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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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| An Introduction... |
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| by: Jared Reiner |
| October 23, 2007 |
OK, let’s be honest. I am from South Dakota, and went to the University of Iowa, so you probably don’t know who I am. If you do, you are family, a close friend, or you chose me in a NBA Fantasy Draft and then finished last in your pool.
 | | NBA.com |
I played my rookie year with the Chicago Bulls, because Coach Skiles must have lost some kind of bet. I might have even set the record for most high fives given during timeouts that year, if Jack Haley hadn’t set an untouchable mark for the Bulls when he played in the mid 90’s. He sure was a towel waving extraordinaire.
My second year, I went to camp with the Clippers and was released on the tarmac. Seriously, I was released while I picked up my bag off the team charter…no joke.
Phoenix picked me up off waivers and I injured my knee a couple weeks after I got there. I ended up not playing one minute and lost my season to two surgeries to fix a chip on my kneecap. Last year, I went to camp with the Spurs, and was released because Tim Duncan’s contract was too large to move.
Then, I went back home to God’s Country and played about 30 games for the Sioux Falls Skyforce in the D-League. Not tooting my own horn or anything, but I put the towel down and actually made the All-Star game, and was voted 2nd team All D-League. After getting a couple ten-day contracts with the Bucks, I somehow tricked them into signing me for the rest of the year.
So one couldn’t say that I had just a cup of coffee in the NBA. It is more like a grande frappuccino and a bagel with strawberry cream cheese. Not bad for a kid from a town in South Dakota which has a population of around 800, including a couple family pets and stray dogs.
Yes, I know that the blogging world already has the self-depreciating white guy in Paul Shirley, but he actually has literary talent, a book, and even a myspace page. I have an iTunes account and a MacBook. Go figure.
So now, I am in the ACB, which is the top league in Spain, and I have adapted well thus far. I play for Polaris World Murcia and we are 2-2. I sometimes feel a bit lost since I don’t speak Spanish. I took Zulu in college and it never crossed my mind that I would never need it.
Our coach will talk for seemingly hours at a time, and when asked what he said, my translator/teammate will say, “Don’t worry he is just threatening us, you’ll be fine.” Just great, now I have about as good a chance at not messing up the drill as a one-legged man has in winning an ass-kicking contest.
Most of my teammates speak English, so that is peachy. Now if we could just get the whole deodorant goes under your arms thing down. I do have to give some of my them credit for at least getting wet in the shower.
If we conducted random deodorant usage checks similar to the way the army does bunk checks, we could make some progress. Doing twenty pushups every time someone forgot the Right Guard would turn us into the strongest team in the world, besides the Russian National Women’s Softball team of course.
My Spanish is improving, due in large part to my wife taking a Spanish class at a University here in town. It is a still a real adventure trying to order food, though. There is no such thing as grabbing a quick bite to eat at a restaurant. An hour and a half lunch is the status quo.
If you think that is long, try waiting for the satellite guy to come to your house. I’ve been waiting for over five weeks, and still, no sign of him. Lucky, I have a Slingbox. For those of you still in the dark ages, this device allows one to watch their home TV or satellite on their laptop just by having an internet connection. I can’t wait till they figure out a way for me to clone my self for useless tasks…
The four-hour siesta in the middle of the days also baffles me. I mean, why wouldn’t you just take a short lunch and finish your workday three hours earlier? You know the saying that, “Rome wasn’t built in a day!” Well if Rome was in Spain, it still wouldn’t be done. |
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