June 2013
“That’s family stuff,” Gregg Popovich said, in his most telling three words of this series. Pop had been asked what it was he told Manu Ginobili before the game, and his answer was both sufficient and true.
My favorite moment of last night was after Danny Green’s final dagger, when he made his way back toward the bench and Tim Duncan stood waiting for him at the free throw line. What happened there wasn’t a celebration, but an actual embrace — Duncan putting his hand on the back of Green’s head in a moment of genuine affection. Family stuff.
I don’t think members of a professional sports team have to like each other (Kobe Bryant said last week that the best teams he’d ever played on were such because they weren’t that way), but I know that I love it when they do. The first words from Tony Parker’s mouth at his postgame press conference were a half-joking scolding of a reporter for doubting that Manu would be Manu. Both Pop and Parker’s words instantly brought me back to this. With regard to legacies, there’s plenty on the line for the guys populating the Spurs’ sideline in this series, but as much as this is about Pop being the best coach ever, or Duncan being the best player of his generation, or Manu and Parker again elevating their place in history, I’ll remember these Spurs for the way they enjoyed playing basketball — together. That, as much as everything else, is what doesn’t come around very often.
via Grantland
“I took out the ring and showed it to [Putin], and he put it on and he goes, ‘I can kill someone with this ring,’” Kraft said at a speech this week, according to theNew York Post. “I put my hand out and he put it in his pocket, and three KGB guys got around him and walked out.”
Childhood playground shenanigans. That’s what this is. At a much larger and therefore weirder level.
“Can’t you give me two lines, just two lines of recommendations without any hints at ‘what a great man the boss is’ and what poor fishes they are in comparison” — Schindler to Wright, while attempting to apply for his license to practice architecture
“My dear Rodolph Schindler: … I am in receipt of a letter from the Board asking if you had made designs for me. The answer to that is, — No you didn’t. Nobody makes designs for me. Sometimes if they are in luck, or rather if I am in luck, they make them with me. … Nevertheless, I believe that you now are competent to design exceedingly good buildings. I believe that anything you would design would take rank in the new work being done in the country as worthy of respect.” — Wright to Schindler, July 1929
Hell hath no fury like a billionaire scorned. Just look at what a certain mayor has planned for four senators who voted against his gun bill.
Stylistically, Larry is minimal. Emotionally, he has compared himself to a vehicle avoiding the twin ditches of hard-heartedness and sentimentality. ”Just lay it out there straight,” he advises, “and let the reader make up his or her own mind.”
To let this happen to Red Hook would be awful: the buses are already bad enough at peak hours, the division between populations already something of a problem. It’s also one of the most neighborly neighborhoods I’ve ever been to, where you can quickly be made to feel like part of a community even if you only visit every once in a while. What’s at stake in Red Hook wouldn’t just be the loss of a quaint quasi-postindustrial seaside town; it’d be the loss of one of the warmest and most resilient neighborhoods we have: what we talk about when we talk about Brooklyn. If we need to make room for more people, we need to do it in responsible ways we haven’t in the past: figure out how to maintain character while building up, not just dumping luxury glass towers on the waterfront and calling it progress.
The Duncan Show has been many things over the past 16 years, but it has rarely, if ever, been boring.