VIEWPOINTS

Staff Editorial: Lecture Series widely Ignored

 Spike Lee splash has been soaking the basketball world for what seems like an eternity, but his comments last week in the New York Post signal one of the biggest impacts in the commercialization of professional sports.
 Lee hinted prodigy LeBron James just might be headed to New York after his initial contract expires after the 2005-2006 season.
 Not because the Knicks can match the Cleveland’s maximum offer, but a clause in his Nike contract says the shoe company will pay him more if he makes the jump to Gotham.
 Lee, who pays thousands of dollars for his courtside perch at Madison Square Garden, is the world’s biggest Knicks fan, so perhaps it’s wishful thinking on his part to think James would make the move.
 But his comments do have merit.
 Lee has long been associated with Nike and does mingle with James’ agent, Aaron Godwin.
 If Nike is able to influence the prodigy’s exodus from Cleveland, then the implications will turn the basketball world on its ear.
 The NBA’s salary cap, which was put in place to ensure a competitive balance, would become obsolete with the last touches of commercialization.
No longer would big-market teams need to watch what they spend once a team sponsorship is set up with a major corporation. Imagine, “the New York Knickerbockers brought to you by Nike,” blasted through the airwaves.
And the last thing Nike would needs is to be associated with losing. The shoe company’s obligation to the Knicks would be simple. Apply salary-cap relief by paying players outside of the games’ pay structure.
In essence, small-market teams in Cleveland and Milwaukee would be forced to play by cap rules while the Knicks grabbed all available talent with Nike paying the difference to keep them “logistically” under the league’s cap.
The talent disparity would take away the league’s competitive balance and this is something the NBA just can’t afford to let happen.
The message to Lee and his counterparts should be made with the simplicity of Lee’s famous Mars Blackman commercials of the ‘80s.
These courtside seats, you can buy. You cannot impact the league’s balance through larger endorsement contracts.
Can. Can’t.



Student lists his Many Birthday Wishes
Jason Kimbro | Staff Reporter

 Well, my birthday is coming up on the 17th of this month. I know what most of you are thinking:  “Holy carp!  I mean crap!” I forgot to get my favorite staff reporter a Christmas present, so I’d better get him a gift.
 Never fear; I know exactly what I want. My years of being a hard-working, blind man living off the sorrows and stupidities of others have given me disconcerting taste and class. Let me express my own needs and desires.
Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I have devised another list of goodies that you all can get me for my upcoming birthday. They are a varied group and I feel that every person with a size 42 waist, a visual field of less than three degrees, and an insatiable love for cheese should have.
Here we go:
 First, I would like to have a season pass to Six Flags Over Texas. I wouldn’t really use it since I cannot drive there myself, but alas, I will have it handy for all of my “friends” who are able to drive over the summer and want to borrow it for their trip to this fantabulous amusement park.
 Next, I would like a copy of the Kama Sutra. For years I have yearned to look within the pages of this sacred tome, but my parents, trapped within the realm of Christian values, would never let me gaze upon this book. It costs way too much, and, as we all know, Christians are tightwads.
 I would like the world to hold hands and sing in harmony. The song I would like them to sing is “Keep Your Hands to Yourself” by The Georgia Satellites. Why? Why not?
 I would like my mother bake me a cake. Not just any cake, but the band Cake. That way, they could sing me to sleep every night as I read my Kama Sutra. They can turn the other way if they need to.
 I would like a lock of Camron Rushin’s hair. That way I can have something to remember the true Camron Rushin by.
 I would like a lock of Keith Lamb’s hair. That way I can have something to base the color palette of my kitchen on.
 I would like to receive a back rub from every member of every sorority. I figure that at least one of them would be willing to give me the special of the day. You know, a foot massage too.
 Since the Vikings ended up shooting themselves in the foot and pretty much going nowhere this year in football, I would like Randy Moss to be executed and Dante Culpepper to receive a pardon for any future crimes he may commit.
 My father is a Pentecostal preacher. If any of you have read my past columns, you would know this. With this in mind, I would like a set of earplugs the next time I go to see him preach. 
He just gets to hollerin’ so loud up there that, even when I sit in the back row, my ears begin to bleed. I think it is because 99 percent of the congregation is over the age of 90 and it is better to hear him scream than to hear a plethora of hearing aids squealing at once.
I would like a bottle of cheap, yet very potent liquor. I don’t plan to drink it, but I would love to make my first Molotov cocktail. I should be second unit director, I swear.
I would like copies of the following films: “I *Heart* Huckabees,” “The Matrix Trilogy,” “The LOTR Trilogy,” “Waking Life,” and “Donnie Darko” so I can show the world how false philosophies can be used to obtain high values of entertainment.
There are times I catch myself saying the most ridiculous things at the most inopportune times. For instance, yesterday, I was getting it on with a girl and I mentioned that only two to three tablespoons of the substance that comes out of a woman’s vagina during her period is blood.
In order to keep me from saying stupid things like that and writing stupid things like that in my columns, I would like a set of miniature angel and devil versions of me to perch on my shoulder and battle it out, letting me know when and when not to say certain things.
Did you know that 20 percent of the sauce in many varieties of frozen pizzas is made up of maggots?
See!  There I go again! I really need that set of advisers; my current conscience isn’t doing $%!# for me!
Well, I hope this helps you all with your chaotic stride out into the stores to shop for my birthday. I really don’t know where one can find many of the things listed, but as long as it doesn’t say Great Value or Sam’s Choice on the label, it should be fine.
If all else fails, gift certificates to Toby’s or Hot Topic will suffice!
So long for now and God bless you, everyone! (Halo appears above my head).


Dogs bean Cats, people any day
Nicole Ford | Copy Editor

It’s a question that’s been asked countless times by countless people who are searching for some fundamental truth about another person: “cats or dogs?”
My answer to this question has always, unequivocally, been “dogs.” And, if asked the question “dogs or people,” I would still choose dogs.
My dog is a 6-pound ball of red hair: a toy poodle named Blaze. Blaze is always happy to see me. He greets me at the door every day and demands his dose of attention by trying to climb up my leg. No matter how hard the day has been, it’s always a little better after this declaration of affection.
Blaze also has a wonderful sense of timing. He leaves me alone when I’m working. He doesn’t demand that I give him my full attention when I’m cramming for a test or writing a paper. 
When I’m tired, he gladly curls up with me and shares a nap. It doesn’t bother him in the least to sleep half the day away.
And, of course, he’s always in the mood to play. Tug of war, fetch, wrestling, it doesn’t matter. With a flick of the wrist or a stomp of a foot, Blaze is there and ready to play for hours on end.
I’ve been raised with dogs since my birth. And I’ve found that every dog, like every person, has a few endearing quirks in his character. Unlike people quirks, though, dog quirks tend to be more amusing than annoying.
Blaze, for example, likes to attack his food. He’ll pick out one piece of Kibble and proceed to toss it around the room a few times. Once he’s thrown it, he’ll lower his forelegs and stick his hind up in the air in that classic puppy “play” position. He’ll then growl at the kibble a few times before pouncing on it. Only after he’s repeated this process at least three times will he actually eat the Kibble.
It’s wonderful entertainment. Much better than some of the trash that graces television these days.
Of course, Blaze also enjoys cuddle time. Whenever I’m kicked back and relaxing, Blaze decides to join me on the couch, but not by actually sitting on the couch. Nope, this little dog will climb up onto my chest, curl up and promptly go to sleep.
It’s a good thing he only weighs six pounds.
My family once had a Doberman Pinscher who had another unique quirk. This 85-pound dog, named Rocky, loved to stalk flies. Not “chase,” but “stalk.”
Rocky would pursue these flies on our back porch in the heat of summer. The dog could stand as still as a statue for as long as twenty minutes, patiently waiting for the perfect opportunity to nab his fly. More often than not, he would miss, but I distinctly remember him presenting members of the family with a dead fly more than once.
He did this at every available opportunity, and would be at it for as long as it took him to kill his fly.
I guess it was Rocky’s version of dove or deer hunting, without the trouble of licenses or expensive weapons.
There are other reasons, of course, that I prefer dogs.
For instance, dogs only get on the furniture when they are invited. Dogs don’t walk across counters and tables that I eat on after they’ve been God only knows where, getting God only knows what on their paws. 
And dogs, once they are properly trained, don’t go to the bathroom in a box in the house that I have to clean up every day. I simply open the back door and let the dogs into the yard so they can take care of their business. No cleanup required.
It also helps that I’m not nearly as allergic to dogs as I am to cats. After 10 minutes in a house with a cat, I’ve lost my ability to smell anything. After 15, my eyes are watering. After twenty, I’ve got a headache.
So, to spend the weekend with my cat-owner best friends, I have to take a pharmacy’s worth of Tylenol and sinus medicine with me. Having to do that on a regular basis would drive me insane, drive me broke, or simply kill me.
Security is another wonderful reason to own a dog. 
My toy poodle may not be very intimidating, but he makes a hell of a lot of noise. A door or window can’t open in my house without the neighbors hearing him bark. Blaze is like our own little security system, only he doesn’t cost nearly as much to install or maintain.
And he comes with the added bonus of teeth. So should some idiot intruder break into the house, he’ll find his ankles bitten off in a relatively short period of time. This may not be life-threatening, but it does hinder his escape.
Of course, for security purposes, big dogs are always better, and I have had my fair share of those. 
When I was all of four years old and living in England, I had a German Sheppard named Jake. We were at an airport one day, about to catch a flight that would bring us back to the States and, ultimately, to Las Vegas. I was sitting on top of Jake’s kennel as we maneuvered through the bustling airport when some not-so-bright guy decided to come up and stick his face in the kennel door. Jake promptly tried to tear the man’s face off through the steel grate. He was convinced this idiot posed some threat to both his family and himself.
There’s something about answering the door with a dog that’s more than waist-tall that says, “you’d better not be here to cause trouble, because my dog will make lunch out of you if you are.” To me, a dog is a perfect weapon, cheaper and much safer than guns.
Dogs are lovable, friendly, loyal, intelligent, funny and safe. Which is more than I can say of most people, let alone most cats.
So, yes, I’m a dog person.



Scared Cows not just In India
Britton Sauerbrei | Copy Editor

Walking through the streets of Bombay, one often sees gigantic cows lumbering across intersections, halting cars, and chewing on fruit snatched from roadside stands. Hindu tradition holds that cows are sacred, and that, however troublesome, however inconvenient they may be, they cannot be slaughtered, prodded, or harassed.
You may react to this Indian taboo with contempt. “It is ridiculous,” you say. “Out with prejudice! In with open-mindedness! Down with intellectual cowardice! Up with courage!” That is all very well – India is none the better for its holy bovines – but we may not be as eager to cast aside our own prejudices. One need not look to India for sacred cows; they abound in American society.
Ask a conservative what he makes of the correlation between legalized abortion and significantly reduced crime rates. Most likely, he will not consider the research on the matter and argue the pro-life position from it, but will instead take offense at the very suggestion that such a horrible correlation might exist. Ask him why God should be in the pledge of allegiance and prayers should be said at high school football games. He may present a clearly reasoned argument in defense of his position, but will more likely have beef because you have questioned a sacred cow. It is as if some questions are too offensive to ask, some topics too holy to discuss, and some problems too momentous to solve in any rational way.
Of course, sacred cows are not restricted to conservatives. Diversity, tolerance, and peace are wonderful ideals vital to our democracy, but when it comes down to mapping out practical stages to attaining these goals, one must be careful about which facts he brings up, lest he offend the presidents of Princeton, MIT, and Stanford, countless students and scholars across the country, the National Organization for Women, and pretty much anyone who reads The Nation or Mother Jones. Case in point: Lawrence Summers, president of Harvard University.
To feel the vehemence with which sacred cows are defended, Summers, in trying to explain and eliminate disparities between men and women in science, had only to timidly cite scientific research suggesting that (believe it or not) women and men may be biologically different.  Before he knew it, he was facing a no-confidence vote from the Harvard faculty (the vote failed, by the way).  Fortunately, many on both the right and the left have come to Summers’ defense, arguing that his comments, which were supported by reputable scientific research, should be taken seriously.  As Steven Pinker, a Harvard psychologist, wrote in The New Republic, “the psychology of taboo is incompatible with the ideal of scholarship, which is that any idea is worth thinking about, if only to determine whether it is wrong. … The tragedy is that this mentality of taboo needlessly puts a laudable cause on a collision course with the findings of science and the spirit of free inquiry.”
Ask a Baptist why, in spite of the massive body of scientific evidence to the contrary, he insists that all life was created a few thousand years ago. Ask a socialist why he opposes open markets. Ask a liberal whether he thinks any good has come of the current Iraq war. In each case, you will probably get a highly emotional expression of disgust at the question. It soon becomes apparent that no culture is entirely reasonable, open-minded, and tolerant; each has its sacred cows.
Why is it that, in a society that gives considerable lip-service to intellectual freedom, prejudice against certain propositions is so widespread? Are we so proud that we must answer critics of our most cherished ideas with ridicule rather than reason?  Are we so myopic that we see our own beliefs as self-evident? In any case, one thing seems certain: like the Brahmans of Bombay, our taboos are impediments to unity, intellectual discourse, and progress. Regarding the sacred cows of American culture, both right and left, I have two final words: bon appetit!