The Dream Team Days

I know Pippen needs money because during his playing days he got PAID less than BJ Armstrong’s nanny. But I can’t believe that a Dream Teamer dominator who boasts zero percent body fat, who hasn’t aged a day since Rodman refused to go down on Madonna on New Year’s Eve in 1999, is going to get into bourbon enough to launch his own line of the stuff called Digits no less out of the freaking blue. After, we get some digits, let’s order another found of Jager shots for old time’s sake. Digits, why doesn’t Scottie Pippen call the bourbon Beeper Keeper instead? Can I get holla for some Challah? More jokes Gen X Dads understand and beyond, thank you very much.

When I was a kid, my 1st lofty goal was to scrounge enough money from my dad’s loose change dish so I could buy all the NBA rookie cards for the original Dream Team, Scottie Pippen included. At the time, I was also a diehard Knicks fan, which was an arranged marriage my father pushed on me, that I’ll never a ring to show for it. Back in the day, the Ewing lead Knicks at least competed in the playoffs, which offered plenty of thrills before my pubescent life shooter finally popped out of it’s holster as I bloomed under my Fruit of The Looms. Now, I wouldn’t describe my early love affair with the Knicks as Hakeem unveiling Lisa happy back in Zamunda again.  But the majority of my time spent with my favorite team in the universe, always gave me sustainable pleasure back as a whole, which is more than I can say for the woman and mother of my 3 beamish kids these days. But the one constant as a kid, besides my dad trying shit on my surging self-esteem, nothing has changed really, was the stud hued play of Scottie Pippen, whether it was his sweltering defense, giving off the impression he had extra length tarantula arms growing out of his bony ass, leading the fast break like Magic on Atkins with dogged, breathless ease or filling the lane to rip off the rim like a sober minded, better postured, Shawn Kemp. Who ran down the court with a slight hunch from impregnating half of Seattle one drooled over stuff at a time.  Plus, the year Jordan played baseball, Pippen owned the Knicks at the Garden and should’ve advanced to the NBA Finals without that bullshit tap foul call. Hubert Davis got grazed from way downtown with no time left on the clock, who cocked a slower release than Hunter Biden on bad coke. So, knowing what a clutch co-MVP Pippen was on those 6 championship Bulls teams, it infuriated me to learn on The Last Dance how Jordan gave him grief for postponing surgery one year because he was getting paid less than BJ Armstrong’s nanny. Still, Pippen’s new natty dread hair due, and post woke talk about Phil Jackson being a racist because he a drew up a last second shot play for Tony Kukoc because God forbid Croatian baller ego’s matter to, is stripping any allure left to pump up Scottie’s ego for being the most grossly overlooked number 2 in my lifetime or the next.

Yeah, I’m sure Phil Jackson’s decision to give Tony Kukoc the final shot over Scottie Pippen was racially motivated, although he did shoot from a higher percentage from way downtown last time I checked. Why couldn’t Scottie just admit, Tony had a prettier, more reliable jumper? Let’s also not act like the black man in this instance was known as a superior set jump shooter off the pic and roll compared to Europe’s greatest imported jump shooter throughout the nineties outside of Drazen Petrovic. Although Tony Kukoc was nearly 6’11, so he had a much clearer view of the hoop than Scottie or Drazen, and Pippen wasn’t competing in any three-point contests back in the day either. But what really annoys me about this Pippen makeover is him pushing a bourbon called Digits with a hand on the bottle as a logo. Shouldn’t a bourbon called Digits have a Scottie Phone playing number on it instead or at least the cell phone for his smoking hot ex wife Laura Pippen just to piss her off for old time’s sake, although based on her Instragram feed, you know she’s begging for the extra attention to.

I’m just not feeling the extra-large Pelton high five hand logo on Scottie Pippen’s bottle of Bourdon one bit. Scottie Pippen was never known for his outlandish, towel twirling, ra, ra, rooting personality either. Last, Scottie Pippen never struck me as a guy who drinks bourbon because he still exudes 0.0 body fat and has nothing weighty to contemplate when his not 1 but 6 rings speak for themselves. Kid Rock wants to market a bourbon, I can get behind that concept a bit more, knowing he uses the booger sugar to stay slim after all these years.  Scottie Pippen endorsing bourbon is like John Stockton endorsing flavored vape pens or myself ordering Wild Turkey neat with no ice like a wannabe Nick Nolte in the making. Obama’s race obsessed bullshit has ruined everything, even the cocksure, quiet allure of the NBA’s greatest number 2 of all time, my chest times 6.

Michael Kornbluth

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