Jimbo’s Mailbag – Jimbo’s Jazz Wishes

October 5th, 2014 | by Jimbo Rudding
What if Dick Bavetta hadn't been around in 1998? (Photo by Scott Halleran/Getty Images)

What if Dick Bavetta hadn’t been around in 1998? (Photo by Scott Halleran/Getty Images)

Welcome to the next edition of Jimbo’s Mailbag! At Salt City Hoops, we know that covering a losing team without any humor can be dreary. As such, we decided to add a little bit more levity to our site via Jimbo’s unique outlook on the world of Jazz basketball. Interested in submitting a question to Jimbo’s mailbag? Email it to Jimbo at mailbag@saltcityhoops.com or tweet @JimboRudding to appear. 

Q:  If the Jazz Dancers came to my daughter’s birthday party would they give out Phillips 66 balls or Nu Skin products?

– @BardenPembleton

I always thought it would be so awesome to catch one of those Phillips 66 balls during a game and getting at least two or three random high fives from strangers seated nearby. With the Utah Jazz playing like they have been the last few years, it’s been a long time since a stranger has offered to slap my hand during a game.

The “stranger high-five” is such an anomaly. I find it so weird that we can spend a couple hours sitting right next to someone and at the exact moment the team we are both rooting for does something well, we decide to smack our hands together and give the occasional hug. Even if that IS how I met my wife, I still think it is strange that we do that.

 

Q:  What have you done or are you planning to do with Mark Jackson’s offer to personally call anyone that buys his wife’s single?

– @monilogue

I’m glad you asked this question because I was totally unaware that Mark Jackson was married still. If I were to purchase this beautiful single and I got to talk to him on the phone, here is a list of possible things I could say to him:

  • “Mark, yeah, that single was good!…not great.”
  • “Locker room cancer says what?”
  • “Mark, hi, this is John Stockton. Just thought you should know, my wife’s single is a THOUSAND times better than your wife’s single.”
  • “Hi, this is Darrell, the Pizza Hut delivery driver. I’m having a hard time finding your house. Is your address 123 Cruddy Backup street?”
  • “Mark, when you were playing basketball, was the ball sometimes too round to throw into the goal net?”
  • “Wow, those are some pipes your wife has? Is she available to do Halloween parties?”
  • “I’m your biggest fan. You don’t believe me? I’m 6’9” and I weigh 564 lbs. and I’m scheduled for gastro bypass next Wednesday. Will you come hold my hand during the surgery?”
  • “Is this THE Mark Jackson from American Idol?”
  • “How is Tito? Do you guys hang out?”

Like an idiot, I would probably forget about caller ID and he would track me down, beat me up, and leave me tied to a tree outside a movie theater in only my underwear. But at least I would have gotten all of that off my chest. Plus, I’d have a beautiful new song to listen to on my iPod as I recuperated from my injuries.

 

Q:  Would you rather have Jimmer retweet you or Derek Fisher admit he’s a dirty liar?

– @bobbEdigital

Both of these scenarios seem very desirable. However, I feel like if Jimmer retweeted one of my tweets I would probably bring that up during casual conversation for the rest of my life. Then maybe I would–uh oh…oh great…here we go…I’m being whisked away into one of those “I meet Jimmer in line somewhere” fantasies.

(Jimmer and I are in line at Costa Vida.)

“This waterfall window thing is crazy, right?” I ask timidly.

“Uh…yeah…crazy.” he answers softly.

“I want one for my house. Ha ha!” (I laugh way too loudly for something that unfunny.)

(Jimmer doesn’t respond and there are a few minutes of awkward silence.)

“I’m thinking about buying a telescope,” I say proudly.

(Jimmer stays silent.)

“You know, I’m pretty good at harmonizing to the theme song from Charles in Charge. Do you sing?”

(Jimmer turns around and walks out the door, deciding instead to eat Café Rio.)

Annnnnnddddd….scene.

 

Q:  What in THE hell is wrong with you?

– My Uncle Dale (after reading the first few mailbags)

This is a hard question to answer, Uncle Dale. I like to think that I’m unique; that maybe I see the lighter side of things. However, I still remember that family barbecue where you told me to “stop daydreaming about if Yoda had kids and go grab the A1 sauce from the fridge!” That was when I came to the realization that maybe I was a little different than most people. Maybe I should be proud of the fact that I was given the rare gift that allows one to mentally escape from one’s everyday routine?

I’ve always been this way. When all the kids in school were worrying about Homecoming or biology tests, I was sitting in the corner of the classroom wondering if I could hang a hammock from one emergency sprinkler to another. When everyone in college was trying to decide what to major in, I was in the commons area wondering if I could tie a group of people together by throwing a boomerang with a rope attached to it around them. When everyone was getting married and having children, I was thinking about how funny it would be to duct tape a cat’s paws to a ceiling fan.

So, to answer your question Uncle Dale, YOU are what’s wrong with me. YOU did this to me by making me fetch all those sauces at family barbecues. You should be ashamed of yourself!

 

Q:  If you could pick one Care Bear to be for seven months, which one would you pick?

– @artdirector_g

Hmmm, this is a good question. My first instinct is to go with either Lumpy or Snickers. However, after looking on the internet and reading through the actual Care Bear names, I guess I would go with Wish Bear. Wikipedia says that “Wish Bear helps make wishes come true, and although they don’t always come true, making wishes and working hard to help make them come true is still fun.”

I think seven months would be long enough for Wish Bear to grant all of my Jazz-related wishes. Below is a list of the wishes I would ask him to grant me:

  • I wish Dick Bavetta never reffed past 1994.
  • I wish Dick Bavetta never made out with Charles Barkley.
  • I wish Ronnie Brewer never went to a water park as a kid.
  • I wish Greg Ostertag had stayed in shape in the offseason.
  • I wish Karl Malone and John Stockton never aged.
  • I wish Larry Miller had taken better care of himself.
  • I wish Doug Miller had taken better care of himself.
  • I wish Crown Burger had a booth reserved for me before every game.
  • I wish I had friends who owned a house boat on Lake Powell.
  • I wish my Toyota Camry had racing stripes.
  • I wish Deron Williams hadn’t always been so grumpy.
  • I wish Trey Burke didn’t own a cell phone.
  • I wish John Lucas III all the best.

—–

Thanks for the questions everyone!

Jimbo Rudding

Jimbo Rudding

I am a typical Jazz fan. I think Jordan pushed off, Derek Fisher lied, Bavetta cost us at least one game in the Finals, we should have drafted Tony Parker instead of Raul Lopez, and there will never be anything better than the Stockton to Malone days. I, along with Spencer Campbell @SCampbellSBN, started the first and longest-running Utah Jazz podcast on earth. I enjoy the in-of-doors and telling people a better way of doing whatever it is they're currently doing.
Jimbo Rudding

2 Comments

  1. Taylor says:

    I would like to add: I wish I didn’t run out of cheese sauce when I still have 7 chips left in my plastic nacho tray.

  2. Paul Johnson says:

    Wishes to Add: In the waning seconds of game 6 of the 1998 finals, I wish that Karl Malone had seen Michael Jordan about to steal the ball from him under the Jazz basket, and had elbowed Michael in the head as Michael went for the steal (as incidental contact), followed by a hard drive to the basket to put the Jazz up by three, so Michael Jordan’s push-off-of-Bryon-Russell-and-last-second-jump-shot-to-win-the-game never would have occurred.

    I wish that the Jazz had a whole bunch of talented young guys and a coach and coaching staff devoted to and focused on developing their talent for the upcoming season. (wish granted!)

    Also, I wish that french fries were good for you.

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