I wrote this into the blog editor on Jun 12, 2010, but never published it for some reason. So this is an oldie but newie. Labron James was the HNIC in Cleveland during my sojourn there.
“Win or go home” is the theme of this year’s NBA playoff. But that is a colored sentiment. Colored people from all continents think a game is “win or go home” if not indeed “win or be killed.” Think Aztek “basketball.”
True, white people from all continents want to win; winning might be “everything,” if the movie Patton is right; but the sentiment is not “win or go home.” There is sportsmanship; there is fair play; there is learning from mistakes; there is admiring the skill of your opponent. There might even be the vow of “another day.” But whatever it is, “win or go home” does not capture it.
You’re watching the NBA playoff between the faux-Celts and the Miami “Heat” (the double-entendre of the latter actually appropriate in this case.) All of a sudden, the officials are huddled around a TV, trying to figure out what happened. One N did this, another N did that. Other N’s jumped in, some pointing, others grabbing, others jumping, others swinging. The honkies are lined up at the TV, scratching their heads and trying to figure out who to blame, or even what actually happened. The mick and dego fans weigh in (it is played in Boston). “Our N was right, your N was wrong. We know!” (shout shout; screech screech).
This is what sports have become in America: “Our N’s are faster than your N’s.” They should sing it, chant it. That would reflect reality. Except they aren’t even “our N’s.” It should go: “The N’s we bought are faster than the N’s you bought.”
I am working a job, temporarily, in Cleveland. My new band of N’s was favored to go all the way. Our HNIC is supposed to be the greatest basketball player since Michael Jordan. They actually did make it through the first round, then were trounced by the Boston N’s. It’s hard to say what went wrong. (Both teams were coached by N’s. I think Boston has a honky doing the white-board strategizing during timeouts, I could be wrong. At least one of the teams out there, this was the case.)
In any case, I can just hear the players hanging out at the bar before the season. “She-ih, a nigger as the suit is one thing, but we wanna win. Where is the Pat Riley, or Dean Smith fo’ us, shi-ih.”
Of course, if all the coaches are N’s, one of them will win.
Out HNIC does look like a pretty good player, but undisciplined. He needs a honky to put some steel into his spine.
During the commercials, the “W”NBA weighs in. “Basketball is basketball” is the theme this year.
Yeah, but… ya’ll can’t play basketball.
Let’s call the bluff on the WNBA. The weakest Div. II college boys’ team could cream the best women’s professional team.
Let’s up the ante even more: any state in the union could assemble a team of high school boys that, with a couple weeks’ practice, could cream any WNBA team. (Whereas the very best college boys’ team would not stand a chance against the weakest NBA team.) And no real woman finds that fact insulting in the slightest. Every real woman knows that is true, yet does not feel her confidence as a woman diminished in the slightest.
There is no rule against a girl joining an NCAA basketball team. They call it the “men’s team” in distinction from the “women’s team,” but this is simply a lie. An arrant lie. Women are allowed to try out for the real team, incorrectly called “men’s” by the kikenpress. But men are not allowed to try out for the women’s team.
Women even have their own chess league — a “sport” where, presumably, upper body strength plays no role.
Feminists celebrate the triumph of women’s this, women’s that, but reality impinges. All these exclusive leagues prove women’s inferiority — at the things men excel at. You can’t fool all the people all the time. The WNBA is the proof that feminism is doomed. It is just waiting for the little boy to shout out that the emperor is naked; or, for some judges to be shot; whichever comes first. But no one, except a few sophomore sociology majors, believes the propaganda — it is too obvious.
Of course I am not talking about real women here: I am talking about the lies of the kikenpress. That is how this digression ties in to the theme.
We were talking about how the niggerization of basketball has ruined it. One example is the slam dunk. It is exciting, no doubt. But it is bestial. It is exciting the same way that human sacrifice was exciting in the coliseums, as Augustine relates. The slam dunk needs to be made illegal. How could this be done? The inverse of how goal-tending is ruled. If the ball does not have an upward trajectory after leaving the hand, the basket does not count. Or, if that is too severe, let it count for one point. Sort of the balance to the 3-point shot.
Niggerization has brutalized basketball and all sports. Check out the you-tubes of players being stomped on the head, slammed in mid-air, jammed, poked, and spindled, and then ask, “on a statistical basis, is the perp White or N, and is the victim W or N?”
We can’t play with these people. We need a ghetto league of our own.
We need to rethink the movie Hotel Rwanda. The theme seems to be, Clinton erred by not sending in troops to prevent one tribe of Ns from massacring the other tribe of Ns. (Yet no one in the kikenpress laments not sending in troops to rescue our cousins in South Africa from being massacred by various tribes of Ns). But the fact that is most disturbing, after reflection, is that the protagonist of the film, who labored mightily to save as many Tutsi as possible, ended up in Belgium. His life did not make sense, was not even possible, as either a Tutsi or Hutu. The movie takes it for granted that, if you want to live a peaceful, civilized life, you are going to have to migrate to a honky country. There is no N country where you could do that.
Not a single one.
Not in Asia. Not in Australia. Not in Antarctica. Not in South America. Not in North America. Not In Europe. And, oddly enough, not even in Africa.
Therefore, we must have open borders and free immigration, so everyone can have access to these wonderful things.