Free Agency Ain’t Got No Ceilings

July 21, 2010 - One Response

The Decision

Fuck a Bron hater and fuck you Mr. Dan Gilbert-… O wait what? I have to be classy? Mature? What, logic? Reasoning-the hell is this shit that you’re putting on me?

Man, y’all lucky Mr. Editor shut my ass down on another certified gold Leupe rant. Apparently I can’t just throw a couple hundred f-bombs and call it a day, I actually have to have a BASIS for an argument, but in an even more awkward turnaround I actually have to have an argument.

The world is a needy place, but I digress.

We’re always told by our history teachers to recognize and memorize the age-old axiom of “history always repeats itself”, which we then mutter a quick “suck my deeeeee” before succumbing to the tempurpedic-esque softness of our school desks. Good times. It isn’t until we actually grew the fuck up a bit ourselves until we realize “holy shit the ol’ fart was right” as we find ourselves removing the rusty shank from our lower back as the 8th grade history class you were subbing quickly files out the classroom (Can ya guess which junior high you’re at? Answers found in the comment section).

Gangrene stings, but I digress.

Here we are days after the momentous “Decision” made by the Heat’s Unholy Trinity. The fanfare, the anxiety, the drama, and the climax. Twas a tumultuous time in the sports world and in a way the impact has spread beyond the realm of sports, to affecting the wellbeing and mind-state of a city already given the finger by God on a few momentous occasions throughout the city’s history.

Free Agency

Anyways I’d like to draw a connection if you don’t mind. It’s a bit of a stretch and it might get freaky and scatological on a few parts, but bear with me.

On February 13, 2009 Aubrey Graham, or the artist known as “Drake” dropped one of the top mixtapes of 2009, So Far Gone. Although this was already his third official mixtape to drop, many in the music industry saw Drake as some sort of rookie phenom; his ability to pen lyrics with actual content along with his ability to sing out his own equally important catchy hooks, left the music industry along with its fans astounded. Who the fuck was this kid and who the hell was he with? The answer, to everyone’s disbelief, was he was independent, dropping the mixtape on his own label October’s Very Own, utilizing the internet as his sole distributor.

Most artists when releasing their mixtapes are either backed by their record labels or subsidiaries (ex: Lil Wayne’s No Ceilings was distributed to the multiheaded hydra of Cash Money/Young Money) or websites/clothing lines/people with money (Wale’s Back To The Feature presented by LRG clothing), as these are the only avenues in which your music will receive the most exposure equating to more downloads equating to more people wocka-flockin to your music. Or you can go the independent rout as Drake likes to continuously shove in people’s faces, “BITCH I DID IT WITHOUT ONE”.

It was amazing the amount of hype, listens, and downloads that he was able to acquire through such a small niche in the hip-hop distribution world. Unfathomable. Drake’s numbers alone changed everyone’s perception of the quality coming out of independent artists releases and primed Drake as an incoming freshman primed to change the game. Problem was with all the talent that Drake had, you needed competence behind your management to put that greatness out there for the masses. Drake had already gone as far as he could on his own with little to no support from the managerial side of things, but he knew that although his love for the independent movement in terms of freedom in creativity and production were essential to him, he needed the guidance and influence of a legend to take him to the top.

Lebron James entered the league as the first draft pick of the Cleveland Cavaliers in the 2003 NBA draft. He was Cleveland’s son, homegrown and prepped to be the one to bring salvation to Cleveland sports. Prior to that we have to all accept the understanding that Cleveland has been a small-market team, and if not a small-market team can we at least say they have had had the publicity and exposure of a small-market team (prior to the advent of BronBron). I ask you think back on any great moments in basketball and see where the Cavs are in your mind-montage of hardwood memories? “The Shot” by Jordan? “The Fuck Up” by Ricky Davis? None of it painting the Cavs in a good light and none of it serving as examples of a winning legacy by the Cavs.

Even with Lebron this culture of losing or never being able to attain greatness has still plagued this team. Although boasting +40,+50 win games over the years just as they did in their tenure in the late 80’s/early 90’s, they were still never able to have a single Finals appearance, consistently getting knocked out in the eastern conference playoffs. You still can’t knock what Lebron has done on his own and for this team though. He brought relevance back to Cleveland, he was able to garner 6 All-Star appearances, 2 MVP’s, but most importantly he was able to turn a losing franchise into a winning commodity. According to Forbes (that’s right fools, WHITE people wrote this shit)


after Lebron was drafted to the Cavs not only did team revenue skyrocket from a paltry $93 million to a gwopamolic $159 mill, the team’s value upped the ante by increasing from $298 mill to $476 mill. Do you people understand? In 6 years the Cavs went from being a couple mill over from being a D-league affiliate to being a few mill short of shitting on the national GDP of Tonga. Do I hyperbole too much? Kiss my 28inch dick.

But the onus doesn’t fall on Lebron for the failures of the Cavs for the past few years. Although his individual accomplishments were amazing, he wasn’t really able to truly win it all because of the lack of support and ineptitude from the rest of the team, from the coaches to management. He needed leadership and a cast that had won and have had the legacy of winning. Lebron’s first coach Paul Silas although an important mentor in Lebron’s development was unable to maintain the team’s dynamic throughout Lebron’s earlier years and with Lebron’s game taking the next step throughout the first years of Silas’ tenure, the rest of the team had tripped each other up back at the bottom.

Coach Brown was hired the following season and although Coach Mike Brown won a championship with the San Antonio Spurs, it came as an assistant coach (meaning less stress, less worries, less responsibility, Hakuna Matata) with the team. Cleveland hired Coach Brown as a relative newbie in the head coaching biz and was expected to take a young phenom and try to act like this was still a 5-man team. We have seen the fruits of his labor to this day, a team that although was “shorts-wettingly dominant” during the regular season, consistently failed to overcome its playoff hump season after season. GM Danny Ferry didn’t help things out too much either, dishing out deals to players that make you shake your damn head in disappointment: Mo Williams (has the Mo Williams jersey bonfire occurred yet or did they not-…o what? No one in Cleveland has a Mo Williams jersey..?), a decaying Shaqtus, an aging Big Ben Wallace, Wally Scz..something, Antawn Jamison, and re-signing Anderson Varejao (I KNOW he’s actually been a bright point on this roster, but… I cannot respect a man that was personally told by D-wade to bow down to the mayor of Wade-County).



Lil Wayne and Dwayne Wade both came into their respective worlds as the underdogs. Undervalued by both friends and haters alike, both men worked and clawed their way to the top. Lil Wayne was only nine years old when he was signed to Birdman’s Cash Money Records. Many thought that it was some gimmick to placate Birdman’s ego (birdman pic), I mean who in their right state of mind would sign youngn’s to a dang rap group *COUGH*lil twist*FARTS*lil chuckee. Naturally people shrugged off the Wayne as some extra stage prop,


but he soon began proving his detractors wrong. After finding some success with rap groups The B.G.’z and the Hot Boys (*wayne chuckle*nohomo) Weezy’s solo album effort The Block Is Hot put him on the map for greatness. To date the album has moved over 1 million units. Though it wasn’t until a benevolent veteran of the rap game, who although was waning in the last years of his career (Note: Be honest, the man fell off after Get Yo Shine On), really took Wayne under his wing and not just in the studio though, but outside of it as well.  With Birdman leading the way D-Wayne’s discography grew with his joint album with Baby, Like Father, Like Son as well as dropping The Carter’s I-II, as well as utilizing the feature and mixtape game earning Lil Wayne the moniker of being the hardest working rapper. All of it leading up to one of the most heralded moments in a rappers career, hitting the 1,000,000 mark in the first week of The Carter III’s release (a near impossibility nowadays) and the title of being the number one rapper in the game.

Dwayne Wade was the number five pick in a draft headlined by studs such as Lebron, Carmelo, and Chris Bosh. Although no one could deny Dwayne’s talent and leadership, especially after pulling off those NCAA Tourney moments with Marquette, there were still doubters. “Ooo he too small to play shooting guard”, “Hmm he isn’t a natural point”, “Naw that boy too flashy”. Unlike Lebron though Dwayne was lucky to get in with Don Pat Riley during Riley’s run as the Heat’s head coach. Unlike Coach Brown though Riley WAS a winner and coached ONLY to win.

The Don will break your fucking kneecaps

Yeah sure everybody coaches to win, but Riley took that shit to another level. There were no “ah well we tried” or “we gave them our all” speeches with Riley. Hell no. There was the “look” and a room full of medieval torture devices somewhere deep in American Airlines Arena. Though stupidfly on his own it wasn’t until a proven winner and vet in the Shaq-daddy came along was Dwayne able to finally reach the top of his game. Dwayne cemented his flyness with a NBA Jamz-esque performance in the 2006 Finals while winning it all to boot.

Sadly both Dwayne and Wayne could only go downhill from there. Dwayne and a gutted Heat team mired in mediocrity for the next few seasons as Weezy F. Baby wondered how long he was going to able to stay on top. Mainly, could they both still succeed on their own? Or did they need the energy and prowess of a young stud to help them maintain their greatness?

Connecting the dots

Both Drizzy and Bron were stuck in a rut. Teams and record labels from all sides were demanding, pleading, praying that they would sign with them. At first money became the issue, then loyalty, then back to money, then to the prospect of success, then back to loyalty, then to Delonte West sleepin with Lebron’s momma (Say word?).


In the end both men chose friendship and success as the main motivators for their respective signings. Both left millions on the table in order to be able to play/work with each other. Drake turning down a record deal and advance of up to $2 million from an undisclosed agency in order to sign with Young Money with just an advance of a milli. Lebron allowing Joe Johnson to take the cake in free agency money in order to sign for less to guarantee the construction of a successful roster.

Well what about Chris Bosh? Where’s his Young Money connection? Well I had to think long and hard about this cause well, I couldn’t remember who the fuck was in Young Money. But I came to the conclusion that Chris Bosh and Nicki Minaj are both one in the same. Both are CLEARLY unable to stand on their own in both the court and in their songs. So far their mainstream appeal has stemmed from their associations or features, Chris being lumped in with the Miami Thrice and Nicki being shoved in whatever song another artist needs to blow 30 seconds on. Also, both have not lived up to their physical gifts. Chris being a semi-poose in the paint and Nicki refusing to just give in and shoot a music video with Shakira and utilize that blessed amount of junk she has, HOLLA IF YA HEAR ME!



5 Reasons Why Miami WILL win a Championship in 2011

July 13, 2010 - 18 Responses

Our brother blog,, has recently posted a well-thought out and declarative article stating 5 reasons why the Miami Heat will not win the NBA championship in 2011. This post has enraged me, engaged me, and ENTICED me to respond with 5 counter points to each one of his reasons. This is not meant to be personal, David Lee, only HEATed.

Lebron Wade Bosh

1. The Heat have no center.

Many bloggers have made this point when it comes to placing obstacles in Miami Thrice’s path to 8 (LeBron said it, not me) NBA Championships. Our friend Mr. Lee has made the claim that recent NBA champions have had above average Centers on their rosters (Bynum, Perkins, D-Howard). Even when the Heat won in 2006, they did so with the Big Diesel patrolling the paint. I do not underestimate the effect that a decent Center can have on a basketball team from an offensive, and more importantly defensive perspective; however, lets consider the Chicago Bulls dynasty. During the course of their dynasty and most importantly during their juggernaught years of the late ’90s, Luc Longley was their starting Center. Who? That is Mr. Longley of the career 7.2 points 4.9 rebounds averages fame. Similarily, the San Antonio Spurs during their run of multiple championships employed Centers named Nazr Mohammed and Rasho Nesterovic, aka Zo’s Summer Poose. This era of Basketball only accentuates the lack of importance a Center has (there are so few in the league that Perkins is considered a premium big man) and thus, with the Heat’s draft pick up of Dexter Pittman and already serviced Joel Anthony the Heat will be more than fine at the position.

2. Wade, Bosh and LeBron will have to modify the instincts they’ve developed in the past 7 years.

While it is true that these three kings have each had to carry the load for their team, so to speak, for their entire careers it is not instincts that are wrought from such a mindset. All three players have played together through TEAM USA, and there was not one issue that arose regarding their inability to share the basketball or work as an equal member of the team (and remember TEAM USA had 12 All-Stars, not 3). Let’s look at the Big 3 in Boston: Ray Allen, Kevin Garnett, and Paul Pierce have each been the focal point of their respective teams’ offense for most of their career yet seemlessly integrated in Boston’s offense. David is right, these superstars will need to adjust from taking hard shots when it is not necessary, but like the Big 3, they can figure that out pretty quickly.

3. Lakers, Celtics and Magic

The Celtics are done. We’ve seen what D-Wade can do by himself vs Boston (nearly win 2 playoff games). We’ve seen what LeBron can do by himself (nearly win 2 playoff games) vs Boson. And you throw in CB1 to counter KG’s progressively limited offensive game, and I think you have an easy series. The Magic are a strong group but as we’ve seen for the past three years they are not built to win in the playoffs. While they have the best big man in the game (Dwight Howard) it is clear you need a frount court player to shoulder the scoring load during crunch time minutes and Jameer Nelson and Vincesanity are clearly not the men for the job.

That brings us to the Lakers, and while I will shy away from saying that it will be an easy series to win, I think we can all agree that it will be a close group of games that can swing anyway. If Ray Allen can harass Kobe to the degree he did in the 2010 Finals, there is no reason D-Wade or LeBron can be even more effective in 2011. Pau Gasol will be evenly countered with CB1 and LeBron can easily outproduce Artest AND Odom in the playoffs. From then on issues like Bynum’s health and the bench will take precedent.

4. Bench

And speaking about the bench, there is one ultimate truth in the playoffs and that is that bench importance is marginal at best. ALL NBA teams limit their rotation in the playoffs to 8 men. That means exactly 3 bench players will be utilized during the Playoffs. The Heat have already filled out 2 of the 3 (Udonis Haslem and Mike Miller) which if you consider their level of play, will be a POSITIVE come playoff time, certainly not a hindrance.

5. Championships are still REALLY hard to win

Let’s repeat this sentiment: Championships are REALLY hard to win. It is true, it is why Boston’s Big 3 has only won one championship, and why Kobe and Shaq’s Lakers didn’t win every championship they played together in. Certainly the Lakers are a pretty young team that will be formidable for the coming years. However; at same point lucky bounces have to give way to desire. When the Heat won in 2006, any lucky bounces were dictated by the will and desire of Dwayane Wade.

To that effect, look at Chris Bosh. He’s been deprived of advancing past the first round of the playoffs for his entire career. He’s had to listen to his best friends talk about the thrills of Championship chasing yet finally has the opportunity to chase his own. Look at Dwayane Wade now. What’s the last image South Florida had him? Screaming at his hand in raw emotion during the playoffs when he was etching his name in Playoff lore.. a lore that ends in the first round of the playoffs yet again. You don’t think he wants something more? Now LeBron James. Look into his eyes at any given point during any interview or welcome ceremony he’s been in. This is a man who has sacrificed EVERYTHING to statiate his desire and to enforce his will.

Am I saying I expect to win 8 consecutive championships? Not really. But I can’t believe any of these men will let a “lucky bounce” get in the way of a Championship.


airplane noir

June 21, 2010 - Leave a Response

– there is nothing more terrifying than a person with a fear of heights than when the aluminum turkey you’re flying in decides to hit a patch of “rough air”. Though it isn’t turbulence in general that’s pant-shittingly frightening, moreso the moments in flight when gravity decides to do its damn job and the plane drops in altitude for a split second. Think of it as a bad carnival ride, except the prospect of dying isn’t really that much of a joke, it’s pretty much what’s driving the whole fear of flying debacle. I may be overreacting though, this is coming from the kid that gets antsy when driving up and down Indiana’s hills over 15mph.

– profile pic whores are adaptive to any environment. You’d think there’d be some line that’s drawn between a “moment” that needs to immortalized with an expression of disinterest and fucking duck lips, but nah, then they wouldn’t be profile pic whores, just profile pic call girls. The 30 mintues of my flight, I literally was watching this chick about 6 rows ahead of me: pose, click, check to see if she looked too slutty (or not slutty enough!), mussed up the hair to achieve the perfect “I don’t care, NOT, I really fucking do” look, and repeat. It was like watching a animal planet special, except this time it wasn’t weird when I got wood.

– the absolute worst seat you can have on a plane is getting the middle seat in 3-seater rows. I’m sure there’s a place in hell where the most fucked up serial killers and baby rapists get put in this torture mechanism for eternity and I’m sure there’s a mention of this after waterboarding in the CIA’s interrogation manual. These seats weren’t made to accomodate anybody taller than 5’5 and there’s only enough legroom for you to ATTEMPT to readjust your nutsack, but ultimately failing anyways.

– it’s embarassing waking up from a quick nap during the flight with a massive boner and having everyone notice it too. how do you go about explaining yourself? “I’m sorry, the thought of having my bag come out first at baggage claim was just too much for me”

– miami looks like a piece of shit from a few thousand feet up.


June 6, 2010 - One Response

Midwestern, white people are too nice. Too courteous, too polite, too genteel, too damn accepting of any and all faults that you may harbor within that pitiful shell you call “self”.

I hate it.


Because that means this “courtesy” needs to be reciprocated in order for you not to feel like the biggest asswipe this side of the Dixie Line, even if you really are! I should know, I is.

Where’s the relevancy?

Check it, while doing work at the student union building I felt a rumbling in my stomach. An evil rumbling. A dark, archaic-maelstrom of anguish type of rumbling. Needless to say I began packing up my things in order to make the trek down a few winding halls to the men’s shit-pository (Eh, eh like it?), that is…until it moved. Where at one second this foul demon was festering in the pit of my stomach it had made the quantum leap to my lower intestine. Shit was about the go down… pun most definitely intended. I hid my most valuable things in my bookbag, tossed it under a couch and began speed walking in the direction of the restroom. However, what was supposed to be a 30 second walk for some fucked up spatial-relativity reasoning only apparent to Carl Sagan, it felt like it took a goddamn millenia. Each slap of my sandals on the cold, Venetian marble reverberated through my lower half like tremors, each vibration acting like a deranged eco-terrorist trying to blow the flood gates to a dam.

As I FINALLY got to the doors of the men’s restroom I notice that the ballroom to my right was being rented out by some lucky couple for their wedding reception, at that moment I noticed to myself:

“Wow those table centerpieces are super tacky-…”

Throwing the door open, hand in position to drop my shorts at whichever toilet bowl readily presented itself I was greeted to the sight of two PANT LESS caucasian males calmly dressing for what looked like a wedding reception replete with some tacky ass centerpieces. Calmly walking my way to the only toilet stall in the restroom, I quietly slid the stall lock in place and prepared myself for the forthcoming battle.

But I had to wait.

For you see I couldn’t just let loose this sumbitch and have these gents walking out smelling like doodoo and pity. Believe me, in Miami I wouldn’t have even hesitated for a second. I have no shame in blowing a dookie regardless of whose presence I’m in, because in Miami this type of restroom irreverence is expected. I can recall in high school, walking into the restroom and seeing a dude taking a shit in a urinal. Was I offended? No, just worried of all the bacteria dude was spreading on his cheeks by rubbing them on a urinal wall. Have some sense man, at least give yourself a few inches of breathing room for Christs sake.

So as I sat hunched upon my porcelain throne I waited. Waited for these fucks to finish dressing and get the hell out so I could do my damn business. But nah, life ain’t ever that simple. These fella’s had to take their sweet time to get dressed up for their reception, it’s kind of a big deal ya know, a wedding reception? Which left me dumbfounded and constipated as to why the hell would you put it off until minutes before the actual event. This was all compounded with the issue white people and their propensity to make small talk. These fellas had one of the most engaging conversations on winchester tie-knots that I was ever forced to bear witness to. Meanwhile I’m being paced through the levels of hell as this malevolent turd is trying to claw its way through my colon. I’m sweating, I’m fading in and out of consciousness, I’m wondering if this was how Elvis felt like before dipping on existence. Finally conversation began to die down, belt buckles were clasped, and I heard the emancipating slam of the door closing… and I was uplifted to a better place.

I’m not going to bother going into detail of the war-crimes committed on that toilet. Even Jesus had to turn away, grimacing, from our world for a moment. But I have no inhibitions from telling you all that I walked out of that restroom with a noticeable limp.


Back in the Motherland

May 26, 2010 - One Response

Loyal readers of SubConn, harken to my announcement!

Our fellow writer, editor, and broskie David has gone to Argentina for a brief hiatus to find himself in the world. Think Dave Chappelle, except not as Africa-ish-y.

Follow his adventures at!:

Roommate Story I wrote last year…

April 29, 2010 - Leave a Response

Having a roommate is much like the first few months of having a small puppy. When you first get him, you love him. It’s so cute, the puppy and your roommate, with that disheveled hair and their eerie tendencies. A puppy might like scratching its rear end on your Xbox remote control and your roommate might like doing the same thing. Or maybe even only vacuuming half the room—his half. It’s all too cute in the beginning. But eventually shit hits the fan… or the carpet, inside your shoe, on your pillow, in the case of the puppy. And your roommate will eventually shit, metaphysically as a human being.

My roommate has this trademark way of saying goodnight. He cordially and almost furtively goes around the room rearranging his belongings and slipping into a pair of pajama pants. He might slip his toothbrush and paste in his pocket and slip out of the room for a few moments, I really don’t know. But eventually, he’ll begin hovering around the light switch to the room. If I’m by myself I sometimes hardly even notice, but it becomes glaring when there are four, five, nay ten friends all frolicking in collegiate bliss in my room. Soon, without saying a word, he’ll hit the light switch and the room will plunge into darkness.

“And that’s when he put his D in her…” everyone always stops their conversations mid syllable. They look at me, almost questioningly, what is that white boy doing? He’ll make that perilous journey from one side of the room to the other, where his little ladder will carry him to his lofted bed. I have a recurrent dream where I saw off one of the legs of his loft with my teeth until it finally collapses and he face-plants down onto our steely floor. Maybe one day…

Anyway, it is 9:15 P.M. Let me repeat, it is niiiiiine fifteeeeeen. The Miami Heat are playing the Atlanta Hawks in a game of epic playoff proportions. My inner gut tells me that if the Heat don’t win this game, we will be swept yet again. There are ten minutes left to play in the THIRD quarter when all of a sudden the lights to my room go from sunrise to moonlight and I am clad in darkness. My roommate utters something about being sorry and that he knows I wanted to watch the game, something that maybe sounded like I should turn off the television. My fists clench, I shatter the remote control under my grip.

He climbs onto his bed.

“Uh hey Will, can you lower that a bit?”

I exhale. My nose is stuffy. It only gets me angrier. I stand up on a chair and look onto his bed until he turns around. He looks at me. I look into his eyes.

“You can fuck yourself,” I tell him.  His mouth opens, gaping. His bottom lip begins quivering and soon he mutates into an ugly tearfully sodden child. I punch him in the spleen.

That’s what I wish happened. But I’m a sucker for courtesy so I tone down the volume from the max 50 that it was on to a more bearable 48. Five minutes pass. Dwyane Wade drives to the rim on four defenders and scores. I let a loud whooooop of joy.

“Hey Will, do you think you can keep it down a bit?”

My jaws clench. I grab my peanut butter knife but I think twice. If I kill him now I would have to remove his body and I might miss the start of the fourth quarter.

“Sure thing bud,” I respond. I meant: “Any last words biyatch?”

A friend opens the door to my room. He asks me why I’m watching the game in the dark. I point up to where my roommate is now on his third sleep cycle and sleep-muttering something about unicorns penetrating his asshole. My friend snickers and noob chops him. I feel like battle-axe chopping him.

D-Wade hits a miraculous three point shot which my friend and I can only silently celebrate in delight. I would have been cartwheeling if I could see the rest of my room.


Dj ChillyWilly says…

April 29, 2010 - Leave a Response

White women,

If I’m in the middle of a set, trying to set the mood with some pre-Black Album Jay with a dash of De La Soul… don’t you dare come up to me and ask me to play some goddamn Ke$ha. I will sonically slap the shit out of you.


Dj ChillyWilly (aka Leupe aka Leu aka that asian kid that acts black)


November 23, 2009 - One Response

Sometimes you have to ask yourself …  am I a guitarist or a professional string tuner?



November 20, 2009 - Leave a Response

Fatigue is the ultimate cock block..   =/


Gettin’ Down like the Economy

November 12, 2009 - Leave a Response

Waitress: “Anything else?”

Yoda: “Yes. We would like our meal comped.”

Waitress: “Your meal will be comped.”

Mace Windu: “Stop that! What happened to only using the Force for knowledge and defense?”

Yoda: “I was. Defending my wallet I was from the evil price hikes.”

With loving despair,



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