Okay, I’ll relent.
K.O.B.E.’s just too gangsta wit it, right? I mean, he did release a rap record [dubiously] entitled “Thug Poet.” Pertly self-assertive is the criticism? I love that about him. Haven’t granted amnesty for taking Moesha to the senior prom? Hmm...touché.
Or, perhaps this is the resultant lingering stench from fantastically publicized infidelity? Dismiss all the vain, judicial grandstanding and media mayhem. Kobe has already turned in his best Dimmesdale, and if A man could afford a $4 million 8-carat, purple diamond bribe like a Filet O’ Fish sandwich during promotional Fridays throughout Lent, then he might fancifully dunk his McNugget in a spread of sauces. Under no circumstances would ChinoTrojan transgress the Seventh Commandment, and I adamantly decry such primitive impurity. Nevertheless, I do occasionally indulge in the unwholesome pleasures of a classic Filet O’ Fish and 20-Piece.
But, I digress.
A man can be an artist…in anything, food, whatever. It depends on how good he is at it. Kobe’s art is basketball. He’s a man on fire painting his masterpiece. Bada baba ba, I’m lovin’ it.
And y’all thought Chuck Norris was the reigning All-American badass. Don’t get me wrong – I can hum the theme song from The Delta Force (1986) on cue and would never graze Walker’s smooth ostrich boots. However, the current front man for Total Gym did turn a bit soft when he started Nair-ing his back after critical remarks assailing his hirsute appearance in The Way of the Dragon (1972). Granted, he resembled a lycan suspended in transmogrification, but what’s the big deal? At least he can boast that Bruce Lee singed his hairy hide while The Dragon was breathing fire (RIP).
ChinoTrojan pecks the hand of The Don of Movies.
ChinoTrojan tips his 12-gallon hat to The Texas Ranger.
ChinoTrojan salutes The Dragon with a Jeet Kune Do bow.
ChinoTrojan incessantly licks his upper lip as tribute to The Mamba.
From Kobe to Marty to Chuck to Bruce and back to Kobe. *pant* Talk about a drill in blog-and-weave. When you ride shotgun with ChinoTrojan, the destination takes a back seat to the expedition. Tell Ma and Pa to lock up the Mossberg, pour another nightcap, pop in that Terms of Endearment (1983) VHS, and get cozy on the couch because ChinoTrojan will always bring you back home safely by curfew.
Yours truly once dispatched $13 worth of highly processed grub, saturated with heat lamp radiation, from an AM/PM convenience store, then crowned this tour de force with a decadent Choco Taco just because I felt like it. (Do the math; that’s a lot of burgers and corn dogs.) It’s a feat that rivals the accomplishments of a single baseball player hitting for the cycle and pitching a no-hitter in the same ballgame—immediately after dominating the
Triathlon earlier that afternoon. ChinoTrojan receives acknowledgement to this day for this glorious exhibition of human triumph. “No way! Dude, you’re the guy who”—Yes, I am he. The relevance? Give props where props are due.“I coulda had class. I coulda been a contender. I coulda been somebody, instead of a bum, which is what I am, let’s face it.” – Terry Malloy, Elia Kazan’s On the Waterfront (1954)
The voters of the NBA are drowning in their own miserable denial. What a blessing though, because it is not too late to atone for recent offenses by doing the classy thing. If your mouth forms a skewed oval when shoveling your nose, let me get an “Amen.” Don’t you be in denial too, folks. And you stay classy, Kobe Bryant.
