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| Jared Reiner: Waiting Game in the Dog Days of Summer |
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| by: Jared Reiner |
| August 14, 2009 |
Call me old-fashioned or lame, but I don’t feel the need to update people on whether my Browns were successful in that morning’s Super Bowl. That is why I don’t Tweet or use Facebook. My cell phone is so old it doesn’t even have Internet. I am obviously out of touch with all the new waves of communication, since I only blog.
That is the short end of an apology to my avid blog readers for the lack of intimate instant communication that I deprive them of. And since I see my wife everyday and talk to the rest of my family enough to keep them in the know, the other ten people who read my blog are S.O.L.
The long end is that I don’t really have much to report as far my career-updates go. I probably should have put at least one blog out there about how much the economy effects the market. A missed opportunity to blog about the launching of beer grenades at a wedding I went to this summer also comes to mind.
You would think I would get used to all the uncertainty that free-agency brings considering all five years of my career I have never ended a season knowing where I will be the next. Most of the time I would just blog as usual and laugh about what is going on during the process. But sometimes the anxiety gets old and I prefer to use the out of sight out of mind approach. That might be the motivation behind my lack of blogging.
Some people have even asked me why I have tried to make NBA rosters on non-guarantee contracts instead of just going to Europe right away. Maybe it has something to do with European training camps starting two months before their regular season. And these camps usually are held in some remote location in the mountains and entail miles and miles of running. Or maybe there is so much narcissism running through my veins compiled with such an inflated sense of self-worth that I crave the risk of being fired at a NBA camp.
The real reason probably is that my agent just hasn’t found the right situation yet for me in Europe, and that I have nothing else to lose. It sounds crazy, but living situations and cultural differences sometimes play more of a role than money when I debate taking a job in Europe.
I also know that carousing the basketball rumor and transaction sites probably isn’t the best remedy to lessen my anxiety during free agency. I use it for motivation for my workouts though. It is kinda like the dog who sniffs someone’s crotch in an elevator when he knows that he is gonna gets reprimanded by his owner. He knows better, but the temptation is just too great.
Who knows? Maybe tomorrow I will be browsing the Internet on an up-to-date phone and I will see a roster move somewhere in the world that will determine where I will be playing. Then I can update my Facebook and tweet my new situation. Then again, my agent will probably just send me a text to encourage me to keep doing what I have been doing and reassure me something will happen soon.
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| Just part of the Journey |
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| by: Jared Reiner |
| April 14, 2009 |
Just part of the Journey I guess.
I have always been told to keep things in perspective and realize that sometimes the good times aren’t that great and the bad times aren’t really that bad. Sure hope the latter is true for our situation here in Germany. My team won one game of fourteen or so before I arrived and now we are 4-8 with me. For a while our ship had been righted, but now we are back in troubled waters. Usually the close losses even out during a season, but we just seem to stockpile them.
 | | eisbaeren-bremerhaven.de |
Most teams that can’t find the correct side of the win/loss column seem to give up this time of year. Still, we come out and play hard despite the fact that we have only a month left and a glimmer of hope to avoid relegation. We just can’t seem to find the right balance of playing hard and playing smart.
Take this weekend’s game for example. We traveled ten hours on a bus the day before the game and upon arrival practiced longer and harder than we had all week. Still, we managed to play our opponent down to the wire, but lost all the same. It is possible, but improbable that all those factors affected why we didn’t win, but all teams have to deal with similar travel situations in Europe. Simply put, we just can’t finish a win.
Even though things haven’t gone our way in terms of winning, we need still need to finish the season with professionalism. That sounds like an easy thing to do, but it is hard in this type of situation to not get caught up in negativity, finger-pointing, and Monday morning quarterbacking—having perfect answers to what went wrong in the game the day before.
For the record, no pro athlete can say that they don’t ever second-guess decisions that have been made through the course of a season. I just mean that all of that is futile now. We need try to make the best of the situation and stay as positive as possible without overanalyzing everything.
This is just a chapter in my basketball journey of ebbs and flows I suppose. Peaches and cream this situation sure hasn’t been, but that is life. Sure I can sit here and find numerous positives, but I am merely talking about us not winning. My blogs have also been losing in a way. The last two were thrown by the wayside like a Mick Jagger groupie, but for good reason. Keeping my career’s best interest in mind, my editor helped me realize that sometimes things are better left unsaid.
So even though I knew the situation was tough before I got here, I am still frustrated with our progress. We have loads of talent, but just can’t get over the hump. Hopefully we can find a way to string some wins together to end the season strongly. Either way, the lessons learned this year definitely will help each of us later in our careers.
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| Awake or Not? |
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| by: Jared Reiner |
| December 30, 2008 |
On a Monday the 15th I found out that my services were needed in Europe. On that Tuesday afternoon I traveled for roughly twenty hours to Germany. On that Friday, I went through two fun-filled practices with some serious jetlag. On Saturday, I played surprisingly well against my former team considering I had the biggest case of noodle-legs ever. On Sunday morning, I boarded another flight back to the states for a four day Christmas break. On Christmas Day, I flew back to Germany.
So instead of worrying about getting over jet lag once, I had to put my body through it three times in less than two weeks. Hell, the powers that be might as well throw a supreme case of bubble guts at me while they are at it.
Interestingly enough, my first payment was handed to me in cash. Guess I can put up with some jetlag if I get paid in cash before I get my bank account set up. One of my teammates joked that I should go to a Casino and bet black on the roulette table. It would have been awesome to tell Jennifer that I doubled our money. On the contrary, explaining how and why I gambled that money away would not have been so good.
I know, I know, I know. You can’t win if you don’t put it on the table, right? But Jennifer has to put up with enough stress dealing with the uncertainty of this business without having to worry about my gambling our money away.
It was my teammate Mike’s birthday, so I decided to grab some beers with him and the guys instead. It was a win/win, since I was able to avoid losing all my money gambling, and I also got to know my new teammates better. Mike is American, but has the best European mullet ever. Or worst European mullet depending on your taste.
My break was awesome, but it went by in a second, or so it seemed. Was sure better than the lack of break that I got last year in Spain, so I am not complaining. I am just saying.
On my trip back to Germany, I wasn’t able to sleep much, since the cat next to me was all in my business. Even putting on noise canceling headphones didn’t stop him from talking to me. I didn’t even get to break in the new Kenny Chesney CD the right way. At least I have a couple weeks to blare it in my apartment until my sweet Jen gets here and says no to country all the time. As my old Skyforce Coach Mo McHone put it in his southern drawl, “I don’t like country music, I LOVE country music!”
So I am back in Germany, and just struggled through the first day of two-a-days with even worse noodle legs than before. My whole body feels like I have been a roadie on an Amy Winehouse Tour.
I did witness something really profound at practice that made it all worthwhile. One of my teammates got so frustrated by one of his turnovers that he proceeded to scream and ran up the wall like he was Spiderman. Yah, he literally ran at the wall and tried to climb it. Since he has such a calm aura about him, it made it that much funnier.
Later that night with Euro-Mullet Mike, I concurred the Spiderman incident actually happened and didn’t occur in a jet-lagged dream I had. I guess when you are playing in Europe you sometimes wonder if what you see is really reality. Then you realize that it is Europe, and anything can happen at anytime. |
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| Not a Starbucks within a hundred miles |
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| by: Jared Reiner |
| November 11, 2008 |
Hunting with firepower out in South Dakota is what I did after Philadelphia released me. I had called my brother Matt to inform him that my wandering in Philadelphia was over, so he offered his condolences in the form of a hunting trip. He did warn me that there wouldn’t be a Starbucks within a hundred miles, though. Much obliged, I headed west.
When I jokingly asked if I could wear Calvin Klein loafers out in hunting country, my bro just scoffed and informed me he would make the necessary arrangements. The local Cabelas had more than enough gear to bring this city kid back to his country roots.
He really went all out in making me look like a hunter. Kind of like Jared Reiner the golfer, I look like a pro, but looks can be deceiving. You can never have enough shells for your Camouflaged Beretta is what he kept telling me. Shells are cheap, so keep shooting is his mantra. Just picture Rambo on stilts.
Yeah, but I did say firepower in that first paragraph? If I ever need to start a war with someone, or if anyone wants to start a war with me, the first place I will go is my brother’s house. We could hold up in his bunkhouse like an old western movie showdown. Hiding behind a tipped over table, we could yell things like ‘Is that you Sheriff? We ain’t coming out til your yella behind comes in here and makes us come out.’ No crap, we could.
But Matt was right in that a boys’ hunting trip is just what I needed. Being released from an NBA team is especially tough, but this time it really hurt. Guess not many players can say they went to a team’s camp and didn’t miss a shot in a game. Ok, three for three isn’t that hard, but seven-foot white guys usually don’t get paid to score. I thought that I truly had played my way onto the team, but this just goes to show that sometimes things are out of your control.
I had my fingers crossed after they cut the roster to the maximum of fifteen players and I was still alive. A couple other people in business had even called me to congratulate me, but I told them to hold off on the pats on the back. Somewhere deep down inside I had the feeling that the killing just wasn’t done.
So now what? I have been mulling over different offers all across the world, including exotic places like China and Sioux Falls. Take the money and run in China? Take a risk and go to Sioux Falls and pray for a call-up? Or take a secure job in Europe?
What shall I do? I guess I will just need to get back on the horse and hope he isn’t headed for the sunset… |
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| Hey Guys, Can I Play? |
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| by: Jared Reiner |
| September 25, 2008 |
Explaining what it is like trying to make a NBA roster on a non-guaranteed contract produced the aforementioned comment from one of my friends.
After we all got a nice laugh at my expense, I responded with something to the tune of, “Yah, and if that doesn’t work. I say, Please. I even brought my own shoes!”
It wasn’t quite as funny as my brother Matt singing the Springsteen hit ‘Streets of Philadelphia’ to me over the phone when I told him where I was going. Trust me, he should stick to his day job.
I started to think about it and my friend’s joke is not far from reality. Sure there is obviously more to it like skill, timing, ability, opportunity, and a bit of politics, but the underlying principle is showing up and playing. Playing well, I might add.
Many things have gone through my head the last couple weeks leading up to my journey to the City of Brotherly Love. The first is the hope that I don’t gain too much weight on cheese steaks.
Another is the opportunity to see some college friends that play here in Philly. Reggie Evans played with me at Iowa, so I know first-hand that the word Reggie-ness should be added to the dictionary for the way he plays. In my opinion he doesn’t play dirty, he just plays a bit harder and grittier and more pain-inflicting than most.
I remember him ruining, for lack of a better word, all of our scrimmages and practices back at Iowa with Reggie-ness. It sounds crazy, but I am actually looking forward to playing with him again. Sure, he loves pranks and making people look and feel foolish, but he has this drive that, in my opinion, fuels competitiveness.
The other Iowa buddy is my old college roommate Sean Considine, who plays safety for the Eagles. We both stood up for each other at our own respective weddings, and are both from tiny Midwestern towns. He sure isn’t the biggest talker, but I guess I do enough for the both of us when we are together.
My most sincere apologies go out to all my readers for not writing more blogs this summer. Free agency is no fun really and just produces anxiety. I figured that you didn’t want to read about how I annoy my wife Jennifer with how much I visit basketball rumor websites. Then annoy my agent with what I have just read about.
I should have written more about all the ‘it must suck being tall’ comments I hear.
“Whoa, you cud gow goose huntin’ wit a rake!” was probably the best. It came from a bearded biker dude in a country drawl when I was back in South Dakota. We were using side-by-side urinals at the time, which added to the awkwardness.
So hopefully all the Reggie-ness produced bruises are kept to a minimum in the next couple weeks. Yah right, that is as likely as all the political commercials in the coming days remaining positive.
To be honest, I would rather have bruises like a bum fighter than have to call my brother and tell him I didn’t make the team. He would probably just mock me and sing one of the Boss’ newest songs, ‘All the way Home.’ |
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| Jared Reiner: Tribute to The Freaks of Freak City |
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| by: Jared Reiner |
| June 2, 2008 |
Walking out of the gym after a playoff game, I heard the traditional pounding of the Freak’s drums. At least 100 ‘Freaks’ had formed a tunnel leading up to our team bus, and were waiting for autographs and pictures. The weird thing is that we had just got upset and we were headed home for good. They were still there acting like we had hung the moon.
 | | brosebaskets.de |
I have been on teams in great cities like Phoenix, Chicago, and even a preseason in San Antonio, but the fans here in Bamberg really are something special. The ‘Freaks’ truly lived up to their reputation.
You know the feeling like you want to just lock yourself in a room and burn past lovers’ items while Melissa Etheridge is crying out her music in the background? That is how I felt sitting on the bus after we lost. I had the worst taste in my mouth as I looked upon our faithful ‘Freaks.’ Crying wasn’t in the cards for me though. Tom Hanks said that “There’s no crying in Baseball,” so why would there be crying in my sport.
Our team just couldn’t get things going in the playoffs, for whatever reason. We were the exact opposite of John Mayer’s love life. Really, he always overachieves with the ladies, and we underachieved in the postseason.
This season put a bad taste in my mouth and John Mayer unfairly has Jennifer Aniston in his. We all buzzed our heads and grew beards for the playoffs and made it look good. Mr. Mayer makes ugly faces while he sings and plays his guitar.
This just reiterates my feeling that life just isn’t fair. Just like the fact that some people try to eat right and do all they can to be in shape and look like an athlete while others in the business can eat whatever they want.
Case in point, I have a teammate that looks like Mr. Universe, but eats garbage. He looks like his response to a question about his diet would be, “I had two-hundred pushups and an apple for breakfast. Had fifty chin-ups as an appetizer for lunch then a 5-mile sprint for dessert. For dinner I had a chicken breast with wheat rice, and I can already see it on my hips.”
Once again it is the opposite. We had a bus trip the other day and his bag looked like a Seven-Eleven. He eats Pringles by the pound and Twix like the overweight kid that always had crumbs on his shirt in junior high. His pre-game meal, you guessed it, Mambas.
Cry me a river right?
So I now have to go home to America with a bad taste in my mouth, while John Mayer gets to taste his flavor of the month. My teammate gets to continue to eat all the junk food he wants and look like a body builder, while the ‘Freaks’ unjustly have no more games to attend. Who is to blame? I don’t know. Let’s just follow Milli Vanilli’s lead and ‘Blame it on the Rain.’
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| Say Your Prayers. Eat Your Vitamins, and Throw Away Your Zubaz |
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| by: Jared Reiner |
| May 9, 2008 |
If any one out there knows Hulk Hogan please tell him that I found the only other person worldwide that still wears Zubaz pants. This cat also has a mullet but I will let that go since he wears it well.
I am not a ‘fashionista’ by any means, but at least the people in my inner circle would laugh out loud at me if I wore something this outdated. The worst part about this Zubaz-wearing “Hulkster” is that he works out at our gym and smells like he has two hamburgers and some onion rings in his pockets. I would like to go up to him and say in my best hulk voice, “Listen hear Brother. Thanks for all the support, but I am the only human still allowed to wear the Zubaz. P.S. Little Hulksters should also mix a shower with soap into the daily routine.”
Speaking about brothers. Has anyone seen Big Dog? My brother Ryan came to visit us last week but left Big Dog back in Omaha. There wasn’t any speaking in third person or barking, just a few crude remarks. Big Dog… I am not impressed.
Big Dog has been neutered. His sweet little girlfriend made the journey so he was all gentlemanly. Is that a word? Well, calling Ryan a gentleman is like saying a pig wearing a tuxedo is George Clooney. Kristin had him in check with a nasty chokehold so I didn’t have to babysit him very much. No shit. She’s used her meat hook a couple times when he was out of line. I now know that if I want to rack my bro I simply have to hit his girlfriend’s purse.
He didn’t even try to play blackout. Blackout for you churchgoing folk is when you basically drink with no regard for the perception that others might have of you. You have all seen people play this game, but Big Dog and all my guys from S.D. have perfected it. A friend of mine nicknamed Sirus is the Hulk Hogan of Blackout. Lookup Blackout in a dictionary and Sirus will be there. Believe it or not… Big Dog and Sirus both stood up for me at my wedding. They definitely put the ass in class.
My time with Ryan and Big Dog’s obedience trainer was cut short since we had a team bonding/conditioning/get ready for playoffs camp in Greece for a week. It was really unfortunate that I had to leave and stay in a beachfront hotel midway through their visit, but what could I do.
Despite all of the running and practicing, we did have some fun to pass the time and did bond as a team. I even lost a bet to a teammate that an orange couldn’t be thrown 110 yards from a fourth floor balcony into the ocean. Being the savvy businessman that I am, some of the loss was offset when he couldn’t do it with an apple. It was an amazing feat all the same.
However, the biggest feat of the week was when another one of my teammates wore a Breitling watch on a 4-mile morning run. When I called him on it, he said that he paid way too much for it not to wear it. That is at least justifiable. Maybe the cat with the Zubaz has just as good an excuse. |
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| Jared Reiner: A Much Needed Change, and NO need for the Police… |
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| by: Jared Reiner |
| March 10, 2008 |
A lot has changed since my last blog. I am now playing for Brose Baskets in Bamberg, Germany, and enjoying basketball again. To say it without saying it, a change of scenery was definitely needed…
 | | BroseBaskets.de |
So please send all your condolences to my wife. She might as well have married a G.I. Joe as much as we move. My job seems to make her birthday more and more interesting each year. Last year, we thought we were going to Las Vegas for me to play in the D-League All-Star Game. The basketball gods had other plans, and I got called up to Milwaukee.
This year, her family was coming to visit us in Spain and we moved to Germany hours before they were scheduled to leave. We were in scramble mode trying to get their travel arrangements to Germany. It ended up working out better if she just met them in Paris for a couple days before they came here. Woe is Jen…
Besides being known for its many breweries, Bamberg is also known as “Freak City.” Get your mind out of the gutter… I am happily married thank you very much. Bamberg gets that nickname because the fans are crazy.
We have a neighbor that seems to wait up all hours to clap when I walk into my building after a big game. When I got home from a road game the other day at 2 AM, he was on his balcony clapping. That makes a man feel good. Guess it is better than having a scope aimed at you after a loss. If the latter were the case, I would have worn a flak jacket home after we got upset the other night on the road.
The night we arrived in Bamberg, one of the team managers told me that he would pick me up at 8 the next morning to go to the doctor. I was a bit skeptical. In Spain, some people are just thinking about going home from the discos at that time. Here, 8 o’clock appears to be mid morning. The lady at the reception desk at the clinic looked at my bed head as if I had committed a cardinal sin.
By noon on my second day here, I had passed a half hour stress test and seen three different doctors in three different places. By the end of the day, I had gotten our new German cell phones, Internet, visas, bank account, and car all taken care of. Even managed to get a practice in there. Months would have been needed in Spain to accomplish these tasks, maybe a full year.
There is NO need for the Police, since each citizen seems so disciplined. People don’t even run yellow lights or jay walk. How dare they. I would doubt if anyone even passes gas in the company of others. German police are probably as bored as someone trying to stay awake while reading one of John McCain’s books.
The word efficient doesn’t justify how this country works. It is like a finely oiled machine. We learned this when our neighbors didn’t think we sorted our garbage correctly and placed a note on our door. Yah, that happened. Then they emailed the team office and let them know too. I bet half of the police force is sleeping in their cars from shear boredom right now. |
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| Jared Reiner: Big Dog Goes Global |
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| by: Jared Reiner |
| January 5, 2008 |
Imagine that you are sitting at a restaurant in an old boat on the Mediterranean Sea, enjoying a relaxing meal of Paella, a traditional Spanish dish. You are taking in the seventy-degree weather while catching up on old times. The moment is suddenly broken by the sound of a piece of octopus being spit across the table. You look at your wife, who looks to your mom, who then scolds the laughing culprit. No, a toddler wasn’t trying a new food, it just means that one of your brothers is in town.
“Big Dog goes global” is the comment my brother Ryan made when he arrived with my mom ten days ago. That is a pretty cool nickname for a twenty-seven year old huh? He came up with it all by himself, way back in junior high.
The true point of this rendering should be devoted to my mother. She raised three overly large and sugar-filled boys all by herself after my father passed when away when I was six. My mother embraced all the differences of Spanish culture with open arms. Ryan…not so much. If my oldest brother Matt’s Kenworth semi could fly, then this nonsense would have been devoted to him too. However, he claims that if he can’t drive there, then it isn’t worth going.
So back to the Big Dog. Despite his holding of a successful title at a Fortune 500 company, he can’t stop his alter ego from coming through when the need arises for tasteless humor. He can go from the boardroom to the backroom in record time. A couple of my friends in college once seriously asked me if he really had a respectable career or just performed in bars for tips.
Growing up on a farm that raised pigs, I love the fact that Spaniards love ham. They even have ham-flavored potato chips. It did take me a while to get used to seeing actual pig legs hanging on the walls in bars and restaurants. Called Jamon Serrano, this ham is sliced very thinly and put on everything. Big Dog loved this pork obsession, and claimed that he was pissing ham by the end of the trip.
 | | Me Carving Jamon Serrano |
Watching him interact with Spaniards was outright hilarious. Talking louder in “American,” as he calls English, was his way of getting people to understand him. The Spanish word for the number four, cuatro, is as far as his multilingual talents go. He would loudly say “CUATRO!” when we would approach the hostess at restaurants, and then look around proudly like a toddler who just went potty like big boys do.
He claims all of the interesting nuances and differences in Spanish culture are just stupid. He would constantly ask, “why would they do that?” like I knew the answer. Neither of us have ever been wrong in an argument, so my wife really enjoys when Big Dog and I get together. Arguments usually end with a rude tasteless remark directed at the winner of the argument…me. Keep my mom and wife in your prayers for these last ten days.
I do owe Ryan a debt of gratitude. He has probably done more sight-seeing and energy-expending shopping trips with my mother and wife in the last two weeks than I have, ever. Hmm, would I rather endure two practices a day or follow two ladies around the avenues of Spain looking for ‘authentic Spanish goods’ as my mom kept referring to them? Pick your poison.
We lost two heart breakers this week that we should have won, so is the reason this installment is pertained to the Big Dog. I figured that you wouldn’t want to listen to a professional athlete’s problems anyway. Poking fun at one of my best friends who was one of the best men at my wedding seemed like a better idea. Yes, I did have to add both my brothers together to get one best man. Things could be worse, at least it didn’t take three. |
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| Jared Reiner Blog Part Two |
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| by: Jared Reiner |
| December 6, 2007 |
So I am in Leon, Spain and I walk up to the hotel clerk. I ask if I can buy Internet for my room and swear that I hear him say my name. The rat gets on the wheel in my head and I realize that we just checked in and he doesn’t know what room I am in. How can he know my name?
 | | Polaris World CB Murcia (creative commons) |
Being devilishly witty I say, “How do you know my name?” He then tells me that he followed my NBA career and even has a few of my rookie cards. The question of to whom has my mother been selling cards to on the Internet has now been answered. Now I only have three more lost souls to search the earth for.
The reason I bring this up is because my wife seems to get more attention than I do over here. Don’t worry, my ego is still intact and I am definitely not one to go announce that I am a pro athlete. Being seven foot tells the tale and claiming that I am a professional ceiling painter doesn’t cut it.
Actually I find it quite refreshing that I don’t get very many stares for being overly tall. Any vertically enlightened person will vouch for me in saying that they are ‘mildly’ annoyed when approached and told about someone’s tall friend or cousin or past butt of a giddy joke. My preferred response to these comments would be, “Yah, next time I am at the Association of Freaks I will tell him you said hello. Beat it.” I abstain.
So back to my point, Jennifer and I were leaving a game the other day that I had played rather well in, and a teenage boy approached us. He gestured with his phone that he wanted a photo so I leaned towards him. I was given the ‘did you just fart’ look as he put his arm around my wife and took their picture without me in it. Must have been his first real life blonde sighting. He had only heard about them in jokes I guess…
My comments about individuals who view deodorant as kryptonite struck some chords I have learned. They weren’t malicious by any means, so all you border-line foul smelling souls can rest easy. I might just say that when in doubt, reapply aforementioned anti-smell device. I even did an interview with a reporter from the NY Times about my own usage, and agreed to go a couple days without using underarm protection for her story. Aren’t I just crazy?
Imagine going two days sans deodorant. It kind of felt like I was an undercover cop inside a drug sting. Always looking over my shoulder and debating if anyone knew of my dirty little secret. I survived, and suffice to say that it wasn’t pleasant. I am still happily married at least.
Ohh, and hell must have frozen over because I now have satellite T.V. I have adapted to the laid back Spanish life style, but I have to draw the line somewhere. Seriously, three months to get TV?
The cable guy might only have worked one day in the last three months for all I know, but at least he came to our house. He probably threw a dart at the Calendar and decided that November 27th would be the day he worked last month. Now, if only I could find someone to come mow my lawn… |
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