So the NBA is littered with terrible rappers, but what about singing talent? Well lets take a look.
Lebron James
Not a bad falsetto. Whats that move at :25?
Shaquille O'Neal
Mind of a 10 year old. Fingers always covered in melted chocolate I bet. Feel bad for that bus. Everyone's forced to laugh at his terrible jokes instead of giving him wedgies.
Ron Artest
Another prime example of Ron Ron`s wonderful wonderful insanity. Here`s another. And another.
Greg Oden
Nice to see him upbeat.
Maurice Cheeks
Warms your heart a little bit don't it. Flat out saves the day. The greatest pregame national anthem moment ever in my opinion. This comes a close second. And this a very close third.
Jerry Stackhouse
What a hunk. Stack`s a smoothie with a voice like butter.
We have a winner.
Showing posts with label Shaq. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Shaq. Show all posts
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Monday, February 1, 2010
Just Sitting Here, Playing Live, Parts 1 & 2
Part One: Burn Victim Night Terrors
I've been playing NBA Live since 1998, when Tim Hardaway was on the cover. It was back in the day when computer games were packaged in huge cereal-sized boxes, and screen shots bubbled out to showcase the 3-D graphics. I specifically remember Allen Iverson hitting a leaner over a nameless whitey, while Mitch Richmond hoisted a fade away. Most importantly, I recall being jazzed about the graphics, Charles Barkley's face in particular. This was an era of graphics when players had scarecrow bodies and bulbous heads shaped like octahedron. To personalize the athletes, portraits were stretched over each head, and the resulting look was predominantly "burn victim." If you played sports games 12 or 13 years ago, you remember the burn victim era. It haunted me. Hockey games played a big part, and Ray Bourque was the worst. I had many night terrors about burn victim Ray Bourque. He'd skate over my fingers with his cruel and demented scarecrow legs. I did everything I could to cheer him up, but nothing could deter his steely focus. Every night Ray Bourque would appear, and every night he was burnt and angry.
In any case, the reverse side of the box looked promising. Charles' smooth, round, pot roast head was carefully polished, and more importantly, Mitch Richmond was shooting a fade away. Before Live '98, it was apple pie, and Steve Kerr jumpers that resembled set shots. It doesn't seem like a big deal, but when MJ is the dominant player in the game and you can't execute his signature move, it's like having access to a perfect set of tits with missing nipples.
I've been playing NBA Live since 1998, when Tim Hardaway was on the cover. It was back in the day when computer games were packaged in huge cereal-sized boxes, and screen shots bubbled out to showcase the 3-D graphics. I specifically remember Allen Iverson hitting a leaner over a nameless whitey, while Mitch Richmond hoisted a fade away. Most importantly, I recall being jazzed about the graphics, Charles Barkley's face in particular. This was an era of graphics when players had scarecrow bodies and bulbous heads shaped like octahedron. To personalize the athletes, portraits were stretched over each head, and the resulting look was predominantly "burn victim." If you played sports games 12 or 13 years ago, you remember the burn victim era. It haunted me. Hockey games played a big part, and Ray Bourque was the worst. I had many night terrors about burn victim Ray Bourque. He'd skate over my fingers with his cruel and demented scarecrow legs. I did everything I could to cheer him up, but nothing could deter his steely focus. Every night Ray Bourque would appear, and every night he was burnt and angry.
In any case, the reverse side of the box looked promising. Charles' smooth, round, pot roast head was carefully polished, and more importantly, Mitch Richmond was shooting a fade away. Before Live '98, it was apple pie, and Steve Kerr jumpers that resembled set shots. It doesn't seem like a big deal, but when MJ is the dominant player in the game and you can't execute his signature move, it's like having access to a perfect set of tits with missing nipples.
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