No-talent ass clown

Let me rub my eyes and look around. Yup, I'm still on island.

It's been a crazy last few days and I apologize for the blogging lapse. Now that a severe Paradise Jam hangover has dissipated, I'm back in action and ready to get weird.

Speaking of the PJ, it generated close to $2 million for the USVI so you know I worked my ass off (I would link up the economy boost story I wrote but for some reason, it wasn't published online. Go figure).

The tourneys wrapped up about a week ago and consumed my Thanksgiving.

While my girlfriend celebrated with 39 friends grubbing on four different turkeys, I sat on press row for four consecutive Division I women's basketball games and didn't even get a whiff of cranberry sauce. It was pure bliss and the games were action-packed. No ... I'm being serious.

But on the final day of the 10-day tourney and as I was walking out of the gym faithfully with my over-heated laptop in tow, one of the tournament directors left me with a few kind words...

"Don't say anything mean about us in your blog," she said.

Instead of scurrying to the nearest pub like I did after every 10-hour day spent at the tourney, I was taken aback.

"Whaaaaa?" I asked, with those little thirsty white deposits sticking to the corners of my mouth.

"Oh," she said. "I'm a little embarassed to tell you this but I Googled you before we came down."

That's funny. I've googled myself a few times -- shut up, don't act like you've never done it -- and that no-talent ass clown in the NBA is the only thing that comes up.

He is one of few American-born white players in the Association but he still sucks. The "Aaron Gray" realm belongs to me.

Anyway, back to my story. Of course, I briefly chastised the tournament lady for stalking me online but I also thanked her for reading.

"It's always a pleasure running into a fan," I said.

So for the record, the 11th annual Paradise Jam men's and women's basketball tournaments held at the University of Virgin Islands from Nov. 19 through Nov. 27 were thrilling to witness. America's basketball elite gathered on St. Thomas for that memorable week (Don't forget: I ate no turkey, gravy or mashed potatoes) and a joyous time was had by any non-V.I. resident who shelled out $35 to get in the door.

Since then, I have been busy with other life projects. I'll get into those tidbits tomorrow because at the moment, I am done with work, tired and thirsty.

A sweet trio indeed.

Black squirrels and pickle juice

Most of the tall, black guys I was strutting around the U.S Capitol Building with had never even left the rock we call St. Thomas.

The University of Virgin Islands men's basketball team made a four-day visit to our nation's capitol last weekend with a half-drunk, half-hung over sports reporter in tow. Check out the story.

The Buccaneers played three exhibition games against squads that wouldn't grace the headlines of the Washington Post unless a politician's son was aboard.

UVI did well. The team went 1-2 over the stretch and posted the program's very first win over an NCAA stateside team. The win came over Goucher College and the V.I. faithful -- all 13 in attendance -- went crazy after the landmark win.

But before the boys saw the basketball hardwood for the first time (just kidding, they have hardwood floors here but good luck on a functioning scoreboard), the group went on a tour of downtown D.C. to observe America in all its glory.

The main highlights, you ask? Touring the U.S. Capitol Building and observing all three branches of U.S. Government in action, of course.

But when I asked the guys in private what really blew their hair back, the answers were not what you expected.

One was very impressed with the hotel the team was stating at. Another was intrigued by how top-level security folks who carried around high-powered assault rifles in broad day light.

"It was like they were just carrying a duffel bag or something," he said. "All out in the open like that. That was crazy."

Meanwhile back on the island, my girlfriend texted me that she just heard gun shots.

One player was immersed by the squirrels. Now there are no squirrels on St. Thomas or at least I've never seen them. This player was amazed by the black squirrels in particular and made some sort of racial connection to the black squirrels playing in front of the White House and President Obama.

"It was the weirdest thing I ever saw," he said.

Most of the players toured the White House -- one was left out because his date of birth was 1989 and it was recorded as 1988 -- and their first experience on the Metro rail was uneventful.

The games were during the day which left me to by own devices when the sun went down. Now let's get down to the good stuff...

Of course there was great visits with my parents and delicious mom cooking (Fred and Joan will actually be making it to St. Thomas next week) and a joyous rendezvous with old friends inside the D.C., Northern Va and Baltimore sectors.

There was a blurry Annapolis pub crawl in there somewhere, a haircut from a Vietnamese woman at a random barber shop in Rockville, Md. and some late-night wrestling with a Sterling girl. One of my brothers must have taken pictures because there is photo evidence.

I ate a big bite hot dog from 7-11 at a horrendous hour, was introduced to a vodka and pickle juice shot, and wore pants for the first time in months.

The best part of the trip was when I dropped in on the new homeless-prevention center in Annapolis. Now I volunteered there for three years when it was called the Light House Shelter and was located inside a cramped building downtown.

For years, the good people there have been raising funds to build a new complex that could cater to their growing needs. I left Annapolis just before they broke ground on the new project and for a holiday gift, the staff decided to put a brick in the front sidewalk in my honor (along with many other decent souls). After a quick search, I discovered the brick and immediately shed a tear. Then I realized I haven't cried since the final episode of The Sopranos.

All in all, it was a successful trip. Good friends, pretty good basketball and an overall great time. Just like Big Chris, from Lock Stock & Two Smoking Barrels: "It's been emotional."

Puerto Rico reflections #1

Ahh, where to begin?

I remember how I felt when I barely made it out of this stadium alive. The USVI men's basketball had just dropped its bronze-medal game and even though the gold medal match between Puerto Rico and Mexico didn't tip for two and half hours, the mayhem unfolding outside was scary.

Fans were going nuts and trying to grab a good spot in the line outside the front entrance. Music was playing, booze was flowing and it started to look a little dangerous. A stadium security guard couldn't believe it when I asked him if I could leave. He gave me the "it's your funeral" look and opened the door as the drunken savages made a quick attempt to enter the venue.

I had a laptop bag for my computer and bag over my shoulder with three expensive cameras inside. I was a sitting duck -- but this duck had moves. While wearing flip flops, I broke through that raucous crowd like Brandon Jacobs, which meant a few innocent bystanders felt the wrath of my lead shoulder and elbow.

After I cleared the fray and during the walk back to the car, I realized that the game I just covered was the last USVI event at the CAC Games and a little euphoria came over me. I did a damn good job and felt like celebrating.

Passed a ghetto barber shop on the corner. Yeah, why not? I needed me a tight fade anyway.

Walked into the joint and like a lot of my entrances during this 2-week excursion, the record screeched to a halt. Actually, it wasn't a record but some ass-jiggling Spanish reggatone rap video that was playing on the TV was suddenly muted just so all the barbers could take a gander at the stupid white boy that just walked in. The barbers even pulled the chairs around so the clientele could get a look.

For some reason, there was also a pool table in the middle of the room. Which I found just adorable.

I took off my camera bag. I put my laptop computer bag next to it and looked around. No one spoke English. Or at least they acted like they didn't.

Finally, a guy with a pool stick in his hand and a snazzy haircut told me in broken English that they were closed. Almost relieved to leave the room, I shrugged my shoulders and grabbed my luggage. I must have walked about 40 yards down the city street when the same guy came out and yelled to me. I couldn't understand what he said but he motioned for me to come back. So I did.

I walked in again and he started to clean off the only open barber chair in the corner of the room. I put my bags back down and then asked him a great entrance question.

"What, did you lose?"

"Nah," he answered. "I never lose."

And then through some interesting descriptions, I told him how I wanted my hair cut. It was the first time I had been in a barber shop since I moved to the V.I. in February -- my girlfriend takes the clippers to my dome -- so it was refreshing to sit there and let this guy line me up.

He really put some effort into it and gave me the best haircut I'd ever had. A lot of people thought I looked Puerto Rican during the trip but this little enhancement sealed the deal.

He charged me $7, I gave him $13 and I walked out of that inter-city Puerto Rican pool hall/barber shop a new man. It was a great feeling.

I felt so good that I decided to celebrate by having a few beers across the street at a similar establishment. But instead of haricuts, this particular place specialized in cans of Medalla Light and warm shots of tequila.

Yes, it was a fun night and it was just getting started. But I'll leave that story for next time.

LeBron in DC?

This has nothing to do with anything. But as I sat inside my newsroom, listened to the 1-hour LeBron Decision special and wrote a blurb about the V.I. little league baseball teams getting pummeled in Puerto Rico, it suddenly hit me.

LeBron James + American Idol = playing for the Washington Wizards.

I'm sure it rubbed a few people the wrong way when LeBron made a big stink about where he would sign as a free agent. He could have just held a press conference like everyone else. Instead, he wanted to do it live and ESPN's SportsCenter probably earned its highest TV rating of the summer.

Stay with me here.

He should have just listened to my boy, Ryan Seacrest, and turned the whole saga into an American Idol results show.

He's young. He can play anywhere (i.e. D.C.) for the next five years and have a good time. Why is he in such a hurry to win some rings?

Money, huh? Well, I got you covered, King James.

The show could have been set up where people call in or text which team he should go to and that he would have to play there. If each call/text cost like $2.99, he would make his base salary on one night's work.

Imagine all those saps in Cleveland who haven't seen a winner in decades. They would have sunk every last construction and mining penny into that bastard to stay in Ohio.

Chicago wants to move on from the Jordan years and I'm sure Obama would have cast a vote in the form of some expensive stimulus package.

There's gold practically flowing up on the shore in Florida and around Miami. I'm sure some of those rich fellas that ride yachts around wouldn't mind paying for LeBron sprinkles to go on top of their Wade-Bosh cake.

And New York City? Fffugetaboutit.

LeBron would have scored mad duckets if he just listened to me. Why didn't I think of this plan earlier in the week?

I could have hit him up on Twitter. Yeah, I'm following his ass.

While the increasing-by-the-second basketball faithful in South Beach will celebrate tonight for what looks like an NBA coup, I wonder if the Wizards will ever get a chance to buy a winner.

Probably not. Do I care? Not really.