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Nobody’s Fault But Mine?

Photo: Bleacherreport

I’m not a Blazer fan. I wasn’t raised in Oregon so while I root for a different team, I still pull for the Trailblazers for all but 10 games per season.

That said, I feel like it’s time for a neutral party to step in with a reality check for ex-Blazer Greg Oden.

Yesterday Oden made headlines by giving a “tell-all” interview about the 5 seasons that he spent in Portland.

While admitting to blowing his free-time on alcohol, drugs, and amateur cell phone photography, Oden also took the time to point out how difficult it was to be underage, rich, and overexposed.

Here are some of the informational gems gleaned from the interview:

“It’s almost like a cloud has been following Greg since high school. He even had bad luck… landing in the same draft class as Kevin Durant.”

“the real reason he injured his wrist… defending himself in a fight with his ‘hotheaded’ younger brother… [their] occasionally ugly sibling rivalry is similar to a lot of brothers’ relationships, but the fact that Greg was the best basketball player in the country only intensified things…

“Portland isn’t a great city to live in if you’re a young, African-American male with a lot of money,” Greg explained with an embarrassed grin… I didn’t have veteran teammates around to help me adapt to the NBA lifestyle.”

“…it wasn’t an NBA veteran who took Greg under his wing… it was his cousin from the Air Force … If you know anything about guys in the Air Force,” Greg explained, “it’s that they drink a ton. My cousin got wrapped up in the NBA lifestyle and threw parties at my house all the time…”

“”I wish it [nude pictures] wouldn’t have happened, “But I’m not going to apologize for it… I just got caught up with women throwing themselves at me. When a girl sends me 100 pictures, I have to send something back every now and then. I’m not an a__hole.”

For those paying attention, Greg Oden coming to Portland and spending 5 years “getting his zoot on” is actually:

Kevin Durant’s fault… for being really good,

His brother’s fault… for not being good enough,

The fan’s fault… for expecting too much,

Portland’s fault… for being a racist city,

The Blazer’s fault… for not providing chaperones,

The Air Force’s fault… for being a bunch of drunks,

and Women’s fault… for sending him all those nudie pics.


What Marriage Really Means

Every so often you come across something so powerful and poignant that it challenges you to re-think more than just your beliefs, but also your actions.

Yesterday I was pointed to a video about a couple who chose to get married, even after the man suffered a debilitating brain injury.

In it, a woman married a man who would be severely impaired in his ability to:





She did so after taking a significant amount of time to gain an accurate picture of what such a marriage would cost her. ┬áIn the face of this she did not just choose to “love” but to commit.

That commitment wasn’t made to her ” best available option”.

It wasn’t made to a man that she stood to gain from.

It was made to a man whom she was led to, by God.


The Distorted Image

Full disclosure: My wife made me go into a tanning booth. It’s not because she’s weird, it’s because I was going to Hawaii for a wedding and I live in Oregon. She told me that If I didn’t go into the booth for 5 minutes per day for three days, my skin would explode once I arrived in the tropics.

On day 1 I went to the local tanning parlor, put on some tiny glasses and laid in a blue cocoon for 4 and a half minutes. When I left the salon, I was still white as a bleach bucket. I went home where I was confronted about skipping my appointment. I produced my receipt, ate dinner, watched Seinfeld, and went to bed.

I woke up 8 hours later, sunburned.

Instead of getting off of the plane and getting sunburned, I spent 5 hours on a plane sunburned and then arrived in Hawaii only to stay undercover to keep from worsening the damage.

I haven’t been back to a salon for a tan.

When I was in the salon, I noticed that there were a lot of women there with me who were also not tan. They weren’t pale like me, they were orange. Their frequent visits to the tanning salon had taken them to a place that pigment rarely goes of its own free will and volition.

I wondered if any of them knew that they were orange.


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