful things I’ve ever seen a golfer do. If you’re going to name a golf tournament after someone, he seems like the guy. Real Cam’ron shit.
I have bet $10 on Jordan Speith, the late-20s former wunderkind who shocked the world and looked like the next generational golf talent in his early 20s, wandered the wildreness sucking large ass for about three years, and is now starting to flash some form. He’s in second as I type this. If I win my bets / Speith wins the tournamet, I will make about $45 bucks. If he does not win, I will probably have to uninstall the sports betting app on my phone so my wife does not leave me.
Before he got tossed from the Heat / Sixers game last night, I was certain that Udonis Haslem was working somewhere in the lower levers of the Miami Heat front office. And yet, there he was, in his 18th season, in his 40th year, in his first game of the season, getting chippy with eternal irritant Dwight Howard. I’ve never had any specific affinity for Haslem, very much a well-wisher in the Moe Szyslak way, but when you consider his age, the fact that he’s only played for one team his entire career, that he was on four championship-winning teams and however-the-hell many playoff-making teams, that he shared the court with, among many others, Lebron James, Dwayne Wade, Chris Bosh, Shaquille O’Neil, Shane Battier, Gary Payton, that he was probably on the bench when the greatest meme was first birthed, that he managed to stay in a game that values the blessings of youth almost explicit, and that he decided to make what may well be his last on-court moment before retirement a slap-fight with the NBA’s biggest fart enthusiast? You don’t have to love sports to see the value in all that. God bless you, Udonis Haslem. I’ll never forget when Jason Williams said you don’t get respect because you wouldn’t cut your straightbacks.
The CDC has said that I no longer have to wear a mask. Here is a photo of me this summer:
BOOKS ABOUT CRIME
If you’re wondering, “are books about crime for me?,” perhaps I can suggest you check out some of the Elvis Cole novels by Robert Crais. I haven’t kept up with Crais’ output in the mid-to-late 2010, but his run in the 90s was thrilling stuff. His twist on the hard-boiled LA Detective story was to make his private dick a little more lighthearted, a little less hard-boiled, a little, well, dumber and more fun to be around. See, a lot of the private eyes in these molds are not a ton of fun to be around they’re smart, but joyless. Crais’ Elivs Cole was a Vietnam vet who wasn’t all fucked up about it (though his partner, Joe Pike, was decidedly so), who was charming but unlucky, who was smart without being insufferable. Stalking the Angel is probably my personal favorite / the most complete of the books, but you really can’t go wrong with any of them. It’s about to be “have 14 beers a Chili’s” season, so you need a beach read. Get this one.
Shout out to Joe for turning me on to Origami Angel, shout out to Robb for reminding me that I can get into emo, shout out to this song by Charmer for whipping ass.