It’s time for the 76ers to be transparent and say what’s going on with Markelle Fultz

Ho hum. Another week, another scathing controversy/conspiracy brewing about the Philadelphia 76ers.

What’s next? Are we a day away from 76ers CEO Scott O’Neil being found complicit in the JFK assassination? Is Brett Brown really DB Cooper? Is Joel Embiid’s success all a “Jacob’s Ladder” scenario that we’re experiencing during our last moments on our death bed?

For a yet unknown reason (be it the way the planets are aligned, the wind is blowing, or if a full moon is on the horizon) at the direction of his attorney Markelle Fultz is being pulled  from all 76ers activity until he sees a shoulder specialist next week.

The strange, sad saga of Fultz has taken yet another strange, sad turn.

No practices. No games. Nothing until Fultz is seen by whatever hack specialist he’s being shoveled off to now.

Oddly enough, Fultz has said nothing about his health this season. He’s said on multiple occasions that he feels “good” and publicly bristled when ex-shooting coach Drew Hanlen said he wasn’t healthy.

Here he is on Nov. 6th saying how good his shot feels.

 

 

 

He had opportunity last night to say he was injured. He did not.

So what changed from then to now? How have we gone from a happy-go-lucky, yet struggling, Markelle Fultz to this:

 

 

Is he hurt? Is his shoulder still bothering him? Is he and his team peeved that Brett Brown gave his minutes to TJ McConnell last night?

Now is the time, 76ers, to finally come clean and tell us what you know about Fultz.

Is he hurt?

Was he injured in a BMX accident after he was drafted?

Why is he being sent to a shoulder specialist after assuring everyone he was healthy?

Why did he so publicly split with Drew Hanlen?

Is he upset with being benched for TJ McConnell?

How much of a say do the people around Markelle have on this decision?

All of these questions have been asked by the 76ers beat reporters. None of them have been answered.

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The strange, sad saga of Markelle Fultz

Watching Markelle Fultz double-clutch his way through a free throw attempt and having it spread through social media like a plague hurt my soul. It’s painful to watch, and even more painful when you realize everyone is already laughing at it seconds after it hits Twitter.

He put in so much work, so much effort into retooling his shot, and for a while it seemed to be working. Sure, it wasn’t the nicest shot anyone has ever seen, but it was a hell of a lot better than the janky nonsense he put up last season.

Then, well, this hit Twitter minutes after his double-clutch du jour:

Oof. Just another strange nail in the strange coffin of Fultz’s young career. I know Fultz will get a lot of shit for tossing Hanlen to the curb, but Hanlen always struck me as an odd guy himself.

And to top it all off, he’s a bit of a Chatty Cathy. I’m all for sending passive aggressive tweets about someone, but give me a break. Do shot trainers need to send out “mysterious” tweets about their clients health, and then fire off this nonsense last night?

Who would have thought a weirdo shooting coach wouldn’t work well with a weirdo shooting guard who is suddenly so far inside of his own head that he’s scared to attempt a jump shot farther than 15-feet?

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What the hell was that?

After the Eagles fucked away a 17-point lead against the Panthers three weeks ago, Doug Pederson proclaimed the pressure was off his team.

Imagine how little pressure this team feels right now.

Oh me oh my. What the hell did we all watch last night? More important, WHY did we all watch that last night? If we had paid closer attention to this team, to the smoke and mirrors it had displayed during their four wins, we surely would have noticed that the air was dewy sweet with the potential for a massive letdown.

Please go someone else if you want any type of analysis from this game. Stay here if you want to listen to pure, unadulterated bitching.

Look over here! It’s Brandon Graham stripping Tom Brady in the Super Bowl! Remember that? Hey look at this, it’s the Lombardi trophy! Awesome, right?! No no, don’t look over there at the patchwork secondary, the questionable coaching decisions, or Darren Sproles taking up a roster spot all year to get free healthcare….look back over this way, it’s another replay of the Philly Special! Remember that? Philly Philly? Too cool, right?

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The 76ers City Edition song that is in no way similar to the Simpsons Monorail song

In honor of the 76ers City Edition merchandise release today, I’ve carefully crafted a “Music Man” type chorus number to commemorate the awesome new 76ers gear for sale.

This number just came to me out of the blue. It’s catchy as hell and in no way resembles the famed Monorail song from one of the greatest Simpsons episodes ever written.

Enjoy!

Coggin: Well, sir, there’s nothing on earth

Like a genuine,

Bona fide,

Electrified,

City Edition

Merchandise release!

What’d I say?

Ned Flanders: City Edition!

Coggin: What’s it called?

Patty+Selma: City Edition!

Coggin: That’s right! 76ers City Edition!

[crowd chants ‘City Edition’ softly and rhythmically]

Miss Hoover: I hear the prices are awfully steep.

Coggin: No my dear they’re very cheap.

Apu: Is there a chance the shirt could rend?

Coggin: Not on your life, my Hindu friend.

Barney: What about us brain-dead slobs?

Coggin: You’ll be given cushy front-office jobs.

Abe: Were you sent here by the devil?

Coggin: No, good sir, I’m on the level.

Wiggum: The ring came off my pudding can.

Coggin: Take my pen knife, my good man.

I swear it’s Philadelphia’s only choice…

Throw up your hands and raise your voice!

All: City Edition!

Coggin: What’s it called?

All: City Edition!

Coggin: Once again…

All: City Edition

Marge: But Markelle Fultz is still all cracked and broken…

Bart: Sorry, Mom, the mob has spoken!

All: City Edition!

City Edition!

City Edition!

[big finish]

City Edition!

Homer: City Ed… D’oh!

 


Please don’t sue us, Simpsons producers.

Click the banner or THIS LINK to check out the 76ers City Edition collection.

NBA City Edition Collection

Help us solve a case of mistaken identity, free Chick-Fil-A, and the 2008 Philadelphia Eagles

I was reading Drew Magary’s Deadspin Funbag today and was delighted to see this featured email from fan of Drew’s who detailed a rather odd moment of his life at a Philadelphia Chick-Fil-A.

Here is his email. You can also read Drew’s entire Funbag article here:

Jason:

The year was 2008. I was living in Philadelphia, and would sometimes frequent the Chik Fil-A near my apartment. One day I’m in line, and as I step up to order, the manager, a little squirrely fellow, steps out from the kitchen and starts asking me questions and making weird exclamations like “You guys think you’re ready this season?”, and “Westbrook is looking sharp!”. I gathered he was talking about the Eagles, so I just sort of shrugged and mumbled “yeah” a few times, as I’m not one for small talk. Then he asks me if I’M ready for the opener against the Rams next week. I give him a quizzical look, and he COMPS MY MEAL, telling me he’s a big fan.

I’m super confused, but don’t say anything and take my chicken club, eight piece nuggets and diet Dr. Pepper to a table to eat my solitary meal. At this point I’m sure this guy thinks I play for the eagles. I’m a pretty big guy, (6’4’’, 300lbs) so I guess it’s a semi reasonable mistake to make. At no point did he call me a specific name, or directly acknowledge I was a pro. So I figure, I’ll take this meal and lay low for a while on the Chick Fil-A.

Then, as I’m finishing my meal, the manger comes over with this serious look on his face. I thought he came to his senses and I was busted. My heart was in my chest and ready to shoot out of my mouth. He sits next to me, and says very softly, how sorry he is to make a scene, and that he shouldn’t have done that, and he is sure that I didn’t appreciate all the extra attention he brought me. I tell him it’s not a big deal, and that he’s the first person to recognize me, and I appreciate the meal. A smile breaks across his face and he takes my soda and says “how about a refill on that Dr. Pepper??” and bounds back to the kitchen. I get up to follow him a few moments later and as he hands me back my cup, the whole kitchen joins in on the E-A-G-L-E-S chant as I walk out. What I felt that moment was a curious mixture of shame, embarrassment, humor, and confusion.

I returned several times to that specific Chick Fil-A, and the manager would always come out to shake my hand, and ask if I wanted a milkshake. Which of course I did. Am I a horrible person?

That may be the finest story I’ve ever read. Pardon me while I wipe a tear away from my eye and thank heavens that such GOOD can exist in the world.  I can assure you Jason, without a doubt, that you are not a horrible person. You are the world’s greatest hero.

Someone once said I looked like Zach Galifianakis but I didn’t get any free Chick-Fil-A out of it.

It’s a wonderful story, but damnit I needed answers. How many times did this happen? What does Jason look like? I reached out to Drew, who graciously sent Jason an email on my behalf.

Jason and I had an email conversation about his experience and who he thought the befuddled manager mistook him for.

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It’s election day! But who should you vote for?

Election day is what separates this fine country from all the others in the world. It’s what this country was founded on, your right to cast a vote to decide who will lead us into the promised land. Why, our electoral process gives millions of inbred middle-American morons a voice to elect a senile, blustering, embarrassing reality TV star to the White House (ok…it may have its flaws).

But, who should we vote for, Uncle Coggin? There are so many candidates, so many fancy ballot questions that those fat cats in Washington make so hard to understand, why, I don’t know where to start!

Well I’m here to steer you through the rigorous voting landscape and offer my humble opinion on who and what you should pull the lever for today.

So please, sit back and let a middle school drop-out guide you into that voting booth, nuzzle up to your body, wrap my arms around your waist and kiss at your soft, luscious neck while we play out our sensual role in democracy.

Don’t come a knocking if that voting booth is rocking.

 

 

 

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10-years ago today I missed the Phillies parade because I’m a complete jackass

10-years -ago today Chase Utley dropped an F-Bomb this city had been looking forward to for 28 years. “World champions……WORLD FUCKING CHAMPIONS!”

10-years-ago at the same time, instead of being shitfaced drunk with my loser friends and going insane in the streets of Philadelphia, I was wearing a pair of old ratty khakis, a $20 polo shirt, and wondering if the shards of my computer screen would mercifully slice through my jugular after I smashed my head through the machine.

Yes. I had to work the day of the Phillies parade, the first championship I had witnessed in my then 26-years of existence because I was far too much of a pussy to tell my boss I wouldn’t be working that day.

In the words of Robert Durst, “WHAT A DISASTER.”

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