Last Sunday I did not think about football.
After packing for my trip and writing my Week 10 column, I had caught a bus, a train, and a flight to Barcelona, Spain. There were beaches. There were beers. There were pictures of me and my friends throwing up the ROC for my tumblr and plenty of general debauchery. I was living in the moment and swimming in the Mediterranean Sea, and gambling could not have been further from my mind.
Was this due to temporary transcendence? Had my soul gotten in tune with the universe and freed me from my absurd weekly devotion to following point spreads and fantasy production?
Maybe, but I think it had more to do with the lack of Wifi. There was no Wifi anywhere in Barcelona. Read More
Two weeks into the NBA season, and the landscape has a few peaks and valleys: Indiana is the lone undefeated team left in the league, while Chicago is 3-3. Even though we are early in the season, as it stands now, Philadelphia and Charlotte, respectively, have the 4 and 5 seeds in the Eastern Conference. Kevin Durant is going full-MJ, and Kevin Love is the second-leading scorer in the league right now. LeBron is still LeBron, putting up 33 in three quarters of action. The Knicks are still the Knicks, and James Dolan is still their owner. Reddit can be a clever place when it wants to be.
In 2011, producer and multi-instrumentalist Devonté Hynes released Coastal Grooves under the moniker of Blood Orange. The album was hit-or-miss, with more tracks that were outlines rather than fully-fleshed out ideas. It was an unrestrained attempt at injecting post-punk moodiness into late-70s stylized R&B. With clunky melodies and equally awkward song structure to match, Coastal Grooves seemed like Hynes picked his new project out of a basket without any full realization of its potential. After a year of working with artists like Sky Ferriera and Solange, as well as releasing cuts like “Dinner” and “Bad Girls,” the blanks in Blood Orange’s sound were starting to be filled in with denser production and immense improvement in song craft.
On Cupid Deluxe, the project’s sophomore effort, Hynes has taken his market fresh idea and squeezed as much crimson juice as he could out of it.
Allow me to paint a picture for you.
I am sitting at my desk, slightly drunk on Jameson and completely plastered on life. My workspace is littered with old assignments, empty water bottles and Kit Kat wrappers, old receipts, and a pair of fingerless gloves. It is one in the morning. In 5 hours, I will have to be awake and conscious enough to navigate public transit from London to a tiny airport so I can hop on a plane to Barcelona for the weekend.
Barcelona is that place in the picture at the top of this article.
I am living a blessed life and I am very aware of it. Read More
A lot of people have already said a lot of things regarding the meaning of this strange, scrappy, magical, bearded band of men we call the 2013 Boston Red Sox. After two years that included fried chicken, beers, and the worst season in recent memory, these guys took advantage of the period between the heartbreaking end of the Bruins Cup run and the beginning of Patriots season to bring Boston back to its roots: baseball.
It was awesome to have a baseball team that was not only winning, but also likeable, on the diamond at Fenway again. But if you say you picked the Sox to win the Series this season, you are (probably, most likely) lying. That’s what made October so fun: it was totally unexpected.
Every championship win is special (something that can be kind of hard to remember when your teams have won eight in twelve years), but at the risk of being cliché and repeating something you’ve heard over and over again: this one was more.
The Marathon Bombings shook everyone in the Greater Boston area to their cores. As someone who grew up a mere fifteen minutes from the race’s starting line, who has friends and family who volunteer along the route and at the finish line, never in my wildest nightmares could I have imagined a tragedy like this happening on Patriot’s Day. But—as tends to happen in these situations, far too many of which we’ve seen the past few years—the good in humanity outshone the bad. Not only did Bostonians and marathon runners band together to help one another, so did people from across the country and the world.
Where do the Sox play into all of this?
Kobe Bryant stares into Nick Young’s soul just before the Laker rapture.
Because of the fluid nature of academia, which mirrors the National Basketball Association and how much can change day-to-day, TwH will track the NBA’s oddities and biggest stories each week with this, the 3-Pointer. It’s a cop-out name for an NBA weekly column, but it just makes so much sense. The weird, the wild and the wonderful all rolled into one, the 3-Pointer will act as a league thermometer, sure only to get hotter as the season moves forward. This week, we focus on the magnificent MC-W, the toils of Anthony Bennett and injuries in a post-Adrian Peterson/Derrick Rose world.
This is getting ugly.
I mean, things have been worse, but to give you an idea of how I feel about my picks recently, I google image searched “ashamed” to find this picture to lead off the column.
Last week as I attempted to bring my hypothetical picks back to hypothetical glory, I instead dug myself deeper into the pits of poor pickdom. Has my time in London finally caught up with me? Is my removal from American culture seeping through? Would I be better serving the world if I started hypothetically picking the Premiere League?
This is just a bad stretch. All gamblers go through them, and I must pass this God-given test to prove my hypothetical worthiness.