Whether you know it or not, some members of the The DC Culture Club are diehard Washington Wizards fans. No, these are not fans of the colony of real wizards who live under one of the bridges (it's a secret which one) in Rock Creek Park, but fans of one of the most disappointing professional basketball teams in world. I would say universe, but I do not know the history of the JBA (only the cleverist among you will understand this joke).
This year's Wizards team is the worst in the league. Also, they have no pride. Can you imagine if someone told you you were the worst at something? Anything? Unless it was being nice, you would probably do everything in your power not to be the worst. Well, other than one or two players, these Wizards don't seem to care.
Anyway, I was shopping in Georgetown with my brother in law and we stopped into the ridiculously priced Bally store where things like a "liquid Nylon" Prada jacket that has no value other than to be weird when worn by humans cost $555. We were alone downstairs in the men's department along with a sales guy and in walks a 6'6 dude with a huge flat rimmed LA Dodgers cap, a t-shirt and awkward skinny jeans that hung below his ass, and huge white hotel slippers (it was raining and about 38 degrees outside.)
It was Nick Young. Who is Nick Young you ask? He is the Wizard's substitute shooting guard who we drafted last year 16th overall. He has a beautiful shot, can hit the three, and dunks the basketball like I used to make snow forts. An all around excellent NBA talent. Here's the thing: he doesn't care. He just doesn't. He is a goof. He jokes around in the huddle. He looks at the Jumbotron during timeouts when he should be listening to the coach. Listen, I appreciate a person being happy and Nick Young is happy and young in age and I am one of the biggest arguers (word?) that pro sports have become too serious and robotic and taken on military importance when in reality we started playing sports and watching because they are fun. Still, the Wizards are important to us Washingtonians who spent many a Friday night at 7pm watching Jeff Malone stroke a jumper from the side and then get his $&*# swatted to the third row next time down the floor and end up losing the game by 18. We have been waiting for a while for a tight team. We got one four years ago. Since then, though, we have experienced back breaking injuries and mediocrity. Now we are the worst.
Back to Nick Young. Now we are the worst team in the league and our super talented second year shooting guard can't break the starting lineup. Disgusting (like how Mel from Flight of Conchords says disgusting when she finds out Jemaine is dressing up like Art Garfunkel so he can makeout with Chloe from 24). Anyway, what was the Nick Young going to buy in Bally? He asked the dude to take out these huge, gigantic red, poofy head phones out of the case. These headphones were ginormous. He put them on his head, and looked in the mirror with this enormous grin. He looked absolutely and utterly like a complete turkey. He loved them. Now, I would usually say hi to a local athlete because of the overall representation factor. Especially a Wizard. We walked directly by one another in the jeans aisle, he wearing his ridiculous headphones and me wearing normal human clothes and accessories. We looked at eachother in the eye. I looked down and said nothing. He didn't deserve a hi from me. He deserved my scorn and disgust. It reminded me of when it was me, Brendan Haywood and his girlfriend in line at the Barnes & Nobles...I said nothing to him. Todd Franz in Dan Snyder's box at FedEx Field. I said nothing.
On to another thing. Enology, the new wine bar/restaurant in Cleveland Park will be knocked off the DC Culture Club list of spots to review because one member had such a lousy experience there this past weekend. He claimed the wine was average, the food was below average and improperly served. Overall, it was the weak sauce. If places are the weak sauce, they will not be allowed to host the culture club. Fact.
New DC term being brought up from the ATL: the weak sauce.
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