Two Words....Michael Jackson

June 25th, Two Thousand and Nine. I never met Michael Jackson, nor have I ever seen him in person. Yet in still I intimately knew Michael, the man, the myth and undoubtebly the music. Honestly, today I felt as though my favorite uncle kicked the bucket. When you sell over 750 million albums worldwide, you become more than a musician. Michael Jackson was indeed iconic.
The first music video I ever saw was Thriller. When you say, think or hear the word Thriller, you instantaneously think of MJ. The video was unprecedented, the song was epic and the album was unspeakably amazing. Michael's many accomplishments and accolades have been well documented on this day and throughout the years. Black, White, Asian, Arab, Hispanic....we all loved Michael and this loss is a great one. Never has there been anyone who has been so widely mourned and I anticipate that never again will there be.
Say what you want about Michael as a person and the enigma that he was, but his talent was, is and will always be undeniable. It sickens me to my stomach to be without him. His music will live on forever and has transcended race, gender, ethnicity and even generation. Although The King of Pop is gone, he truly will never be forgotten.

Professional Athletes Are Still Human

Im a sports fan, a huge on in fact. However in the wide world of sports there is no room to be a fanatic of any sort. Alex Rodriguez is a man, Adam Jones is a man, Lebron James is a man. Professional athletes are mortal and are no different from your local shade tree mechanic in genetic make up. In America we tend to put the objects of our sports idolization on an unrealistic plateau. While they are on the field, that's one thing, they are expected to be great, after all they are being paid millions of dollars to be just that. On the other hand when these people are of their respective fields of play we need not scrutinize their personal lives as much as we do.
In the past couple of years sports personality have been the subject of much public ridicule. Wrong or Right isn't what I'm interested, what I am interested in is a spotlight that is being shone too brightly on men that are expected to be gods. Michael Vick is in the midst of a two year prison sentence for fighting dogs. Really, fighting dogs. First and foremost, it has already been established that Vick himself never fought a dog. He did however fund a dog fighting franchise. OK, that was wrong without a doubt, but I'm not interested in the right or wrong of the matter. Vick was sentenced to 23 months in a federal prison for his involvement. Personally I think that such a sentence was without warrant and excessive to say the least. However, because of Vick's celebrity it seems as though he may have been unfairly targeted and paid the price of fame. With a little more than a month remaining in home confinement, Michael is at a crossroads. Had Vick been an ordinary citizen he would have been given a second chance. Hopefully the public as well as the NFL is willing to give Vick a second chance.
Adam 'Pacman' Jones. In the NFL Pacman is seen as a nuisance and a problemed individual, but in the grand scheme of things he's just another man. Pacman developed a criminal record by doing what most twenty-something year old men do. Party, drink and hang out with friends. If everyone was placed under the same microscope as Pacman and disciplined the same, there would be a surplus of arrests in this country. Why oh why has Pacman been so wronged. When you are in a position of fame, there are people that will love you, people that will hate you and people that can care less of you existence. In Adam's case there was a large number of people that hated him and hated on him. Unfortunately, he put himself in a position to be around those folks. Sometimes defending yourself can appear as aggression, how is that even possible? When you're a celebrity any misstep ai preceived as cataclysmic.
Now on to the most recent source of personal outrage. Cleveland Browns wide receiver Donte Stallworth has just been suspended indefinitely by the commissioner of the NFL Roger Goddell. The suspension comes on the heels of Stallworth pleading guilty to vehicular manslaughter. Stallworth was admittedly intoxicated at the time of the accident. His poor decision choosing to drive while drunk resulted in the unfortunate loss of life for Mr. Reyes. Its says alot about a person's character when they make a mistake and own up to it opposed to making excuses for their actions. Stallworth accepted a plea deal that amounts to about 27 days in jail, 2 years of house arrest, 8 years probation, 1000 hours of community service, and a lifetime revocation of his license, as well as a financial settlement with the victim's family. Most would say he got off pretty easily as far as the jail term is concerned. Agreed, the sentence was a bit light considering the loss of life. However, the district attorney saw it to be a reasonable sentence considering all of the other stipulations. I'm not a paralegal nor am I an attorney of any sort, with that being said I am completely satisfied with the sentence as I believe that the law was carried out to an extent and justice was seemingly served. The problem arises when word comes down from the NFL that Donte has been suspended indefinitely. This man has to live with the fact that he is responsible for the death of another human being for the rest of his life, now you want to take away the man's livelihood and ability to make a living. Maybe my vexation is a bit premature seeing as how he has only been indefinitely suspended for a period of time that has yet to be determined, but I can't help but feel a bit iffy about the entire situation. Mr. Stallworth has a burden that he must bear for the rest of his days and I believe that there is no need to take away his ability to make a living.

I'm Too Young For This!

Here I am only 21, 22, 23, or 24 years of age depending on what day it is and I currently have the heart of 73 year old. Why should I, how could I have such at dated vital organ at such a tender age? Three simple letters, an acronym to be exact; NBA. Everyone that knows me can attest to the fact that I breathe sports. Football, of course, is my first love and is pretty much irreplaceable. Watching football, playing football or even talking about football does something to me. Even here and now, thinking about football in all of it's brutal glory excites me more than she ever has (Its just a joke sweetheart....well actually it isn't). Anywhom I'm not here to talk about football, although it is quite refreshing and I could do it for 17,000 more words, I'm here to reprimand the entire Eastern Confernce of the NBA.

I must preface this tale by establishing the fact that I am a die-hard Miami Heat fan-atic. The 2009 edition of the Heat were a story in themselves. We went from lottery to playoff participant in less than one calendar year. I'm still a bit salty about losing to the freakin' Atlanta Hawks in the playoffs though. My only consolation for the defeat is seeing the Hawks swept by The Clevland 'Lebrons'. While the Heat was losing to the Hawks, The Magic was slugging it out with The Sixers, The Celts were struggling with the Baby Bulls and The Lebrons were sweeping the Pistons. On to round two. As mentioned before the Hawks were sent fishing by the Lebrons, and the defending champs were being bounced by the upstart Magic. Once the conference finals began so did my cardiac episodes.

Dwight Howard versus Lebron James. I thought the series was going to be an extremely competitive one. It didn't disappoint. Game one was decided by a missed Mo Williams jumper with one second left and who can forget Lebron's prayer being answered at the buzzer. Orlando took the next two, Clevland won the next out of shear desperation and of course The Magic closed things out in Game 6. All I could think of at the end of that game was MasterCard. Front row tickets to a conference finals game $865, hot dog and beer $15, Lebron James' face as blue and white confetti fell upon his shoulders...Priceless.

On to the heartache, heartbreak and near heart attacks. Four games into the 2009 NBA finals and I have aged forty-six years. I'm a homer so of course I am rooting for the Magic to win their first title in franchise history as opposed to the Lakers winning their 89th title. Game one was an aberration and the anti-indicator of what was to come. Game two made a chain-smoker of me. How in the blue hell do you miss the perfect opportunity to steal a game in L.A., Mr. Courtney Lee. Granted, it was a tough shot, but dammit Rook you need to make that shot. Game two saw Overtime number one of the series and also saw the Magic folded under the pressure of a big game under the bright lights of Staples. It wasn't just a loss though. It was more like a death. They'd won the game with two minutes left in regulation, then they lost it with forty seconds left, then they won it again and with the buzzer sounding missed layup by the rook, they inevitably lost it once more. I never knew that playing a game vicariously through professional athletes could cause such internal turmoil.

After Game 2, I was in dire need of a break. I took the off day and got in a bit of rehab. I soaked in the hot tub and cooled down in the ice tub. My joints were aching and my throat was sore. Who knew basketball was so taxing on the body. All these reconstructive measures just after watching a game, I can only imagine what the players had to go through. I'm patched up and ready for Game 3. Back in Orlando and I knew we were going to take this one. Although the game was very much in doubt most of the way, but the crowd fed off the team and the team fed of the crowd. Game 4 is when the fuckery reared it's ugly head once more. I'll spare you all the play by play, but all need be said is that there was another overtime. Different venue, different circumstance, but the same eventual outcome. That got damned Derek Fisher. He's got to be at least forty-eight by now and he's still making big shots. The strange thing about my emotion during these finals is that I am not a Kobe hater. I'm not even a Laker hater. I actually love them both, it's just that for some reason rooting for the underdog is so much more fun than putting your money on the favorite. As fun as this all may be, I really don't know how much more of it I can realistically take. Excitement has no bounds, but an individuals blood pressure does. After the end of this playoff season the NBA needs to consider a slogan modification. Instead of 'Where Amazing Happens' they need to consider 'Where cardiac arrest happens' or 'Where Unexpected Visits to the ER Happen'.

Miami....We Have A Problem.

There comes a point in time where every man woman and child acknowledges the fact that they may have a problem. Well at 9:22pm on June 10th of the year Two Thousand and Nine I realized that I have maybe a slight issue. Well here goes....My name is Korey Turner, and I am a sportscoholic. Yeah yeah yeah, I'm a sportscoholic and it is exactly what it sounds like. Here it is mid-June and I find myself having major sports withdrawl. True enough, the NBA Finals are currently going on, but in less than two weeks they will be a distant memory. Once they are gone, what the frteak will I do with myself. Even the NHL season is drawing to a close. So that only leaves me with MLB until September. Really, I mean really...I gotta wake three months before America's favorite sporting event is back. In the mean time I suppose I will just have to make due with various secondary sports such as Tennis, Golf and of all things the WNBA. Tennis and Golf are not problematic at all, but uhh WNBA. WNBA! I love women, I really really really love women, but for some odd reason I have never nor will I ever find myself getting jiggy with the WNBA. Odd as it may seem, I can actually stomach a women's college basketball game or two, but there is no way humanly possible I can endure a WNBA game. That is if the maternity stricken Candace Parker isn't playing, and with her currently on maternity leave there is no f-ing way I can watch. To add insult to injury The Houston Comets went bankrupt. How in the blue hell does the second most popular franchise go under. That's like the Cowboys going bankrupt in the NFL, or the Red Sox going down the tank in MLB or the Celtics being dismembered in the NBA. Does those three teams going into extinction even sound fathomable. No way in hell will that ever happen. With that being said I can't take a league seriously that loses arguably its best franchise. Well venting about the WNBA does nothing to bring the start of football season any sooner. Therefore for the next three months it seems as though I will be in a state of irratability and depression. ESPN and ESPN2 will be mainstays on my television. High School Football, College Football, NFL, Track & Field. Wait a minute isn't the summer Track & Field season. Whew it is....Yipppeee! Can't wait. I love women's track and field. I mean it just may be the greatest sporting event ever. Come to think of it there are a couple of big boxing matches coming up this summer. You got Pretty Boy Floyd's return to the ring as well as Mr. Kimbo Slice's professional boxing debut. Wow....in all the hysteria of losing basketball, I forgot about what is to come. So scratch that earlier thought of depression and irritability, I will be perfectly fine until September. However, take this as forewarning, during football season no one I mean no one is to talk to me ever on Thursday-Monday of every week. Tuesdays and Wednesdays we can speak, but outside of that you can all kick rocks. No need for friendships or relationships during football season, but until the we all cool peeps.

I Hate To Agree With Nas, But....

Im not a bitter old rapper, Im not a new up and coming rapper, as a matter of fact Im not a rapper at all. With that being said I have no need to be biased nor is there a need for me hate on anyone in the game or the game itself. But, when Nas said Hip-Hop is dead a while back he may have been on to something. At the time I just thought that Nas was being spiteful and bitter about his poor album sales and lack of crossover appeal. Anywhom this isnt a refferendum on Nas. I was watching BET today, whats left of it anyway, and "Do The Ricky Bobby" was in the top five of the countdown on 106th. Like are you fucking kidding me. I have no problem with the B-Hamps nor the Soulja Boys of the world, but when these muthafuckas are shittin on tracks and passing them off as Hip-Hop, the problem begins. I wish Soulja Boy, B-Hamp, Mr. Chicken Noodle Soup, and every other dance oriented break through rapper all team up and form 'Comedic Records', the label that doesnt reuire talent, just a catchy hook. Like I said before I aint a hater, never even met one in person, butwhen I see a best hip hop award being presented and the nominees are: B-Hamp, Soulja Boy, Brother Riduculous and Common, I just think to myself "You gotta be shittin me!". How in the blue shit can Common and B-Hamp both be considered rappers. There needs to be a new genre, and we can call it Funny Bullshit Lyricless Fuckery Tunes. Maybe the name needs work, but you see where Im goin with this. Mainstream Hip-Hop definitely isnt what it used to be and Im not calling for a return to the good ole days. If dudes with permanet ink on their skin, periodic elements in their mouths and around their necks want to glorify all of the cars clothes and hoes...I suppose, its all good. At least when you do it try to make some sort of sense of it. I dont wanna superman that hoe and watch me yooooouuull, nor do I wanna do the ricky bobby, stop and pose for the frame. Shits really getting crazy in these hiphop streets. Maybe future lyricists can rescue the entire genre single-handedly, cause some dudes that will remain nameless have done their damnedest to rap the game for its money and leave it for dead.

A Puncher's Chance Pt.1

This may be the first, but it is definitely not intended for me to ease my way into the flow of things. I feel as though the toughest subject matter of them all must be adressed and foremost. It seems as though when there is something an individual is really pulling for or pushing towards, there is always a counteractive entity that is doing their damndest to push or pull them away from their goal. In the instance of love, the is no singular entity that acts as such a repelent. Rather than a singular force there are actual people that are poking and proding at your pursuit of happiness. To love someone, other than yourself, is an extremely difficult task (Come to think of it, loving yourself isn't always a given). In all honesty, why the hell should I or would I fight for something as abstract and subjective as love when it seems as though love wouldn't do the same for me. FUCK! Should I or shouldn't I, is the actual question. Today I have decided that I should, that I can and that I will. If ever there was something worth fighting for, this is it. In actuality I'm not fighting as much for love as I am fighting for her. As it may be contradictory in nature, I am fighting for her, but the fight is with her. She really and truly loves me, and I love her with the depths of my soul. Is that not enough, Isn't it enough? Aparrently love within itself is never enough. Well loving someone is what isn't sufficent. However, the ideal of Love is always enough and seems to truly conquer all. I know that, but how the hell do I really know. I love her and she loves me, but where is the Love? Finding the Love without losing your love for one another is the ultimate quest.........................(Unfortunately I was interrupted and will contine in the highly anticipated "A Puncher's Chance Pt.2"