THE Random Guy: Clyde Drexler is Making Me Dumber

Introducing THE Random Guy, a man who was born to rant and rave about everything and nothing in particular at the same time. We found him on the corner of Scott and Elgin one afternoon as we were driving through UH campus with a sign that said “Insults: 50¢.”  We laughed at him, he kicked us in the bojangles and threw 50 cents at us.  We got our money’s worth.  Behold his inaugural post:

Phi Slamma... what's that last part?

When compiling a list of worst Houstonians, one might be tempted to go with a Ken Lay or a Jeff Skilling or maybe Shaune Bagwell, first wife of Jeff and auctioneer of advertising space on her own cleavage [Ed. Note - oh, so hot, cleavage].  I still can’t believe Go Daddy didn’t jump on that, but I digress.  If one were to make a list and put one of the aforementioned persons at the top, one would be sorely mistaken and possibly guilty of criminal neglect.  There is only one worst Houstonian, and he is Clyde Drexler.

Forget the championship season in which he rode Dream to the title he couldn’t get himself in Portland.  He subsequently decided to ruin the UH basketball team, the pencil moustache for Afro-American gentlemen, BBQ in the third ward [Ed. Note - even though the original Drexler's BBQ was a Houston icon], and now my enjoyment of watching Rockets’ games on TV.  He makes Steven A. and Dickie V. look both lucid and insightful by comparison.  Bill Worrell seems too senile and/or genteel to mind, but every time they do a 3-man with Matt Bullard, Air Bull looks like he wants to commit a flagrant-2 on Clyde.  I would like that very much.

Clyde has more than his fair share of bad calls and misdiagnoses of plays, players, and well, words in general, but to explain the context of each mistake would be both herculean and boring.  Too numerous to count, much like angels on a pinhead.  Suffice to say, if Kyle Lowry passes to Yao Ming with one second on the shot clock, chances are it is not a “fast break”.  I’m sure he is saying other dumb shit right this second, but am too pissed to listen.  In the flow of a game with many possessions, an occasional missed call is permissible, but his color commentary is nothing compared to his ridiculous overarching worldview.

For example, and from the Lakers game tonight: Mario Williams is courtside for the game with a lady friend.  As an aside, I think we now know the answer to Cleavon Little’s immortal question: “where the white women at?”  The answer, of course, is “they with Mario, mothafucka.”

Back to the point, Mario is sitting courtside with the white women, and of course Clyde and Bill start discussing the Mario and Vince draft because it only happened 3 years ago.  I’m pretty sure Clyde started arguing that the Texans should have drafted Vince, but it was hard to tell because sometimes Clyde doesn’t seem to understand the words that are coming out of his mouth and I’m not a codebreaker.  I think Worrell then tried to convince Clyde that Mario was indeed, you know, a pro bowler and not mentally ill.  Clyde rambled for a while and then finished with the agree-to-disagree coup de gras by saying, “well, they’re both quality individuals.”

My retort to Clyde is a picture, which according to lore is worth a thousand words.  Hows about 1,100 words.  It is a picture of drunk Vince dancing in a club with his shirt off and his smallish man-boobs ostensibly jiggling around.  This is before he lost his job to someone on social security, developed either suicidal ideation or the worst media strategy ever, and then his mom became a licensed therapist and lectured everyone how to treat her son.  He also has a “foundation” that doesn’t seem to do shit other than employ family members and give out just enough to not lose its tax-exempt status.  Here is question – if you were to give me $5 for “charity” and I were to give one of those dollars to an underprivileged child, would you a) congratulate me on a job well done or b) ask me where the fuck the other $4 went?  There is probably other shit, but I think I just broke Google.  A quality individual, indeed.

From now on, I am going to keep a note pad with me and write down all the Stupid Shit Clyde Drexler Says.  The internet may not be large enough, and I may die from whatever the writing equivalent to carpal tunnel is.  It’s probably carpal tunnel.  But someone has to halt, or at least record, this travesty of justice.  Clyde is like the banking system – to prop him up and not let him fail is pure socialism.  Maybe that is the one silver lining to this recession.  God speed, recession.

- THE Random Guy

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