basketbols

Otrdien astoņos vakarā varbūt varētu aiziet uz basketbolu. ULEB kauss, augsts līmenis tomēr. Un atceroties christmas-showdown, varētu būt interese redzēt VEF spēli sestdien piecos pret Liepāju.

6. Janvāris 20:00 ULEB Cup Arēna Rīga ASK Rīga - Chorale Roanne
10.01.2009 17:00 LBL OSC VEF Rīga - Liepājas Lauvas

http://www.apollo.lv/portal/fun/articles/79563
http://kino.musu.lv/lv/filma/0457_ka_klut_par_perfektu_zaki/
http://forums.delfi.lv/read.php?f=77&t=2849&a=1

VEF Rīga galvenā trenera Valda Valtera atbilde

Jautājums: kurš ir Latvijas basketbola top menedžeris?

Atbilde: pagaidām tādu neredzu.

Uzaicinātie kandidāti:
Ralfs Pleinics (Ventspils)
Visvaldis Klintsons (Rīga)
Valdis Valters (Rīga)
Jāni Kļaviņš (Valmiera)
Igors Kuzņecovs (Liepāja)
Andris Vanags (Rīga)
Edgars Buļs (Rīga)
Edmunds Valeiko (?) (Gulbene)
Guntis D-Enzels (Rīga, Ķeizarmežs)

Īsti nesapratu, ko viņi grib no manis, bet ņemot vērā, ka basketbola spēle ir 40 minūtes, tad tas acīmredzot ir tas pats. ;)

Subject: 40 Minuten Sex - kein Problem
From: "Selma Orr" <patrick.h.de.ryck@monsanto.com>
Date: Sat, January 3, 2009 1:49 pm
To: nba@eclub.lv
Priority: Normal
Options: View Full Header | View Printable Version

Es lauft im Bett nicht mehr wie frueher? Haben Sie das Gefuehl, dass ihre Potenz
waehrend des Sex nachlaesst? Kommen Sie zu frueh? Oder haetten Sie einfach gerne
laengeren und intensiveren Sex?

Das Leben ist zu kurz - geniessen Sie das in vollen Zuegen.
Mit Geld kann man nicht alles kaufen! Die Potenz und ueber 20 Minuten
Standhaftigkeit schon!

Mit unserem Produkt vergessen die Potenzprobleme und haben wieder Spass am Sexleben.
Wir haben genau das Richtige fuer Sie!
Das Geld kommt und geht - unvergessliches Sex-Erlebnis bleibt!

Bestellen Sie jetzt und vergessen Sie Ihre Enttaeuschungen, anhaltende
Versagensaengste und wiederholte peinliche Situationen!

Jetzt bestellen und nachste Woche erhalten - 12 Tb. umsonst zum Weihnachten!

Cerams, ka viņi (Barona "fani") maksāja par ieejas biļetēm.

http://esports.lv/basketbols/video/03012009_1906_kristaps_drikis_ask_fani_izkaujas_ar

Tikai viens klubs - LOJĀLAIS "Barons" tā var izdarīt.

Kāpēc nevar publikai pateikt, ka nav naudas, ar ko samaksāt dārgajam trenerim? Vai arī, ka nav naudas, ar ko nopirkt spēlētājus, kas būtu atbilstoši izvirzītā mērķa sasniegšanai. Vanags aizlaidies pāri okeāniem un jūrām, lai nav jātaisnojas. Visītis viņu varētu pakonsultēt par klušēšanu, un kā tas rada liekas baumas un sliktu slavu..
___________
"Barons" atbrīvo treneri Muižnieku

jordan22 2008-12-31 17:30

Latvijas čempionvienības Barons/LMT Rīga vadība trešdien, (2008. gada) 31. decembrī vienojās par sadarbības līguma beigšanu ar līdzšinējo galveno treneri Kārli Muižnieku.

Ivo Zonne: „Sezonas pirmajā daļā Barons/LMT Rīga nav sasniegusi iecerētos rezultātus un netiek demonstrēts pietiekami kvalitatīvs basketbols. Šādā situācijā vainojami visi – ne tikai treneris un basketbolisti, bet arī kluba vadība. Šovasar laicīgi netika veikta basketbolistu atlase un sastāva komplektācija atbilstoši mērķiem. Tas ievērojami sarežģīja turpmāko darbu, tiecoties pēc spēles uzlabošanas. Līdz ar Kārļa Muižnieka aiziešanu no komandas sezonas uzdevumi nav mainījušies – Latvijas čempionu tituls un līdzdalība Baltijas Basketbola līgas finālsacensībās.”

zisis, 17:43, pirms 9 minūtēm, citēt
Nu blin, nu ne jau Teteri par trenneri! Teteri par trenneri var likt nu nezinu, varbūt kādai amatieru līgas komandai, bet ne jau Baronam.
Kas tad tagad iesildoties visiem pieci dos....?
Cerams tiks paņemts treners uzreiz, jā nē tad Teters nolaidīs vēl trakāk Baronu....

Sandis Valters atspēkoja sev veltīto kritiku, iemetot uzvaras metienu.

Ernests Kalve? Lohs. Iedomājies ka ir NBA. Un ka ir zvaigzne NBA... Tikko kā saņem bumbu, tā uzreiz uzskata par pienākumu mest. Bet nav viņš vēl NBA, vēl jo mazāk zvaigzne NBA. Varētu piedot, ja labi mestu..

Mavs forward Dirk Nowitzki on Sunday morning was suspended by the NBA without pay — it will cost him $164,344.58 of his roughly $18 million annual salary — and had to sit out Sunday's road game against the Los Angeles Clippers.

Frank Lucas, once the city's biggest, baddest heroin kingpin, the original O.G. in chinchilla, now seems like just a very likable guy. But don't be fooled.


* Published Aug 7, 2000


During the early seventies, when for a sable-coat-wearing, Superfly-strutting instant of urban time he was perhaps the biggest heroin dealer in Harlem, Frank Lucas would sit at the corner of 116th Street and Eighth Avenue in a beat-up Chevrolet he called Nellybelle. Then living in a suite at the Regency Hotel with 100 custom-made, multi-hued suits in the closet, Lucas owned several cars. He had a Rolls, a Mercedes, a Corvette Sting Ray, and a 427 muscle job he'd once topped out at 160 mph near Exit 16E of the Jersey Turnpike, scaring himself so silly that he gave the car to his brother's wife just to get it out of his sight.

But for "spying," Nellybelle was best.



"Who'd think I'd be in a shit $300 car like that?" asks Lucas, who claims he'd clear up to $1 million a day selling dope on 116th Street.

"One-sixteenth Street between Seventh and Eighth Avenue was mine. I bought it. I ran it. I owned it," Lucas says. "When something is yours, you've got to be Johnny-on-the-spot, ready to take it to the top. So I'd sit in Nellybelle by the Roman Garden Bar, cap pulled down, with a fake beard, dark glasses, long wig . . . I'd be up beside people dealing my stuff, and no one knew who I was . . ."

It was a matter of control, and trust. As the leader of the heroin-dealing ring called the Country Boys, Lucas, older brother to Ezell, Vernon Lee, John Paul, Larry, and Leevan Lucas, was known for restricting his operation to blood relatives and others from his rural North Carolina area hometown. This was because, Lucas says, in his down-home creak of a voice, "a country boy, he ain't hip . . . he's not used to big cars, fancy ladies, and diamond rings. He'll be loyal to you. A country boy, you can give him any amount of money. His wife and kids might be hungry, and he'll never touch your stuff until he checks with you. City boys ain't like that. A city boy will take your last dime, look you in the face, and swear he ain't got it . . . You don't want a city boy -- the sonofabitch is just no good."

Back in the early seventies, there were many "brands" of dope in Harlem. Tru Blu, Mean Machine, Could Be Fatal, Dick Down, Boody, Cooley High, Capone, Ding Dong, Fuck Me, Fuck You, Nice, Nice to Be Nice, Oh -- Can't Get Enough of That Funky Stuff, Tragic Magic, Gerber, The Judge, 32, 32-20, O.D., Correct, Official Correct, Past Due, Payback, Revenge, Green Tape, Red Tape, Rush, Swear to God, PraisePraisePraise, KillKillKill, Killer 1, Killer 2, KKK, Good Pussy, Taster's Choice, Harlem Hijack, Joint, Insured for Life, and Insured for Death were only a few of the brand names rubber-stamped onto cellophane bags. But none sold like Frank Lucas's Blue Magic.

"That's because with Blue Magic, you could get 10 percent purity," Lucas asserts. "Any other, if you got 5 percent, you were doing good. We put it out there at four in the afternoon, when the cops changed shifts. That gave you a couple of hours before those lazy bastards got down there. My buyers, though, you could set your watch by them. By four o'clock, we had enough niggers in the street to make a Tarzan movie. They had to reroute the bus on Eighth Avenue. Call the Transit Department if it's not so. By nine o'clock, I ain't got a fucking gram. Everything is gone. Sold . . . and I got myself a million dollars.

"I'd sit there in Nellybelle and watch the money roll in," says Frank Lucas of those near-forgotten days when Abe Beame lay his pint-size head upon the pillow at Gracie Mansion. "And no one even knew it was me. I was a shadow. A ghost . . . what we call down home a haint . . . That was me, the Haint of Harlem."

Twenty-five years after the end of his uptown rule, Frank Lucas, now 69, has returned to Harlem for a whirlwind retrospective of his life and times. Sitting in a blue Toyota at the corner of 116th Street and what is now called Frederick Douglass Boulevard ("What was wrong with just plain Eighth Avenue?" Lucas grouses), Frank, once by his own description "tall, pretty, slick, and something to see" but now stiff and teetering around "like a fucking one-legged tripod," is no more noticeable than when he peered from Nellybelle's window.

Indeed, few passersby might guess that Lucas, at least according to his own exceedingly ad hoc records, once had "something like $52 million," most of it in Cayman Islands banks. Added to this is "maybe 1,000 keys of dope on hand" with a potential profit of no less than $300,000 per kilo. Also in his portfolio were office buildings in Detroit, apartments in Los Angeles and Miami, "and a mess of Puerto Rico." There was also "Frank Lucas's Paradise Valley," a several-thousand-acre spread back in North Carolina on which ranged 300 head of Black Angus cows, including a "big-balled" breeding bull worth $125,000.

Nor would most imagine that the old man in the fake Timberland jacket was a prime mover in what federal judge Sterling Johnson, who in the seventies served as New York City special narcotics prosecutor, calls "one of the most outrageous international dope-smuggling gangs ever . . . an innovator who got his own connection outside the U.S. and then sold the stuff himself in the street."

It was "a real womb-to-tomb operation," Johnson says, and the funerary image fits, especially in light of Lucas's most culturally pungent claim to fame, the so-called Cadaver Connection. Woodstockers may remember being urged by Country Joe & the Fish to sing along on the "Fixin' to Die Rag" -- "Be the first one on your block to have your boy come home in a box." But even the most apocalyptic-minded sixties freak wouldn't guess the box also contained a dozen keys of 98 percent-pure heroin. Of all the dreadful iconography of Vietnam -- the napalmed girl running down the road, Calley at My Lai, etc., etc. -- dope in the body bag, death begetting death, most hideously conveys 'Nam's spreading pestilence. The metaphor is almost too rich. In fact, to someone who got his 1-A in the mail the same day the NVA raised the Red Star over Hue City, the story has always seemed a tad apocryphal.

But it is not. "We did it, all right . . . ha, ha, ha . . . " Lucas chortles in his dying-crapshooter's scrape of a voice. "Who the hell is gonna look in a dead soldier's coffin? Ha ha ha."

"I had so much fucking money -- you have no idea," Lucas says, riding around Harlem, his heavy-lidded light-brown eyes turned to the sky in mock expectation that his vanished wealth, long since seized by the Feds, will rain back down from the heavens.

Aside from the hulking 369th Infantry Armory, where Lucas and his boys unloaded trucks they'd hijack out on Route 1-9, little about Harlem has remained the same. Still, nearly every block summons a memory. Over at Eighth Avenue and 113th Street, that used to belong to Spanish Raymond Marquez, the big numbers guy. On one Lenox Avenue corner is where "Preacher got killed"; on the next is where Black Joe bought it. Some deserved killing, some maybe not, but they were all dead just the same.

In front of a blue frame house on West 123rd Street, Lucas stops and gets nostalgic. "I had my best table workers in there," he says, describing how his "table workers," ten to twelve women naked except for surgical masks, would "whack up" the dope, cutting it with "60 percent mannite and 40 percent quinine." The petite, ruby-haired Red Top was in charge. "I'd bring in three, four keys, let Red go do her thing. She'd mix up that dope like a rabbit in a hat, never drop a speck . . . Red . . . I sure do miss her . . ."

http://nymag.com/nymag/features/3649/

Katram mākonim esot sava sudraba maliņa, un katrai nebeidzamai naktij / vētrai seko spožs rīts. Un arī katra saulaina diena no lieliem objektiem rada ēnas.


2008

Apsveicu Baronu ar Latvijas čempionu 2008 iegūšanu. Žēl, ka Dontels Džefersons nepalika.

Apsveicu Biedriņu ar lielisku statistiku NBA. Žēl, ka viņš to nedara elegantā stilā.

Apsveicu ASK ar skaistu spēli. Žēl, ka tas nedeva uzvaru. Un žēl, ka Bregss nepalika.

Apsveicu Latvijas vīriešu izlasi ar kvalificēšanos Eiropas čempionātam. Žēl, ka Trajkovičs nepaliek kaut vai individuālā trenera lomā, un ka viņa plusus nenovērtē tik labi.

Apsveicu sieviešu izlasi ar olimpiskajām spēlēm. Žēl, ka nesekoju sieviešu basketbolam.

Apsveicu Celtics ar NBA čempionu titulu. Žēl, ka neskatos viņu spēles. Gan jau drīz noskatīšos čempionu video "CD".

Apsveicu Lakers ar uzvaru Rietumu konferencē. Žēl, ka apnīk skatīties, un kaut kā tā..

Apsveicu Braientu ar NBA MVP. Šķēli arī, ar LBL MVP. Ā, un Baronu ar FIBA kausu.

Apsveicu sevi, ka šo visu sacerēju. Un ka pie beigām pamanīju, ka daru mazliet līdzīgi to kā Butauts. Apsveicu sevi par viskautko.