ALERT: Kornheiser's Cartel on MySpace

CHECK OUT OUR MYSPACE

We've got music, and, and videos, and a profile... and all kinds of stuff that TRUE Kornheiser's Cartelians need to check out. Real fans only.

I don't know, maybe you should come add us... then, when we confirm (we'll probably hire an intern to handle that bullshit, so not actually "we" but somebody will confirm, we promise)... post on our wall... maybe something like:

"thx 4 tha add homey! i luv luv LOVE ur blog so much... i sometymz stay home on tha weekends and just refresh dat shit all nite u kno bc omg u just rock, especially dat Billynho... and The Siets, he's not bad either, but i heard he like likes Johnny Cash and Nicholas Cage movies, so he's so so not my type 'n shit, ya know? but rite hurr r muh digits, call the cell baby, okay? okay!? okay. buh-bye. u better call! mwah"

Yeah, that'd be good. That's how MySpace works right? We're gonna get, like, soooo much new traffic OMG, LOL!

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An Ode to an Anonymous Basketball Player

A giant man once said to me
I cannot live so quietly
So off he went to the NBA
Getter bigger by the day
Faking left, shooting high
Breaking holes into the sky
Or the ceiling, at the very least
Truly this man is a beast
ACL intact, not for long
How could things ever go so wrong?
From man to god and from god to man
And still support from every fan
A few felonies and a misdemeanor
Can we make him any meaner?
Steroids, cocaine and alcohol
Such a long way left to fall
Gravity does tend to overcome
The magic talents of this one

[Editor's Note: In the interest of protecting the integrity of her writing, Iuns wants to make clear that this is a RHYME, NOT a poem. -Billynho]... Read on for why the distinction is important:

I just want to make it clear to my readers that what they have just experienced is most certainly not a poem. It is a rhyme. But why might Iuns feel the distinct and urgent need to embellish upon her heart wrenching and artistic masterpiece? Alright, I'll bow to the intensive pressure of your curious natures and explain:

Example: a poem about a writer's favorite brown haired fowl
Tends to mean : the writer recently lost her dearest and closest grandmother, sold her step children and their precious toys for collateral, moved into a picturesque mud-floored cottage off the coast of El Salvador, and bought an alligator as a pet.

As it happens, I hate deeper meanings, significance, and any other motives sneakily hiding in the lines of normally inane writing, waiting to pounce on you from the guerrilla battleground of literary analysis. I wish I could retaliate with expletives in the form of deadly and destructive bombs, erasing the unnecessary descriptions of waterfowl, beautiful scenery and writer's innermost feelings from the face of literature today. So please please please don't insult my little rhyme by bestowing upon it the title of poem in your minds!

Finally, to make this post clear the high standards of sports blogging and ensure Billynho posts this:
football = Drew Brees = happiness

Ahem, thank you for your poem rhyme, Iuns! -B

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Real Life Confessions of a Female Sports Hater

(Editor's Note: Troubled by my depiction of her, Iuns sweetly volunteered to offer a differing account of her sports watching experience and an explanation as to why she never embraced football. Read on to find out which sport she did grow to appreciate! Also, if you're not convinced she's a female by appearance alone, look closely and see shoe shopping going on. And yes, those are skinny arms. Crucial...)

The more inquisitive (Editor's Note: and sexist) of you readers may be asking yourselves, what is a woman with as little sports knowledge and enthusiasm such as myself doing guest writing for a sports blog sponsored by a sporting-obsessed aficionado such as Billynho? That, dear readers, is exactly the question I will be muttering and mulling over as I type out this piece.

All issues of personal knowledge aside, I have had the honor of witnessing Billynho pursue basketball, football, futbol, cycling, cross country, and basically every other sport man has been crazy enough to invent (with the sordid exceptions of cricket and wrestling) firsthand. This would be a convenient time to mention that I happen to be the crazy ex-girlfriend mentioned on occasion. Despite the slander on my sanity, I am Billynho’s greatest fan and love nothing better than to read his articles over breakfast. Since I will assume that you readers love to do the same, I’m going to divulge some insight into his character.

Firstly, the issue of his extensive knowledge in practically every faction of the sporting world demands to be mentioned. Waking up in the morning the man immediately jumped out of bed and onto his computer chair, from where he purused European soccer results. Then he would pore over LetsRun, either deriding or lauding opinions, but engrossed all the same. Next Billynho would check Fox Sports, Deadspin, ESPN, and whatever other sites he could manage before the sound of my whining became too much for him, and he had to drag his attention back to me. The moment I let my guard down, however, Billynho would escape and cycle endlessly through sports sites once again. Thinking about it almost induces irritant twitching in my right and most sensitive eye. Luckily I have excellent motor control, and we can instead move onto other issues.

One to which all sporting aficionados (I'm sure) can relate is the attempt to convince your significant other that they would become even more significant to you if they would just become as enthused about soccer/track/hockey/arm wrestling as you are. In an attempt not to stereotype, because doubtless out there in this world are sporting-lusting women strong-arming their helpless boyfriend into watching their much revered favorite sport, I will assume that “you” can be male or female. In my case, Billynho was the one who pushed me towards watching more sports. His first attempt was college football. In an ironic and crushing twist of fate, the first football game I attended was the slaughter of our beloved Purdue by the dastardly devils at Ohio State. Clearly it did not provide a fortuitous start towards my long lasting love of football. Subsequent games were slightly more interesting as he took more care to describe player biographies to me and they did not involve the destruction of my alma mater. I am going to emphasize this point: everyone loves character development. Books include it. Television series depend upon it. Why oh why, therefore, would a man think a woman would enjoy watching a sport where she knows nothing about the players? She doesn’t. Therefore supplying your significant other with a brief history of some key players is going to be the MVP move in winning their interest. All the same and despite Billynho’s best efforts, I never really gained the deeper appreciation most men seem to have for football.

Basketball, however, is a very different story. A grand total of ten players are much easier to remember than eighty, and their roles on the court are more self explanatory. Surprising amounts of success from a young and untried team also helps to add to the excitement. As the Purdue “Baby Boilers” (inane name, but you still have to adore them) clawed their way skyward in college basketball rankings, my budding love hitched a ride. Who can argue with Hummel, Martin (recently departed but instantly replaced in my heart by lewjack), JaJuan J, and E’Twaun? Certainly not I. Instead I held my breath, gasped, cheered, screamed and cursed alongside the best of them (and arguably even more than Billynho) for the entire winter.

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