On the eve of Brooklyn’s home opener against Miami, Ludwig’s Drug Store of Prospect Heights alleges their employees have been subject to racial discrimination by Barclays Center staff, despite the pharmacist paying nearly $1 million for a 3 year luxury box license. From the New York Post’s Selim Algar :
Ludwig’s staffer Defreitas alleges that Barclays Senior Vice President of suite and ticket sales Brian Basloe (above) approached him on several occasions to ask why he was hanging around the ritzy portions of the arena.
“Why are you always here?” he asked, according to the suit. “You’ve been coming here a lot.”
Defreitas told him that he had box rights and Basloe backed off, according to the suit. “Sometimes I have to be the bad guy,” Basloe said. “I have a background in law enforcement.”
On Oct. 19, the trio overheard arena staffers on a radio remarking that they were a security threat and that their box should be investigated, the suit states. But a Barclays strike force invaded the wrong box and forced occupants to the floor to investigate them, the suit charges.
The trio claims that they are the only black luxury box licensees at Barclays Center.
In a somewhat less sensational charge, Ludwig’s staffers also claim they waited over an hour for a pizza to be delivered to their luxury box. I can’t say for certain whether or not this is further evidence of institutionalized racism at Barclays, but if Domino’s CEO Patrick Doyle can man the ovens on those horrible TV commercials, surely Nets marketing creep Brett Yormark is not above lending a helping hand, especially if it means avoiding bad publicity.
The attention to detail is superb — far more so than my Darryl Porter getup.
It would be a slight exaggeration to say that Tom Scharpling’s long-running Tuesday night program, “The Best Show On WFMU” has thoroughly permeated the mainstream consciousness, but there may be no greater testament to TBSOWFMU’s place in the hearts & minds of dedicated listeners than the actions of Fenway Park organist Josh Kantor (above).
Kantor, who previously paid homage to Superchunk this season, used Game 6 of the World Series to showcase his interpretation of “The Best Show”‘ theme tune, as exhibited above. Whether or not Kantor’s selection was inspired by Scharpling’s announcement the prior evening that “The Best Show” would cease production next month, or perhaps by the occasion of Scharpling co-conspirator Jon Wurter’s 21st birthday today, I cannot say for certain. Also — writing Kantor and asking him these simple questions would take me all of 3 minutes and I don’t have that sort of spare time.
“Imagine if the National Basketball Association partnered with EDM DJ/producers to create a next level marketing platform for the music, culture and progressive mainstream marketability of not just the league, but EDM culture and the longevity of the producers themselves?” That’s the
horrifying fascinating hypothesis outlined by Do Androids Dance?’s Marcus Dowling, who while quick to note Rony Seikaly’s second act as a deep house DJ, argues, “the interplay between music and the NBA has existed but been not capitalized upon in a commercially beneficial and progressive manner.”
“In this ideal scenario I have hand-picked franchises that have always or are currently showing an eye towards progressive ideologies, or, are located in cities wherein the tie between progressive idealism and electronic dance music is at a fever pitch. The DJ/producers involved? Even simplerWestern Obstacle Challenge rent. It’s a mix of top and rising names who are not currently affiliated with any one label in particular, and as well are closely affiliated with/grew up in that city, or are from within a 250 mile radius. The teams and producers that in my estimation would be incredible in the inaugural two-year run of the ideal scenario are as follows:
Miami Heat – GTA
Chicago Bulls – Flosstradamus (above)
Toronto Raptors – Wondagurl
Brooklyn Nets – Cousin Cole
New York Knicks – Baauer
Dallas Mavericks – Peligrosa
Los Angeles Clippers – TOKiMONSTA
Golden State Warriors – Nanosaur
Phoenix Suns – AZ Gunslingaz
Washington Wizards – Alex Young
Unless you want to see the star of “Scarecrow And Mrs. King” rain down half-hearted vengeance upon his enemies, “Murder At The World Series” is roughly as watchable as the 2013 Houston Astros. But it’s as close to Black Sunday as the World Series has yet come, which is… something? — Tom Keiser, The Classical
The Oregonian’s John Canzano received an open letter from a former University of Oregon football player who encountered some rather uncouth behavior in the stands at last Saturday’s home win against UCLA. Judging from the tone employed below, you might not want to invite this recent former Duck to your next tailgate.
I remember walking in from fall camp practice and talking to my teammates about how similar our lives were to the TV series Spartacus. We were slaves. We were paid enough to live, eat, and train… And nothing more. We went out on the field where we were broken down physically and mentally every day, only to wake up and do it again on the next. On the outside, spectators placed bets and objectified us. They put us on pedestals and worshipped us for a short time, but only as long as we were winning. In the end, we were just a bunch of dumbass (racial slur) for the owners to whip, and the rich to bet on.
What I described is a business, I know. It’s how it works, and it is something we understand as athletes entering the system, as (expletive) up as it is. For many people entering that system, it’s better than what life has to offer elsewhere. So they take it. But having been on the outside now, to witness this disgusting display of “support”, I know that I want no (expletive) part of it. I will never attend a duck game as a spectator again. I am disgusted by duck fans and I will sit back and observe from afar with high hopes for the player’s success and understanding of their sacrifice, without having to hear the spoiled woes of ignorant fans.
I will always love the ducks: my coaches, my teammates, my brothers and family. The rest… Go (expletive) yourselves.
The New York Daily News’ Kristie Ackert reports Mets reliever Latroy Hawkins assisted American Airlines crew in ejecting an unruly passenger from a DFW to Santiago flight Sunday evening.
“We had to subdue a guy who was upset about not being able to sit in an open seat in business class. He and flight attendant started wrestling and fell into my lap. The (flight attendant) said he needed help,” Hawkins told the Daily News via text message.
Two of Hawkins’ friends, Rodney Carter and Leonard Whittenberg helped assist the flight attendant. They held down the unruly passenger as restraints were applied. Carter and Whittenberg are part of Hawkins’ traveling group that is hunting doves.
According to a report, the flight made an unscheduled stop in Lima, Peru, then continued to Santiago; the hunting is taking place across the border in Argentina.
Not only has Hawkins proven heroic, but he’s to be applauded for his discretion ; “a guy who was upset about not being able to sit in an open seat in business class” sounds an awful lot like Jeff Wilpon.
Not merely content with imagining Mike Francesa’s commentary during The Revolutionary War, bizzarozaun is back on the job with CIVIL WAR FRANCESA.
It would be an understatement to claim that since the respective arrivals of Blake Griffin, Chris Paul and Doc Rivers, the Los Angeles Clippers have achieved the near-unthinkable ; not are they consider a more realistic Western Conference contender this season than their Staples Center co-tenants, but the team’s immediate future seems to bright, you might forget they’re owned by a horny, incompetent racist.
That is, until you read Adrian Wojnarowski of Yahoo Sports’ account of Sterling’s attempts to veto his club’s Eric Bledsoe & Caron Butler for Jared Dudley & JJ Reddick swap, a meddlesome move Wojnarowski calls Doc’s “ultimate ‘welcome-to-the-Clippers’ moment” (“the kind of dysfunction that frightened prospective executives and coaches of Sterling, an eccentric, often illogical man long used to undermining and bullying staff that he had often kept on short, low-money contracts”)
Rivers contract gave him ultimate management authority on deals, and several sources dealing with the Clippers say that Rivers was beyond embarrassed and humiliated. He feared the unraveling of the deal would cost him his credibility and paralyze him in future trade and negotiation talks, sources said.
Redick’s representatives, led by the influential Tellem, were beyond livid. Accepting the Clippers’ word, agreeing to terms, there was no reason they wouldn’t expect this was a binding agreement. For Redick, there was nowhere left for him to get a comparable deal – never mind a contender, a city, where he wanted to play. For better or worse, he had to wait on Rivers and Sterling. There was no Plan B with which to rush and accept.
From the outside, there were those telling Rivers to unite with his superstar, Paul, and let Sterling understand they both could still walk out on him. Paul couldn’t sign his five-year, $107 million contract until July 11, but sources insist that Rivers never brought Paul into the quagmire.
Rivers’ job was to convince the owner – for a second time, in this instance – and there were those who believed a flat refusal on Sterling’s behalf could’ve resulted with Rivers’ resignation.
(above : how the male grooming thing was settled back in the early 1990′s)
The subject of the Red Sox facial hair has been an attractive (?) topic for columnists and bloggers alike this baseball season, and with Boston’s beards closing in on their 3rd World Series triumph in 9 years, the New Yorker’s Roger Angell has no longer resist the temptation to interrupt a clash fraught with tension to declare, “beards are kudzu”. “Fugazy, too,”, former Knick (but not former Bruin) Tim Thomas would surely add if anyone bothered to ask.
Jonny Gomes’s beard—a brown frigate bird’s nest—is among the uglier sported by the hairy Sox this year, and when numbers of his teammates began grabbing it and ritually tugging on it upon his return to the dugout after his blast I was among a minority in the land who were hoping they’d pull it off. Gomes, a nice guy from Petaluma, California, has broad sloping shoulders and a pleasant, or O.K.-ish, everyday expression, but he’s shaved his head now, too, which doesn’t help, unless you’re eager to join the crowding recent hordes of the undead. C’mon, Jonny.
Gomes’s isn’t the worst Sox beard—the title goes to backup catcher David Ross, whose unkempt cabbage includes a clashing streak of white that cascades over his chin—perhaps relic of a childhood moment when he ran into his grandfather in the narrow back hall outside the bathroom. The other catcher, Jarrod Saltalamacchia, has a raggedy garden-border growth, in keeping with the encircling back-yard shrubbery of his hair. Mike Napoli’s beard is thickest; Dustin Pedroia’s the weirdest, since it comes with his desert-saint stare and that repeated on-deck or between-pitch mannerism of opening and stretching his mouth into a silent O: a screech owl with laryngitis.
Where are the Red Sox wives or sweetie pies in all this? Have none of them spoken up—privately or in the Globe or in a thousand tweets—to protest this office fad? How does it feel to wake up, night after night, in immediate proximity to a crazed Pomeranian or a Malamute or an Old English sheepdog stubbornly adhering to the once caressable jaw of the guy on the nearest pillow? Doesn’t it scratch? Doesn’t it itch? Doesn’t it smell, however faintly, of tonight’s boeuf en daube or yesterday’s last pinch of Red Man? And what about the kids—how long can you keep putting them off with another recital of “The Three Little Pigs” or Edward Lear? Who does your husband/significant other think he is, anyway—Dostoyevsky? Brigham Young? Darwin? An Allman brother? Alexander Cartwright?
No matter how you look at it, this might be the most serious diss-by-omission Phil Mushnick’s received in a very long time.