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If prostitution is the world’s oldest profession, then journalism wasn’t far behind it out of the womb. And just like any set of twins—their similarities are striking. Nobody gets into prostitution because they love sex. Just like no one gets into journalism because they love writing. Both breeds of human just realize that they have only one discernible skill set in life and decide that they might as well capitalize on it.
Just as it’s the harlot’s job to get as many customers through her bedchamber as possible, it’s the journalist’s job to have as many people as possible read his or her writing. The hooker does this by turning on a red light, dressing in provocative clothing, or posting ads on the “Casual Encounters” section on Craigslist. The journalist achieves his own whore-istic goal by making “Of All Time” lists.
This is exactly what Sports Illustrated did this week when they released their “25 Most Hated Teams of All Time” list (You can check out the full list here, which kindly lists the ’07 Patriots at #6; they could have been much higher). Of course, it worked. I looked. Everyone looked. People blogged about it, radio hosts yelled about it, ESPN ESPN-atized it. Which is exactly what SI had planned. Because after all, no whore puts on her 8-inch heels, fishnet stockings, and mini-skirt in hopes of walking down the street unsolicited.
But I’m not going to do what most outsiders tend to when they encounter whores and journalists. I won’t yell. Nor criticize. Nor say how f’ing wrong they are and what a waste of life they must be. No. See, as I myself am a member of this guild or whores (I of the writing variety, not the carnal), I can’t betray my kind. Instead, I’ll lend a helping hand. The way a hooker may help her co-worker apply makeup when her heroin-weakened arm is unable to do it itself. Or when a journalist is too hungover to proof his own column. So SI, if you’re out there, and you one day need to expand your list of the 25 Most Hated Teams to a round 30, feel free to take these suggestions to augment your list.
For a list chock full of dynastic teams, SI’s collection of most hated teams was curiously devoid of any Boston Celtics teams of the 80s. But if people are really clamoring to add a Celts team to that list, I suggest you skip the Bird/McHale/Parish/Ainge Celtics and head right to this team.
I know in hindsight we can look back at this team and say, “Yeah, but a year later they won it all.” I don’t care. I. Hated. This. Team. Sebastian Telfair. Hated. Him and his dumbass MTV show. Ryan Gomes, like most people who went to Providence College—I hated. Delonte West. I hated (redeemed himself by proving his love of firearms and by boning Lebron James’ mom). Wally Szczerbiak. Brian Scalabrine—made me embarrassed of my own race (Scalabrine redeemed himself by slowly morphing from a basketball player into the defacto mascot of the Boston Celtics).
If those guys weren’t enough to make you hate this team, their quality of play most definitely was. The Celts’ 24-58 campaign (which at one point included an 18-game losing streak) could only be described as an all out holocaust against quality and entertaining basketball. This team was so God-awful, it killed Red Auerbach before they could even play a regular season game. For that—I hated this team.
A long time ago I was an innocent child. I loved LEGOS, building tree forts and professional wrestling. That childhood is dead. At the 0:34 mark of this video, you can witness the nWo murder it. I hate you Kevin Nash. I hate you Scott Hall. And Hogan…well, I can’t call people not currently residing in hell the devil, so I call them villainous traitors.
Yeah that’s right. I said it. I hate the Chicago Bulls of the 90s. Jordan, Pippen and their Merry Band of Ugly Ass White Dudes can all go f’ themselves. That goes double for that smug ass Phil Jackson, who I (despite only be 11 years old at the time) could tell was a world-class narcissist.
“But every kid loved the Bulls in the 90s. Every kid had a pair of Jordans. Every kid had a Bulls Starter jacket.” My point exactly. Kids are front running, bandwagon jumping little twits. If you lived in the Chicago area during the 90s, fine—you get a pass. But everyone else should hate this team.
They were solely responsible for preventing Charles Barkley—one of my favorite all-time players—from ever winning a title—which is a travesty. He was one of the most talented and charismatic guys ever to come through the league, and because of that goddamn dynasty, all people ever think about him is that he was a perennial runner-up. They ruined Looney Tunes for me by producing Spacejam. They ruined team basketball. And worst of all, they spawned a generation of bandwagon fans. So 90s Chicago Bulls, I’ll say it because no one else will—I hate you.
If you didn’t grow up watching Disney made-for-television movies, I feel bad for you. But if you were a normal child and are familiar with the movie Brink, you know that Team X-Blade is the by far the douchiest gang of clowns ever on eight wheels.
They didn’t care about skating. They just wanted the magazine covers, girls, money, and glory. They had no respect for the sport of inline skating, which to my 12-year-old self was a crime against humanity.
Their pre-teen douchery was so bad that it even infected the movie’s protagonist, Andy “Brink” Brinker—as he turned from a soul skater to a corporate shill, and then later in life to a stereotypical high school pretty boy, as seen in the movie The Princess Diaries.
OK. Take your average high-school prep lacrosse team. You hate ‘em, I know. But wait. Now force-feed them an endless supply of high-grade government steroids. Troubling right? Oh. It is not over. Next, instill them with a sense of superiority so great that they believe they can get away with anything. And by anything I don’t mean stuffing some little nerd into a trashcan or going on a team date-rape. Nah, I’m thinking more along the lines of thinking that they could get away with human genocide. Sounds awful? Not finished. Have their head coach be a crappy, spiteful former artist who is hellbent on creating a super race of athletes just to make up for his glaring shortcomings and thinks it’s cool to slaughter millions of people. Hold on…there’s more—they want to kill Indiana Jones.
That my friends was the 1936 German Olympic Team. But if it makes you feel better, a cool black dude from America beat the crap out of those Nazi bastards, completely melting their warped sense of racial superiority in the what is still known as greatest recorded case of karma ever.