***EXTRA EFFORT HUSTLE POINTS***

Random Thoughts, Tidbits, Trivia, &

Other Stuff In No Particular Order

Dennis Rodman is a Hustle Hall of Fame Hustler.

I miss The Worm.

Dennis Rodman was as entertaining as any NBA legend ever. Hey ABC, how about doing a "Where are they now?" piece on Rodman during the Finals?

My money says he's somewhere in Vegas right now.

Trevor Ariza needs a nickname or at least the Lakers need to name a play in his honor ala Michael Cooper's "Coop-a-loop." I believe the former UCLA Bruin will earn it organically through his play during the Finals. Maybe the Ariza-loop? Or possibly Tre' Ariza? As in 3. Or finally, Trevor A-Three-za. We'll see...

ZenMaster Phil Jackson unleashes Ariza defensively like a smaller version of Scottie Pippen. Kobe has bought into the ball hawking style too. They attack opponents like hungry Dobermans.

I can imagine Phil channeling Mr. Higgins from Magnum P.I. "Zeus! Apollo! Attack!!"

110%

Kobe Bryant is living up to the Michael Jordan comparisons. He sounds like him, plays like him, and now he has developed Jordan's steely assassin's mentality. I think Kevin Garnett taught Kobe his last and best lesson.

Carpe Diem or else!


Syrupy smooth Lamar Odom needs his own candy bar. Obviously, it would be called the "Lamar Bar." Evidently, he has a serious sugar tooth and really knows his sweet treats. I see an endorsement deal in L.O.'s future. Snickers? Gonna be a while? I think not.

I plan on grilling and enjoying hot dogs on the 4th of July while watching Manny Ramirez's return to Dodger baseball. I am eager to hear what Vin Scully has to say. How will Vinny handle it? I wonder if he will express his opinion. I doubt it. Class act.


How do I feel about roids? What do we tell the kids?

Well, I feel the same way regarding Manny as I do about most athletes using (Performance Enhancing Drugs) PED's. It's a teachable moment. Tell the children the truth. Most PED's are medically unsafe, morally wrong and/or illegal, dishonest, and selfish. Who knows what these drugs will cause in 10, 15, or 20 years from now. What about grandchildren? Yikes! It's not worth it to possibly shorten your life.

Manny, I ain't mad atcha. And Baseball is nowhere as bad as football. Oops. SHHHH! The NFL and steroids are never to be spoken of or written about... It's Verboten!

FLOOR BURNS

I am hoping for a seven game Stanley Cup Finals so Pittsburgh and Detroit businesses can make a little cash but I'm always amazed at how poorly the NHL markets itself. Why did the NHL schedule their games at the same time as the NBA Finals? It is so stupid. Hello. Stagger the games so more people can watch your wonderful game. Duh.

The only active NBA player who might know the Triangle Offense better than Kobe is Derek Fisher. D-Fish is a Hustle Hall of Fame Hustler, no doubt. On the court, he has plenty of bruises, floor burns, and has taken enough charges to prove it. And off the court, Derek Fisher is a role model extraordinaire.

Derek Fisher (above) is a Hustle Hall of Fame Hustler.

Big Ben Roethlisberger is looking as big as ever. He is enjoying the off season and has matured into a pretty cool, down to earth kind of guy. It seems he has the same diet as I used to have but Ben's young enough to burn it off in training camp... until he turns thirty. Then he'll need a nutritionist.

Big Ben at the Cavs/Magic game

The Van Gundy brothers (Stan & Jeff) could make extra cash as celebrity look-a-likes. Stan and that mustache look like Ron Jeremy and Jeff will always be Beetlejuice to me.

Jeremy or Van Gundy?

Finally, LeBron James is better than Kobe but the Cavs are not as good as the Lakers. Kobe is the Master and LeBron is still Grasshopper.

Speaking of David Carradine and Kung Fu, he was one groovy Zen dude. RIP brother, you will be missed.

David Carradine as Kwai Chang Caine on Kung Fu.

Thanks for reading The Hustle and remember... Give peace a chance.

White House becomes Champion for Malaria

NOTHING BUT NETS ARE WORKING!

KEEP IT UP HUSTLERS!! Become a MVP!!!

The celeb and non-profit worlds are still abuzz with recent commitments to fighting malaria, but now there are new Champions getting into the game.

The Obama administration announced a commitment to spend $63 billion over the next six years to fight global diseases and provide more aid for children’s health in developing countries.

Read this statement commending the announcement from the UN Foundation’s Vice President of Global Health, Dr. Daniel Carucci.

This is great news for Nothing But Nets.

Some of that money will be going towards malaria, and we are so excited to know that we’re not in this fight alone! We’ve seen in recent months that malaria prevention is a high priority for our government, as shown by President Obama’s statement on World Malaria Day and a congressional resolution to commemorate April 25.


Mostly, it’s exciting seeing MORE people want to help, and that our goal of covering Africa with bed nets is not so far off! The more MVPs and Champions we can gather for our cause, the better – don’t you think? And remember, it's easy to make a difference as an individual, too!

Just a $10 donation sends a net and saves a life.

Also... The T-shirts are VERY COOL. Donate, get a shirt, and be the envy of the neighborhood.

Thanks for reading The Hustle and remember... give peace a chance.

http://www.nothingbutnets.net/

TORN

Hi De Ho Hustlers… Happy Seis de Mayo!

Yes, it has been a while and I am truly AMAZED some of you have inquired about The Hustle. I'm also very humbled, grateful, and genuinely welcome each and every one of you back to Casa de Hustle.

Thanks.

Well first off, I'm pleased to report all things in Hustletown are absolutamente perfecto. The actress wife is acting and the writer husband is writing and this Obama kid seems to be working out. Still, winning feels a little awkward. I think I’ll have a Dos Equis just for the experience. Stay thirsty my friends.

Meanwhile, here in sunny socialist Santa Monica, we are all just twittering and dribbling with playoff joy as two of my surrogate "sons," LeBron James and Kobe Bryant, careen towards one another on a collision course in the 2009 NBA playoffs. One thing is for sure, NBA Commish David Stern and all his subtle yet lovable corporate sponsors are salivating like Pavlov pooches for this year's bone crunching monster mash-up possibility.

So, how’s each team doing? Let's start in the east.

As for LeBron’s Cleveland Cavaliers, their playoff games have about as much drama as NBC has on their new fall schedule for the 10 PM time slot. Zero, zilch, nada. No drama Obama. (Jay Leno? Really? How about maybe giving Stephen Colbert or God forbid… a woman like Amy Goodman five hours of prime time network airtime but I digress.)

Back to the playoffs. Playoffs? PLAYOFF?!

Those young and feisty Atlanta Hawks still haven’t learned to fly and neither the Orlando Magic nor the Boston Celtics are deep enough to withstand the wave of Wine & Gold flowing from the North Coast (Northern Ohio). One caveat though - If Kevin Garnett’s knee miraculously heals, Boston becomes a legit threat to the Kingdom. But, if no miracle cure in Beantown for KG, then The Mistake by the Lake becomes The Best Location in the Nation and the North Shore rules the East once again.

What about west of the Mississippi?

Kobe’s Los Angeles Lakers cakewalked into the Finals last spring and woulda coulda been champions if not for the old school thumping they took from their arch nemesis, the great but thuggish world champ Celts. And unless a 7’6” Houston Rocket named Yao Ming and his wacky cosmonaut sidekick Ron Artest somehow stop Kobe & Company or perhaps golden Nuggets Chauncey, Melo, & The Birdman can outscore the Lakers, then the Western Conference will once again be adorned with purple and gold.

Ho-hum.

The Hustle has been predicting this colossal match-up between The L-Train and The Black Mamba for many a year but something funny always happens on the way to democracy. But now, finally, their day has arrived. THE inevitable confrontation is here... well, almost.

And I still don’t know what to do, what to feel, or how to react.

Don’t get me wrong Hustlers, I love the Lakers but truth be told, when my pasty fresh face hit the L.A scene way back in 1990, I was a LakerHater (GASP! Say it ain’t so, Joe.). You see, my people come from Indiana. I was born and raised in Ohio. And as a whiteboy/basketball nut in the Midwest, go figure, I was a Larry Bird fan. It was almost automatic. I was a die hard Hick from French Lick disciple upon my arrival but quickly realized hating the Lakers gravely cut into my tips as a bartender in Tinseltown.

Slowly, night after night, season after season, the sweet songs and rapid fire delivery of legendary Laker announcer Chick Hearn (Miss you Chicky baby!) and Jerry West's shrewd acquisitions of Shaquille O’Neal, Kobe Bryant, and Zen Master Coach Phil Jackson cemented my love for the Purple & Gold. Even after The Big Nickname (Shaq) bolted the Lake Show in favor of the tranquility of the Miami Heat and DeWayne Wade (Not to mention the Sunshine State's tax codes)- I STILL loved the artists formerly known as the Minneapolis Lakers. They were my team in my new adopted home.

For the record, I have ALWAYS had nothing but love for Magic Johnson. My brother and I used to watch him at Michigan State back on the farm in the pre-cable days with a high powered antenna that picked up his games on WKBD out of Detroit.

But then one night at the end of the Clinton era, I saw something I've never seen before.

It was on late night cable. It was a force of nature. IT was a 30-year-old-man-trapped-in-a-16-year-old-linebacker-point-guard-body named LeBron James. He was this over-hyped, super talented, phenomenal, Ohio state champion basketball/football playing man/child without a father who was touted as the next basketball Jesus. His games were already on national TV and he was only in high school. He was bigger than Maurice Clarett.

Let's just say my basketball life changed forever.

I grew up a couple hours west of Cleveland in Toledo so you might think I’ve always been a closet Cavs fan, right? Not a fat girl’s chance on America’s Next Top Model. (Where is Susan Boyle when you need her?)

Since the Cavs inaugural season in 1970 and basically all the way through the 90’s, this was the only franchise who made the Clippers look like winners. Even when the Cavs had decent teams, they would either get crushed by the likes of the Da Mighty Bulls or crumble under devastating injuries.

Once, drunk at Frosty’s Family Bar on Put-In-Bay Island off the North Coast, I slightly remember watching His Airness (Michael Jordan) destroy the Cavs and Craig Ehlo with “The Shot” (One of his first buzzer beaters) in Cleveland in 1989. If the Cavs didn’t break your heart, they surely were guaranteed to mismanage their way to a lottery pick only to blow the draft year after year.

I cruelly laughed off the Cavs and never considered them a serious sports franchise. I definitely wasn’t a CLEVELAND fan of anything. They haven't won a championship in ANY sport since I've been alive. Talk about a long cold streak, the only thing hot enough in Cleveland to catch fire when I was growing up was the river. Even the FM rock station (100.7 WMMS) was called the Buzzard. I'm telling ya, the scene was dying, man. NFL Hall of Famer Jim Brown was their last champion in 1965.

Until… King James. His bright burning star has brought this town back to life.

In fact, he shines so bright and lively it really didn’t matter where this kid was drafted to perform, I was going to watch him play wherever, whenever, and as much as possible. At the time he came into The Association, I was bartending at various establishments who aired most every NBA game so I got to watch him AND get paid. That was nice. Now we live in the satellite/Tivo/Internet era, and I hardly miss either LeBron or Kobe play. I do miss getting paid to watch b-ball while drinking booze for free.

Trust me, I am an expert on Kobe and LeBron and one thing is a given: LeBron and Kobe are the two best players on the face of the planet. Period. Their comparison is unavoidable.

So finally, after long deliberation, countless hours... years of studying, dissecting, enjoying, and witnessing 99% of both of these virtuoso hoopsters' games, including their Gold Medal winning Redeem Team effort in the 2008 Summer Olympics, I have painfully come to my conclusion.

Here it is - The Hustle’s OFFICIAL OPINION on Kobe and LeBron:

I am torn. Truly.

I love them both but Cleveland has suffered long enough. The Hustle believes the basketball Gods will bless the Cavaliers, LeBron James, and the entire city of Cleveland with their first championship in 45 years when The King raises the Larry O'Brien Championship Trophy in June.

But still, all this does NOT help me know how I am supposed to FEEL. And there's still so many unanswered questions.

Will their match up be like Bird and Magic? Jordan and Malone? Jordan and Barkley? Russell vs. Chamberlain? Or maybe Cain and Able?

Oh, I'm so conflicted who to pull for.

Lately, I've empathized with Archie Manning (Father of NFL quarterbacks Payton & Eli, who are both Super Bowl champions) because I too am unable to choose a favorite son. My emotions are as a tortured as a Shakespearean character or something (“To be or not Kobe?” Or maybe, “The play’s the thing wherein I'll catch the conscience of the King").

King LeBron James indeed.

During the 2009 NBA Finals, I might resort to taking long drives up the PCH listening to books on tape or start a bird watching club because I just can't stand to see either player or team lose. I just can’t face it. Who do I want to win? Who do I want to lose?

I DON’T KNOW!

One thing I've decided and know for sure is this - I’m going to buy each one of my “sons” jerseys then find a tailor to split the jerseys in half down the seams and create two hybrid jerseys so I will never have to lose again.

Bottom line: I’m torn.

Thanks for reading The Hustle and remember, give peace a chance.

Catch The Express!

Lately, I haven't been particularly excited or motivated about running out and seeing Hollywood films like I once did. Frankly, life is quite busy now and my well worn living room is far more convenient, comfortable, affordable, and enjoyable than most modern movie going environs.

What can I say? The movie biz is a dog eat dog world and we're all living in a wait for the used DVD era.

Being a broke as a joke armchair sportswriter and a bit of a homebody has made it pretty tough to beckon me out from my humble but cozy abode. Leaving mi casa means fighting through Los Angeles traffic, enduring rude audiences, sticky floors, snooty attendants, and exorbitantly loco cineplex prices all to experience a picture the old fashioned way... on the big screen. It has become a rare event.

But every now and then a certain film bursts through the minutia to call me out and force me to enter one of those El Grande I-MAX theatres.

One such film had me at hello - The Express.

Ernie Davis’ amazing life story is not only poignant in regards to football, race, and the American past - it also reflects today's America in respect to the central issue of the 2008 Presidential election - racial prejudice.

The film wisely explores some of the same questions white Americans faced nearly 50 years ago about football, the Heisman Trophy, and tolerance that we are dealing with today in politics.

Is America ready for someone other than a white man to cross the color line and become a hero? A Heisman Trophy winner? A President?

Ernie Davis’ life history is germane to the history being made by Barack Obama today.

Some stories must be told. Catch The Express!

Viewing this inspirational tale though a prism of our current, “take off the gloves” angry mentality that some people are expressing right now at this very second about Barack Obama are some of the same exact feelings expressed in reaction to Ernie Davis being the first African-American to win the Heisman Trophy. Those old racist feelings of days gone by seem to mirror the irrational resistance to Barack Obama that we’re witnessing today.

This picture was worth every penny of my hard earned (but depleting in value) cash. As a son, brother, citizen, uncle, and most importantly as a teacher I was pleased that I'd plopped my overworked underpaid butt down at my local megaplex. It was worth it for the history lesson alone. As an avid amateur sports historian who's read a sports page everyday since I could read, I was shocked that I had never heard of Ernie Davis until now. For the record, I grew up despising the Browns.

Some stories are not told because they are the too truthful. Catch The Express! It is a must see.

Growing up in a typical rust belt city like Toledo, Ohio, we were taught that everyone in America was and is equal. But I never had a Black classmate in grade school. I was never taught about the great Cleveland Browns running back known as The Elmira Express and how he was drafted by the NFL but never made it onto a professional field because tragedy struck the star before he ever got his chance to shine.

I didn’t know that the myth of equality taught in school was just that... a myth.

Ernie Davis, among countless other African Americans from generations past, have already shattered and crossed color lines time and time again but Barack Obama and his supporters find themselves up against some of the same types of fear, hatred, and bigotry once again.

My beloved Ohio childhood in the 1970's and 1980's was sadly marked with my own confrontations with fear, ignorance, and racial insensitivity. I was raised in a house and neighborhood that referred to African Americans in the crudest of terms and had little or no real interaction with Black people. We did watch people of color on TV (Sanford & Son, Chico & the Man, The Jeffersons, Good Times) and in movies (Blazing Saddles, Beverly Hills Cop) but they weren’t real. They were only allowed to be funny. My first real interaction with African Americans didn’t happen until Junior High.

In 7th grade, I tragically betrayed my first and very cool Black friend when he walked into the gym locker room from behind and caught me saying the “N” word to another white boy. I was trying to be funny but wasn’t. I turned around and saw my unnamed friend’s face. He was horrified, hurt, and frozen. His eyes cut right through me. I melted away awash in shame. This moment still shakes my soul and leaves me humiliated and is always with me. I knew I was wrong.

I didn’t have anything against Black people but I had fallen prey to that insidious monster mental disease known as racism. Right then, I promised myself I’d change. I knew I didn’t feel any differently about my Black friends than my white friends so, why be an idiot? I didn’t hate anyone. Never have, never will. I was being a follower and decided to become a leader.

Later that year, I invited my Black basketball team mates to my house so they wouldn’t have to hangout at the school waiting for practice to start for two hours after classes let out. They lived too far from school to make it all the way home and back again. We became close friends and I realized I had changed. It felt right and true. Although my Granddad, who was a bit like Archie Bunker, did embarrass me by telling them that they were two of the nicest “colored boys” he’d ever met while giving us apples. I yelled, “Granddad, people don’t say colored anymore, it’s Black.” He said he was sorry. They didn’t seem upset. How could they be? It was an all-white neighborhood. He was a man. They were kids.

When I was a freshman our high school had a predominantly white student body. The racial make up was 85% White to 15% Black. But by my senior year the ratio was closer to 60% White and 40% Black. I witnessed several incidents between my white brethren and Black soul sisters and brothers that have permanently seared my memory like acid. Our school bussed Black kids in from the inner city and a lot of the white kids didn't take too kindly to outsiders and accept them with warmth. Most of the incidents were simply kids being badly informed kids but that does not mean racism and white privilege didn't rear its ugly head.

We were very segregated at lunch, in our bands and clubs, and inside the locker rooms and class rooms. Very few of the AP (advanced placement) or foreign language classes had Black kids enrolled in them even though two years of a foreign language were required to get into college. That’s systematic institutional racism!

Sorrowfully, the most memorable clash happened during my senior year in 1984. It was a very ugly name calling incident in which a close friend and fellow white football team member who was my starting center (I was the quarterback on the team) was asked in front of our entire classroom why he didn't like a particular classmate who happened to be Black. Our class had already been forced to sit in a circle facing each other by our teacher, counselors, and dean to defuse the tense altercations and work it out.

Our verbally assaulted Black female class mate also happened to be a gifted basketball player who led the girl's team in scoring despite having only three fingers on her left hand. She was very cute, nice, and well liked by everyone - Black and White. My former white classmate, buddy, and the guy who's ass it was I had to put my hands under when he snapped the ball to me, sat back, crossed his arms, smiled, then calmly stated in front of everyone exactly why he didn't like her.

He said, "Because, she's a stupid nigger bitch."

We heard the words as they just hung in the air for what seemed an eternity. The room fell silent in shock. I saw an awkward teen sitting there with a stupid, smug, stubborn look on his face who didn’t care what anyone thought. I saw the dean, a very wise dark Black man in his late fifties with graying hair and bloodshot eyes, maintain his control and teach us how to react. He looked into all of our eyes and then turned to my former buddy. We heard him calmly say, “Come with me, please.” We watched them disappear towards the office. Our classmate was suspended and forced to write an apology to the girl and her family. We watched him apologize to the entire class upon his return but I knew he really didn't mean it. Witnessing these events opened our hearts and minds to the destructiveness of racial hate.

I tried forgiving my friend but I never forgot. It was never the same. Nothing ever is after something like that.

The Express once again proved to me that history never dies.

Right now, in this very pregnant moment in American history, we must all embrace our differences in order to change, grow, and learn as a country. We must overcome our past and seize this moment which has been thrust upon us and not let anyone throw it away or steal our history. If you have a friend or family member who is still afraid of facing change and is reluctant to move forward and cross the color line then take them to see The Express. It will help them look back and understand that we've already been here so many times before.

We've been duped. By the news media, by politicians, and by false promises of movie makers. We've all trusted those slick studio trailers designed by Ivy League marketeers who can manipulate our emotions. We've believed boatloads of charming celebrity pitches on Letterman between witty jokes and repartee only to walk out halfway through another disappointing movie scratching our heads asking why we went to see that piece of junk. But this story - steeped in history - has risen up and piqued my jaded interest and found my shrinking but surprisingly vulnerable sweet spot. I think it is my soul. Something from the past triggered that little voice inside my brain and kept telling me to go see this incredible true story about football hero Ernie Davis.

There it is again. Catch the Express! Did you hear it?

Don’t be left behind standing at the station. Besides, my team has a bye week.

By the way, the beautiful woman in the above photo is April Grace, my beloved wife of nearly 17 years. She appeared in the critically acclaimed movie Finding Forrester, which starred Sean Connery and Rob Brown in his movie acting debut. Mr. Brown is the actor who stars as Ernie Davis in The Express and delivers an Oscar winning performance. April says he was a great kid too.

Thanks for reading the Hustle and remember… Give peace a chance.

Love, Danny

Eight Is Enough Already

Ladies & Gentlemen,

The Hustle happily returns from a glorious summer break to present to you... wait for it... wait...

Your 2008 United States Olympic Swim Team:

Nathan Adrian, Ricky Berens, Ian Crocker, Mark Gangloff, Matt Grevers, Brendan Hansen, Larsen Jensen, Cullen Jones, Klete Keller, Ryan Lochte, Jason Lezak, Aaron Peirsol, Scott Eric Shanteau, Gil Stovall, Peter Vanderkaay, Erik Vendt, David Walters, Mark Warkentin, Garrett Weber-Gale, and Ben Wildman-Tobriner.

Oops, almost forgot one.

Last but not least there's some human/fish hybrid kid from Baltimore named Micheal Phelps too. (Applause here.)

Ahh, drink them in folks. There they are. Love them all.

Better love them now because by October neither you nor I will probably be able to remember their names. But don't feel bad because they will soon become a surefire winning bet in sports bars across America everywhere. Here's how it will work - Just sip your beer and ask:

"Can someone, anyone, name four members of the 2008 U.S. swim team?"

Then sit back, order an appetizer, maybe another brew, and get ready for the cash to roll in almost as fast as it does for Phelps. The drooling Madison Avenue advertisers are fighting over the rights for his image to assault us with. Sure, someone might remember two swimmers, maybe three, but don't worry, you'll clean up. So, remember those names because other than Phelps, once these amphibian boys return stateside, it will be the last time you'll hear their names. All but a few are certain to return to obscurity or selling insurance.

"The help from these guys made it all possible." That's what Phelps said after his record eighth gold medal. Sadly, just as 1972 seven time gold medal champion Mark Spitz before him, Phelps will probably be the only swimmer that everyone remembers. Trust me, the rest of the guys will do okay because winning a gold medal is worth its weight in lifetime financial security. But unless they can dance on TV like Emmit Smith, then their 15 minutes of fame might last as long as the U.S. Women's soccer team. Who? Right.

I have to admit, I did not catch Olympic fever. Although I did catch some fencing at two in the morning that was strangely enjoyable but made me wonder how did fencing become an Olympic event anyway?

I watched a couple of the U.S. "Redeem Team" basketball games to see Kobe & company but mostly, I chose baseball, preseason NFL games, and even DVDs of the old 1950's TV series "Playhouse 90" over watching the terrible NBC Olympic coverage. Why? Too many damn commercials, too sappy, and NBC hardly ever broadcast events I wanted to see live on the west coast. I knew the results and found it quite boring without the built-in drama of real time. I wasn't alone. Many people have pointed this out. Bret Lewis, a local sportscaster said, "I don't want to complain about NBC tape-delaying the events, but last night I watched a swimming race. And the winner was Mark Spitz."

Meanwhile, in real time, the world keeps spinning.

Russia and Georgia went to war, which is a major deal, but our President was too busy to come home because he was having a merry time in China on our dime playing grab ass with our women volleyball players. Hey, Misty May-Treanor and Kerri Walsh are hot, but come on, it was just too much to stomach.

Pepsi sprinted to lead the pack of wild western corporations lining up to pander to the Chinese government for a chance to "brand" a billion Chinese consumers by painting giant soda cans all red.

Are consumers now cattle? What, drink a Pepsi for Communism?

By the way, I have not and will not drink any soda drink until every soft drink company gets rid of the corn syrup that they sneak into their unhealthy products. It is making American kids fat and diabetic. Even sugar is healthier than disgusting corn syrup, which is very hard to digest and chokes arteries. Plus, do Chinese people really need KFC, Starbucks, and the Golden Arches?

How about first helping the victims of the Sichuan earthquake before getting a Burger King.

Democracy Now with Amy Goodman, one of the best sources for truthful news and information, reported before the Olympics that Tibetan protesters were going to be shut down in China and they were. But you didn't see it if you watch the mainstream media. They didn't air those monk loving peaceniks, who were silenced faster than a gay wedding here in one of our "red" American states.

Rosie O'Donnell, Ellen Degeneres, and their sexy trophy wives better watch out.

The mainstream media was quick to condemn the Chinese women's gymnastic team for being under age but still loves and praises the man responsible for the terrible trend of younger, skinnier gymnasts - Béla Károlyi. This nut job has abused young girls for decades and according to acclaimed sports author Dave Zirin, Bella called the Chinese gymnasts "half people."

Maybe they do need the Big Mac.

The Chinese responded to allegations of their girls being too small, thin, and young by simply suggesting that maybe U.S. athletes are bigger, more muscular, and stronger because they are all on steroids.

Ouch!

But the number of athletes breaking world records is higher than the number of hot dogs Joey Chestnut can eat at Nathan's in Coney Island. And their record times do raise my steroid antenna. Sorry, the same thought crossed my mind in 1998 when Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa were filling up a swimming pool full of home runs and look how that turned out. And the list of fans being sunk by steroids is long. Olympic experts said the amazing swim times are because the pool is deeper and the outside lanes were not used. And every swimmer in the world is suddenly faster than Aquaman? Something seems a little fishy to me and reminds me of the Tour de France. Paging Lance Armstrong and Floyd Landis. Table for two. (For the record, I love Lance Armstrong but there are questions.)

Supposedly, Olympic testing is very thorough and cheating is impossible but where have we heard that before? I wonder. Maybe we should check the international swimmers' feet for gills or water wings. Or maybe they all should pee in a cup and not just not the pool. Either way it is time to pull the plug.

That said, if Michael Phelps is clean, and I truly hope he and his swim mates are all drug free, then his story is one for the ages. Amazing. He's up there with Jesse Owens, Bruce Jenner, Edwin Moses, and Carl Lewis.

He's an instant American icon. That is, until American Idol returns. Basically, I can sum up the summer sports season with two words:

FINALLY. FOOTBALL.

Welcome back Hustlers.

Remember, please give peace a chance.

Summer Reprint: Ode to Vin Scully

Hey all ya Hustlers,

Sweet, sweet summer has finally arrived and if you've been keeping up with The Hustle then you know that my predictions were almost perfect.

As in almost perfectly WRONG.

Oh well, what can I say? I am a rookie blogger after all, let's chalk it up to first year jitters. But don't worry, I'll get 'em next time, just like those Chicago Cubbies. (Okay one more: I predict this is their year! I just can't stop pulling for underdogs.)

As for the past year, I've had the privilege of working at the fantastic Village Glen West School teaching autistic children. It was an amazing, rewarding experience and tons of fun. I am looking forward to this summer to work on a few projects, do a little traveling, and basically just hang out with my foxy wife, April Grace. (Who, by the way, recently guest-starred on the Ghost Whisperer and Grey's Anatomy and also has two movies coming out - American Son starring Nick Cannon and Bolden! starring Anthony Mackie. Stay tuned Hustlers.)

Lately, we've been busy caring for our cute little dog, Bubby, who is almost 19-years-old now. (That's 133 in dog years. Wow!) The Bubbster is nearing the end of his rainbow and we're savoring every little moment with him, which led me to choosing "Miss You Before You're Gone" as my 1st Summer Reprint.

I recently received a call from the office of the number one selling sports author in the U.S. for the past five years, Rich Wolfe. They interviewed me about my following piece on the one and only Vin Scully for Wolfe's upcoming tribute book about Mr. Scully.

So, take a moment and give a listen to a Dodgers game. You'll be glad you did.

Enjoy the summer and I bid you all adieu until The Hustle returns in August.

Love,

Danny, April, & Bubby

* * * * *

Miss You Before You're Gone

In less time than it takes to wait in line for a plain frozen yogurt with blueberries and kiwi at Pinkberry, the Los Angeles Dodgers will begin their 60th and final season of spring training at Vero Beach. After more than half a century of sweat, morning thunderstorms, fungos, and Sandy Koufax pitching tips under the hot Florida sun, the artists formerly known as the Brooklyn Bums will lace ‘em up for the last time from the Atlantic coast.

Bummer dude.

The boys of summer sever yet another tie to their colorful Trolley Dodger heritage and fly the coop from the city that serves as headquarters for the Piper Aircraft Corporation after 55 seasons in Holman Stadium, which opened in 1953.

Adios Dodgertown. Later Grapefruit League. See ya snowbirds.

Next spring, they head to the Wild West to christen a brand new 10,000 seat $76 million facility in the Phoenix suburb of Glendale, Arizona. The 2009 Dodgers will share their fresh digs with the Chicago White Sox. Did I just say share? It seems kind of weird for a team with such a storied and prestigious past as the Dodgers to be sharing their training facility with another team.

It’s sort of like time-sharing a new convertible with your mom. Or like wearing someone else’s BVD’s. Eew… Yuck.

Don’t get me wrong, team owner Frank McCourt has plenty of reasons for heading west, in fact, millions of them. For instance, televised Cactus League games will most likely attract more eyeballs because they’ll finally be playing in the same time zone. And southern California hardball nuts will be able to daytrip to camp or take off for a weekend vacation to check out their beloved former Brooklyn Bridegrooms.

And, of course, there’s nothing like that new stadium smell. Ahh. But still. What about tradition? Heritage? Loyalty? Your own parking spot?

I never liked the Lakers and Clippers or the Jets and Giants playing in the same buildings. It doesn’t seem right. But that’s only a small reason why I’m waxing so un-poetically about the past.

The real reason I feel so nostalgic about the Dodgers leaving the tropical confines of Vero Beach is because it reminds me of something very sad (besides steroids) that looms over all of baseball – All too soon, and much to my sorrow, the Dodgers will have to say goodbye their richest, greatest, classiest link to their majestic past - Vin Scully.

Mr. Scully enters his 58th season and, who knows, maybe his last season as the voice of the Dodgers. God forbid. He turns 82 on November 29th. And, just like I still hope for kids everywhere that Santa Clause is real, I hope for our sake that the Bronx native Vincent Edward Scully never retires. Future generations ought to be able to get to know him too. But even fairytales have a conclusion. All seasons come to an end. And, despite his amazing longevity he is, after all, only human. Sadly, at some point the bell tolls for all of us and inevitably Vinny will have to vacate his magical position behind his microphone. At most, he’ll step down within a season or two.

As Vinny says, "I caaan't believe it!"

So, here’s some friendly advice for anyone within earshot. And this goes for all you Dodger haters too. We know you’re out there. Take a little time from your hectic life and catch Sir Vin calling a game or two with his gifted smooth voice before it is too late. Put down the crackberry, (but not the Pinkberry) stop texting, get off those whacked websites, and find an afternoon or evening to just sit back and listen to Vin weave his fanciful yarns before he’s gone. Listen to him, stream him, podcast, him, watch him, steal him off your neighbors basic cable; no matter how you get him, just promise yourself one thing – you’ll try.

Wash the car, head to the beach, go driving, jogging, whatever; as long as soothing Vin accompanies you. Your stress will melt away with each golden syllable. The still red-headed Mr. Scully’s perfect style is somehow both erudite and folksy at the same time. He can work in world history, Hollywood tales, a player’s family tree, Shakespearean sonnets, a birthday wish here and there, and yet never misses a single pitch. Then, between innings, you’ll hear his long running Farmer John commercials that, I know for a fact, have converted countless starving vegetarians back to meat. No one can resist his enticing and endearing Dodgerdog promos.
Mmm…Dodgerdogs.

Trust me, listening to the words, wisdom, and poetry of the former Fordham University standout will add rings to your tree and put a smile on your face. And, as a bonus, for the first time since 1988, the Dodgers actually have a shot at getting back into the Fall Classic. This is one of the most anticipated seasons in years for Big Blue. But much more on that later this season.For now, I’m happy I found you, or you found me, and I hope that you take my counsel to relax a spell with Saint Vincent before his honeyed voice goes silent. He’s the sweetest man on the airwaves.

Vinny, I miss you before you’re gone.

* * * * *

On a personal note – I look forward to you coming back to my little feature, The Hustle. I promise to be honest, share my feelings, think before I write, and tell you everything I know about all things sports. You’ll get my humble opinions, ridiculous rants, and silly tirades. Cockamamie theories, new ideas, and half-baked predictions; in other words, the very best I have to offer. I know you won’t agree with my perspective all the time, hell, you might not ever agree with me, but I truly welcome your comments, complements, and critiques. Just try to be fair and informed.

Remember, stayed tuned to Vinny, please read The Hustle by Danny Russell, and give peace a chance.

Very Funny... NOT!

Let's get one thing straight - I love the NBA. I mean truly love the game. I watch as many games in HD as my life allows and I have the astronomical DirecTV bill to prove it. I've witnessed 95% of all LeBron's games as a Cav and I can count the number of Laker games I've missed on one hand since moving to L.A. in 1990. I surf the tube nightly for the best games and always find at least one game in each time zone worth watching.

The Association has the world's best players competing at the highest level in the universe but the networks (ABC, ESPN, TNT) are slowly trying to kill the game because as the NBA playoffs heat up, the broadcasts cool off and the coverage gets worse and worse. And their over commercialism has been going on for years. Especially after Rupert's FOX came into existence and the Mickey Mouse led Mouseketeers bought ESPN.

Don't get me wrong, there's still some great broadcasters, announcers, color commentators, and personalities out there like Hubie Brown, Dick Stockton, Doris Burke, Ernie Johnson, Kenny Smith, Steven A. Smith, Charley Barkley, Bill Walton, Mike Tirico, and tons of others but more and more each season the lazy, money-grubbing, corporate networks seem to be trying to ruin the game.

The proof is in the pudding.

Try and make sense of the discombobulated out-of-sequence replays or ignore the endless mind numbing promos for their mostly unwatchable and ridiculous programs. Or just try understanding their dizzying distracting graphics, which usually have nothing to do with the action on the floor, and hardly ever make any sense.

Secretly, I think the big wig network execs hate and resent the league (just like the corporate newsies hate Obama) because the fact is sports (and now politics) are dominated by African American men and almost always beat out their pitiful mostly white counter programming in the ratings (See PGA w/o Tiger and stay tuned to the fall election).

The status quo simply can't resist the profitability of the NBA and sorry Hillary, McBush, and all you corporate newsies - ya'll nothin' but straight playa hate'n. Period.

During the regular season and early rounds of the playoffs, local broadcasters are still contractually allowed to show road games to regional audiences and their coverage of the games are actually telecast as real sporting events. The games aren't just entertaining marketing backdrops or a ploy to get more eyeballs and exposure for more lame ass crappy network programing.

TNT is the least guiltiest network but lately they've fallen into the transparent practice of making broadcasters such as the talented, cool, entertaining, and former NBA great Reggie Miller say, "Very funny," after in-game spots for TBS and TNT's line-up of buffoonerish sitcoms masked as passable comedies.

Gimme a break. Have you seen any of these shows Reggie?

Please.

As Charles Barkley says, they're "turrr-ble."

But, by far, the worst culprit is ABC. Which, by the way,stands for Anything But Color and although it's another column I must ask - Whatever happened to all the black characters on Lost? Why have they all but disappeared from the island or suddenly died? (See April Grace) And where's George Lopez? Hmmm. I wonder... But I digress.

Empty talking heads, like the daffiest corporate shill of them all, Mike Breen, act as if the game is an interruption. ABC strategically places two-bit actors in the crowd so they can be shown sitting courtside then Jeff 'Beetlejuice' Van Gundy works them into one of his off-the-wall conversations. Man, will somebody please hire Van Gundy and Doug Collins just to get them out of the booth. I'll tell ya, I'm so sick of network company men and their greedy resentful sponsors pimping out the game that I love so dearly that I'd pay damn good money just NOT to hear them blabber on about another season finale of Dancing with the Stars or the premieres of The Mole and The Bachlorette.

Who watches this crap anyway? I'll stick with Jon Stewart, Stephen Colbert, David Letterman, Bill Moyers, Amy Goodman, Lil' Bush, and The Boondocks, thank you very much.

Another one of my big beefs about NBA coverage on ABC is their mistimed replays and overuse of strange camera angles, including the Floorcam and Skycam angles used throughout its coverage. If I wanted to see the game at some crazy angle from nosebleed seats I'd go to the game and sit in the rafters. Jeez.

The networks are so concerned about getting reaction shots of celebrities like Eva Longoria, Jack Nickolson, or David Beckham rather than actually showing us the damn game. Okay, I can sort of understand Jack, he's a Laker lifer. And Eva? Well, she is married to Tony Parker and she is pretty hot. But Becks? Aw, come on already. He can't even get the L.A. Galaxy to win two futbol matches in a row. Shouldn't he be at home practicing "bending it" with Posh Spice.

Although, I wouldn't mind seeing her up close on the Poshcam... Zing!

Oh noooo... It's like their afraid that I might actually get to see a well-timed replay of a critical play in sequence. I might be able to tell if a ref's call was legit or not. Well, maybe that's exactly what the corporations are covering up. Maybe they're hiding corrupt, bought off refs who are shaving points but we'll never really know.

They won't show us the evidence!

If they'd cover the game a little more closely and truthfully and show us then there would not be any doubt. Can you hear me Mr. Stern? And this goes for all sports commissioners. But maybe that's what they're all afraid of. Maybe we'd get to really see why Rasheed is always so damn pissed off. Maybe we'd get to see that our favorite stars really foul out in the 3rd quarter. Maybe the Patriots are a fraud. But that doesn't matter 'cause - it's time for more promos and graphics. More, more, more...

Well, Here's my simple solution. Can you say pay-per-view?

I'd do it in a heartbeat because my short time here on Earth is worth it. If I could I'd watch the Finals on C-Span like I watch my politics - unfiltered, raw, and with as few talking heads as possible, I swear, I'd do it.

But that's not a reality... yet.

For example, take the Lakers broadcast team of Joel Meyers and Stu Lantz. They are really two of the best broadcasters out there and to be honest most of the announcers aren't bad - it's the corporate goons who make the all these greedy decisions that are tarnishing the game's brilliant luster. Joel & Stu enhance the game's brilliance. They're the epitome of professional broadcasting.

They frequently have in-game conversations with celebrities and hardly miss a beat. Their pertinent replays are in sequence within the context of game flow and they work their sponsors into the mix with taste and class. There's no crazy camera angles or fish eyed wide shots during game action. The graphics are relevant, seamless, and with a touch of high tech coolness.

I'd definitely pay to hear them in a New York second rather than being force fed the three amigos on ABC.

It's a damn shame basketball loving purists have to be subjected to the above mentioned clueless networks and their over-commercialized version of the last two rounds of the playoffs. I wish we had a choice of who brings us the Finals. The networks would have to go head-to-head with each other so that WE could be the ones who determine who's the best. Just like that God awful American Idol, where the fan's vote might actually count.

But then again, we've already proven that we aren't so great at counting votes either - Watch you back, Barack;-)

The Hustle's Bottom Line Truthiness: I really do not concern myself too much about the broadcasters or their opinions. For the most part, I could really give a rat's ass about what they are saying and here it is in a nutshell - All I really want is for them to show me the damn GAME! I want to see the Finals broadcast with as much honestly, integrity, and professionalism that it is played and coached with... Period.

Thanks for reading the Hustle and remember... Give peace a chance.