I once witnessed a halftime show in which two topless men in ass-hugging tights and gold body paint performed gymnastics -- slow, sweaty gymnastics -- off each other's bodies. Afterward, I dubbed that mind-scarring event "The Halftime of Horror." But heed me now, dear readers. I clearly didn't what horror really was. Not until I read about a recent Oklahoma City Thunder game in which the audience was forced to endure the heretofore unthinkable: Watching a woman drown right before their very eyes. The following footage is morbidly disturbing, so watch it at your own risk:


The woman's name is Kristen Johnson. She's a professional escape artist whose "big thing" is bravely escaping -- normally without dying -- from a giant tube of water. She attempted this feat at the halftime of the Thunders' January 16th game against the Pistons.

Everything was going great -- fans were cheering, children were laughing, puppies were frolicking amidst sweet-smelling dryer sheets -- until Kristen took a little too long to, you know, escape the tube. She then suffered cerebral hypoxia (the deprivation of oxygen supply to her brain tissue), went into a seizure and had to be rescued from what would have been a watery and somewhat ironic demise. (Not as ironic as Steve Irwin's death, but still.)

Don't worry, though. Kristin lived. Sure, she'll probably carry the resulting fear and pananoia around with her forever, but that's a small price to pay for freaking the hell out of however many people were actually at that game. But here's a quick piece of advice for all you parents out there: You probably shouldn't book Ridgeway and Johnson for your kid's next birthday party. I'm just a sayin'...

Labels: glub-blub-blub-blub, halftime shows, live drowning, Oklahoma City Thunder

In a turn of events only slightly less devastating than season-ending knee surgery, Greg Oden now has a frohawk. Or maybe the frohawk has him. I'm hoping Steve Blake follows suit and sports a Red Rooster.

Were you wondering why the Jerry Stackhouse trade'n waive was red flagged by the NBA, but it's perfectly fine to dust off an assistant coach or a stay-at-home dad to throw into the deal? You weren't the only one.

Candace Parker is leaving college early to play in the WNBA! But if they go three games without a dunk or a wardrobe malfunction, I'm going back to my Fresh Prince reruns.

Patrick Ewing and Hakeem Olajuwon are on their way to becoming 2008 Hall of Fame inductees, but did everyone forget about Jon Koncak? Of course not!

Charles Barkley appeared on the CNN Situation Room and blasted political conservatives, calling them "fake Christians". Ann Coulter would later appear on NBA Inside Stuff and blast the "fake Charles Barkley".

Did you have a lousy Valentine's Day? It could have been much worse.

Labels: bad contracts, bad haircuts, Charles Barkley, conspiracy theories, halftime shows, Jon Koncak, Valentine's Day, WNBA

Remember when this used to be yourNBA halftime show? Good times, right?
NBA halftimes used to be so simple: Rise drunkenly (but dramatically) out of your seat, shamble awkwardly to what you can only assume is the line for the Men's Room, wait in said line for 15-to-20 minutes, take a long (but gloriously satisfying) pee, wander out and to the nearest concession stand, wait in line for another 15-to-20 minutes to buy more beer and (if you're driving smart) a "beer sponge" (hotdog/slice of pizza/popcorn/whatever), then finally head back to your seat for (if you're lucky) the last two minutes of the game. It's called the American Dream. Look it up.

Now, for whatever reason, the NBA wants to keep you in your seat during halftime. Which was fine back in the wonderful days when they just hired teenage girls to dress up like prostitutes and gyrate on the court. But now...now we're forced to watch regular men dressing up as inflatable men and dancing for our "pleasure." We also get eye-flogged by dance teams comprised entirely of fat women and sexy septuagenarians. How did we go from hot cheerleaders to this? Who's responsible? Because I have a little treat for him that rhymes with "cramming his balls into a rototiller."

We all have a traumatic NBA halftime story. The following is mine. Read on at your own risk.

This goes a few years back. My college roommate and I dropped what was, at the time, big bucks for floor seats to a Bulls/Jazz game in Chicago (we were huge Stockton/Malone fans). Anyway, the halftime show was called Duo Design, a "strength and hand-balancing act from Warsaw, Poland." Basically, it's two topless guys in ass-hugging tights and gold body paint doing gymnastics -- slow, sweaty gymnastics -- off each other's bodies. Seriously.

Now, I'm not homophobic, but this was the probably the gayest thing I've ever seen, unless you count the time a buddy of mine accidentally brought a movie called Hung Wankenstein to a bachelor party we were going to (this is not a subject that is up for discussion, by the way). In fact, Duo Design is so gay that you can't even describe it without making it sound like gay porn. Think I'm kidding? Here is the completely unedited writeup of Duo Design from the Washington Post:

"Jaroslav Marchiniak and Dariusz Wronski...Oozing from one outrageously difficult position to the next, one man does a one-armed handstand on his partner's smooth skull. Or places his beveled bod at a perfect diagonal in space, with only one arm rooted like a Lego piece into the equally beveled bod splayed below him."

Seriously, I think that was an actual scene from Hung Wankenstein. Not that I watched it. Since misery loves company, why don't you watch what I saw. And if you don't claw your eyes out immediately afterward, you probably don't even have eyes.

Labels: Duo Design, halftime shows