I fear we’ve spawned some kind of marsupial. M.’s latest trick is to only be able to sleep when lying on mommy, daddy, or really any warm body. We had friends over Monday night who happened to bring their three kids. All five of our visitors held M., and S. held her the rest of the time they were here. She was out the entire time. We put her down when our guests left so we could clean up, immediate tears. M. slept nearly all night, as long as S. was holding her. She slept all day today, as long as I was holding her. I think she expects one of us to have a pouch so she can crawl in. According to mom, though, we’ve got about another week of this. When M. passes the one month mark, she’s going to have to start acting like a big girl and sleep on her own, use the toilet, and clean up after herself. Well, the first one for sure, we’ll work up to the others.
The word marsupial makes me laugh. Not because it sounds funny on its own, but because for some reason I always think of Will Ferrell doing his George Bush imitation when I say it. “Marsupial. Those are them animals that carry purses, right?” Maybe it’s just me.
The US-Greece basketball game was terrific preparation for the coming college season. M. was attached firmly to my chest, snoring away (and periodically filling the drawers up). There was horrendous officiating. Poor play by my team. And I had to keep my mouth shut. I’m not sure I’ll be able to do this when it’s KU on the TV. At one point, after I passed her over to S., something annoyed me (Tim Duncan’s fifth foul probably) and I said, “Jesus!” rather forcefully but not too loud. S. claims that M. tensed up and her eyes popped wide open. Don’t know if it was the tone, the volume, or just the blasphemy, but I got her attention. How am I supposed to yell at JR Giddens to fucking guard somebody now?
The US hoops team was again bad, although not as bad as Sunday. They were unlucky, too, playing a fired up Greece team on their home court, with the officials doing everything they could to even up the game. I’ve watched enough international basketball to know the officiating uniformly sucks. More so than the usual shitty US officiating. But when there’s a clear lane violation (Greek player in the lane before Allen Iverson even puts the ball above his head) and they call a foul on Carlos Boozer for something that happens after Iverson’s free throw misses, you have to wonder if the playing field is all that even.
Memo to Richard Jefferson: stop freaking shooting.
Memo to Carmelo Anthony: cool it with the attitude. You’re lucky 119 people turned down a chance to play on this team and David Stern decided to market you and your boy LeBron overseas.
Memo to Stu Jackson: stop freaking hiding behind the fact several first and second choice NBA players are not on the roster this year. There were still plenty of opportunities to get a legitimate point guard and at least one player who can consistently hit a three pointer. You blew them all. Don’t go blaming Shaq, Kobe, T-Mac, or Jermaine O’Neal for the fact you didn’t call Michael Redd or Tayshaun Prince, and waited until far too late to ask Rip Hamilton to play. Hell, give Steve Kerr a call. I bet he can still knock down 22 footers. You suck.
Basketball déjà vu: seeing your highly talented team miss outside shot after outside shot while a bunch of ditch diggers who smoke at halftime are consistently throwing in 25 foot bombs and getting the feeling you’ve seen this before. Oh, and Roy Williams is on the bench. (I’m well aware of my selective use of blame and praise in the Larry Brown – Roy Williams relationship. It’s my blog, leave it alone.)
Terrific drama! The men’s 4×200 relay final Tuesday night featured the epic match up between the US and Australia. I accidentally saw that Michael Phelps won an individual gold during the day, but avoided all other results. Here’s a quick recap for those who missed it:
Damn, we’re tied.
We’re tied again.
We’re pulling away!
Italy’s in second now!
Shit, Australia caught us.
Holy shit, we’re way ahead!
Good Lord, Ian Thorpe just made up the gap in 15 meters.
I think we’re ahead.
I think we’re ahead.
Dammit, here comes Thorpe.
(Wait for the superimposed flag to show who won. Wait…wait…wait…)
Great reaction shots of the US and Aussies. The Americans went ballistic; the Aussies were in utter shock that Thorpe got outreached at the wall. Thankfully, unlike four years ago in Sydney, there didn’t appear to be too much macho nonsense going on. It was just good, clean competition. It’s just too bad Michael Phelps is a failure since he won’t be winning eight gold medals. I mean, at 19 with the chance to go home with eight medals of various colors, but not all gold, I don’t see how the kid gets on the plane home next week. He should open up a bar on Crete because there’s no way he can recover from this.
(For the dense reader, or in case lack of sleep is getting in the way of my sarcasm, that’s a shot at all the idiots who will be calling Phelps a disappointment. And I find it hilarious that Phelps keeps taking his wreath off for the national anthem.)
For the record, I like Ian Thorpe a lot. Some of the other Aussies appear to be jackasses, but he seems like a respectful guy who is really weighed down by the pressure he performs under.
Random events M. and I watched today:
Equestrian (I don’t understand it; M. seemed to want a pony already)
Table tennis (How come all the US players are immigrants? Do our garage, ping-pong skills just not translate to the world stage?)
Water polo (Insane sport)
Soccer (Nap time)
Gymnastics (I kept M. pointed away from the screen so she doesn’t already develop an eating disorder in hopes that she can compete in the 2020 games.)
I tried to play a game of my own, keeping track of horrible puns that Pat O’Brien used during his hosting slot. I lost count, though.
It’s 10:40 PM; the US women just took the silver in the gymnastics competition. I can finally check ESPNews again!