A Riff-Raff Participant

If you have never experienced sitting in the top row of a sports arena, I have to recommend it. Not because of the blurred view of the players or the uncontrollable nose bleeds (although both pleasant), but for the spectacular feeling of being barely part of a professional sporting event. And if it’s a playoff professional sporting event, the feeling of being upscale post-season riff-raff is far superior to regular season riff-raff status.

Fortunately, my acclimation to high altitude kept the nose bleeds to a minimum. However, my near-sightedness remained the same on the mainland. If they offered discounted Lasik eye surgery performed by Nuggets cheerleaders exclusively for the three hundred level of the Pepsi Center, I’m sure they would get some takers. If they gave a guarantee of clear vision by at least the second half, I’d give it a shot.

I was able to score some of the obviously few remaining tickets to Game 3 of the NBA playoff series between the Denver Nuggets and the San Antonio Spurs. Denver has certainly been in dire need of a championship caliber basketball team and this was more than evident by the ecstatic crowd and extraordinary number of people at this game. I didn’t think the Nuggets could fill the gymnasium of Cherry Creek High School, let alone the Pepsi Center, but a tied NBA playoff series with a dynamic duo like A.I. and Mello drew a crowd faster than the recent Gwen Stefani concert. There is no doubt (I couldn’t resist) that the Mile High City is more than ready for a legitimate playoff contender. Unfortunately, the Nuggets looked more like the back up singers for Ms. Stefani than an NBA playoff team on this particular night.

It seems like Denver has always placed basketball in the back of its professional sporting mind. There is no doubt (that was an accident) that the Colorado Avalanche who are members of the suffering National Hockey League are more popular than the Nuggets, but I would even argue that the Rockies who have been a destitute franchise for years command more attention. I’m attributing this Nugget craze resembling that of 1849 to an early season trade that brought the most expensive 165 pound athlete in sports up 5241 feet in elevation.

After growing up on the “other side” of Washington D.C. and playing two years for Georgetown, Allen Iverson was drafted number one in 1996 by the Philadelphia 76ers and began a career of cross-over dribbles, 50 point explosions, vicious lane beatings, and the occasional ill-advised fade away. And though his many tattoos and overall demeanor are often perceived as thuggish, I’m a believer in the wholeheartedness of A.I. Have a listen to one of his post-game interviews and it’s tough to not like the guy. Have a look at one of his games and you’re an instant fan.

Now that Denver has more reason than the Avalanche and Gwen Stefani to fill the Pepsi Center, basketball enthusiasm has emerged. And if you sit in the top row, it’s even better.

Giving it a Tri

The Olympic triathlon is two months away and I am legitimately nervous. It's tough to prepare for a race like this without actually doing it. I can swim in the rec center pool until my face is blue (literally) but it won't compare to the hands and feet in my face on race day. I've been told to kick back. I think I will. And this won't be no pool - it's the Schuylkill River in Philly. I guess that a contraction of Hepatitis is a small price to pay for being able to say you've done a triathlon - or at least attempted one.....

Trivia:

Five to six hours after a triathlon you should:

A) Avoid large crowds
B) Do some sit-ups
C) Pump the tires on your bike
D) Get tested for Hepatitis

A taxing affair

I hope all your deductions have been itemized, houses depreciated, earned income credits summed, and alternative minimum tax calculated because Uncle Sam is sharpening his pencil and rigorously preparing to dive headfirst into a bazillion or so tax returns. I think I’d rather be struck several times on the forehead with a cinder block than have a stack of thousands of tax returns on my desk with the job of checking every deduction and credit taxpayers are trying to finagle out of their tax bill.

They don’t really check them do they? I suppose someone has to at least look at the inflated return number on every form. That would be a “taxing” task without having to re-calculate anything. My assumption has always been that the IRS pretty much rubber stamps every return unless they see a “red-flag”. And what would these red flags happen to be? I don’t know for sure and I doubt anybody who does will tell you, but if you’re claiming two golden retrievers as dependents while writing off your Beemer as a business expense and saying your roommate was tragically displaced by Hurricane Katrina, I think the eyebrows of Mr. Taxman may slightly rise.

Tax season is always extra special for me since my birthday falls one day before the infamous deadline of April 15th. Over the years, my birthday has changed from a day of hideous cones on my head to grueling calculations of adjusted gross income. I still don’t know which one is better. I now slop birthday cake all over form 1040 and Schedule A instead of the shoe of my third grade classmate. Again, I don’t know which one is better.

This year I was introduced to the seductive world of not only electronic calculation, but electronic filing. Evidently you can key in all your info and fire your return off into cyberspace instead of adding lines 7 through 14b, subtracting line 20 from line 15, stuffing every financial document ever received (relevant or not) into an envelope and making a heroic dash to the one post office that is open until midnight on tax day. I somehow missed this marvel of modern technology – until this year.

If TurboTax could have walked me through my calculus exams in college I never would have had to “try again” the next semester. Tax software could get an infant to file the return of Don Trump. At one point it asked me, “Are you sure you want to do this? You’re giving away free money!” It was quite a heated exchange, but after thorough discussion and a few rounds of cocktails, we came to the agreement that I had a very weak argument.

At another point of discussion, Mr. Tax Software asked me if I had bought any items in 2006 that would help me manage my finances. My mind raced with possibilities. X-box? Flight to Vegas? Bottle of Patrone? I couldn’t quite justify these but I did buy a computer.

“What percentage of use of this item is devoted to financial management?” The choices were 25%, 50%, 75%, and 100%.

Gulp. Sweat poured off my forehead as I clicked 25%. I will admit that this was a generous estimate, but what other options did I have? I blamed it on them.

“Do you have evidence in writing of this usage for financial management?”

I didn’t know a test of morality came with my purchase for $19.99. I guess the deluxe edition has a confession segment and sends it electronically to your local Cardinal (and the IRS).

A kid from Iowa

It looks like Tiger Woods didn't quite get it done at the Master's golf tournament this weekend. It's amazing. He had the lead on the final day and then missed the mark. I didn't think the prodigal son would fail to win. Shit happens I guess.

Even though Zach Johnson may seem like to nobody to many of us, he has had a successful career thus far. The Iowa native actually played in the Ryder Cup last year.

The funny thing is that Zach Johnson didn't attempt to hit a single par five in two. I always thought that you couldn't compete on tour if you didn't go for every par five. I guess I was wrong.


Trivia:

When Tiger Woods won the Master's in 1997 in record breaking fashion, what was his score on the front nine of his first round?

Tiger shot 40 on the front nine which is an absolutely miserable nine. He went on to win the tournament with the lowest score in Master's history.

Cha Cha with Chmerkovskiy

Remember when reality television was as simple as throwing a group of young drama-queens without jobs into a house in some random corner of the World and setting up a tripod with a camcorder? Or when you could have a couple of teams on a deserted island while throwing out the occasional immunity? Those were the days. Life was simple, a cell phone was a privilege, and reality television was fun.

Reality TV has become excruciatingly painful. Mainly because it’s not reality TV anymore – it’s celebriality TV. I recently tuned in for a delightful presentation of “Dancing with the Stars”. I remember hearing all the hype about this last year when Emmit Smith was shakin’ booty instead of shakin’ tacklers, but honestly, at the time I was afraid to watch. The whole thing was far too foreign to my mind that was entrenched with alliance strategy and immunity challenges. If it wasn’t for Celebrity Jeopardy about fifteen years ago, this whole things may have never happened.

But unfortunately we can’t even blame a Canadian like Alex Trebek for bring us “Dancing with the Stars”. That’s right, the British did it again - just like they did with “Who Wants to Be a Millionaire”, “Who’s Line is it Anyway”, “The Office”, and yes, "American Idol". Why are the British so much better at thinking up corny shows?

I would love to know who first decided that it would be more appealing to recognize a loser instead of a winner at the end of a program. “Survivor” or maybe it was that “Weakest Link” debacle, revolutionized the whole World. Ok, maybe it was just the World of television, but regardless, the concept was the cotton gin of the industry. And even Eli Whitney would probably prefer to see a horrified and despondent loser than an elated winner – as long as there was a post vote-off commentary of course.

In any kind of friendly competition it makes sense to designate a winner at the end of the whole thing. This loser business takes it one step too far. What next? Maybe we can slowly vote kids out of their third grade Halloween costume contests instead of just giving an extra couple Sweet Tarts to the kid dressed as a Rubik’s Cube. I’m sure the teachers would be much more tuned in. I would certainly sit through a few Frontier Airlines commercials to see some crying kid wearing a sheet with two cut-out holes.

So if you haven’t seen this newest miracle of modern television, I will say that it may be worth a shot. You can see professionals like Paula Abdul and Janet Jackson, ok maybe not, but you will catch pros like Maksim Chmerkovskiy (not a typo) and Edyta Sliwinska (it’s gotta be Polish) doing the Mambo and Cha-Cha.

While some of the “Stars” make hosts Tom Bergeron and Samantha Harris look like human supernovas, overall the list of celebs isn’t too bad. Ian Ziering gives a proud representation of the 90210 crew. Maybe next year we can have a celebrity death match with Brenda, Dillon, and Brandon, a few high school dance phenoms from Beverly Hills and film on site at the Peach Pit.

Even though Billy Ray Cyrus looked like he would certainly end up with an achy breaky leg at the end of the whole thing, Clyde “The Can’t Quite Glide on the Dance Floor” Drexler takes the cake for the most awkward routine. They’d have to get Dikembe Mutombo or Manute Bol out there to make the playing field even remotely even for Clyde.

It looks like we’re going to have to embrace this new phenomenon of celebriality television. George Costanza sums the situation up very well when he was asked why people would watch his co-produced show with Jerry Seinfeld that was about nothing:

“Because it’s on television.”


Give John Poole your online vote at poolejohn@gmail.com