Dear Roger Federer

We knew this day was coming. We just weren’t ready for it. I mean, how could we be, really?

September 15, 2022

I woke up just like any other day, by asking my dear friend Alexa the time while simultaneously checking the time on my phone. It was 6:42 A.M so conceivably I could have gone back to sleep, but once I’m up, I’m up. I unlocked my phone and noticed I had a lot more texts than usual (Life hack: Move to LA, you’ll always wake up to texts and feel cool). I wasn’t ready for any of them.

“Wes is going to wake up very sad.”

“Federer wow. Sure you saw.”

The fateful day had come. Roger Federer, in a heartfelt social media message, announced his retirement after 24 decorated years on the ATP tour. The Laver Cup in London would be his last professional tournament.

I’ve struggled to finds the right words to say about Federer in the few weeks since his announcement. To say that he leaves a mark wouldn’t be doing him justice. He impacted the sport of tennis in a way we’ll never see again. He also impacted me in a way I didn’t realize was possible.

Tennis has been a constant theme in my life for as long as I can remember. It’s my release. It’s my therapy. Even seeing the word tennis gives me joy and comfort. I remember when I got my first racquet or when I got dropped off for my first day of tennis camp. I remember the first time of many times I went full John McEnroe (Side bar: Tennis is a lot more fun when you’re not screaming at yourself and heaving racquets. Wow, have I matured as a person?).

I also remember the first time I watched Roger Federer step foot on a tennis court. There was something so elegant about him, so perfect if you will. He didn’t run across the court, he glided. His strokes were so effortless, his demeanor so stoic. He made his opponents look silly, but in a humble way. It didn’t even look like he was sweating. 20 plus years later, all the way up to his final match, this sentiment still holds true. No sweat, just tears.

His matches became appointment television for me. It was a religion and a drug. I needed more. And he delivered, time and time again. His victories gave me so much joy, his losses that much sorrow.

I mean, what a shirt

I met Roger Federer once, in 2016. Let’s call it August 15. I was a fresh college graduate and jobless, gallivanting down the streets of East Hampton. What a time to be alive. I was walking past Starbucks when I brushed shoulders with a guy who resembled Roger Federer. I did a double take. It was like seeing God. I did what any logical person would do, stopped him mid walk and asked him for a photo. He was rehabbing his knee at the time, so don’t worry, I wished his knee a great recovery. He thanked me like a gentleman should do. Six months later, he won the Australian Open. Coincidence?

Flash forward to January 29, 2017. I famously tweeted “I’ve never been happier” after Federer outlasted Nadal in five sets to capture his fifth Australian Open title. This tweet, that garnered a total of two likes, captured the attention of my Dad, who called me to tell me how proud he was that I was so happy in life. And they say the internet is a toxic place!

But, really, this match was special for a number of reasons. Not only was it Federer’s first Grand Slam title since 2012, but his first time playing Nadal in a Grand Slam Final since 2011. It was a return to glory of sorts, and jumpstarted a stretch of two more Grand Slams (2017 Wimbledon, 2018 Australian). I’d be lying if I didn’t say I watch the last five games of that match at least once a month. You know, just to feel something.

On the flip side, two years later, in 2019, I famously tweeted (3 likes) “I’m going to die” in the midst of Federer’s 4 hour, 57 Wimbledon final against Novak Djokovic. I didn’t get a call from my Dad after this one. Make of that what you will.

40-15.

That was the score in which Federer held two match points up 8-7 in the fifth set. I vividly remember dropping to my knees, tears possibly making their way down my face. In the blink of an eye, 40-15 quickly became deuce. And then Djokovic broke. And then Djokovic won in a tiebreaker at 12-12. To this day, when I’m serving at 40-15 I think of this match. I have a problem.

What’s all this to say? It’s to say I’m thankful for all of it, both the good and the bad. Everyone has their greatest of all time, or G.O.A.T if you will. Maybe you’re a Nadal or Federer guy. Maybe you’re a Djokovic guy (I’ll give you three guesses who mine is). Regardless, that’s not the point. No player will ever leave a legacy and inspire a generation the way Federer did. You saw it in London during his final act.

I didn’t really care what it was, but I just wanted the chance to see Federer play one more tournament. In a perfect world it would have been Wimbledon next summer and in a more perfect world, I would have been in attendance. However, the Laver Cup sufficed just fine.

Soon after announcing it would be his last tournament, it was announced he would be playing doubles with Rafael Nadal. As it turned in, this was the perfect ending. The Laver Cup reunited the Big Four — Roger Federer, Rafael Nadal, Novak Djokovic and Andy Murray. That’s 66 Grand Slams between the four of them (63, if you take out Murray. Beginning to think Andy Murray, not Roger Federer was actually the winner of the weekend). For his last act, Federer would be competing with his rivals, not against them.

The pictures and coverage all week were a tennis fans dream. You had Federer playing ping pong, the big four practicing together and a Gala that I don’t know, looked like a fairly decent time. How does one get the job of Laver Cup social media person? Asking for a friend.

heading to dinner with some friends @RafaelNadal @andy_murray @DjokerNole pic.twitter.com/2oYR3hnGaZ

— Roger Federer (@rogerfederer) September 22, 2022

And then, Saturday happened. Roger Federer took to the court one final time alongside his greatest rival, Rafael Nadal to represent Team Europe. Despite falling just short to Jack Sock and Frances Tiafoe, it was the perfect ending. The aftermath of the match was like a scene out of a movie. An emotional Federer returned to the court to address the crowd. There wasn’t a dry eye in O2 Arena. Including Rafael Nadal.

If there's one thing you watch today, make it this.#LaverCup | @rogerfederer pic.twitter.com/Ks9JqEeR6B

— Laver Cup (@LaverCup) September 23, 2022

It was the closing of a chapter. They’d met 40 times since 2004, with Nadal winning 24 of them. If we’re getting into details, Federer did win six out of their last seven matches. OK, that’s not the point. They pushed one another to the brink with their clashing styles and became a constant in our lives and television sets. Federer vs. Nadal. They made each other better. They were each other’s greatest rivals.

Is this the perfect photo?

Yet here was Nadal, as overcome with emotion as his partner, rival and friend. As Ellie Goulding performed, Federer and Nadal sat together, literally holding hands while tears streamed down each of their faces. As the saying goes, “Father time is undefeated” unless you’re Tom Brady. Maybe Nadal saw this and started wondering if his time was coming next. Regardless, it was a beautiful and poetic moment and wrapped a bow on the greatest rivalry in tennis history.

You can’t tell the story of Roger Federer without Rafael Nadal. And you can’t tell the story of Rafael Nadal without Roger Federer.

I’ll miss watching Roger Federer play tennis. I look forward to his next act, whatever it may be. He turned tennis into an art form, from his one-handed backhand to shots like this. For any Federer fan, his matches weren’t just matches. They were a religious experience.

Now that it’s over, does that mean I have to start going to Synagogue again?

Good Day to Be a Tar Heel

It was an ending so perfect that it made the Dillon Panthers jealous. Pete Berg is writing Jason Street’s triumphant return to the football field as we speak.

It was a perfect basketball game.

It was North Carolina vs Duke. In the Final Four. For the first time ever.

In their first NCAA tournament meeting ever.

Jared Leto as Mike Krzyzewski. Who says no?

In Mike Krzyzewski’s last year. And his last game, ever. It doesn’t even sound real writing it out. It’s a script that Hollywood wouldn’t even attempt to write (Who plays Coach K in the biopic though? Probably, like, Jared Leto.). It’s almost as unbelievable as an actor slapping another actor in the face during an an awards show. Wait, remember when that happened? That feels about as recent as the pushup challenge.

How did we get here? Let’s backtrack a few weeks. On March 5, UNC marched into Cameroon Indoor stadium and spoiled the final home game of Coach K’s storied 42 year tenure at Duke with a 94-81 win over the Blue Devils. Krzyzewski called the loss “unacceptable.” We had witnessed a living funeral before our very own eyes.

Pretty much every Duke player, from Grant Hill to JJ Redick was in attendance to watch K one last time in Durham. It was poetic for the Tar Heels and a silver lining of an otherwise mediocre season at the time. Still though, Duke held a slight 50-49 edge over North Carolina in the Coach K era. Imagine if they had a chance to even the score one more time?

Having watched very little college basketball this season, I’m not going to pretend to provide analysis of how they got that chance. I’m an honest person after all. Instead, I’ll just provide facts. After steamrolling Marquette in the Round of 64, UNC survived a rollercoaster against defending champion Baylor and Leaky Black launched a pass off the backboard. Then, in a battle of the best colors in college basketball, the Tar Heels escaped past UCLA to move within one game from a date with destiny. The Duke Blue Devils. All they had to do was get past something called a Saint Peter’s. Cute story, but nah. Boom. College basketball analysis.

How did I get here? It all begins in 1978. Now, you might be asking yourself. How old are you, Wesley? The answer is 29, meaning almost 30. Damn.

Or, you may be wondering if I go by Wes or Wesley? That’s up to you. Anyway, both are good questions. In reality though, the likely scenario is you probably stopped reading and haven’t made it this far. I wouldn’t blame you. What was I saying again?

The day I became a man

Oh, 1978. Yes, that’s the year my father began attending college at, you guessed it, The University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. 12 years later, my brother Brendan was born. 14 years later, I entered the world. Both of us, right out of the womb, were taught the only thing that mattered was Carolina Basketball. Every Fall, we’d go to Chapel Hill. We’d eat biscuits at Time-Out, up our UNC wardrobes, go to football games and pretend we were college students.

In the summers, when my basketball career was taking off, I attended the Roy Williams Basketball camp. I lived in the dorms. I ate in the dining hall. On June 10, 2006, I became a man. That’s right, I got Bar Mitzvah’ed. The reward for attending my Bar Mitzvah? Gazing your eyes on a a full sized cutout out of me. Naturally, in a UNC shirt.

There was no world in which Brendan and I wouldn’t be Tar Heels.

Go Heels!

Alternatively, there was a world in which we both wouldn’t be Tar Heels. What is that world, you may ask? I suppose it has to do with actually getting into the school, something of which I didn’t realize was a possibility until years later.

That reality was met on November 4, 2010 when I was denied admission into the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. Yes, that date is completely made up. I have no idea when I get denied. Instead, I ended up at Temple University. You can imagine how much tension there was on the court when Temple played UNC when I was in college. I mean, as if those teams hated each other enough. Factor me into the equation? Game over. LOL and people think Duke is a rival.

Spoiler alert: Temple really has nothing to do with this story. Shoutout Temple though, fifth-winningest program in NCAA Division 1 men’s college basketball. Look it up.

Carolina is a family and a fraternity that I was lucky enough to be adopted into. There’s a connection and bond you share that cannot be explained unless you’ve experienced it. I grew up thinking the sky is Carolina blue because God is a Tar Heel. I grew up thinking Duke was the enemy and Coach K the villain. I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. My wardrobe is still filled with Carolina to this day and I’ll always feel a level of pride wearing that Tar Heel shirt. And no, it’s not because they just beat Duke in Coach K’s final act.

How are we here now? I don’t know. Sometimes there’s a glitch in the simulation. The UNC-Duke rivalry had seen it all. Except for this one thing — playing in the NCAA tournament and let alone the Final Four. I remember where I was when Gerald Henderson elbowed Tyler Hansbrough. I remember where I was when Austin Rivers put my brother on a meme. I remember where I was when Caleb Love knocked out Mike Krzyzewski. I also remember when Caleb Love shot 5/24 against Kansas two days later but we don’t need to talk about that. My memory is that good.

Very little in sports do you accomplish what North Carolina was able to do this tournament. Kansas fans got their title, when they quite literally won the National Championship. Carolina fans got their title when they knocked out Coach K, a moment they’ll hold onto forever. For eternity, in fact, as Jon Rothstein declared. And there’s nothing Duke can do about it. I’m not usually, if ever, one for moral victories in sports. I didn’t know they actually existed. This is the closest I’ve come to that moment.

Aren’t sports fun sometimes?

On Kobe Bryant: A Real Life Superhero

How do you summarize the life of a superhero? How do you describe a person you’ve never met but knew to the core, like a family member? Kobe Bean Bryant was a family member. Not just to me, and not just to the basketball community — to everyone. He was bigger than basketball. He was immortal. He is immortal.

I met Kobe once, well kind of — January 29, 2010.

My brother Brendan and I were in the arena early for a Lakers-Sixers game in Philly. Our Dad got us some sort of special pre-game access and I knew this was my chance to meet the Mamba. When we got in the arena, there was one player warming up. Naturally, it was Kobe Bryant. I had my photo of him ready to be signed, ready to be added to my collection. We quickly hustled over to the visitors tunnel where Kobe was finishing up his workout routine and signing an autograph for a young girl. Brendan and I stuck out our photos. Kobe paused for a moment, looked up, made eye contact with me and proceeded to make his way into the locker room.

I haven’t thought about that moment much until now. Outside of basketball, Kobe was a family man. Sure, he had his flaws, but we all do. It’s what makes us human. Everything he did was for his daughters. You’ve seen the countless videos in the wake of the tragedy — you can’t escape them. They’re heartbreaking. But as I reflect on this moment of when I came face to face with Kobe, it’s the only thing that makes sense in the aftermath. Everywhere he went, he carried his girls with him. He could relate to the young girl in front of me that night.

When I got the phone call that Kobe had passed, my instant reaction was simply pure confusion.

What do you mean Kobe died? ….Bryant? What?

Even just typing what I blurted out makes no sense. And it never will. He was in my life from the moment I picked up a basketball. I don’t know what it is without him. Kobe grew up watching and emulating Michael Jordan. I grew up watching and emulating Kobe Bryant. There was a connection to him that everyone felt. People weren’t Lakers fans, they were Kobe fans.

Kobe made me proud to be from Philadelphia.

He’s reason I play every game of pick-up basketball like it’s my last. The reason I play on sprained ankles, wearing Kobe’s.

We watched him grow up, from Shaq, to 60 points in his final NBA game all the way to winning an Oscar.

We watched him transition, from NBA icon, to fatherhood. He was just getting started and there was no limit on what he could, and would have accomplished. Kobe had a whole second act to show the world. Mamba Mentality wasn’t just who he was on the court, it was the way he lived his life off it. Everything he did, he did to be the best. The best Father, storyteller, motivator. The list goes on and on.

It’s all so impossible to comprehend. If you can find solace in anything, it’s that we’re all in this together. There’s an emptiness within every single person right now. You can’t explain it, there’s no need to. It doesn’t make sense and it shouldn’t. It’s OK to breakdown. It’s OK to cry. It’s OK to text that friend you haven’t seen in awhile and check in. Everyone is feeling the effects from this unspeakable tragedy of Kobe, Gianna, and the 7 other passengers on board that morning.

As I sit here, in Los Angeles, trying to process it all, I simply cannot. I’ve lost count how many times I’ve tried to write this piece because it’s so inexplicable. I get side tracked, check Instagram and see a tribute to Kobe. I check twitter and watch a video of him giving advice to his daughter, Gigi. I look outside my window and see someone wearing a No.24 jersey. Each time, my heart drops. Each time, tears stream down my face. I don’t want to believe it’s real. It can’t be. Back to typing. I see Kobe’s smile so vividly. I hear his calm voice so loudly in my ears. I picture him hugging his four girls.

Mamba out.

Do you even Thrones, Bro? 6 Things that Suck

Did I miss anything? Probably. Definitely.

Reply in the comments. Tweet me. Email me. Angrily start a Reddit thread about me.

Please note: This list is in no particular order. I kind of just wrote as things popped in my head and didn’t want the stress that comes with ranking them.

1. Broken Escalators

You’ve arrived at Hudson Yards via the Subway. It’s the middle of the summer in New York City so everyone is hot, sweaty and likely pissed off. Then again, New Yorkers are pretty much always pissed off.

Anyway.

How scared does this kid look? He looks like he just saw The Demogorgon and his Dad, or maybe his Grandpa (?), is like, “can you listen to me?”

Upon arriving at Hudson Yards, you have quite the journey out of the subway station. It involves a set of stairs just off the platform, followed by back-to-back escalators. The first escalator is an absolute monster and one of the more intimidating escalators to ride. And that’s when it’s actually running. Today is not one of those days.

On this humid, muggy, 94 degree day in July, the escalator is broken and your l̶i̶f̶e̶ day as you know it has been ruined. A lot of people getting off at Hudson Yards are there because they’re getting on a bus. That’s right, Hudson Yards is the mecca of both Bolt and MegaBus. It already sucks sitting on a bus for three hours and now you’re going to be doing this drenched and with sore legs. On the plus side, you didn’t skip leg day this week, so good job.

Can you imagine walking up this thing? It looks more like a roller coaster than an escalator. So yeah, broken escalators are horrible.

2. Thinking You Lost Your AirPods

If you own AirPods, the odds are you’ve lost them about 43 times and found them anywhere from 30 seconds to three years later. You have found them in any variation of the following:

• Jacket pocket

• Pants pocket

• Any sort of pocket

• Inside the couch

• Hidden backpack zipper (Always seems like a good idea at the time)

• Refrigerator/microwave/oven/toaster

• A drawer in your brother’s friend’s sisters best friend’s Aunt’s apartment

• You have been holding them the entire time

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought I lost either a single AirPod or the whole case itself. Each time sucks more and more, and each time I start questioning my carelessness, mortality, and purpose on the earth. I begin to reminisce about all the good times I had with my AirPods. On the Subway, cruising on a CitiBike, or the first time I walked around with them in my ears, listening to nothing, just letting people know, yeah, I have a pair too. Fuck with me. 

This past summer, I was on a 10 hour flight home and at some point in hour five, my AirPods were M.I.A. The last five hours were filled with self-doubt, panic and sadness. I was a broken, defeated man. That is, until, by the grace of God, a flight attendant walked through the cabin asking if anyone had lost their headphones. Spoiler alert: They were mine! That feeling and joy is comparable to bar none. Maybe Benjamin Franklin Gates has experienced something similar, but that’s about it. It’s a high like no other. As someone who has experienced victory at the highest level, I can confidently say those victories pale in comparison.

Disclaimer: These are both not my fingers and not my AirPods

My victories at the highest level:

• Ping Pong championship(s)

• Coming from behind twice in a row to defeat a pair of high schoolers in two on two pickup basketball

• Going to the gym back-to-back days

• Cooking dinner one time back in college

• My neighborhood barista knowing my order when I walk in

3. Having to start an email with ‘Hope all is well’

You’ve written it. I’ve written it. We’ll continue to write it.

It’s been emailed to you and will be continued to be emailed to you.

Hi ______

Hope all is well! Checking in on the health of your pet Goldfish. Nemo is a great fish but even better companion. He’s too strong to not fight through this.

I recently applied for a position on your team that I was hoping you could assist me with. Any help you could offer would be greatly appreciated.

Thanks for your help and my fingers are crossed for Nemo!

Best,

Wesley

In memoriam

The unfortunate truth here is you don’t care about Nemo. You couldn’t care less if poor Nemo comes out of his coma and goes back to being the best Goldfish ever. You don’t even know why this person has a pet Goldfish but clearly you’re going to keep that thought to yourself. After all, this person might have your job fate in their hands. For all intents and purposes, you’re going to treat that Goldfish like it’s your own child. If he/she gets you an interview, you’re paying for Nemo’s hospital visit. If you get the job, you’re transferring Nemo to the best damn Goldfish Doctor on the planet.

4. Condescending Game of Thrones Fans

There are friendly Game of Thrones fans, I’m sure of it. I had a civil conversation with a friend on Saturday, a loyal “Thrones” fan, the night before the premiere of the new season. He asked if I watch, I said I didn’t and we moved on. Nobody’s feelings got hurt, lives didn’t change and punches weren’t thrown. It was a normal conversation between two people. We’re still friends to this day, true story.

If only all Thrones fans could be this peaceful. Shit, have I really just started calling it “Thrones?” Is this the first step of brainwashing me into watching the show? Am I going to have to alter this paragraph in six weeks when I finish the series to “Condescending Anti Game of Thrones Fans?”

No. I won’t. I’m strong.

Look, I don’t care if you watch GOT. (No more Thrones, I’m calling it GOT for the next paragraph or so. That’s what twitter tells me to do and three group chats I have nothing to offer for the next six weeks). Good for you if you do, and if you do, there’s a fairly large population of people who also watch it. Why pick on us common folk who have chosen not to?

If you’re someone like me, you’ve encountered these people and maybe have even considered watching just to shut them up. Every conversation basically goes the same. You tell them you’re too far behind at this point. They refute your idiotic statement and pretty much mock you.

You just don’t get it. You’ll get lost in it. It’s more than a show, man. Winter is here. It’s finally fucking here.

You tell them it doesn’t interest you. They tell you they didn’t think it would interest them either.

I didn’t even like it at first. I’m usually not into stuff like this but trust me. It’s the best decision I’ve ever made.

Then, the knockout punch.

I mean, what else are you even doing? I’m so jealous. I wish I was you.

That’s actually a good question, now that you ask. What else am I doing? Here’s a definitive list of other things that I’m doing.

• Not watching Game of Thrones

• Watching Instagram stories of Game of Thrones

• Figuring out what to eat for lunch

• Hoping my plans get cancelled

• Deleting emails from Seamless

• Getting told from my Apple Watch that it’s time to stand up

And you think I have time for Game of Thrones?

5. Sleeping with Socks on

I really can’t get behind this one. It makes little sense to me and I’m not even completely convinced it’s a thing. No matter how cold it is, I will not resort to sleeping with my socks on. My bed in my apartment is placed next to a window and I have the world’s thinnest window shades. Winters in New York are long, and even longer in my room and specifically, in my bed. Basically, what I’m saying is my room is freezing for around five months give or take. I’ve told myself for two years that I would rearrange my room, which would literally just involve me swapping my bed and these random shelves next to it. I’m writing this as I stare at these shelves and I’m amazed at all the useless shit I have on them. Here are some highlights.

Can you imagine if The Rock was on my shelf instead of this random rock I have? It would be like “The Indian in the Cupboard,” but better. I would also be so jacked.

• Running arm band (I don’t run)

• Four rolled up posters that will likely never get unrolled

• Stationary because I send so many letters

• Metamucil

• Six unopened packages of different teas

• A giant playing card of a Joker

• A rock but not The Rock

• A broken external phone charger

• A headphone case of headphones that have been broken for two plus years

• Expired license, AAA card and a couple of subway cards with zero balance

Hold up, I think I got a little off topic there. What was this paragraph about? Oh yeah, socks. Specifically, wearing socks to bed. This might be a hot take, but get ready for it. I’m all for wearing socks at any other point in the day. But when I get into bed anywhere from 12:30 A.M - 2 A.M, my socks will not be joining me. (Side note: I should start going to bed earlier). They will be spending the evening in my sock drawer, making friends with all different types, and brands of socks. Chicago Bulls Stance socks will become friends with Uniqlo dress socks. Sushi themed high socks will form an unlikely bond with mid cut Air Jordan socks. I love my socks, I really do. Sure, I have a few widowers who lost their loved ones in the laundry, but they’ve slowly found their way on my feet again, during the day. At bed time, I don’t want to be constrained with anything on my feet. It’s the time to let my toes breathe and have some flexibility.

Done now. I did not expect to ever write this much about socks.

6. Anything other than Sweatpants on a Plane

I’ve been on a lot of Airplanes the past couple of years. How many? Well, in 2018 alone, I successfully completed 89 flights, or 131, 060 miles on Delta alone, earning me the right to Diamond status. Quick humblebrag there. Onwards.

On zero of those 89 flights did I once consider wearing anything other than sweatpants. I haven’t calculated the exact number, but on those flights, I sat next to a decent amount of people, a lot of whom were wearing jeans, khakis, suit pants, etc. Additionally, some of these were cross country flights (San Francisco, South Africa, Shanghai). In what universe are you wearing jeans on a 14 hour plane ride? I can understand not wearing sweatpants on shorter flights. Maybe you have a meeting when you land and don’t have time to change. I personally think there’s always time to quickly change, but who am I to judge you?

The only airplane attire worse than Khaki pants: Khaki shorts

I sat next to a very nice man on my flight from Atlanta to South Africa. Let’s call him Pumba. We lucked out with nobody sitting in the middle so Pumba and I had a decent amount of real estate working for us. Spirits were high as they closed the cabin doors on July 27, 2018 thanks to the open seat. Pumba was a local of South Africa so I was getting some solid tips for my trip. He was pretty unfazed by the whole seat-gate thing since he made this round trip journey for work every couple of months but I didn’t let his apathy ruin it for me. He was also wearing jeans and I couldn’t help but wonder if this was a usual plane outfit choice for him. I started to put myself in Pumba’s shoes and started having hot flashes of how miserable a 14 hour flight would be if I wasn’t in my trusted Lululemon sweatpants. The temperature on planes often tends to fluctuate which gives me the flexibility to roll my pants up if need be. My flight compadre on the other hand would have a tough time rolling up his jeans. Sure you can do it, but it’s pretty tight on the calves and a little painful at times.

Also related:

Not wearing sweatpants/shorts in the comfort of your own living room. My column:

This Wasn't Part of the Plan

It wasn't supposed to end up like this. Who let this happen?

June 6, 2018:

My alarm goes off at 7:30 a.m. I wake up, go into my brother Brendan’s room and tell him to get up. He's snoring pretty loud so I have to repeat myself a few times. We have a flight to catch from Philadelphia to Cleveland. It’s Game 3 of the NBA Finals and somehow we’re both working it. 

Thanks to many years of training from my Dad however, we were built for this moment. Some of my earliest memories involve attending Philadelphia 76ers games. I remember vividly being so excited when Chauncey Billups gave my friend Sam and I a peace sign when we were like 10 years old. Or when some dude on the Bucks named Mark Pope signed my shirt and me being so excited as if he were Larry Bird. Or when Eddy Curry told a ballboy to give me his armband after a Sixers-Bulls game. The list goes on. 

Despite neither Brendan or I being Sixers fans, my Dad continued to fund our experiences with season tickets all the way from elementary school to high school. Right next to the visitors tunnel. We had the system down to a tee, with everything from pre-game preparation to sneaking our way into acquiring postgame passes. 

Ben Gordon postgame. Kirk Hinrich jersey on back.

If the Celtics were coming to town on Tuesday, game prep would start on Monday morning. We’d look at their roster and figure out our autograph targets, whether it be the 10th man or the second assistant coach. There was no messing around. If the team wasn’t on a road trip, we'd target a player to ask for their shoes. S/O to Charlie Bell. 

Most Sixers games start at 7:00 p.m., so to be safe, we would leave our house in the 5:00 p.m. range to make sure we were there right when doors opened an hour before game-time. 

At 6:00 p.m., the floodgates would open. It was the ultimate rush.

Who would be on the floor warming up? Would they sign? I better get a good place to stand. Does my pen work? 

We would come fully prepared, with photos printed the previous night of everyone ranging from Dwight Howard to Rafer Alston (special thanks to my Dad for letting us run through so much ink). When the games ended, we’d push and shove everyone and anyone out of the way to try and get a sweaty headband. There were a few ways to go about this.

1. Ask the player pre-game and more than likely they would say yes, but by the time the game is over they wouldn’t remember so….

2. Ask them at halftime. If their team is winning the odds are they’ll be in a better mood to give it to you

3. Make eye contact with them towards the end of the game and motion to their arm or head. If they nodded yes, give yourself a high five, you’re getting that bad boy.

It was intense. It was dramatic. It was dog eat dog and every man for himself. Brendan had some epic streak his senior year of high school where he got a sweatband in like 20 straight games or something. He was on some legendary stuff. I distinctly remember Paul Pierce tossing his headband in the crowd and Brendan lunging himself on a chair a row above our seats, stretching, catching it, pounding his chest screaming  “OH YEAH!” It was and still is the most athletic thing I’ve ever seen from a fan at a sporting event.

Flash forward now. It’s been 10 years since Brendan caught Pierce’s headband. Pierce is retired and now he and Brendan are colleagues at ESPN, both covering the NBA Finals. This is the fourth consecutive year Brendan has covered the Finals, but this one is different. His brother is joining him. Spoiler alert: That brother is me. 

@NBA and @ESPN in action at the 2018 NBA Finals. And Kevin Durant and Stephen A. Smith I guess.

For the last three years I watched from afar as Brendan covered the finals, both proud and envious, wondering if I would ever get that chance. Not once thinking I'd not only get that chance, but with him by my side. It was a culmination of all those nights we spent trying to find a way to get that one last autograph.

This was the third major sporting event we had both covered over the last year (NBA Draft, All-Star game), but this one felt different This wasn’t a pre-season Sixers-Nets game in 2007. We weren't waiting in the pouring rain outside of the Toronto Raptors hotel to get autographs. This was the NBA Finals and everything had prepared us for this moment, together. 

Something tells me our work is not yet done. We're just getting started.

Amy and a Fan

"Empty out your desk and go home" - @JustCallMeDjm

"The whole league's gotta be demolished and started over because of this tweet." - @MucciBandana

This is a story about vindication. 

May 21, 2017

My day started like any other day. I woke up at 10:00 a.m., had a coffee and then pretended to do something at the gym. I ate lunch, strolled the streets of the Upper West Side and bought nothing. I returned home, almost watched a movie, almost started a new TV show, then showered and headed into work. It had been a rigorous day.

It was Game 3 of the Eastern Conference Finals between the Cleveland Cavaliers and Boston Celtics and I was on the powerful keys that is NBA Twitter. At some point early on in the game the arena showed a video of comedians Amy Schumer and Dave Chappelle sitting next to each other court side. 

I got a GIF of it, thought of a caption and fired it away to 25 million people. In my mind, the copy was simple. "Amy and a fan on @NBAonTNT. #NBAGIF."

It was a harmless joke. Nobody was getting hurt. I didn't think anything of it. 

I noticed there were more replies than usual. Within minutes, there was an uproar on social media. 

The replies kept flooding in. I read every single one. Apparently I was now a racist, an 18 year-old intern and my personal favorite: I didn't know who Dave Chappelle was. Life comes at you fast. 

I assumed it would blow over that night. I mean, after all, Avery Bradley did hit a game-winner to lift the Celtics to victory. But no, nobody cared about that. The internet wanted the head of whoever tweeted "Amy and a fan."

The next day, chaos would ensue. Barstool called it the "most disrespectful tweet of all-time." 

"Whoever runs the NBA Twitter can take his seat at the front of the line, the first face on the Mt. Rushmore, as the creator of the worst tweets ever typed and sent. We need a congressional hearing to find out who sent this, what their intention was, and why they hate America. Forget all this Trump/Russia shit, this asshole who disrespected Chappelle in such a matter needs to be on a one-way trip to Pluto."

Dan Le Batard posted a twitter poll about it. Ryen Russillo did an entire segment about it on his show (he had my back). Reddit had an ongoing thread about it. The tweet was everywhere. It was mayhem. 

S/O Questlove

Like most things on the internet, it eventually blew over. I wasn't satisfied though. What did Dave think of the tweet? Did he even see the tweet? Does he even care? 

This is a story about vindication.

February 18, 2018

It's the NBA All-Star game and anybody who is anybody is at Staples Center in Los Angeles. 

In addition to tweeting about fans, a big part of my job includes taking pictures of players, celebrities, and fans during an NBA game. On Sunday Night, there was an All-Star roster both on and off the court. I saw Kevin Hart and followed him with my iPhone camera. He went over to hug someone. It was Dave Chappelle. As tempting as it was to caption the video "Kevin and a fan," I steered clear. 

This is a story about vindication. 

Halftime comes and the players are mingling with the countless celebrities sitting court side. I see Chappelle exiting the court, shaking hands with (cough cough) fans and realize this is my chance.

I had actually gotten word a few months prior from a mutual friend, Joco, that Chappelle thought it was funny, but needed proper confirmation. My heart starts beating like the sound of Jumanji. I approach him, reach out my hand, and introduce myself as a friend of Joco's. I couldn't just come in hot with the tweet. I needed to get his attention first. 

I then explain how I'm the person who tweeted the now infamous "Amy and a fan."

He immediately starts laughing. "That was you?!?"

I black out. 

"Did you get in trouble for that?"

Still blacked out.

Dave walks away. This 1 minute interaction was everything I'd wanted and more for the past 9 months. Everything had finally come full circle. I felt free, like when Stanley Yelnats throws the rattlesnakes off him in Holes after being called a thief. Or like when a blindfolded Peter LaFleur defeats White Goodman. That free. I had defeated the internet. 

And yes, Dave and I have transitioned to a first name basis now.

Dave and a fan (Photo: @zgayer)

An Open Letter to Uber Drivers

We live in a weird world. We don't want to walk anywhere and we don't want to get in taxis with strangers anymore. Instead, we'd rather get in Toyota Camry's with strangers and rate them. Seems legit. 

There needs to be some sort of etiquette shown from the drivers of these ride-sharing apps such as Uber or Lyft. As a frequent user of these apps, I dove into this very important issue. 

1.  Don’t ask me my preferred route.

In many cases, this is how the beginning of an Uber ride generally starts:

Driver: Wesley?
Me: Yep. Hello.  

Please note: This dialogue can easily be flip-flopped. You are often times the one presenting your name with a question mark. Anyway...

Driver: How are you?
Me: Good. 
Driver: I see you’re going to Lego Land. Any preferred route?

If my driver asks me this, we’re immediately off to a rocky start. It’s not my job to pull up Waze on my phone. It’s my job to sit in silence on my phone and check Instagram for the next half hour. This happened to me recently in San Francisco. My driver, Samir, presented me with two different options on how I’d like to get to my destination. I told him what any logical person would say, which is the fastest route possible. Samir, however, was not having it. He wanted me to choose. I struggle enough with decisions so I wasn't thrilled about this. Nonetheless, I pulled up Waze and picked one, naturally choosing the wrong route. My route included an abortion march down the streets of San Francisco, forcing us to sit in traffic for an hour. Finally realizing this may take the next week, Samir, decided to turn away from the parade, past my hotel and go the other route. This is why I shouldn’t be making the decision. Don’t be a hero. 

2. Have a phone charger. (Bonus points: Phone chargers that are ALSO an aux cord)

This is really so obvious. There should be an option when you request an Uber to make sure your driver has an available phone charger. After we exchange the initial formalities, my immediate next question is always if they have a phone charger. I don’t even think about it anymore. The words just slide out of my mouth, even if my phone is at 100%. In addition, there's always that one person in your friend group whose phone lives at 18% in low power mode. So, yeah, an iPhone charger is neccessary. 

Me: Do you have a phone charger
Driver: iPhone?
Me: Yes. 
Driver: Sure. Sorry about the cord, it’s kind of short. 
Me: All good. I’ll hunch over and hurt my neck. 

In extreme rare cases, a driver won’t have an iPhone charger, and in even rarer cases, a driver says you can’t use their charger. 

EXHIBIT A: STORY TIME!

I was in a ride with two friends after dinner. There’s always that person in your friend group whose phone lives on 18% on low power mode, so we agreed that he could use the charger. However, our driver had other plans. He said no, he couldn’t use it. I was baffled and couldn’t believe what I just heard. In all of my career ride share experiences I had never seen a driver just flat out not let a passenger use a phone charger. It’s not like he was even nice about it, either. This dude just said “no,” and continued to drive and blast his garbage music. My friends and I looked at each other and did the only thing there was to be done. We stayed silent for a few minutes and concocted a plan in a text thread. My friend asked again and this terror of a driver again said “no.” Our text thread went silent and the three of us proceeded to talk amongst ourselves about the situation as if our driver wasn’t there. Spoiler alert: He was there.

Wait for it. 

The driver stopped the car and told us to get out. He wasn’t driving us anymore. Apparently he couldn’t take the not-so-silent smack talk in the car. Given that it was 10 degrees out and we were kind of in the middle of nowhere, none of us even considered budging.

Keep waiting for it. 

Out of nowhere, some guy rear-ends us (probably because of where we were stopped. Insert shrug emoji) and sends us flying up a few feet. At this point, we take our driver’s instructions to get out of the car, for which he tells us to get back in. Umm, no thanks. 

So, yeah. These are the kinds of things that can happen if you don’t let your passenger use a phone charger. 

3. Don’t assume we’re going to be Best Friends

I don’t go into an Uber ride looking to pick up a new friend. I go into an Uber for some phone juice and silence. I believe that we, as passengers, should be the ones initiating the conversation. I mean, after all, every conversation when we’re sober really goes the exact same way. 

Me: So, how long have you been driving for Uber?
Driver: A little over a year. This is just my side job. I’m actually running for President in 2020. Figure I can start my campaign a little early with Uber. 
Me: Oh, cool.

There are, however, exceptions to this rule. 

Situations it's appropriate to engage in conversation with your driver:
1) You're drunk
2) You're drunk
3) You're drunk

These are the best kinds of uber rides. 

4. I expect to be dropped off at my actual destination

Too often, it seems, drivers will get lazy and try to make you walk a block or two to your destination. Ludicrous. Preposterous. 

Driver: Is here fine?
Me: (Looks up from phone). No. It's up a little further. 
Driver: But it would be easier for....
Me: (Looks back at phone)

I'll never understand this. This is the whole reason I'm even in the Uber. I don't care if it's an inconvenience to you. We've gone too far for you to throw an interception on the goal line. Finish the job. This happened to me recently again in...San Francisco. What is it with San Fran and their Uber drivers? Aren't they the ones who started this whole thing?

I was in an Uber a couple weeks ago on my way to a Golden State Warriors game and Valerie and I had been stuck in a fair amount of traffic. Valerie was 3/3 thus far in her performance behind the wheel as a driver. We hadn't said a word to one another since I got in and I was using her phone charger. All was well in Northern California. But then, Valerie fell apart down the stretch. As we pulled up to my destination, there was a line of cars, all impatiently waiting to get in. We were so close to a perfect ride when Valerie uttered it. 

"Can you get out here?"

I couldn't believe it. We were in the bottom of the 9th with 2 outs left and Valerie completely choked. My destination was still a little ways away for a walk, so I told her no, I'm not walking. Two minutes later, she gave up another hit. This one, a walk-off. 

"Can you just get out here? How am I going to get all the way up there?"

Growing impatient, I looked up at the cars of traffic. There was a lane on the left devoted specifically to drop-offs and ride sharing apps. Oh, Valerie. 

Super Bowl Champs?

I'm at a crossroads. If you know me or know anything about me, sports have defined me for my entire life. My earliest sports memories involve Reggie Miller pushing off Michael Jordan in the 1998 playoffs and the 2000 Music City Miracle, or what's commonly known in my family as the "Forward Lateral Game." I remember both so vividly. 

I was 6 years old when Reggie pushed off Michael. I was watching at Radnor Valley Country Club in the suburbs of Philly and like any other kid (or person), I wanted to be Michael Jordan. When Reggie hit the shot, I instantly stormed out of the room I was watching and started uncontrollably sobbing. I don't remember anything else from those playoffs or probably even that year in my life. I think it ended with MJ hitting some iconic shot and crushing the soul of Byron Russell. 

When the Buffalo Bills fell to the Tennessee Titans in the 'forward lateral game,' I was 8 years old watching in my basement with my father and brother. When the Bills lose games, they don't just lose. They rip out your heart, stomp on it, and tear it into a million little pieces. The son of a Buffalo native, I've seen a lot of this throughout my 25 years on this Earth. In this instance, the Bills lost in the playoffs on a last second kick return and I remember my father shouting at the TV worse than I've ever been yelled at in my entire life. I hope to never do anything as bad to my father that the Tennessee Titans did to him on January 8, 2000. 

This is when I realized that sports are pretty cool. It's fun to root for a team. It's exhilarating when your team wins on a buzzer beating jump shot or a game-winning field goal. Let me preface this next part of the story before I go any further. This is not a happy story. As I mentioned above, I'm at a crossroads. 

Growing up in the suburbs of Philadelphia, naturally, I adopted the Eagles when my love of football was just starting. Sure, the Bills do and always will hold a special place for me, but I have a connection to my hometown (Or maybe I was just scarred from my Dad's rage. Sports are stupid). I started getting into the Eagles right around when Donovan McNabb was replacing none other than Doug Pederson. Yes, the same Doug Pederson who just guided the Eagles to their first Super Bowl in franchise history. This is not a happy story though. 

Thanks to McNabb, I instantly fell in love with Eagles. I watched every game, wore my prized McNabb jersey, and we eventually got season tickets. I was a part of a community in South Philadelphia at Lincoln Financial Field. I was at the Eagles inaugural game at the Linc against the Tampa Bay Buccaneers in 2003. I remember meeting the fellow Eagles fans in my section and discovering what would become my Sunday family for the next decade. When the Eagles beat the Falcons in 2005 to make the Super Bowl, I remember sprinting up and down the steps of my house. Two weeks later, I attended the Super Bowl in Jacksonville against the Patriots and that loss was easily a contender for most traumatic moment of my life. 

Other contenders at that stage of my life:
1) Pooping my pants at my friends house at age 5.
2) Losing my pet bird to a literal eye explosion at age 6. RIP Abu.
3) Getting my forehead slammed on the pavement after a vicious fight with my brother at age 8. 

This was not a fun flight home from Jacksonville.

After that loss, I wanted it more than ever. I needed that elusive feeling that comes with winning a championship. Flash forward to 2018, 13 years later, and the Eagles were back in the Super Bowl - once again playing the Patriots. Now, I mentioned, this is not a happy story. 

I'm not proud of this next part. I'm really not. As the years went on and I got older, this stupid thing happened. I started to lose interest in the Eagles and became more of a football fan in general. I had moments of denial where I tried to pretend I had the same passion that I once had.

Then, in 2013, I couldn't pretend anymore. When the Eagles played the Saints in the 2013 playoffs I was at the game. When they lost, I felt nothing. I had never experienced this before in my life. Why was I suddenly completely apathetic towards this team? I continued to watch in the coming years but again felt nothing win or loss. 

This past season and particularly the Super Bowl were truly a confusing time for me. Sunday night should have been the happiest night of my life. Sunday Night I should have been parading down Broad Street climbing traffic lights. Instead I sat on my couch and reflected on what happened to me as an Eagles fan. I came up with a few possibilities. 

1) Did going to college in Philly ruin the beautiful relationship I had with the Eagles?

• I don't even know if this makes sense but in my head it does. There's something I like about rooting for a team in a city that nobody else is. (See Bulls, Chicago). But, then again, I rooted for the Eagles all throughout my childhood so this theory actually makes no sense. 

2) Did experiences I had at Philly sporting events negatively change my perception of the Eagles? Let's investigate. It's time for two stories. 

• A few years ago the Bulls were playing the Sixers in the playoffs and Derrick Rose had torn his ACL two games prior. OK, that was a pretty shitty day in my life, but I'm not getting into that right now. Anyway, in Game 3, Joakim Noah badly injured his ankle and as he winced on the floor in pain, the entire arena erupted in applause. I was horrified. 
• It's 2015 and the Bills are in town to face the Eagles. It's been two years removed from the playoff loss to the Saints and my love for the Eagles hasn't really gotten any better. I'm at the game with my father, brother, and sister and some asshole is legitimately screaming in my Dad's ear after every positive Eagles play. As you may guess, my Dad was wearing a Bills jersey and it's no secret that Philly fans have never been overly welcoming to the visiting team. It got bad enough to the point where I finally turned around and said something to the guy and let's just say he didn't take kindly to what I said.

3) Do I have commitment issues?
OK, now I'm thinking a little too much into this.

As Tom Brady's Hail Mary attempt fell incomplete, I was at a total loss of feelings. I didn't know what to think. Perhaps there was some jealousy of the fan base that I once represented. Perhaps I'm overdramatizing this entire thing (probably) and I should have just stormed to Broad Street. I received numerous text messages from people congratulating me on the Super Bowl which didn't exactly help my mental state. I'm happy for the city of Philadelphia, I really am. I'm happy for the many die-hard Eagles fans that I know. 

I should probably stop writing now. I told you this wasn't a happy story. 

Rules and Guidelines on Capturing the Perfect Photo With a Celebrity

You’re walking down the street. Let’s say it’s August. August 15 to be exact.

We can go as far as saying it’s 2016 as well.

Naturally, your head is down as you scan Instagram. You have FOMO about that birthday party you missed of that kid from your high school who you never even liked to begin with.

For a brief moment, you lift your head, join society and look to your right. Is that Roger Federer?

You look back down at your phone.

Wait. That’s Roger fucking Federer.

You have no choice in this situation.

“Roger, can I take a picture with you?”

“Sure, yeah. No problem.”

And BOOM. Three seconds later your arm is around the greatest tennis player who ever lived as you try to contain your excitement. Unless 1) Roger’s friend fucks up the photo, or 2) You hate the way you look, you are rushing BACK to your phone to post it on Instagram. Fuck that kid from high school. You just met Roger Federer. You are immortal.

Spoiler Alert: I am immortal. That person was me. 

Without further ado, I present to you the rules and guidelines on how to get that celebrity photo. 

1. Be Fearless

• Let’s be real. These people don’t care about you. You’re never going to see Scarlett Johansson again and if you do, well you might as well shoot your shot and ask her on a date.
• Celebrities aren't completely unaware. Scarlett realizes that you've been staring at her for the last 13 minutes.

2. You Might Get Rejected

• We all like to tell ourselves that we would be polite celebrities. The kind that don’t get tired of people staring at them and are happy to sign autographs and take pictures with anyone. (See Federer, Roger). Can we be honest with ourselves for a second? We wouldn't be. I don't even like when a sales associate stops me at J-Crew. "Can I help you with anything?" No you can't. I'm leaving the store because of you. 

• If you get rejected, shake it off and move on. I grew up getting autographs at Philadelphia 76ers games and will never forget the day Kobe Bryant stared into my soul as I asked him for an autograph and walked away.

3. Wait for the Right Moment

• Don’t be an asshole and interrupt Scarlett while she's eating her Kale Salad or talking to a friend. Wait for your opening. Pay attention if she’s paying the check soon and making her way outside. When you see the check come, you pounce.

4. Make Sure Your Camera Works

• Once upon a time there was a world where people carried around actual cameras. With those cameras, you would have to upload the photos to a computer, then either print or email them to yourself. What a process. Nowadays, the camera is in your pocket and it can be sent to your cousin in Thailand within 30 seconds of the picture being taken.

• Story time!  When I was 12 years old, I was eating at Mr. Chow in Beverly Hills with my Father and Brother and Hall of Fame cornernback Deion Sanders was there. Using the strategy mentioned above, we waited until Deion left the restaurant before we made our move. My official photographer, my Dad, took the photo of my brother and I, but there was an issue. The camera was on the wrong setting, the lighting sucked and the picture didn’t come out.

• In short, don’t be that guy. Make sure your damn camera works.

5. Be Decisive

• When you decide it’s time to get the photo, don’t hesitate. This is a one time deal. Celebrities aren’t waiting on you. The longer you wait, the harder it’s going to get. Don’t let Liam Neeson go to the bathroom because you assume he’s coming back. He’s a busy man. He’s got people to kill and his daughter to save.

10 Essential Episodes of “Curb Your Enthusiasm"

It’s been five years since Bill Buckner became an American Hero and Larry David had a secret romance with an anti-semite. More importantly, it’s been five years since Larry coined the term "chat and cut." 

On October 1, after years of constant speculation, Curb will return for its Ninth Season, finally freeing Larry of the question on whether the show is finished. Maybe he did it out of guilt. Maybe he was bored. Whatever the reason may be, we thank you Larry. 

10. The Seder (S5, E7)
“Oh, and I forget to mention. It’s that Sex Offender” - Larry David

Leave it to Larry to invite a sex offender to Passover dinner. While out preparing for the holiday, Larry meets and befriends the local sex offender, Rick Leftowitz, played by Rob Corddry. If you want to know the key to Larry’s heart, it’s golf. Rick fixes Larry’s swing, shows him some tips, so the only natural solution is to invite him over for the Jewish holiday, right? To no surprise, Rick is not exactly welcomed at Passover.

9. Krazee-Eyes Killa (S3, E8)
“Are you my caucasian?” - Larry David

Among his many priceless interactions in the series, few compare to that of Larry’s with Chris, aka Krazee-Eyes Killa. While at a party, Larry befriends the rapper, listens to his lyrics and proceeds to offer changes to the lyrics. The two form an unlikely bond between a gangster rapper and a middle aged Jew - a match made in heaven. Some of the most entertaining parts of the series come when Susie is fed up with that “four eyed fuck,” otherwise known as Larry David. We see this in this episode when Larry passes on a house tour. Let’s face it, nobody wants to take a house tour. 

8. Shaq (S2, E8)
“Peanut…BUTTER” - Shaquille O’Neal

Larry David hates human interaction. He hates the stop and chat. He hates when people ask him for things. In this episode, all of Larry’s dreams and desires come true. While stretching his legs at a Lakers game, Larry, by accident trips Shaq, injuring the Lakers star. Suddenly, nobody wants anything to do with Larry. He gets unasked to write a letter of recommendation and things are finally trending his direction.

7. Palestinian Chicken (S8, E3)
“I’m going to fuck the Jew out of you” - Shara

Social Assassin. Zionist pig. Occupying fuck. There are all nicknames used to describe Larry in one of the highlights of season eight, Palestinian Chicken. One of the most rewatchable episodes of the entire series, we see Marty Funkhouser transform into an Orthodox Jew, Jeff and Larry became regulars at a anti-semitic restaurant, and most importantly, Larry “getting the Jew fucked out of him.” This episode is peak Marty Funkhouser. Note to self: Don’t touch his Yarmulke. 

6. The End (S5, E10)
“I keep my watch and wallet on the same side” - Larry David

In the Season Five finale, we see a side of Larry that has never before been seen. After mistakingly being told he’s adopted and therefore a Gentile, Larry goes home to his roots and suddenly has a new lease on life. He wears TGIF shirts, goes to Church and decides to give Richard Lewis his kidney. In a 43 minute epic episode, Larry dies and gets sent to heaven, only to get sent back to Earth from his guardian angels, played by Dustin Hoffman and Sacha Baron Cohen.

5. The N Word (S6, E8)
“Fuck you, Larry, with yo monkey ass!” - Auntie Rae

Larry David loves getting himself into trouble. He always manages to find a way to piss people off. Out of all the episodes of Larry getting into confrontations, The N Word takes the cake. After Larry overhears a racist remark in the bathroom, the rest of the episode is nothing short of chaos. In a domino effect, Jeff gets his head shaved, The Blacks move out, and Larry gets prescribed estrogen. Not to mention, Larry was already in some heat with Auntie Rae after “stabbing her in the stomach,” as Leon famously declared.

4. The Thong (S2, E5)
“I’ve never felt better in my entire life” - Richard Lewis

Some of the best moments we have in Curb come from interactions between Larry and Richard Lewis. Long time friends in real life, their chemistry on screen comes natural and provides hilarious and real moments throughout the series. One of these comes in The Thong, where Larry and Richard share the same therapist. However, things are turned upside in therapy after Larry spots their therapist on the beach…wearing a thong. A dilemma to face comes next for the two men. 

3. The Survivor (S4, E9)
“I don’t understand. Why don’t you get a sponge?” - Larry David

There’s no way around it. Season 4 of Curb is amazing. Larry has a free pass at sex from Cheryl for their 10 year anniversary, stabs Ben Stiller in the eye with a skewer, and stars in The Producers on broadway. In this episode, before Larry & Cheryl renew their vows, they host a dinner party. Larry’s father, played by the late Shelley Berman, invites a Holocaust survivor, while Larry’s Rabbi invites well, a survivor from the show Survivor. The episode hits its peak when the two men are in a shouting match comparing their different levels of “surviving.” 

2. The Anonymous Donor (S6, E2)
“I brings the ruckus to the ladies” - Leon Black

We all have a Ted Danson in our friend group—we all have an ‘Anonymous.’ You know, that person who swears you to secrecy before telling you a big secret but tells everyone else anyway. In this episode, both Larry and Ted donate to a hospital wing, but there’s a big difference. Larry’s wing is donated by Larry David and Ted’s wing is donated by Anonymous. In addition, we are officially introduced to JB Smoove, aka, Leon Black, when it is come to Larry's attention that Cheryl found semen in Leon's bed sheets. Spoiler alert: Jeff is the culprit.  

1. The 5 Wood (S4, E5)
“Jeffrey? You didn’t know the golf club had your name on it? Fucking idiot!” - Susie Greene

When Larry and Jeff are up to something, let’s face it, they’re usually up to no good. What they pull off in The 5 Wood is nothing short of spectacular. That is, until Larry spills a cashew in an open casket. While at Funkahouser’s father, Leo’s funeral, Larry notices his golf club is in Leo’s casket. Not wanting to lose his 5 wood, Larry and Jeff plot to swap Jeff’s club with Leo’s. Naturally, they get caught, and naturally Susie is not thrilled.  Larry continues to find a way to create humor in any possible situation.

Goodbye Derrick Rose

Like every other second of my day, today I was on my phone, refreshing twitter, as I sat on my couch while simultaneously checking twitter on my computer.

Then, I saw it. A major #WojBomb. 

As I sat there trying to process that tweet, I started to imagine life without Derrick Rose and everything got weird for a second. Were the Bulls actually about to trade their hometown hero? 

Two minutes later, it happened. 

And then, all of twitter broke loose. The floodgates had opened. The 2011 MVP had been traded to the New York Knicks. I didn't want to believe it so I did the most logical thing that any person would do by continuing to refresh twitter. Yeah, it was happening. Confirmed. 

Within minutes and countless text messages, reality started to set in. I felt like I had been traded. I felt like I'd been punched in the gut. This is a guy that won an MVP at 22-years old and brought a franchise back to life. Now, four years and three knee surgeries later, Rose is gone. On the same day that LeBron James celebrated winning a championship in his hometown, Rose got shipped from his. 

Look, I'm not blind to the fact that these last few years with Rose have not been exactly great. Between his back-scratching comments to the media, his so-called "rift" with Jimmy Butler and most importantly, his health, there certainly were warning signs. Rose is set to make $21.3 million this season before he enters free agency in 2016-17 so it's clear the Bulls had a decision to make. Do they ride it out one more season and hope he returns to MVP form? Is that enough to offer him a max contract with a rising cap? Or, what if he has another down season and the Bulls let him walk for nothing?

You can tell me a million times why this trade made sense and I'm not going to sit here and disagree with you. From a basketball stand point it did and I get that. It just sucks and there's no other way around it. It sucks that Rose had to keep getting injured and it sucks that it had to come down to this. Was it a good deal? Maybe. The sad truth is that Rose did not have that much value anymore and the Bulls needed to make a change this off-season in some regard. 

This is a guy that was supposed to be the savior for the city of Chicago; the next Michael Jordan. The Bulls were supposed to rule the NBA over the next decade. Rose was supposed to win a championship for his hometown team. 

It hasn't sunk in yet that the next time I'll watch Derrick Rose play basketball he won't be in a Bulls uniform, but rather with Carmelo Anthony in New York wearing a Knicks jersey. Wait, remember when the two of them were supposed to play together in Chicago? 

Thank you Derrick Rose for a wild ride the last eight years.

Your move, Jimmy Butler. The floor is yours.